words with friends as prompt

My cousin and I have been occasionally writing stories using the boards we create with our words with friends games.  This is a story written in the style of “the onion” (which won’t take my unsolicited manuscript according to their website…..such a bummer). If you want to try it and have your story posted, send it to me.  I’m happy to take unsolicited work.

Here are the words and the story follows:

An, Azine, Dazed, Ne, Oi, Crumby, Glum, Creel, Ego, Club, Bedded, Hardies, Hi, Meta, Ayin, Tag, Ti, An, Aa, Poots, Fools, Ska, Haven, Retro, Pox, To, Tort, Sox, Er, Sees, Heth, Haji, Wife, El, Liven, Hip, Qis, Quit, Sup, Ahi, Wet, She, aw

Study Shows that Poots End More Marriages Than Originally Thought

While many relationships may survive smelly sox, the crumby mess left by cracker eating spouses, and the wet spot, it has been determined by an international study of marriage that an abundance of poots may serve to end more than 50% of marriages.  The study, conducted by El Ne, an internationally acclaimed group of marital scientists, updated earlier statistics that said a mere 30% of marriages ended due to excessive pooting.

Said one wife, “my house smelled like the old creel my pa used for carrying his ahi home.  I couldn’t take it no more.  And it was even worse when he bedded me!” she continued, “he thinks he fools me with his moans but I heard the poots and smelled them even more.”

El Ne scientists studying the chemical nature of poots have determined that they are a meta-azine compound that often leaves the nearby non-pooter dazed and unable to focus.  One local Retro-Ska Club had to be closed down after a group of men who were celebrating a bachelor party arrived from a nearby chili feed.  Health department officials called to the scene put a red tag on the club until further notice.  When asked for comment the men had no understanding of the problem they’d caused and continued with the alphabet drinking game they were playing.  “Give me an ayin…AYIN…give me a heth…HETH.”  This writer does not have high hopes for the longevity of the groom’s marriage.

According to statistics provided, it is not always the man who brings this pox to the marriage.  Occasionally, and only very occasionally, it is the woman.  Because the female ego does not seem to celebrate the poot in the same way that the male ego does, this information was more difficult to obtain.  Said one husband who asked to remain anonymous, “Er, my home was meant to be a haven, but I had to quit it.  Oi.  I love my wife but I couldn’t bear to sup with her even.   I was forced to become a Haji so my wife wouldn’t know the real reason I stayed away so long.”  This sort of glum response was common among men.  All of the men interviewed were among the 50% who remained in their marriages, trying anything, including wrapping their wives hips in ti leaves to muffle the smell.

Scientists studying the problem have determined that meditation can mitigate the issue to a degree.  Managing qis through meditation will liven the digestive system and eliminate much of the ‘over’ pooting.  This allows for an ‘aa’ reaction rather than the typical ‘aw-wwwwww’ that leads to marital demise.  

Due to the frequent incidence of these marriages ending in civil court, many jurisdictions have enacted tort law to handle their disposition.  While the occurrence of pooting seems to be unintentional, some spouses are accusing their partners of negligent acts resulting from ingestion of inappropriate foods.  “Hi,” said one anonymous wronged woman, “he was downstairs in his basement building something and I could hear the hardies hit the anvil.  Then there was an explosion that shook the house.  I went downstairs to see to things and was knocked clean out by the smell.  When I came to he was standing over me smiling like he’d just accomplished a great act.  He was proud and I know’d he’d eaten those beans again.  I just cain’t take it anymore and I need out of this marriage.”

While the seriousness of this situation is undeniable, many court clerks are struggling to remain calm.  Particularly the male clerks, which only exacerbates the situation.

you dropped it

The writing prompt is “you dropped it“.  Now sit for ten minutes, use a timer, and see what comes up.  If you’re going to use the prompt, don’t read mine first.  It will be distracting.

This is what I got: 

You dropped it and it rolled across the floor. Living in an old house has its idiosyncrasies.  Things rarely stay in one place. At first you smiled. Then you began to giggle.  It hit the wall on the far side of the living room and bounced into the dog.  He jumped. And you laughed out loud mouth wide open teeth, if you’d had any, glistening, chest heaving snorting from your nose laughed.  Your laughter began my laughter until finally everyone in the house was laughing and snorting and pointing at the dog then jumping.  The dog just watched us.  He’s always been kind of a lazy keen observer watch before you act kind of dog.  So he watched for a while and then he twisted around behind himself and took the ball in his mouth and stretched himself up into a lazy kind of dog standing position then took several slow lumbering I’m not in any hurry kind of steps out of the living room through the dining room past the kitchen and out the back door. You stopped laughing.  You didn’t giggle.  Your lip began to tremble then shake then you wailed one of your big open mouth show your teeth (if you had any) tongue straining cries.  We all stopped laughing.  You threw your head back and cried to the birds in the trees and the clouds in the sky through the roof until there was no roof and everyone even God could hear your cry.  And finally the dog came lumbering slowly up the back steps one by one through the kitchen past the dining room into the living room and gently placed the slimy dog licked smarmy ball in your tight little fist and then we had.  Silence.

who are those people?

One of my many chores is going through all of the digital photos I’ve downloaded onto my computer, printing them and putting them in some sort of order.  Unfortunately my artistic talent doesn’t always translate into fabulous photos.  I’ve got some amazing foreground pictures with all kinds of weirdness in the background or off to the side of whatever I found interesting.  Very often I get a shot of people I don’t know taking up more of the frame than the ones I do know.  So what to do?  Toss them?  Oh no.  First of all, I toss very little.  It can all be used for something.  I might need it someday.  My favorite thing to do with those odd pictures is to make up stories about whatever I didn’t intend to take.

story writing exercise:  Find a photo or a picture in a magazine or on the internet that includes people that you don’t know.  Write their story….do they know each other?  are they friends or lovers?  enemies maybe?  will they meet?  is one of them a criminal?  are they brothers who’ve never met?  Write in enough detail so that your reader can see the people without ever seeing the photo.

My first real post….am I getting it?

Writing prompts can be a word or a thought.  Some of the most interesting prompts can be found in the subject line of spam email.  Who thinks of these things?  Not that I’m recommending spam as an entrance into great literature, but it can spur the mind in interesting directions.  Have a look at your junk mail before you delete it next time.  Then, for ten minutes, empty your mind and write whatever comes into your head.  Use a timer.  If nothing else it will clear out all of the garbage that would have ended up in your great american novel had you not taken the time to dispose of it.  If you like, share it with the rest of us.  Writes can be anything, comments only positive.

I’ll go first…”something’s burning” was the prompt.

She’s sitting alone.  Her cigarette between her first and second finger, floating a foot above the table.  Her fingernails are perfect.  Perfectly manicured.  Perfectly pink.  There is no nicotine stain.  She doesn’t smoke often.  She is trying to create an impression.  And she doesn’t really like to smoke.  He can tell.  She rarely inhales and when she drops her hand to flick her ashes they tumble sideways out of the ashtray onto the old linoleum floor.  Finally the cigarette burns down and she stubs it clumsily, looking out cautiously from under her blackened lashes.

She sees him watching her.  Looks away.  Maybe relief crosses her brow as she lifts her coffee cup and sips.  Finally the cigarette is done and she can go back to her real vice.  He gets up and walks toward her table.  He has to turn sideways to avoid the woman’s purse at the table next to hers.  He’s going to the restroom.  He turns toward her.  Her hand is resting next to her coffee cup at the edge of the table.  She feels the rough fabric of his jeans brush her knuckles.  She doesn’t look up.  Her other hand slides quietly under the table and rests in her lap.  Her fingertips brush the top of her thighs.