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Post by Admin on Apr 3, 2015 22:55:46 GMT
OK, ladies and gentlemen, here is the first writing challenge. Entries are due Monday March 16, 2015 by 12:00 am.
1. No more than 750 words.
2. In first person.
3. Opening and closing paragraph is narrative.
4. The rest is all dialogue.
5. No two dialogue tags can be the same.
6. The main sense is smell.
If you discover your word processing program goofed. Just delete your post and repost the new and improved version; you have until midnight on deadline day. Once the deadline has pasted, please do not delete. We would like to archive the challenges to see our improvements over the course of time. As always, your work is yours for copyright purposes.
Let's have fun, this is for stretching our skills and smiling.
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Post by Admin on Apr 3, 2015 22:57:02 GMT
School had been torture today. Normally, I loved school. I loved the fourth grade. I especially loved recess. But not today. No, not today. I squirmed impatiently in my seat wishing our teacher, Mrs. Robinson, would let us go early today. All I could think about was what day it was. The anticipation was killing me. As soon as the last bell rang, I sprinted for the door and raced for home. I sniffed the air as I entered the back door of our little home. I knew that smell well. I had been anticipating that smell all day. My stomach growled just thinking of what was waiting to be pulled from the oven. Today was the day mama was doing her baking. I sniffed the air again, taking in the divine aroma. It was the smell of freshly baked bread. Mama made the best homemade bread in the world, or at least in our little corner of it.
“I'm home, mama,” I hollered, as I dropped my book bag on the bench next to the back door.
“Come on in the kitchen,” mama replied. “There's cookies and milk on the table.”
“Mmm, yummy!” I said, dipping one in milk while trying not to look disappointed.
“How was your day?” mama asked, pulling the hot, fresh bread from the oven.
“Great! Can I have a hot roll, please?” I pleaded, since the wonderful mouth-watering smell of freshly baked bread was the only thing that could make me put aside a cookie.
“Just one,” mama smiled, handing me a roll dripping in fresh churned butter.
“You are the bestest baker in the world, mama,” I mumbled through the warm butter dribbling down my chin.
“Well, maybe not the bestest,” mama grinned, “just the bestest to you.”
“Can I go play now?” I hugged mama's waist while surreptitiously wiping my mouth on her apron.
“After you take care of the dog,” mama admonished, pointing to Blackie's empty food and water bowls.
“Aww, do I hafta do it now,” I whined, trying to put off my least favorite chore just a little longer.
“Yes, now, young lady. You know the rules,” mama tried to use her 'stern' voice.
“Okay,” sighing, I grabbed the dishes and filled them up as full as I could without spilling; something I wasn't very good at.
“Good job, honey,” mama reached out and patted my head.
“Can I help set the food on the table tonight,” I asked in my best big-girl voice.
“All right,” mama agreed, “If you're extra careful. You know we're using our best dishes tonight for grandma and grandpa's visit.”
“I know, mama. I'll get it,” I shouted as I ran to open the door for grandma and grandpa.
“Not so high,” I squealed as grandpa swung me high in the air.
“How's my favorite granddaughter?” grandpa set me down and tousled my hair.
“Oh, grandpa,” I practically sang, “I'm your only granddaughter.”
“That you are,” grandpa chuckled in his deep grandpa voice, “But you're still special.”
“Come on!” I grabbed grandpa and grandma's hands and lead them to the table.
“I got the set the table!” I boasted.
“What a fine job!” grandma beamed at me.
I awoke with a start. My face was wet with tears. The dream. I'd been having the dream again. The dream was about the last time mama, daddy, grandma, grandpa and I were all together. It was the Thanksgiving when I was 12. Life got in the way after that. Mama and Dad got busy working 12 hours a day at their new business. I was a typical teen; too busy for 'old' people. Grandma and grandpa died while I was in college. Nine years later, Mama and daddy had been on their way to visit me after the birth of my and David's first baby when a drunk driver hit them head on. I hadn't seen them in almost a year. Too busy. Always too busy to visit them. At least I talked to them on the phone twice a month. Tears freely flowed now as I held my baby tight and cried.
POSTED ORIGINALLY BY DEBI HARRIS
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Post by Admin on Apr 3, 2015 22:57:55 GMT
“Justified Homicide”
I really, really, really hate them. I hate how they look. I hate their color, their shape. Their long legs and big butts. I hate their hair--long, short, bald. I don’t care. I hate them. I hate how their eyes just seem to follow me around. They watch everything I do. It seems like everywhere I go, they are there. On the TV, in the shower, in bed, in the kitchen, in the car, at work, even walking to mailbox while I’m in my robe. My robe! All this really does explain what happened. I mean, everyone agreed: it was justified. My actions were not those of the insane, but of the most lucid and justified. I did say it was justified, right? Give me a moment to collect my thoughts, and clear my lungs and I will gladly, and most forthrightly, give you the lowdown. **Cough! Cough** Ahem, ahem, ahem. Yes, yes, I am ready now.
“Did you see?”
“Yeah, yeah! I see, Beatrix,” I whispered tersely. I did see! Clear as day! Rigt there walking around, free as you please. “Now shush! I don’t want to alert ‘im to our presence. What if there are more of their kind around? Now quiet!”
“Did you get it?” The impertinent question overrode my command for quiet.
“Get what, Thomas?” I really didn’t appreciate his tone of voice, but I was not about to take my eyes off it to correct him.
I could hear the exasperation in his voice, when he spoke very deliberately, “The h-a-m-m-e-r.”
“Not the hammer!” exclaimed Henrietta. “Too close! The shoe! You can just throw it! Maybe the heal will do the job. Yeah, there you go! That’ll do!”
“But it might leave a dirt mark,” I said uncertainly, hefting the new weapon.
“And the hammer wouldn’t have left a mark?” Henrietta responded condescendingly. She was right. I blushed deeply.
“I know what we can use,” a small voice offered quietly.
“What’s that, Theresa?” I murmured. "You know I hate when you whisper I can hardly hear you over the others. What was that again? Oh, yes. Yes, I do think that idea will work the best."
“What's that smell? Oh! No! What is that? You're not going to use that are you? "
"No! That's a bad, bad idea!"
"I will not be party to this lunacy."
"Good riddance. Who needs you guys? Theresa and I can do this without you. There, see, it really is working, and so fast ? It really was the best idea. You guys... Oh, yeah, you receded. Gone into hiding, as usual. Well, you'll be thanking Theresa when he's dead as dead can be."
"Hey. What is that noise? "
"That? Oh that's just the fire truck sirens."
" Um, will they be upset with you? " Oh, sure, now she sounds concerned.
" Of course, not. They will applaud our efforts to the rid the world of such scum. Besides, what do you care? I'll be the one in trouble if, I said 'if', they are angry. "
" Hey, you know darn well that whatever happens to you happens to all of us."
"Theresa?Theresa? Where'd you go? Really? Really? You are as big a coward as the rest of them."
That's when you arrived. And while I am grateful you showed up to help, I got all taken care of. The world, or at least the neighborhood is safe. No need to thank me. Just doing my civic duty. You can go home when the fire's out. The spider is dead.
ORIGINALLY POSTED BY DARCIEN BALOG
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Post by Admin on Apr 3, 2015 22:58:28 GMT
And the winner is...... drum roll, please........Debi, Woohoo. Now she gets to set the next challenge....winner announced next Wednesday.
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