Writing
Related: About this forumA group collective. Fresh from DU for publication as an eBook. Proceeds to DU.
Here's the idea. It is basically a "add as you think of something" story. Add as little or as much as you want. Introduce or kill off characters as you please. The goal is an entertaining read whether serious or funny, coherent or out-to-lunch, whimsical, mystical, down-to-Earth, or fucking nuts.
At some point we'll call a deadline and go into edit mode. I'll start...
The Cranium of Asparagus (other titles welcome)
Morning mist covered the ground with wisps of cotton candy atop the blades of grass. The dense fog created shadows of creatures unknown from the trees and shrubs he knew quite well. Warren stepped out into the yard and looked around. It was quiet. No wind. No birds. No sign of anything but himself and Bill behind him. He ventured further and found a good spot to lift his leg. While usually a thorough search for the appropriate spot was necessary, today was not to be. He addressed his secondary issues, delivered the obligatory toilet paper scratches, and trotted up to the porch. "Good boy, Warren," Bill said as he headed inside.
The morning kitchen routine wasn't right. Karen hadn't come down for breakfast and her bus would be here after the third of the neighbor's cars left. The first had just started up. Bill headed upstairs and Warren flopped down on the kitchen tile waiting for her to arrive. He knew days like this from the past. They were never good.
..... (PASS).....
Chan790
(20,176 posts)Time passed as time could only pass for a dog, by which I mean a cluster of instants passing not at all then all at once as if someone had rear-ended a long procession of stationary moments pushing them into his attention; one into the next with a crash and progressively-forward. The second car departed, stinking of ozone and carbon monoxide but unheard. A dog's world is by the nose, an utterly non-temporal instrument making this how Warren perceived the passing of time lazing on the floor as Karen didn't carry-on her morning routine. Warren smelled:
- squirrel
- cat
- another cat
- the glorious aromas of his own secondary issues, five or six distinct ones.
- the delicious stink of a dead opossum baking in the early-morning sun on a stretch of asphalt a half-mile away
- the lingering floral-fecal notes of Bill's anus which had either just departed several instants ago or nearly 40 minutes ago depending upon your conceptualization of temporal-reality
..... (PASS).....
She barely acknowledged his existence, still barefoot and in her nightgown. He rolled to one side for a belly rub and she brushed her foot over his fur as she passed by and into the living room. The smell again. She'd been vomiting. Her hair was thick with the night sweat of a fever. Bill stepped over Warren with a trashcan and a heavy blanket. Karen had already reclined on her side with one of the throw pillows under her head. Bill put the bucket near her head and covered her carefully, tucking her in as best he could.
Warren came out and took a spot on the floor up against the couch as Bill drew some water and placed it on the nightstand next to the couch. "Did you want the TV on"?
"Uh-uh."
"Radio?"
"Uh-uh."
"Okay sweetie. I have to finish getting ready for work. I'm afraid I can't miss this morning's meetings but I'll be home to check on you at lunch." He grabbed the cordless phone from the kitchen and set it near her water glass. "Call my cell if you need me. I'll excuse myself to take your call. And you've got the world's most faithful dog here to protect you." Karen didn't respond.
"Bill needs to brush his teeth and put on some of that stuff under his arms," thought Warren.
Thankfully, Bill stopped to fill Warren's food and water bowls before returning upstairs, but Warren ignored it. He hated when Karen was sick. Her hand dropped over the edge of the couch and began gently scratching the fur behind his ears. It wasn't his favorite spot, but he would take anything she could give.
..... (PASS).....