Writing

Blue, Through and Through

[Your Name Here] — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 17:43:17 +0000

“The sky is blue, so why are you?” said the songbird to the chameleon.

“The view is stunning,” said the lizard, “it’s true, but I’m not meant to be flying like helium. God’s gift to me, is color you see, and my color is that of my surroundings.”

“Hmmm," pondered the songbird, "that won’t help you eat and it won’t help you breed; I confess your gift is a little confounding.”

“I share your confusion and would add some of my own,” said chameleon, “for I should be nearly invisible. On dirt I am brown and on grass I am green and my ability is usually reliable.”

“Well, you are hard to see,” said the songbird, “and your color confused me but my vision is really quite keen. If I see a twig move there isn’t much more to prove and its almost as if you’ve been seen.”

“Ah, that’s good to know and in the future I'll show,” said chameleon, “how still and concealed I can be." She swished her tail in the air. "Now I'm sure I'm not getting lighter and I have babies to feed, so you can drop me off wherever you’d like to.”

“I’m sorry to say this just isn’t your day but we won’t be flying much longer,” said the songbird as her talons squeezed just a little bit tighter. “Though you should know I have babies as well and God's gift seems to have failed you.”

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Brett Myers challenged me with "The sky is blue, so why are you?" and I challenged Supermaren with "A deep, lingering fog."

Going Nowhere

[Your Name Here] — Fri, 16 Mar 2012 03:21:37 +0000

Molly stopped crying just past El Paso and sometime later, in the harsh afternoon heat, she ate a greasy burger at a roadside restaurant sculpted like a giant metal bull. Under the glare of the bulls glowing red eyes she wiped threads of dried tears and grit from her face, washed her burger down with a soda then climbed back into her car and drove.

Character descriptions: "Dark Side of the Crown"

[Your Name Here] — Sun, 26 Feb 2012 00:42:47 +0000

Quite a few people have been asking me how about the process for writing "Dark Side of the Crown" so I decided to share some tidbits from the story document that Jillina & Co. used to choreograph and design the show. I've removed all plot spoilers from the character descriptions and yes, many of the names are derived from Farsi.

Program Summary: "Dark Side of the Crown"

[Your Name Here] — Sat, 25 Feb 2012 21:26:56 +0000

For centuries the matriarchy of Shabanvah has rested peacefully in a far stretch of the Eastern trade routes. Fair and affluent, the realm has flourished under the rule of benevolent queens who have passed the crown from mother to daughter in an elaborate ceremony of love and politics. Relationships are made stronger or ripped apart in this contest for the crown.

Tonight the beloved Queen Rahvan must choose which of her three beautiful daughters is best suited to rule the realm: the popular Sharnaz, the proud Zahra or the peaceful Kimiya.

In recent weeks the priestess, Elaheh, has suffered dreams of a dark shadow brooding in the court so the Queen’s most trusted advisor, Amrakay, has recommended caution. To set the Queen’s mind at ease General Hafez has assigned his most trusted imperial guards to oversee the ceremony.

Laptop Judo

[Your Name Here] — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 06:03:53 +0000

The jazz is thick in Puff's hips and it propels him forward into the night. Dark mysteries and limitless options branch at every intersection presenting a mother-load of sensual, libidinous options with elbow room for improvisation. He’s been here before and he can read the signs in any language. The streets of Shibuya are a glittering black snake rolling beneath his feet to a crackling tempo that switches time on a whim.

Corpus Delicti

[Your Name Here] — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 05:58:25 +0000

“Seriously, Perry, you shouldn’t eat the Fae.” Barton’s glasses were glowing, reflecting the flames from the campfire. His head was wrapped in a black plastic bag and his face was smeared with soot. Draped over his shoulders was a thick, soiled cloak made from an old quilt. He was sharpening his machete, applying the sandstone to the blade in slow, loving strokes. “I’m serious, Perry, killing it is understandable but eating it? You’ll bring us all bad luck.”

The Animal Lover

[Your Name Here] — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 19:52:50 +0000

It was late and a frost had settled, crisp and brittle, over a thin trail running between the Rhine and the sagging, weary town. Hond sniffed the air and the cold stung but he was sure he smelled the warm, metallic tang of food. At this hour no butcher would be plying his trade so he suspected a darker tradesman had left the meat cooling in the winter air. He followed his nose through the filth along the river bank and the water flowed, black and sluggish, no faster than he walked. The river reeked of sewage and threatened to drown the smell of blood that cut a ribbon through the air and led Hond on a desperate hunt for sustenance. He was close now and began to run in the hopes that he might be the first to the meal. The competition would be fierce and he wasn’t sure he could survive another fight, a collision of fangs and boney hides, over meager scraps of garbage.

When Summoned

[Your Name Here] — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 06:07:43 +0000

Charlie paused, silhouetted in the doorway, and slapped dust from his leathers while his eyes adjusted to the gloom. A window overlooked the mud of Main Street but the glass had long been stained by grime that choked every feeble mote of light. The Law Office of Martin Banks Esq. was painted on the window in gold script and the lettering was chipped and fading. Like everything in Cherry Cove it was worn and in a state of advanced disrepair.

The Spirit of Giving

[Your Name Here] — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 16:11:34 +0000

It’s Christmas morning in St. Joseph, Michigan, and Caroline Hubbard peels away layers of thick, silver wrapping paper to reveal a heavy, yellowed wheel of cheese. Odor, rich and fetid, spreads across the living room in a wave and her husband looks up, frowning from his easy chair.

Sun Chang Happy Fortune

[Your Name Here] — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 01:53:31 +0000

My boss takes a bubbling sip from his caramel latte and steam from the drink fogs his glasses. His lips are wet and pouting, his eyes are weak and watery. They don’t match the power he’s struggling to project from behind his desk, a giant oak sonofabitch that’s been in his family for generations.