Writing Explorations: Week 39, Interconnections

[The Mood is Write]

[warning=yellow]

Sorry to spook you guys with the scary exclamation point just to the left, but I have an announcement: because this exercise has become something I did not expect when I began it, I'm changing the name. How I run it and when I post will remain the same, but I'm taking the current name for use in an upcoming series of exercises that will be posted to RP Mechanics once I finish planning them out.

The introductory paragraphs before the prompts will be changed to suit what this exercise has become, and how I've come to view it as well. As stated before, it will still deliver fun prompts and bonus opportunities, and you can always use what you post for whatever you wish! You retain full ownership of your own writing, as always.

[/warning]

Formerly called Plot Practice, these Writing Explorations are a chance for users to explore new concepts and practice the art of raising two fingers to Writer's Block while screaming obscenities to fickle muses: to rebel against the idea that a person requires a mythical force inside them to make new and amazing things.

No. Listen well, users: there is no being inside you waiting to be let out. You are the writer, and in this exercise, you are given a place to push not only against Writer's Block, but also against the forces of stagnation. Feel trapped in your genre? Explore a new one! Stuck with a singular archetype? Do something else! In this thread, you will not be critiqued, and I will read every entry. Should you wish it, I will happily offer my thoughts, but I will not comb looking for fixes: this isn't the place: this place is for safely trying new things and indulging a love for writing.

Shake the bars of your cell block and roar, writers!

[fieldbox=How do I take part?]Curious about how this works? Good! Look over the offered themes and prompts and the bonus rounds, then think about them. Then, take your thoughts and get writing. You can write to one or more (or none) of the prompts, the theme in the thread title, the bonuses: hell, you can even cast aside all of what I offer if you get a different idea.

The whole point is "get writing!"[/fieldbox]

Themes:

1. Two elderly people in a nursing home exchange life stories. They slowly come to realize they are not strangers: their paths have crossed before.
2. A time traveler and an immortal share a unique relationship.
3. Suddenly, all over the world, children start drawing the same thing over and over again.

Bonus Rounds:

• "Flemish giant."
• "Fuck you and your elven girlfriend!"
• A character who hasn't spoken in over a decade suddenly says something.

 

[Ravenfrost]

Mood-a-fur... This is even more evil than last time. But I fear not. I'll see this and raise you fifty squid.

Let the word carnage begin!

 

[The Mood is Write]

Mood-a-fur... This is even more evil than last time. But I fear not. I'll see this and raise you fifty squid.

Let the word carnage begin!

Fufufu. Watch out, I may just include fifty squid in the next one! ;D

 

[Ravenfrost]

Fufufu. Watch out, I may just include fifty squid in the next one!

Talk about digging your own grave.... ::grumbles::

And no, you can't use that one, either! Must Not. Must. Not.

 

[Ravenfrost]

response to Week 39 exercise: INTERCONNECTIONS

It was mid-afternoon and snow was falling lightly outside. Prudence scowled at the jet-haired woman sitting in the middle of the faded beige couch watching television at the U-CARE-WE-CARE nursing home (also known as "Ukie-Weki" among staff).

Always, always, ALWAYS Veronica took the best seat like it belonged to her. And Prudence never finished physical therapy early enough to beat her here. It irked her something terrible. Yet, she pasted a smile on her wrinkled face and greeted her nemesis with a quavering, "Hello, Ronnie!"

(Prudence knew that Veronica absolutely hated to be called Ronnie.)

Veronica toyed with the idea of ignoring Prudence by pretending to be too wrapped up in the news to hear her (which she knew would make Prudence crazy) or simply giving her back her own. She settled for the latter, tossing her scant black curls (which she claimed were not dyed) and chirped out, "Hello Pruuude," in her best fake-social voice. Which fooled no one.

Prudence glared at her before she slowly settled herself in a red armchair, way to the side of the screen. Veronica, sadly, could not keep the smile off her face. The rest of the television viewers who were cognizant of the proceedings did their best to ignore both ladies. They found giving them any attention in these circumstances could pour oil on the flames. (Last time, an altercation between the two had knocked Verne's portable IV pole clean across the room.)

All eyes once more were glued to the screen. There was scant interest from the occupants of Ukie-Weki about the trend in chic fishtail blankets, although more interest was piqued with the next news blip:

"This just in! There are startling reports of children all over the world drawing the same thing to them over and over! The unbelievable claims are that of dwarven spirits being drawn to children between the ages of 8 and 12. Sales of beer and ale are rising dramatically. Is it possible these two events are related? We have the mother of one of the children here, who explains why she is permitting …."

Eh, what's this?" asked Veronica in a loud voice which drowned out the broadcast. "Children are drawing elves?

No, they are drawing dwarves," explained Mr. Thotvoke, "Like hobbits!" (No one ever used Mr. Thotvoke's first name, it was too hard to pronounce).

"No, no," Prudence insisted irritably, "They're being possessed by the spirits of dwarves, not drawing them on paper. Like that movie -- 'The Omen.'"

The rest of the news item was buried in a babble of confused voices (except for Ukie-Weki resident Sam Toobid who hadn't spoken in over 10 years and appeared entranced in silent reverie). The group finally gave it up as a lost cause as no one could agree on the difference between hobbits and dwarves and they settled back in their seats once more.

The picture of a handsome smiling man flashed across the screen as the newscaster began to speak. "One of the world's richest men, Thane Michelmas, shown here in his prime, was buried today at ….."

"A regular Cary Grant, that one was," Mr. Thotvoke chuckled.

Thane Michelmas was indeed quite a looker in the photograph, almost a dead ringer for Cary Grant in his prime, though the face was more sculpted and the hair longer.

No one could have anticipated the reaction from Prudence and Veronica. Both wailed at the same time: "Thane!"

And then glared at each other suspiciously.

"How do YOU know him?" snarled Veronica, hugely affronted.

Prudence tossed her head (and then wished she hadn't, damn that hurt). "We were high school sweethearts," she said proudly.

Veronica let a smirk cross her face. "Oh my. Little Miss Innocence from Wichita? The girl who won the spelling bee?"

Prudence gasped. "How…?"

Veronica had her now. What a moment of triumph. She leaned back, assuming her best "Joan Crawford in victory" pose. "Yes, he mentioned you, as I remember, when his family returned to Flanders. Of course, that was before we started dating."

Prudence felt sick. The bitch! Muddying her memories of Thane Michelmas who got away, er, left her behind, only because his family moved to another country. She tried to pretend she wasn't stung.

"Oh, so he proposed to you, too," she said, keeping her tone casual as possible.

Veronica's face curled into something awful. Prudence's heart leapt. That meant the answer was no! Triumph!

"You know nothing about him," screeched Veronica. "He was mine! My Flemish giant!"

The other residents were unsure whether to flee the room or buckle down for a stormy one. Except for Sam, who continued to quietly ponder, rocking back and forth slightly. Everyone tensed in excitement and horror as Veronica pounced shakily on Prudence, grabbing at her second-best wig. Prudence fought back, gladly digging her fingernails into Veronica's dark curls.

As several nurses' aides struggled to break up the fight, jaws hung open when Sam suddenly stood up without assistance and began (with fixed eyes staring into nowhere) to shout loudly:

"See these top attractions and many more at the Lonely Hearts Amusement Park where the rides are guaranteed to be old and run down!

Ladies! Take advantage of our Lonely Hearts Discount. Ride the Turbo Drop singing "Time in a Bottle" as we show pictures of your miserable dating experiences. Enjoy our Bumper Cars while screaming "Nice Day For A White Wedding." On the Tilt-A-Whirl, bring back memories of your first blushes while listening to "Aqualung" and ….."

####​

In Dusseldorf, Germany, one Thane Michelmas (whose two ex-girlfriends were currently assaulting each other in Cleveland's branch of "Ukie-Weki") was sipping espresso and looking over resumes in the most expensive suite of the Derag Livinghotel De Medici in preparation for the final interviews with potential new assistants.

It was the usual inconvenient business for the immortal -- taking the identity of "Thane Michelmas's grown son" for the next 50 years. To make things easier, he had named the fictional son "Thane" as well as the father. Though, he fancied changing it to something more modern for the grandson, when the time came.

All the applicants for the position of personal assistant were highly qualified: among other abilities, they spoke several languages, could pilot a plane as well as drive a car, had training in the martial arts, and came from the select timetraveling families of retainers who had served him and his immortal comrades over the centuries. He wanted a female assistant this time. He would be parting ways with his good friend, Jonas Flis, who had served him well for a very long time. Jonas had asked to spend his senior years with his relatives. Thane already mourned his loss and was simply not amenable to seeing another man in his place, yet.

Thane flipped through the photographs of the six women whom he had met briefly during the first round of interviews last week. These included pictures of them in evening gowns, swimsuits, business attire, and casual wear.

Janelle: A photo of the girl with messy hair (was this the current style?) and a huge careless grin wearing spike-heeled gladiator sandals and a pink-flowered romper showing ample cleavage and then, an over-sized blazer over that. No and no! (How she made the cut, he had not a clue.)

He shuddered and placed the application in the discard pile.

The next set of photos were of a gorgeous woman of Asian descent, starting with her in a very tasteful leather tank top and black suede skirt with black flats that strapped at the ankle. Hmm, she wasn't hard to look at and she certainly knew how to dress and carry herself. But there was something about her expression and the sculpted planes of her face that reminded him of that time he had lived in Singapore and . . . No! He wanted no reminders of that episode in his life, a wound that had not yet healed.

Sighing, he took up the last four applications.

Nadine: Here was a gorgeous tanned blonde of mixed heritage with an amazing body, but she posed like she was a Playmate. (Did they still have Playmates?) He needed someone discreet. Not flashy. Not oozing with blatant sex appeal.

The redhead, Casey: Her sky-blue eyes looked too trusting, the set of her face was soft, vulnerable. Her body didn't seem that strong. He needed someone that could survive in his world. He sensed she was a romantic. And her fashion sense seemed highly influenced by Downton Abbey. No, again.

It was between these last two.

Fianna. A dark-haired woman who radiated competence and strength, as well as refinement. She looked like she could take down a man twice her size, cook a dinner for six, and charm a foreign ambassador or two -- all in one evening. Very attractive, but not coy. She stared into the camera like she was challenging the photographer. Clothes, an interesting choice. Ears, just a little bit too pointed – but they could take care of that.

Dagna. Deadpan expression. Model looks. Razor thin with those amazing cat eyes. She could wear anything apparently and have it look good. Each photo of her displayed her beauty, her style, but not a glimmer of emotion. Dangerous, there was something dangerous about her. Maybe even unstable.

Thane sensed there was a lot of anger stored beneath that too blank, but alluring, surface. He remembered both her and Fianna from their first brief meeting. He wanted one last look at these two.

He swept all the applications to one side, face down, and had Jonas call in Fianna and Dagna, while dismissing the other candidates.

The two women came in, escorted by the faithful Jonas, smoothly polite.

Dagna pressed his hand a little longer than was appropriate. Thane could see she was quite sure of herself; from the subtle visual clues she dropped, it seemed part of that (if not indeed the entirety) was because she was much prettier and thinner than Fianna. That attitude alone would disqualify her. He had too many hidden dangers in his immortal life to put up with a personal assistant that made those kind of stupid judgment calls.

Thane invited them all to sit down, Jonas quietly to the side, and they made charming small talk for a few minutes. Fianna was sharp-witted, but didn't put herself forward, while Dagna subtly flaunted her charms as if thinking to bewitch him. (He'd have to talk to Jonas before he left. The servitor families needed to be raising their candidates better than this.) He could see that Fianna had noticed Dagna's attitude towards herself and that it didn't bother her a bit. Fianna even looked as though she comprehended HIM. Though that would be impossible.

Thane stood, signaling the interview was over.

"Thank you very much for coming," he started.

"Mr. Michelmas," Dagna interrupted coolly, with the slightest of smiles. "Do I have the job or not?"

She gave him a glance of understanding as if they were the best of friends.

"No, Dagna, you do not," replied Thane bluntly, piqued at her bad manners.

Her face turned stormy. "But I'm totally qualified!"

"Jonas, please see the young lady out," ordered Thane wearily.

"Fuck you and your elven girlfriend!" Dagna screamed viciously as Jonas dragged her away.

Actions would be taken. Her family would come before the organization for review. But for now…

Thane turned to the remaining applicant and said apologetically, "Well, Fianna, I see we're off to a rollicking start! I hope you'll accept my offer of employment. Our base of operations is still in North Belgium, of course, but I'm in Germany looking into this dwarf possession business since this is where the first reports came from. If you could start work at once, that would be optimal."

Fianna smiled with her eyes and she accepted the tall immortal's handshake. "It will be my pleasure to accept, sir. And my family will be very happy to hear of this."

She wished she could stop remembering the article her sister had slipped into her purse this afternoon as a joke.

(The article from Fianna's sister:
How do I brush my Flemish giant's fur?
Place your Flemish on a solid, sturdy surface. Using any type of pet-brush or comb, begin at the base of the shoulders, lightly brush back and over his rump. Repeat the procedure, from the center of his back, until you have completed going over this entire body. If there are area's that seem to have more loose fur, you may wish to go over those spots more than once.)

 

[The Mood is Write]

Oof, you're good at this! Very well done!

 

[Ravenfrost]

Thank yewwww so much.

I hope I made you laugh a little - or at least smile at my silliness! (Edited some small typos, which make me crazy to see, nothing of substance!)

 

[The Mood is Write]

Oh, I did. I'd love to see you take that story further, honestly! Maybe write a book, if you're into that.

 

[Ravenfrost]

I'm so glad I gave you a smile!

I have concepts (and have started some larger projects), but when push comes to shove, little incentive or drive to cast them into the world, and thus complete them.

Thank you for giving me incentive to write SOMETHING (for crying out loud) through your exercises here. You make me less lazy. I -

Oh, and I should have mentioned - I got the blurb at the end about how to groom the rabbits from the internet. (I know nothing about grooming rabbits.) I should have credited that! Slipped my brain, sorry!

 

[The Mood is Write]

Ehehe, you should try NaNoWriMo! There are writing dares, races, and cool stuff like that to help get you through writing out that rough draft! =D

Glad to help, though. ♥ It can be hard to write 'for no reason' (aka yourself ahahaha).

 

[Ravenfrost]

Yeth! I actually discovered - that thing you said - last week or so. Seems like they kind of power down at the end of the year. But I registered. Now, if I can just find where I jotted down my registration info.

However, I doubt they can inspire me as well as you do!

 

[The Mood is Write]

Yeth! I actually discovered - that thing you said - last week or so. Seems like they kind of power down at the end of the year. But I registered. Now, if I can just find where I jotted down my registration info.

However, I doubt they can inspire me as well as you do!

You might be surprised! NaNoWriMo is a November thing, BUT they have Camp NaNoWriMo in I thiiink April and June.