First off, just sayin’ . . . had to post it!
“All is forgiven.”
With that bit of business concluded . . . Onward!
Ten Quote Tuesday hosted by A Writer’s Path. I stumbled onto this writing challenge in my email. The challenge was undertaken by a talented blogger I recently began following. Thanks, INSPIRING my EMOTIONS for posting and turning me on. Well, I’m always down for a new challenge so thought why not?!
The task: Read ten inspirational quotes to wake the Cosmic Muse, and start slingin’ words.
“Introductions inhibit pleasure, kill the joy of anticipation, frustrate curiosity.” -Harper Lee
“Dialogue should show the relationships among people.” -Elizabeth Bowen
“What I don’t write is as important as what I write.” -Jamaica Kincaid
“To write simply is as difficult as to be good.” -Somerset Maugham
“What I adore is supreme professionalism. I’m bored by writers who can write only when it’s raining.” -Noel Coward
“I think it’s important to leave spaces in a story for readers to fill in from their own experience.” -Annie Proulx
“Any time two characters are talking about a third, the scene is a crock of s***.” -David Mamet
“Language is the mother, not the handmaiden, of thought; words will tell you things you never thought or felt before.” -W.H. Auden
“If there is no possibility for change in a character, we have no interest in him.” -Flannery O’ Connor
“A great deal of talent is lost to the world for want of a little courage.” -Sydney Smith
The parameters or prompt choices:
- Include all these elements into a scene: sports tickets, a candle, discouragement, and drawing.
- Have a scene with a self-conscious politician.
- Start your scene with this line: I don’t remember my birthdays.
Reading other entries, I gather these are choices, anyway and, therefore, it’s not necessary use all prompts. I however have always chosen, consciously or un-so, to make things as difficult as I perfectly possibly can. So, in that regard, I’m throwing my entry into the ring and am using all prompts. Only because I love flexing my creative muscles, though, not necessarily showing them off. So, flex and here we go! The title of this piece: This, That, the Other, and a Druther.
I don’t remember my birthdays. Not lately, at any rate, and this is mainly due to the fact that I’m often soused by six o’clock on those days. This is by design. It’s not because I am inherently evil and going against God’s (or Baptists’) no drinking law, nor is it because I’m a sot. I choose to lose consciousness for at least one day out of the year and tear Hell through a bar and society, and leave the chips falling in my wake. Will I end up in the news the next day? I generally don’t worry about it.
“Tickets! Who needs tickets?” the man shouted from the corner as I passed reminding me that the UT game would be soon in full swing, and that this Saturday would soon be a memory – win or lose. Birthdays. Bah! Who the hell needs them?! They just remind you of what you haven’t accomplished. That mountain you never climbed. And all those other things you have, despite all their names. In my drunken revelry I fully intended to make yet another social mistake and climb on the nearest, most (or least) willing woman I could attract . . . or buy. What?! I’m not opposed to using cash to get what I want. Hell, just look at my political record. I get kickbacks on just about every bill I have a hand in creating. And of course those that “kickback” make a ton of cash in the process.
She stood there like she held up the building with her very image. Arrogant, maybe, but, damn, she had reason to be. A courtroom sketch artist, or at least that is what she said she did as a profession, she held youth by the neck and, as much as it struggled, did not let it go. Not quietly, at any rate, and this was mainly due to the slit in her skirt that peek-a-boo-ed her panties at just the right angle. And, I looked, yes. Well, of course I did.
“I’d not buy me that drink. It will get you nowhere, mister,” she said as I asked what her favorite drink flavor happened to be. Well, fat chance of that stopping me.
“Well, then I’ll just bring you one of every damn thing! How’s that?” I said.
Leaving the bar with Janie the sketch artist under my arm (I mean literally under my arm. I carried her out as if carrying a load of laundry in the basket. She cackled loud laughs) and entering my flat, I lit one tall candle. She slurred as we undressed, “Wow. You’ve got a tiny penis! I sure can pick ‘em!” What?! My penis shrank at her words as her eyes grew in disbelief.
So. There you have it. This is in my opinion the worst story I have ever written. Yet, what can I say? The Cosmic Muse dances however and to whatever rhythm she so chooses. Until next time . . .