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What would Agatha [Christie] Say?January 20, 2012 at 4:04 pm | Category: blog I’m blogging at Wordplay today – my topic is “What Would Agatha Say?” Writing to Prompts, Part 2January 13, 2012 at 5:04 pm | Category: blog This summer, literary agent Janet Reid ran a writing contest – she chose mine as one of her top three!
This was the assignment: Write a story using 100 words or fewer. Post your entry in the comments column of this blog post. Contest opens on Wednesday 8/3 at noon, runs for 24 hours till noon on Thursday 8/4. If you goof up, you can take a mulligan. The LAST entry is the one that counts. Use these five words in the story: echo
This was my entry: Life was a jelly roll, T-Bone decided. He drooled a little just looking at it—the damn thing was a fever in his blood. He knew the rule about no table scraps. His master’s voice said it so often the words were a constant echo, giving him a headache. But was it technically a “scrap” if it was still on the table? Perched on his master’s plate, in fact, while he went for a refill of coffee? He thought not. Sluuuurp! “T-Bone! Where’s my jelly roll?” Jelly roll? he burped. What jelly roll? Writing to PromptsJanuary 13, 2012 at 4:59 pm | Category: blog I really like writing to prompts – I think they’re great writing exercises because you’re forced to stick to a specific topic and word count. Here’s an example. At Writer’s Digest, I responded to this prompt: The plane lifted off the runway and into the air. The person next to you turns and quietly whispers in your ear, “I know I’m supposed to keep this a secret, but I absolutely must tell someone.” Here’s my entry – you can add your own at this prompt or others at the Writer’s Digest site.
The plane lifted off the runway and into the air. The Reese Witherspoon wannabe next to me turned and quietly whispered in my ear, “I know I’m supposed to keep this a secret, but I absolutely must tell someone. I’m not going to Vegas to gamble.” “No?” I knew the type. Ignoring her wouldn’t shut her up. I twisted my lips into an upward curve. “You’re getting married then?” “Married?” She tittered. “Oh, no, I’m working, actually.” Her drawl stretched the last word into about five syllables. It took a second for me to realize I was supposed to respond. “Are you a travel agent?” A stab in the dark—she was too wide-eyed to be a hooker or a hotel staffer, and not built to be showgirl. “If you promise not to tell…” Her squeaky voice dropped an octave. “I’m a reporter, on special assignment to cover FangCom.” My expression stayed the same as usual—blank. “Do tell.” “You must have heard of it!” She turned in her seat, facing me. Excitement brought a pink flush to her cheeks, and her breath quickened. My eyes wandered to the blue vein pulsing delicately at the edge of her jaw. “They say there will be real werewolves and vampires there, maybe even shapeshifters.” “Balls.” The metal armrest bent ever so slightly where my right hand gripped it. She jerked back. “You’re not a believer?” “In werewolves? They might have existed years ago, in the far reaches of Europe.” I forced myself to relax. “There are no werewolves today.” “You sound so sure,” she said, tossing her shaggy blonde hair, “but anything’s possible. For all you know I might be a werewolf. I could show you my claws, if you ask nicely.” She wasn’t, and she couldn’t. “Can’t argue with fact. Werewolves no longer exist, and they never did live in North America.” Because shapeshifters abounded on the Continent, and they were territorial cusses. “Well, if you must be so close-minded,” she huffed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I might as well read. God help me from people with no imagination.” She dug out the latest issue of Cosmo from her overstuffed handbag. I had plenty of imagination, that was the problem. With her hair pushed aside, her carotid artery throbbed temptingly close to my mouth. My lips stayed firmly sealed as I ran my tongue over my lengthening incisors. Pointedly ignoring me, she thumbed the pages slowly, her eyelids drifting shut. Finally, her head dropped against her chest. The flight was half empty, the air hostesses bored and inattentive. We had hours to go before Las Vegas. Temptation beckoned, and restraint was such a boring virtue. I leaned over her sleeping form, licking my lips. “I’m supposed to keep this a secret,” I whispered in her ear, “but I feel I should tell you. It’s true—werewolves don’t exist.” I brushed my fangs against her luscious artery. “But vampires do.” Angling my head, I bit down.
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