Sunday, December 28, 2014

Two writing exercises

A couple of writing exercises dashed off at an El Paso Writers' League meeting.

#1. We were to use the words writer, coffee, deal, and seagull.

Imelda sat with me under the cabana as I listened nervously to the caw-caw of a seagull. She's a coffee-drinking writer who's sure to become a bestselling author some day. She wore a bathing suit that showed off her best features. God, I loved that woman, but she'd been avoiding a heart to heart chat with me all week. Finally I took out a little box and handed it to her. It held a diamond ring that set me back six months' pay.

"Marry me," I said.

"Of course not," she said. I was crestfallen. "Here's the deal. I'm having my editor's baby."

#2 We were to use the words impossible, belly, flare, joy, and square.

"This is impossible," I thought, hiding out in the belly of the beast. It had come from far-off Andromeda, millions of light years away. This monster was apparently made from silicon, each side over a mile square. It didn't seem to know or even care that I was inside it, but I felt no joy in discovering there were no exits. I wished for a light, a flare to find my way. Then there was a sudden rush sounding like a flood, and the whole inside began to fill. It was releasing its digestive enzymes, and I was about to become cosmic waste.