# Writing Challenge--For Anyone, Not Just Writers



## Barbara L (Jul 20, 2008)

Being stuck in bed for a couple weeks gives you time to think. One of the things it just got me to thinking about is a writing exercise we did in a writing group I belonged to. I would like to try it here. I will list 5 words. Come up with a story, joke, riddle, song, poem, whatever, that incorporates all 5 words. It can be as long or short as you want. It can be serious, funny, sad, goofy, true--anything at all. The only rules are that you have to use all 5 words, and it should make some kind of sense. It also must stay within DC's rules (language, certain subject matter, etc.) This is NOT a contest. This should be fun! Please, no negative comments about the stories (such as pointing out spelling errors, etc.). This is just about getting the ideas out there. I have not even chosen the words yet, so I have no idea yet what I will be writing, so we will all be starting together. Please don't say to yourself that you have no writing talent, and then not try. As I said, this is not about perfection. It is a game. If this goes over well, we could take turns supplying the words every 2 or 3 days.

Okay, here are the 5 words for this round (you don't have to use them in this order):

watch
gravel
puppy
magazine
oven

Edited to add--You can change the form of the word to plural, past tense, etc.  So puppy could also be puppies, etc.

I hope you will join in!

Barbara
P.S. If you write an excuse about why you can't write, make sure your excuse contains all 5 of the words!


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## QSis (Jul 20, 2008)

I had just finished reading my Saveur magazine, and was getting up to check the cinnamon buns baking in the oven, when I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel in my driveway.

My front door opened, and there stood the love of my life, looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes of his.

And he said, "I'm going to take a shower.  Want to watch?"

Lee


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## babetoo (Jul 20, 2008)

*clever barb*

I was waiting for my cake in the oven to be done. The recipe came from a magazine.  I  heard footsteps on my gravel driveway. 

It  was a teenage boy with a box full of puppies. Sadly i had to say no thanks. 

babe


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## Barbara L (Jul 20, 2008)

Good work!  Thanks for participating!  Hopefully more will join us.  Here is what I just came up with:

Sarah sat quietly in the breakfast nook, reading her latest issue of _Guideposts_.  Now and then she would put the magazine down and look out the window at her new puppy, playing on the freshly mown lawn.  Totally unaware that he was being watched, the still nameless beagle puppy was discovering his little part of the world. He sniffed every blade of grass with complete interest.  He sneezed as he sniffed a puffy dandelion.  Sarah couldn’t help but laugh out loud when he discovered the gravel driveway for the first time.  He had been trotting confidently over the plush carpet of grass, when suddenly he stepped onto the gravel.  His front end seemed to stop before his back end was quite ready to, making him quite a comical sight.  He sniffed and pawed at the gravel and took a couple tentative steps.  Sarah realized he must have stepped on a rough piece, as she watched him take a step, yelp, and leap back onto the soft grass.  She set her magazine on the counter and reached for a potholder.  As she took the cake out of the oven, she glanced once more at the puppy, knowing now what his name was.  He was lying in the soft grass, licking his paw.  Sarah opened the door and the puppy wiggled happily over to her.  Sarah smiled as she asked, “Are you ready to come in now Tenderfoot?”  
Barbara


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## kadesma (Jul 20, 2008)

As I sat here reading what had been written so far. I looked down at my new puppy watching me with happy eyes. I realized I now had my hands full making the recipe for dog bones that I'd gotten from a magazine , that were baking in the oven. I also realized that I'm the pitts at this  as I heard DH on the gravel outside...bye guys

kades


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## Chicks (Jul 20, 2008)

I dropped my magazine when the small piece of gravel hurled from the slingshot shattered my watch crystal stopping the hands at 12:10, Oh Dear how will I know when to take the puppy treats out of the oven.


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## Barbara L (Jul 20, 2008)

You guys are so good!  These are really cute!

Barbara


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## LadyCook61 (Jul 20, 2008)

While I was reading a magazine, I heard the UPS truck come up the gravel driveway.  The puppy heard it too and jumped up the window sill to watch the driver come to the door.  After the driver left the package with me, I heard the oven timer ding and I went to the kitchen and took the bread out of the oven.


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## blissful (Jul 21, 2008)

Barbara L said:


> P.S. If you write an excuse about why you can't write, make sure your excuse contains all 5 of the words!


 
Blissful cannot write a story for a magazine about puppies for her homework. Yesterday she tripped on a large piece of gravel in the hallway and she hurt her writing hand when she fell on the oven. I will warn her to watch herself more carefully. ~~~Blissful's mom


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## luvs (Jul 21, 2008)

i was staring at my watch to see if my vet said my puppy was healthy. he's a greyhound born to a rescued Mom. he was kina dusty cause he was rollingin gravel earlier, & a bath wasn't quite enough to clean his fur.
i was reading... very boring selection of magazines. national geophric was great reads, though- lotsa great photos.
finally they called me. 
he was beautifully healthy.
i'd thrown meatloaf into my oven, & me & my pup shared a great meal!!


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## Adillo303 (Jul 21, 2008)

I felt so proud, the magazine photographer was watching my puppy run the best agility time of his life. He caught him in mid air as he streaked across the gravel that was a hot as an oven in the August sun. The picture of him clearing the final jump for the championship will be on the cover.


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## pdswife (Jul 21, 2008)

Dear Diary,
I've been baking cookies and muffins all day.  The oven has kept the kitchen warm and comfy.  I'll be giving the treats to Michael the cutest boy in the world.  I've been watching him for weeks, I follow him all the way to the edge of his gravel drive way and then run away.  I call and hang up.  I send love letters.  My American Girl magazine says it's "STOCKING" but I think it's just a case of puppy love!


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Jul 21, 2008)

Snapshot of a Great Night
Author - Goodweed of the North

Jenny frowned as her gravel encrusted popsicle melted in the sun. That sweet, syrupy confection, with it's promise of icy sweetness was lost to her forever. Tears began to form in her big, green eyes.

Jim was lost in a magazine when he heard the soft whimper of his three-year-old daughter. He looked up to see her sitting dejected, staring down at the melting posicle. He rose from his lawn chair and walked to his _little angel. _He quickly scooped her into his loving arms.

"Hey there my little giggly-wiggly-girl..." he said as he poked her playfully in the side.

She squirmed and frowned at him. But he wasn't going to let a lost popsicle ruin his Jenn'ys day. "Hey Jenny." he continued. "You want another popsicle?"

"No!" came the pouting reply.

"Well then, how about we get Buddy from his box?"

"I don't want Buddy.  I want my popsicle."

Jim lowered his duaghter to the gravel, beside the now-melted popsicle. "Sorry kiddo. It's all gone now. The sun just melted it away. But you sit right there. Let's seef if we can cheer you up a little."

Jenny sat in the gravel, still pouting. Her world was that popsicle; and in her mind, it had been the most important thing in her little universe. So she sat and sulked, as only a three year old girl can do.

Suddenly she heard the comotion of a puppy running excitedly toward her. She looked up and watched her puppy running straight toward her. Like Jenny, Buddy was cute beyond words, a beagle puppy, full of energy and eagerness. 

In an instant, the little beagle was upon her, licking and jumping, and everywhere at once. Jenny tried to ward off the playful dog as best as a three-year old could. But it wasn't long before his playful antics had her squeeling with glee, the molten popsicle all but forgotten. Jim grinned uncontrollably. His daughter was happy again, playing with Buddy.

"I could watch this all day." he said softly to himself.

"Jim." came the voice of his wife, Kris. "Jim, it's time to come inside. I'm taking the roast out of the oven now. So get Jenny cleaned up and put Buddy in his box. By the time you're done, I'll have supper on the table."

"Ok honey.  I'll be right in."

As he once more walked toward his daughter, Jim thought to himself, "I have the two greatest women on the planet, and they're both living in my house."

All cleaned up, Jim placed Jenny into her special chair. He walked into the kitchen and said "Honey, don't worry about the dishes tonight. I got 'em." And he continued, "Here, let me get that bowl of veggies to the table for you."

"Why thank you, Jim.  You're in a particulary good mood tonight."

"That's because I'm with my two favorite ladies."

"Good answer.  Let's go get this meal blessed and eaten."

"Yeh, let's."  As JIm walked past his wife, he stole a quick kiss.

Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## babetoo (Jul 21, 2008)

nice story

babe


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## B'sgirl (Jul 21, 2008)

watch gravel puppy magazine oven

I really want to participate because I absolutely love writing, but I don't have time right now because I need to put away some food, which is near my oven, make sure my son has his two stuffed puppies in his bed with him, take a shower so I can wash my feet because I stepped on some dirty gravel in the garage, watch my husband get ready for bed, and if there is time I would like to read the magazine I left upstairs. 

But...if I get time later I will most certainly write a story!


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## redgriller (Jul 22, 2008)

The moon was high and the wind shrill. Clouds drifted loftily in front of the glaring moon darkening the landscape. The sounds of the meeting slowly wafted to his ears as he stepped forward crunching the gravel beneath his heavy feet. 

Looking to his watch, he saw it was nigh approaching the witching hour. The moment the night became liquid and flowed from here to there. In the distance a puppy growled as it gnawed on a forgotten bone. 

Pulling his collar tight over his neck, he stepped forward to the bush’s edge to get a better view. 

Before him, chanting in a language he didn’t understand, his query held aloft a rolled magazine set ablaze in a fury of fire. Moving forward, he watched the strange individual set the blazing magazine into the stone oven to kindle the fire. 

As the stone behemoth sprang to life in a fiery roar, he could only wonder what was being cooked tonight.


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## knight76 (Jul 22, 2008)

Being drained from another exhausting day working for Mr Evans in the fields I decide to take a brief nap in a hay stack that has been warming in the sun. I love the deep, restful sleep gained from soaking in the warmth and smell of the hay. Mr Evans is a kind man and turns a blind eye to his men taking a short nap occasionally. I am sure he won’t mind now, as the day is all but over and it is only him and me still here for the day.

Finding a particularly soft section of hay I lay my head down. In the distance, there is the sound of a car approaching. The sound of tyres rolling on gravel, slowly gets louder. I guess another one of Mr Evans clients have arrived. Over the past few days there has been a constant stream of clients coming and going. Since they can not see me, I start to doze, giving myself over to the radiating warmth of the hay. Let Mr Evans worry about this client.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire rips me from my sleep. Instantly I hear automatic weapon fire and the single shot that I know to be Mr Evans revolver. I am sure the revolver is Mr Evans as it has a very distinctive sound that I have heard many times. Gee, it sounds like a war zone out there. Automatically I tuck myself deeper into the hay pile and lay low.  Again I hear the rapid fire of the machine gun, ack ack ack ack ack over and over. I have heard it too many times to ever forget. It echoes in my dreams, and haunts my nightmares. The M16 is going to be taunting my subconscious for years to come. Next is that distinctive bang of Mr Evans firing his revolver. What could have gone wrong? Who is this person firing the M16?

Unable to think and gripped by the battle raging just a short jog from where I lay, I can feel my body tensing up My breath holds longer in my lungs before expelling in one quick release before quickly breathing fresh gulp of warm, humid air. Mr Evans gun releases another bullet with that distinct bang. At the same time I hear the rapid sound of the M16, then silence. Holding my breath for fear of making any noise that can be heard, I listen, and hear nothing. 

Whats that? Someone walking on the gravel of the driveway! The sound recedes! Crunch, crunch, crunch crunch. I allow myself to slowly let out the air trapped in my lungs, making sure to keep my ears listening. One set of foot prints is all I hear, and they soon fall quiet again. A sound suddenly rips through the silence! A single, short burst fired from the M16. The sort of single, short burst that signals the end of that particular battle and Mr Evans life. Who is this person? An assassin maybe, or a rival?

The sound of walking again, this time getting closer!  I concentrate and keep my head down. By now I am buried deep in the hay. The sound continues to get louder as if this person is walking straight towards me. Then silence, they have either stopped walking or have left the gravel drive. I strain to hear. I hear something, getting closer, foot steps impacting on solid earth. Getting closer still. God, don’t let them see me! My mind races, have I left my foot sticking out of the hay? Can they see me? All I can think of is escaping, bursting from my hiding place and charging for the tree line that I can see off in the distance. But I know that would spell certain death. My mind reasons with itself, surely staying here IS certain death. The sound gets closer, he is right on top of me now. My mind screams at me, RUN it is telling me, run before you too, hear that brief burst of fire. My muscles tense in preparation for my flight. The walking stops. Did he hear me somehow? He must be close, I can smell his stink drifting to me on the breeze mixed with the smell of tobacco burning. He is smoking. I dare not move now. 

After what seems like an age a bright but small glowing spot of red sails past me and lands bouncing to the ground. A small trail of smoke rises from it. He has thrown his cigarette away. Thank god he did not throw it into the hay. Suddenly I realize I am wet, my clothes are sticking to me. This nice warm inviting hay pile has turned into an oven, an oven that I am trapped in. I hear a loud click followed by some metallic clanking. Moments later I hear the sound of a fresh magazine slamming home into the M16. Oh god, I think he knows I am here. I tense up further, BANG, another shot, this time deafening. I feel something warm running on my upper leg. Am I hit?  Relief engulfs me as I pick up the smell, urine. I have lost control of my bladder like an excited puppy. Although my excitement is of a very different nature! I pray the wind is blowing enough so the person standing nearby can not smell it. Hearing the sound of footfalls on the earth as the person nearby begins walking away I allow myself to relax a little. His footsteps change from the heavy thud of solid earth to the sharp crunch of the gravel. I wait.

The sound gets fainter until it is quite soft. Creeping slowly from the hay I peek around the edge of the pile and catch my first look at this killer. I see a tall, thickly set man wearing heavy boots with cargo pants and a sandy colored dress shirt. His hair is not long but not short, and roughly kempt. He is walking away from me, carrying the M16 by the handle almost casually by his side. In his other hand he holds a Pistol. That must be what he fired near me. 

I watch as he enters the homestead. He moves slowly through the house. I break from my hiding place run the distance to the short brick wall that lines the front yard of the homestead.  Crouching down to keep from being seen I can see Mr Evans, laying motionless just inside the short wall. Several holes riddle his body, and there is a pool of blood that surrounding his torso. A door bangs inside the homestead and I duck down behind the wall. 

My courage soon returns and I lift my head up so that I can see again. Mr Evans has dropped his revolver, which has landed near the wall. Slowly, I crawl along until I am on the opposite side of the short wall where the revolver lies. Listening for any sound, I hear footsteps on the wooden floorboards of the homestead as the man walks through the house. From how loud the walking is I can tell he is at the back of the house. I spring into action jumping from my concealed position. Lunging over the wall I grab the revolver, then return to my position, cowering behind the wall. 

Soon, the footsteps on the floorboards get closer! The spring on the front door creaks as the man leaves the house. I check the revolver to find only one round in the chamber. I rotate the chamber back to its position with the round ready to fire. I hear the man’s footsteps getting closer. With one fluid movement I swing my revolver over the top of the wall and take aim, one shot is all I have so make it count. What greets me is the man kneeling on the grass, already aiming his pistol at me. Without hesitation he squeezes the trigger. Bang!

With a jolt I sit bolt upright looking around frantically. Sweat runs down my face! My panic turns to calm realization as I begin to smell the hay I have been laying in. I breathe a great sigh of relief, it was all a dream. I settle back down into the hay to regain my composure. In the distance I hear a car approaching…..


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## B'sgirl (Jul 22, 2008)

I sighed in boredom as I watched rain drops streak down the window. It had been a long summer. My parents had decided to drag me up to their "getaway" cabin for five whole weeks! No TV, no radio, no video games! I despised the out doors so I had spent most of the time sitting in my room listening to my iPod. Oh, and since my parents thought I might get lonely, they also burdened me with the care of a new puppy. Did I mention that I don't like animals? 

So there I was, staring out the window. Thunder echoed through the canyon sounding like an over sized bowling alley. Lightening flashed and I saw something streak across the yard and into the evergreens. 

"Great," I though dismally, "there goes Misty again." Misty was the name of dumb cocker spaniel that was my dog. 

I squinted into the trees trying to catch a glimpse of where Misty had gone. Lightening flashed again. 

"What the...?" I whispered. 

I saw what appeared to be the head of a large black horse poking out of the trees. I waited for the next round of lightening, which revealed not only a horse, but a tall black rider as well. The rider appeared to be looking right up at my window. Surely he couldn't see me! 

Then the mysterious rider looked directly into my eyes and beckoned to me. A shiver ran down my spine. He pointed a little ways down the forest path. There was Misty, barking furiously at the horse and rider. Then all three of them stepped deeper into the trees and were gone.

By this time the rain had started to subside. I sighed, reached for my iPod, then paused. I hadn't done a single interesting thing all summer long. Why not have a little adventure for once? 

I pulled my jacket on as everything I had ever been told about talking to strangers and going off into the forest on my own ran through my head. I ignored the thoughts as if they were a commercial for a real estate company. 

I peeked around the corner to see if the coast was clear. Dad was reading a magazine by the fireplace. No need to worry about him. I scanned the room for Mom. She was bending down, putting pies in the oven. I quickly tip-toed past them and was out the door before you could say log cabin.

I ran quickly over the wet gravel and entered the forest. It was pitch black, and I had forgotten my flashlight. 


To be continued...with the next set of words.


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## Barbara L (Jul 24, 2008)

I love these!  You are all great!  

If someone would like to supply the next 5 words, that would be great!  Don't be shy, just jump on in with some words.  

BTW, if two people happen to post words at the same time, would you all agree that we will go with the first set posted?  It's bound to happen sometime!

Barbara


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## luvs (Jul 24, 2008)

potato
dining room
kitty
typewriter
nap


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## luvs (Jul 24, 2008)

i was baking a tater to cover with cheese, sour cream, & scallions. i watched television till commercials interrupted me.
i wanted to take a nap for a few, 'cept i needed to watch my potato. 
i decided to clean. 
i began with my dining room, where i found a $600 check in a drawer that i'd yet to cash! i was ecstatic, as money was very tight.
i was so inspired, i decided to write. i went to my typewriter, i prefer that over my computer/printer, & placed my special & expensive bonded paperin my machine.
maybe i'll buy a word processser...
until then...
i'd been wanting a kitty. i missed my pets from befoore i lived here, & a kitty was allowed now.
i went to an animal shelter. several were feral & bit & scratched. 
then i met my new kitty- soft, pretty, gentle. purring, & loving.
i've yet to name her.


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Jul 24, 2008)

man, I just wrote a story that I really liked. When I sent to send it, somehow I was no longer logged in and lost it. Don't know if I can re-write it like it was. Will try later. 

Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## knight76 (Jul 24, 2008)

Goodweed of the North said:


> man, I just wrote a story that I really liked. When I sent to send it, somehow I was no longer logged in and lost it. Don't know if I can re-write it like it was. Will try later.
> 
> Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


 
If that happens just hit the back button in your browser, hopefully all your text will still be there.


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Jul 24, 2008)

knight76 said:


> If that happens just hit the back button in your browser, hopefully all your text will still be there.


 
I did, and it wasn't.

Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## B'sgirl (Jul 24, 2008)

I stumbled my way through the forest using the fading lightening flashes as a guide. After I had been walking for an hour or so I thought I caught a glimpse of Misty. 

"Misty! Here girl!" I called. 

But there was no answer. Instead, a small brown kitty poked its head out of the bushes. It sat there looking at me as if it wanted me to follow, then turned and stalked back into the thick shrubbery. 

I shrugged. I had gone this far, I might as well keep going. I stepped into the bushes after the cat and began to follow. Every so often it would look back at me as if to make sure I was still there, then keep walking. I wondered when I was going to reach any sort of destination. I had a nap that afternoon, but it was getting pretty late, and I was getting pretty tired. 

My stomach started growling. I rubbed it, wishing that I had eaten more than one baked potato for dinner. I could picture the bowl of leftover potatoes still laying on the dining room table. Then, as if reading my mind, the cat stopped in a small clearing.

The clearing was faintly lit by the moon, and sitting smack-dab in the middle was a large plate of mashed potatoes and a typewriter.


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## Barbara L (Jul 24, 2008)

Goodweed of the North said:


> man, I just wrote a story that I really liked. When I sent to send it, somehow I was no longer logged in and lost it. Don't know if I can re-write it like it was. Will try later.
> 
> Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


I hate when that happens.  It is usually when I have written a really long, important messge.  For my stories, I usually write them in Word, then cut and paste.

I'll start working on my story in a bit.

Barbara


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## expatgirl (Jul 24, 2008)

Beth had acquired the Springer, Bonnie, as a wee puppy.  They fell in love instantly.  She had been rescued from the animal shelter and was just days away from being put down.  The bond ran strong and deep.  In Bonnie's heart was unconditonal love and loyalty, two elements that had been missing for such a long time in Beth's life.  She had never possessed something that loved her just for herself.  One night Beth was reading a magazine......something inocuous to kill time when the oven timer went off.  She normally didn't cook but had recently joined a cooking site, DC, and had gotten some wonderful recipes.  The people were friendly and helpful and even talked about their wonderful cats and dogs.  Sounded like her kinda place.  This particular night she had decided to make a small pan of lasagna from a recipe that she had copied from DC..45 minutes later unknown to Beth  a car pulled up in her driveway and turned off its lights.  Perhaps the gravel deadened its approach.  But Bonnie was on immediate watch and alert.  Bonnie started barking immediately.......she was going to protect Beth from whatever danger lurked outside......Beth locked the back door and called 911............Then.............


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## expatgirl (Jul 24, 2008)

sorry, I didn't see your words, Luvs, I didn't want to be influenced or intimidated by someone else's story.  So mine is from the book of Barbara.  See what I come up with from the book of Luv.......


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## SierraCook (Jul 25, 2008)

As the summer rain pounded on the window pane, my kitty arose from her nap with a big stretch.  As I sat at my typewriter pondering the next couple of words of my story, she ran through the dining room after the mouse which had scampered across the kitchen floor.  As she passed the oven full tilt in pursuit of the mouse, I heard the oven timer ding.  Arising from the typewriter, I listened to the clickety clack of her small nails on the hardwood floor.  When I opened the door of the oven, the aroma of a perfectly baked potato wafted through the kitchen.  The mouse ran into the pantry and kitty was denied once again the age old satisfaction of catching her prey.


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## Barbara L (Jul 25, 2008)

Waking up from her nap and stretching luxuriously, Callie quietly chided herself for being such a couch potato today.  The rest of the family would be home soon, and Callie had not done a thing while they had been at work and school.  From the sun shining into the west-facing dining room windows, she knew she did not have much time.  Seeing the neatly stacked papers next to the typewriter, Callie decided that would be as good a place as any to get started.  She gave the papers a quick look-over, then with one lightning-fast swipe knocked the whole stack on the floor.  She slid for a split second as she ran over the papers, into the living room.  She made quick work of the living room, dumping a candy dish on the floor, scrunching a small throw rug under the coffee table, and tipping the flower pots over, spilling out not only the African Violets, but most of the soft potting mix.  Suddenly Callie heard a key in the front door.  Excitedly, grinding potting soil into the beige carpet as she ran toward the door, she stopped short as she heard, “Callie!  What have you done?!”  Callie just rubbed her head on Mama’s leg.  Mama sighed, “You silly kitty, you know just how to make up and melt my heart, don’t you?!”

Barbara


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## expatgirl (Jul 25, 2008)

Mr. Potato Head was lonely.........he was the only one in the barrel without a girlfriend and had been on the market a looooooong time..........he was tired of changing disguises only for kids' pleasure..........so during a cat nap during cold storage an idea came to him.......why not send a letter and advertise for a girlfriend......he got out the old typewriter.....sorry kids.....this accessory didn't come with Mr. Potato Head........only the face changes.....and he posted a picture of himself lying across the dining room table as a young spud..... it wasn't long before a young hot potato named "Kitty" wrote him back............lucky for her he wasn't a masher.....he was sincere as most people from Idaho are.........it wasn't long before they became Mr & Mrs. Potato Head and made millions on the market........  and they sprouted happily ever after...........the end


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## expatgirl (Jul 25, 2008)

sorry for the repetition of words in this whimsical story.....this was composed in about 10 minutes and I'm sure there is a way to see what you're going to post but I don't know how to do it....so what you see by me is NOT proofed........I look at it now and cringe at some of the repetitions but I was totally inspired and couldn't stop writing.....thanks, Barbs, for the mental challenge......


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## luvs (Jul 25, 2008)

such a great thread, barbara!


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## Barbara L (Jul 25, 2008)

Thanks luvs and expat!

Hey Debs, no need to apologize!  I loved your story!  What a cute idea!  I'm so glad this thread is going over well.  I love all the creative ideas!  Also, you mentioned earlier that you like to write without reading the others' stories first.  I do that too.  

Barbara


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## expatgirl (Jul 25, 2008)

Thanks, Barbs!  I had fun writing it.  ....that is a great mental exercise (good for my "alzheimer's") to take five unrelated words and come up with a story.....it's obvious that you're a writer as well as others...........I look forward one day to a book signing by you  yeah, I know, SUp!  But I mean it just the same!


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## luvs (Jul 25, 2008)

well, thank_ you_ barb, fer a great thread.


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## blissful (Jul 26, 2008)

What a bunch of beautiful writers, so creative.....each painting a picture with words.
Knights--my blood was racing to the end of the story.
expat--I thought that was just so funny, you made such excellent choices in your words, it made me chuckle.
All of them --each story--is so heartfelt, or warm or funny or a combination of them, there is so much talent in you all. thank you for sharing, I'm enjoying reading each one and it would be a huge effort on my part to squeeze out that much creativity (I'm not saying I won't try at some point), it must be that each of you are natural writers.
~blissful wishing she was better at this...soon.


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## expatgirl (Jul 26, 2008)

hey, blissful, don't be intimidated.......that's why I won't read others' stories until aftr I have written mine........it's best to go with something you're familiar with........I grew up with playing with Mr. Potato Head (if you even know what that is) and I've been a teaser all my life----I'm the class clown who never got into trouble.......know why?   I wasn't a guy.........girls can read body language and know when the teacher is going to explode.....so I never climbed Mt. Vesuvius.........I knew when to back off  hahahaha........come on........I know that you have a story hidden inside of you.......


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## blissful (Jul 26, 2008)

expatgirl said:


> hey, blissful, don't be intimidated.......that's why I won't read others' stories until aftr I have written mine........it's best to go with something you're familiar with........I grew up with playing with Mr. Potato Head (if you even know what that is) and I've been a teaser all my life----I'm the class clown who never got into trouble.......know why? I wasn't a guy.........girls can read body language and know when the teacher is going to explode.....so I never climbed Mt. Vesuvius.........I knew when to back off hahahaha........come on........I know that you have a story hidden inside of you.......


If you only knew......I had a mr. potato head, lol We lost pieces along the way. Don't you wish some of the teachers would explode along the way? lol Isn't it funny that people don't read body language, I think it is. (though i do work with only men) I'll try, I promise, give me time. I probably have a story in me, I'm just working on it. ~bliss


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## Robo410 (Jul 26, 2008)

I am such a multi-tasker, I was relaxing outside reading a magazine while watching my puppy play on the gravel drive, when I noticed the ground over by my brick oven. A little kitty was taking a nap in the sunshine. Just then the clatter of a typewriter disturbed the silence from the open dining room window. I got up and popped my head in. "Yo, couch potato!" I yelled, "off the antique, eh?"


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## expatgirl (Jul 26, 2008)

blissful said:


> If you only knew......I had a mr. potato head, lol We lost pieces along the way. Don't you wish some of the teachers would explode along the way? lol Isn't it funny that people don't read body language, I think it is. (though i do work with only men) I'll try, I promise, give me time. I probably have a story in me, I'm just working on it. ~bliss



oh great news, blissful....I have inspired you I hope....  write a story from your job experiences.....only be creative and use the words set forth...nonne is critical on this site.......I promise. you......have you seen how many postings there are???  they are too intimidatated..................go for it..........if you have to write it down on a piece of paper before posting,,,,,,,,,,,then so be it.........it's good for the brain..........challenge your brain.....who cares what you post.............?????


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## Barbara L (Jul 26, 2008)

LOL I had a Mr. Potato Head as a child too.  My mom told me that when she was a kid they had Mr. Potato Head too, but it only came with the face pieces.  They had to supply their own potato!

I love the way the stories are going!  Hopefully we will get a few more in, and then maybe Monday someone would like to post a new set of words.  Maybe we could do new words on Mondays and Thursdays (just a loose schedule of course--if we are ready for more earlier, that would be fine, or if tons of stories are coming in, it could be held off a bit).

Barbara


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## expatgirl (Jul 26, 2008)

blissful said:


> If you only knew......I had a mr. potato head, lol We lost pieces along the way. Don't you wish some of the teachers would explode along the way? lol Isn't it funny that people don't read body language, I think it is. (though i do work with only men) I'll try, I promise, give me time. I probably have a story in me, I'm just working on it. ~bliss



don't work on it.......just let the words flow.........write whatever pops into your head.............  I do and you see the mistakes that I make....so what ....no one cares here about grammar, diction, etc.etc. ect......just post your story.........Same with the rest of you........


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## B'sgirl (Jul 27, 2008)

I used to tell my students to just write. You can edit later if you want to, just get your ideas down on paper. Often times the first thing you think of is the best, and if you keep second guessing yourself you will lose some really great ideas.


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## expatgirl (Jul 28, 2008)

you are absolutely right, 1000%, B's girl..............the best stories that I ever wrote were off the cuff..............I remember getting an A plus in college on a paper.........and this prof was tough...............sorta the same thing that Barbs is having us do.......take unrelated words and come up with a story..........but this was on Greek theatre.....Sophocles' Aristophones to be be more exact.........and I remember sitting in front of the typewriter and wondering what the hello I was going to write when an idea came up............once that happened I could not stop.............that doesn't happen often.....she loved it..........I imagined myself as a writer heading to Athens and then I meet Sophocles..........he shows me around the city.........the rest just naturally followed...........I know, corny........... but it was fun


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## Claire (Jul 28, 2008)

I looked at my watch when I heard a crunching noise on the gravel walk.  My puppy was sitting next to me, and the mail carrier had already dropped off the day's accumulation of magazines.  I checked the oven to make sure supper was coming along as planned, then went outside to see who was visiting us.


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## B'sgirl (Jul 28, 2008)

ready?

junk
jump
flower
coin
crayon


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Jul 28, 2008)

Chris sat comfortably on a weathered chase lounge, staring at an empty swimming pool.  He heard the everpresent sound of ZZ Top playing from a distant apartment.  

"Good song." He said quietly to himself.

The noon-time sun was hot in San Diego, and in the confines of the horseshoe shaped apartment complex, little air moved.  Chris got up to frehsen his glass with more ice water, with a twist of lemon of course.  As he reached for his aprtment door, he heard;  "Hey Chris."

The voice belonged to his next door neighbor, a very pretty young lady of twenty-two years.  She had an athletic, muscular build, but not overly so.  All of her curves were in the right places.  Many were the heads that she turned.  Even so, Chris was captured by her green eyes.  They seemed to project a never-ending smile, a joy of life that spoke of tropical waves and perfect beaches.  They were confident eyes set in a perfect face.

Chris replied; "Hi Jill.  What's up?"

"I just baked two to many potatoes and wondered if you might come over and help me eat them."

"Sure.  I'd love to come over and help you eat 'em.  Is that all you cooked, cause I have some left over lobster I can heat up and bring over, and, um, let me see, some fresh asparagus spears that would go pretty good with them too."

"Sounds great to me.  See you in a minute then."

"Be right there."

Chris quckly gathered together a microwave steamer, and his food, along with a couple of microwave safe dishes.  As he did so, he said to himself "Glad I didn't put this microwave stuff in with the other junk."

A quick moment found him knocking on Jill's door.  She answered the knock; "C'mon in.  I'm in the dining room.  Just go in the kitchen and I'll be right there."

He replied; "Ok, I'll put the food on the counter." 
As he entered the house, Jill's cat stepped in front of him.  He nearly stepped on the animal but was able to half-jump, half-step over it.  He muttered an epitaph or two just a little to loudly. Jill heard and called; "What's wrong?"

"Nothing.  I almost stepped on your cat."

"What'd he do, step right in front of you?  He's such a pest.  He alwasy does that to me."

"You nailed it, Jill."

"Are you Ok?"

"Yeh, I'm fine.  I just know to watch out for the cat now."  Chris could hear her snicker in the other room.

As he entered the kitchen, he noticed a single flower on the kitchen table/butcher block.  It was elegant, and appeared to be very fresh.

"What kind of flower is that on your table?" he inquired.

"That's a bird of paradise?"; came the reply.

"I don't think I've ever seen one before."

"Really.  They're pretty common."

"Well, it's a very pretty flower, for a very pretty lady."

Jill walked into the kitchen then and said, "Why thank you."

To be continued when I have more time...

Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## expatgirl (Jul 28, 2008)

woah........you're a wooer......GW!!!!  good story!!!


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## expatgirl (Jul 28, 2008)

well........it was a very hectic morning......kids.....shoes.......clothes....toys everywhere......when will this chaos end???  and the clock was ticking...........Mom was screeching by now...........kids were dawdling.......as usual........as Mary jumped  over the children's junk and sighed at how she going to have to clean it up later.....as if she didn't have enough to do.......just one day she'd like for her husband to have a period, a child, and deal with the animals....in the future she will wish for him to go thru menopause but the hot flashes  will come many years later........then he might appreciate her more......don't get me wrong...she loved him dearly  but his job kept him busy and out of the maelstrom known as domestic bliss.........One day Mary's 4 yr old  was busy careening around the kitchen.......she started to excitedly point to her nose.......inside was a small coin............how did that happen????   she watched her like a hawk................first thought......"what a terrible Mom you are" but she took a box of crayons and some paper and rushed her to the emergency room........luckily the doctor was able to remove it......he just laughed and commented on a funny little girl who had come in with a lego up her nose the week before......sighing with relief Mary had to laugh in spite of herself.........her hubby who is no dummy sent her some flowers...the end


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## B'sgirl (Jul 28, 2008)

expatgirl said:


> well........it was a very hectic morning......kids.....shoes.......clothes....toys everywhere......when will this chaos end???  and the clock was ticking...........Mom was screeching by now...........kids were dawdling.......as usual........as Mary jumped  over the children's junk and sighed at how she going to have to clean it up later.....as if she didn't have enough to do.......just one day she'd like for her husband to have a period, a child, and deal with the animals....in the future she will wish for him to go thru menopause but the hot flashes  will come many years later........then he might appreciate her more......don't get me wrong...she loved him dearly  but his job kept him busy and out of the maelstrom known as domestic bliss.........One day Mary's 4 yr old  was busy careening around the kitchen.......she started to excitedly point to her nose.......inside was a small coin............how did that happen????   she watched her like a hawk................first thought......"what a terrible Mom you are" but she took a box of crayons and some paper and rushed her to the emergency room........luckily the doctor was able to remove it......he just laughed and commented on a funny little girl who had come in with a lego up her nose the week before......sighing with relief Mary had to laugh in spite of herself.........her hubby who is no dummy sent her some flowers...the end


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## expatgirl (Jul 28, 2008)

thanks, B's girl....glad that you liked it....had fun writing it.......  kinda hits home tho;    I wished that he would have a period and a kid......hahahaha........Miranda warning......jest kidding..............


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Jul 29, 2008)

Chris sat comfortably on a weathered chase lounge, staring at an empty swimming pool. He heard the everpresent sound of ZZ Top playing from a distant apartment. 

"Good song." He said quietly to himself.

The noon-time sun was hot in San Diego, and in the confines of the horseshoe shaped apartment complex, little air moved. Chris got up to frehsen his glass with more ice water, with a twist of lemon of course. As he reached for his aprtment door, he heard; "Hey Chris."

The voice belonged to his next door neighbor, a very pretty young lady of twenty-two years. She had an athletic, muscular build, but not overly so. All of her curves were in the right places. Many were the heads that she turned. Even so, Chris was captured by her green eyes. They seemed to project a never-ending smile, a joy of life that spoke of tropical waves and perfect beaches. They were confident eyes set in a perfect face.

Chris replied; "Hi Jill. What's up?"

"I just baked two to many potatoes and wondered if you might come over and help me eat them."

"Sure. I'd love to come over and help you eat 'em. Is that all you cooked, cause I have some left over lobster I can heat up and bring over, and, um, let me see, some fresh asparagus spears that would go pretty good with them too."

"Sounds great to me. See you in a minute then."

"Be right there."

Chris quckly gathered together a microwave steamer, and his food, along with a couple of microwave safe dishes. As he did so, he said to himself "Glad I didn't put this microwave stuff in with the other junk."

A quick moment found him knocking on Jill's door. She answered the knock; "C'mon in. I'm in the dining room. Just go in the kitchen and I'll be right there."

He replied; "Ok, I'll put the food on the counter." 
As he entered the house, Jill's cat stepped in front of him. He nearly stepped on the animal but was able to half-jump, half-step over it. He muttered an epitaph or two just a little to loudly. Jill heard and called; "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I almost stepped on your cat."

"What'd he do, step right in front of you? He's such a pest. He alwasy does that to me."

"You nailed it, Jill."

"Are you Ok?"

"Yeh, I'm fine. I just know to watch out for the cat now." Chris could hear her snicker in the other room.

As he entered the kitchen, he noticed a single flower on the kitchen table/butcher block. It was elegant, and appeared to be very fresh.

"What kind of flower is that on your table?" he inquired.

"That's a bird of paradise?"; came the reply.

"I don't think I've ever seen one before."

"Really. They're pretty common."

"Well, it's a very pretty flower, for a very pretty lady."

Jill walked into the kitchen then and said, "Why thank you. So whatcha got there?" 

"Got everything you want. That's what I got."

"Everything?"

"Everything." Chris rmeoved the various food items from the bag. As each item was set on the countertop, Jill made little appreciative comments; "Mmmm, that looks great. I love lobster, and asparagus."

"Me too. So where's the microwave?"

"Right behind you, sport. I'll get a bowl."

"No need. I brought a couple."

"Ok. Then I'll continue setting the table."

As jill turned to leave the room, Chris said; "I'll join you in just a quick minute."

"I'll be waiting."

Chris placed the food in their containers, covered them an heated them perfectly. In less than five minutes, he brought them into the dining room and placed them on the table.

As he sat down directly accross from Jill, who was already seated, he said; "Those potatoes look great."

He lifted one to his plate, and watched melted butter drip down the potato skin to his plate. The flecks of green herbs caught his eye and he asked; "So how'd you season them?"

"Just a little dill and basil, a touch of salt 'n pepper."

"Looks and smells deliscious. I hope my lobster and veggies come out as good."

"Chris, it's lobster. how can it be anything less than spectacular?"

"Obviously, you haven't seen me cook."

Jill took the statement as an opening to state her real reason for asking Chirs over. "Chris, I may not have seen you cook, but I've seen plenty of other things."

"Oh yeh, like what?"

"Like the way you treat other people, the way you take care of yourself, the way you play with the kids around here, and a bunch of other things."

"Wow. I'm flattered, I think."

"I didn't only ask you over for potatoes."

Chris became hesitant, not knowing exactly where the conversation was going. He knew he had fallen for this beautiful lady who sat amazingly close to him at the moment, and he was starting to feel a bit nervous.

"Um, so why did you invite me over then?"

"Because you're too slow."

"Because I'm too slow. I'm confused, too slow at what?"

"You haven't even asked me to go to a movie or anything."

"I didn't know I was supposed to."

Jill got a little flustered then. She demanded "So you don't want to go to a movie with me?"

Chris blurted; "Of course I want to go to a movie with you. But look at you. You're gorgeous. You could have any man in town. I'm just plain old Chris. I never thought you'd have anything to do with me."

"I've been waiting for you to ask me to do anything, go to get a hamburger, or a movie, or even jump in the pool." Jill paused for a moment and then continued; "Look, I know that it's the guy's job to ask the girl out. But you just weren't doing your job. And don't give me any garbage about you being _just Chris_. If you're just Chris, then I'm just Jill. And I think that you and me, Chris and Jill, could be a pretty great thing."

Chris sat stunned. He had just been told by a girl who had occupied most of his waking thoughts for months, that she was interested in him.

"Well Chris, don't jsut sit there looking dazed. Will you go out to a move with me?"

"Uh, that is, I would absolutely love to go to a movie with you. You have jsut made me the happiest guy on this planet. I know that sounds corny, but it's true.  Give me a paper and some crayons, and I'll make you a poster expounding my love in poetry, in every color from the box."

"Well then, sailor, Why don't you come over here from around that table , put away the crayons, and put your chair right here next to mine."

That's the end of this story. The rest is left to yoru imagination. For me, Chris and Jill develop a loving relationship, get married, have incredibly smart and great kids, and live happily-ever-after. But then, I'm a hopelss romantic.

Seeeeya; Goodweed of the North

Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## Adillo303 (Jul 29, 2008)

junk
jump
flower
coin
crayon

She used her last coin to allow her to cross the footpath on the toll bridge. Life had not been kind to her, it showed in her face and her tattered clothes. Before she left her appartment, for what she thought to be the last time, she wrote a note telling her friends how she wanted her junk divided. Whe went on to say how life had become unbearable and that she had decided to jump off the bridge.

As she crossed the bridge she saw a little girl sitting there drawing on a piece of scrap paper. She was drawing a picture of the cityscape across the river. The child looke up at the woman and said "Please wait a minute, I have a feeling that I am to draw a special picture for you." On a new piee of paper she started drawing. With each stroke of the crayon, and hange of the colors, the shape fo a beautiful flower started to take shape. The woman pulled her coat tightly around her as the cold winter wind comming upriver was biting. She did not understand how the sun seemed to shine on the little gorl clad only in a light dress. 

The child finished the picture and handed to the woman. She said "This is for you and in the spring, you will see this flour and many  more like it." The woman was moved, The child could not know that today was to be the last. She started at the picture, something inside her moved her. The carefully tucked the flour under her coat and vowed to be there in the spring to see the flour. She turned to thank the girl and there was nothing where she had been sitting. She looked up at the sky and understood. She hurried home to crumple the note before anyone saw it.

AC


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## B'sgirl (Jul 29, 2008)

...Huh? A typewriter? What was it doing in the middle of the forest? And who uses typewriters these days anyway? 

I stepped out in the clearing to examine it more closely. I could also see a box of crayons, a can opener, an ice cream maker that appeared to be from the early 1900's, and a bunch of other junk like that. 

As I was examining the artifact I heard a some rustling in the bushes. It was getting louder and closer. I jumped out of the way just in time! The black horse came crashing through the bushes whinnying excitedly, it's sleek, black mane glistening in the moonlight. The rider was nowhere to be found. The horse started walking toward me. I nervously fingered the coins in my pocket as it approached. 

"Here boy," I whispered, not wanting to frighten him. I reached up to pat his nose. He nuzzled me for a moment, then bent down and began eating some wild flowers from the clearing.

...to be continued


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## blissful (Jul 29, 2008)

junk
jump
flower
coin
crayon

B’sgirl hadn’t been away on her own, away from children and family, in such a long time she couldn’t remember her last ‘me time’. With great abandon, she had packed her art supplies, acrylics, pastel crayons, watercolors, paper, brushes and an easel to take with her on her trip to the forests of Michigan. She planned to meet her friend ‘the Good Witch of the North’ whom she had met on an internet forum for overworked mom’s. 

Her long drive to Michigan was not nearly as stressful as she had anticipated. Traffic was light and as she drove west she realized that people were more courteous drivers, until, “BOOM”, she hit Chicago, tollways, people driving junkheaps, people talking on cell phones cutting others off, no one using signal lights, she was frustrated and $12.00 in coins poorer when all was said and done. Then, once past the population center, the driving eased up again and everyone drove like a farmer on a Sunday drive. She said to herself ‘I might as well enjoy it, the smell of farm fields, forests and open fresh water, it’s my ‘me time’’. 

She arrived at her friend’s home in good spirits, the Good Witch’s house, and she was introduced to GoodWeed of the North, the Good Witch’s husband. He seemed to be a gentle sort and always had a kind word for every situation. They gave her a beautifully furnished spare room to stay in and dinner was an exquisite 5 course meal prepared by GoodWeed, a cheese tray with apple slices, asparagus soup with savory, grilled vegetables from the garden, smashed potatoes and gravy, fried chicken, and lastly balsamic vinegar reduction over berries and homemade ice cream. She felt satisfied and exhausted so she headed off to the shower and sleepy land. Once her head hit the lemon verbena scented pillow, she was out like a light. Tomorrow she had big plans to find herself again, that little something we each have, that is uniquely our own.

When she woke the next morning, she realized she hadn’t had a good night sleep in years, and this little vacation was just what she needed. She hadn’t woken up one time during the night and she felt revitalized and it was time to go. Her plan was to create some art, maybe not ‘the best art’, but something that was ‘just hers’. She jumped up and packed her supplies, not worrying about her hosts plans, they already knew why she was there and there was no need to explain. 

She headed off for any location, knowing that when she found her perfect location, she’d stop and make this experience ‘her own’. She came across a location with a green lush feel and thought of her friend Barb, back home, and worried that she might need a little prayer, so she prayed for her. Then B’sgirls little bright angel expat shimmered over her shoulder and told her to walk into the woods to see what was hiding on the forest floor. So B’sgirl trudged lightly into the forest with her backpack and easel and came upon a beautiful garden planted by God, of the most beautiful array of tiny flowers. She sat and drew and painted four pieces of art that day that would help her to remember her time, her ‘me time’. 

Next month she planned to have the Good Witch come to visit and hopefully Good Witch too could have some ‘me time’, whatever that means to her. 

********
Okay remember it's fiction, and I'm sorry for not including everyone, my creativity is only marginal. ~Bliss
PS. I hope it made a few people at least smile.


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## B'sgirl (Jul 29, 2008)

That's great, Bliss. I'm flattered.   How did you know I like to draw?


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## blissful (Jul 30, 2008)

B'sgirl said:


> That's great, Bliss. I'm flattered.  How did you know I like to draw?


Um, i'm not so sure I know that. If I do, it's only something left in the back of my mind from reading your blog, or maybe a thread on Mexico Karen's paintings. If not, then it's what I like to do sometimes when I feel creative-paint and draw.  (I've been thinking lately that I should pack my supplies for painting on my vacation and try to catch an Arizona sunset.)
(I'm not sleeping am I --I don't think being up at this hour is going to work well with getting to work in the morning.)


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## Adillo303 (Jul 30, 2008)

Well done all - AC


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## LEFSElover (Jul 30, 2008)

Goodweed of the North said:


> Snapshot of a Great Night
> Author - Goodweed of the North
> 
> Jenny frowned as her gravel encrusted popsicle melted in the sun. That sweet, syrupy confection, with it's promise of icy sweetness was lost to her forever. Tears began to form in her big, green eyes.
> ...


a couple of months ago, I started a story that others were to help fill in the story lines.  reading this, I'm wondering why you didn't participate.  Man you're good


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## LEFSElover (Jul 30, 2008)

*I'm late at finding this thread as usual, behind the 8 ball...*

..............standing in front of the mirror, checking out my new jeans and praying they didn't scream, "Man, there's a lot of junk in 'that' trunk."  Since starting into this dang diet, there shouldn't be any, man have my eating habits ever changed and changed for the best....but alas, I sigh....
getting ready for the little ones to come over and spend some days with us, so there are things to get ready.  I would like to order online that 120 new boxed special version of crayons for them to color on my picnic table in the back yard, do the benches too, then I plan on varnishing them, to keep the little ones art work forever in perfect view.  Still love to jump into my new car, although right now I should gather some coin-age and get it pro washed. Before I do that though, I'd better water the  plants and veggies plus the roses in the flower bed or with this heat, they'll all croak.


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## B'sgirl (Jul 30, 2008)

That's good, I like it!


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## Barbara L (Aug 3, 2008)

Great job everyone!  I will work on something with the new words tomorrow or the next day.  I'm looking forward to it!

Barbara


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## LEFSElover (Aug 3, 2008)

*don't know if anyone can come up with the words, if not, delete please*

fraternity 
grasshopper
gangster
balderdash
coconut​


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 3, 2008)

LEFSElover said:


> a couple of months ago, I started a story that others were to help fill in the story lines.  reading this, I'm wondering why you didn't participate.  Man you're good



though I haven't tried to publish them yet, I write science fiction and fantasy novels.  I have two completed fantasies, one completed SF, and a couple more SF novels started.  I also have four cookbooks written that I self publish on CD-ROMs or DVD's.

Yep, writing is one of my hobbies too.  I did try to get my first fantasy novel published.  I was told by the agent several agents that my story was wonderful, the plot was fast moving and kept them intrigued and entertained.  Alas, my characters were two-dimensional and needed to be fleshed out a bit more.  I have been looking for a writing partner that can take my story and help with making the characters more three-dimensional.  The agents all said that I had no business quitting, that the writing was above average, but not quite ready to be published yet.

I'm still trying to learn to make my characters stronger.

Seeeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## LEFSElover (Aug 4, 2008)

GW, did you mean flashy or did you mean fleshy?


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 4, 2008)

Fleshed out, or in other words, to complete a character by giving him or her nuances, personality traits or quirks that are peculiar to the character and that allow the reader to "know" that character and identify with him or her.

My characters move the story, and indeed, have a life.  But it's hard to become freinds or enemies of them.  My stories tend to be plot driven, rather than character driven.  Character driven stories capture emotions better, and are generally speaking, more powerful and compelling.  I need to be able to bring out the individual personalities more.  In that first little story that I put in this thread, I feel I was successful at capturing a scene, at bringing the reader into the story through descriptions of the child and her father.  I have considerable experience at being a dad, and enjoying my girls when they were little.  I could draw from that experience and relate it to the reader.  In my novels, I am creating experiences from my imagination, and trying to prduce the proper responces from my characters to the situations I create for them.  I am less successful with those characters because the story, and characters are completely fictional, and come solely from my imagination.

My eldest daughter creates wonderful characters and plots for her stories, but is unable to get much past two or three chapters.  Then she runs out of imagination for that story.  I only wish I could get her to combine her skills to mine.  I write an exciting and, I've been told, great story.  She creates great characters.  But like me, she is very busy and has too many other interests to put in the time.  So, I'm still looking for someone to augment my skills, and partner with me.

Unfortunately, there are a great many people who believe they are great writers, but who, when critiqued by proffesionals, show only 5th or 6th grade writing skills.  Good writing requires much training, proficeincy in the language, and proficiency with all of those skills we were supposed to be learning in grade and middle school, you know, proper puctuation, sentence structure, proper use of point of view, past, present, or future tense, as well as time lines, story flow, pacing, making sure that the story is consistant with relation to events and the timeline of events, etc.  There is so much you have to know, it almost does take university level education to do it well.  I have that level of training, and a huge imagination.  And even with that, I'm still not where I need to be.  And so, I am still humbled by those who are truly artists with the written word.

Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## LEFSElover (Aug 4, 2008)

GW, you're right.  Many of us, think we have skills when in fact we don't.  Wishful thinking maybe.  Just because a person has good ideas in their minds, doesn't necessarily mean they can put those ideas correctly down on paper. Conversly, I've read things and thought, "man this person has me lost."

I think I went off topic sorry.  Still haven't figured out if this is a post where anyone can put in the 5 words or if it's the OP.


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 5, 2008)

Yeh, we got off topic.  And to answer your question, I believe anyone, once they put in a quick piece, can suggest 5 words.

Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## B'sgirl (Aug 5, 2008)

I'm giving up on my to be continued story. I wasn't all that interested in it. Instead I will write about the ants that keep invading my kitchen.

"Party at my place! Party at my place!" I swear that's what is written around the perimeters of my kitchen floor. Every morning I find a large fraternity gathering of ants. I think their initiation is to see if they can grab that bit of shredded coconut stuck in the grout before the toddler catches wind of it and comes on a smashing rampage. Once they make it into the group though, it's nothing but gangsta rap parties and food, food, food!

You know the story of the grasshopper and the ant? Well you can forget about the ants working hard because that smashing toddler throws down enough junk to feed all the ants in Utah! And the brilliant tile-job done in our house creates a perfect home for these party animals. They can live under there all winter and never worry about the weather or lack of food! 

Do you think my ant sprays work? Not a chance. But if you listen closely you can hear the little guys say, "Who wants to play Balderdash now?"


----------



## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 7, 2008)

fraternity 
grasshopper
gangster
balderdash
coconut​"Hey Susette!"
Susette turned at Harry's voice just as the volleyball was spiked in her direction.  It slammed into her shoulder, leaving a bright red patch of skin."
"Ow!" she exclaimed.
"Keep your head in the game, Susette." cried her coach.
Susette answered Harry; "Go away Harry."
"But I gotta talk to you.  It's important."
"I'm busy.  Talk to me later."
The practice had started again and Susette turned all of her attetion to her own athletic performance.  She was, after all, the captain of the team.  Her mates were relying on her to get the job done.  
Harry cried out; "See you after practice."
Susette ignored him.

Harry looked out through the reinforced glass of the gym door window.  The hall was empty.
"Safe." he said to himself, and left the gym.  As he made his way toward the commons area, a group of gangster wannabee's invaded the hall from an adjoining hallway.
"Hey look,..." the leader said, "... it's weeping willow."  is mob laughed at the verbal barb.
Harry picked up the pace, hoping to put distance between himself and tormentors.  But it was no use for they ran to catch up.
"Hey Willow, you gonna weep for us?" taunted one of the boys.  Another added; "Yeh, Willow, we want to see you cry like a little girl."
One of the boys pushed him, sending Harry sprawling forward.  He sprang instantly to his feet and spun himself around to face them.  But there were too many.  As Harry squared himself, he found four boys moving to surround him.  He thought fast.  In a flash, he dove toward the leader, who neatly sidestepped to avoid the attack.  But Harry attacking.  With the leader out of the way, and an opening made, he tucked and somersaulted back to his feet springing forward like a grasshopper.  His move had suprised the mob; and it took a moment for them to pursue.  Harry just hoped he had gained enough of a lead to get away.

to be continued...

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


----------



## LEFSElover (Aug 7, 2008)

Goodweed of the North said:


> Susette ignored him.
> to be continued...Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


I like Susette already a girl after my own heart
and you better continue, you still got words to use up...


----------



## luvs (Aug 7, 2008)

chapstick
tape
pencil
hors d'eourve
printer


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 7, 2008)

Argh!  It happened again.  I was logged in, spent 30 minutes composing and typing the remainder of the story, and when I went to save it, the stupid site said I wasn't logged in.  I tried the back-button and the work was gone.  I had to log back in just to vent my frustration.  I'll try to complete the story tomorrow.  I hope it turns out as good as my first attempt.  Drives me crazy! 

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


----------



## LEFSElover (Aug 7, 2008)

GWOTN, don't worry about it, isn't that annoying when computers crash for who knows why?  happened to all of us.........
luvs, put up new words anyway, mine didn't make it..........
I was liking where you were going though


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## B'sgirl (Aug 7, 2008)

Goodweed of the North said:


> Argh!  It happened again.  I was logged in, spent 30 minutes composing and typing the remainder of the story, and when I went to save it, the stupid site said I wasn't logged in.  I tried the back-button and the work was gone.  I had to log back in just to vent my frustration.  I'll try to complete the story tomorrow.  I hope it turns out as good as my first attempt.  Drives me crazy!
> 
> Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North



Maybe you better start writing your stories in a word processor and paste them in.


----------



## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 8, 2008)

B'sgirl said:


> Maybe you better start writing your stories in a word processor and paste them in.



Sounds like a very good idea.

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


----------



## expatgirl (Aug 8, 2008)

Wow, and I thought I was the only one with computer problems only they usually are because of something I've done or not done or don't know how to do.......sorry, GW, I liked your story, too


----------



## Barbara L (Aug 8, 2008)

Goodweed of the North said:


> Sounds like a very good idea.
> 
> Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


Why wasn't it a good idea when I suggested it?    Just kidding of course.

LEFSElover, yes, anyone can post words (see post #19).  

Between being in the hospital and now on vacation, I haven't had a chance to do a story lately.  I will write the words down on paper and work on it in the car.  Then I will add it the next time I am able to get on.

Barbara


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 8, 2008)

Barbara L said:


> Why wasn't it a good idea when I suggested it?    Just kidding of course.Barbara



Because I hadn't given myself time to calm down from the initial frustration and dissapointment yet.  Sorry 'bout that.  You can share the credit for the idea.

Seeeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


----------



## expatgirl (Aug 8, 2008)

yes, you do Barbs, I noticed the omission and forgot to address it-------Goodweed, hang in there.........I know you're full of ideas to share.....


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## B'sgirl (Aug 8, 2008)

Barbara L said:


> Why wasn't it a good idea when I suggested it?    Just kidding of course.
> 
> LEFSElover, yes, anyone can post words (see post #19).
> 
> ...



Sorry to steal your idea. I must have read your post and forgot, then subconsciously assume the idea was my own.


----------



## Barbara L (Aug 11, 2008)

Goodweed of the North said:


> Because I hadn't given myself time to calm down from the initial frustration and dissapointment yet. Sorry 'bout that. You can share the credit for the idea.
> 
> Seeeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


Seriously, I was teasing!!!

Sheesh, I have been so agitated by a certain person the last few days (no, not James!) that I haven't had enough brain-power to put together a story idea.  I will try to come up with something soon!

Barbara


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## LEFSElover (Aug 11, 2008)

Barbara L said:


> Seriously, I was teasing!!!
> 
> Sheesh, I have been so agitated by a certain person the last few days (no, not James!) that I haven't had enough brain-power to put together a story idea. I will try to come up with something soon!
> 
> Barbara


that could be added to your story line


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## expatgirl (Aug 13, 2008)

B'sgirl said:


> I'm giving up on my to be continued story. I wasn't all that interested in it. Instead I will write about the ants that keep invading my kitchen.
> 
> "Party at my place! Party at my place!" I swear that's what is written around the perimeters of my kitchen floor. Every morning I find a large fraternity gathering of ants. I think their initiation is to see if they can grab that bit of shredded coconut stuck in the grout before the toddler catches wind of it and comes on a smashing rampage. Once they make it into the group though, it's nothing but gangsta rap parties and food, food, food!
> 
> ...


  Oh, my, your story is great!!!  What imagination!!


----------



## expatgirl (Aug 13, 2008)

LEFSElover said:


> that could be added to your story line


  yep, some of the best stories come from personal experiences.......had an English prof tell us that we should keep a notebook (ahem---the dog ate mine) and write down new words that we ran across or experiences or keep personal experiences or impressions that strongly affected us--.......I sorta do the personal experiences side of it and I do love playing with words as some of you know......such great stories, y'all.........


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## LEFSElover (Aug 13, 2008)

My entry could have been mistaken for my mood at the time which I why I omitted it.  I loved what I wrote but was concerned [don't know why though] it could be misconstrued.  I love to write storys and can come up with some odd thoughts.
 
I like this creative thinking process we all are forced to go through while using our own minds and ideas.  Good job all..........


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 13, 2008)

fraternity 
grasshopper
gangster
balderdash
coconut

The lone grasshopper flitted through the sparse brush of the gravel pit, searching for a succulent blade of grass.  Waves of distortion, caused by hot air rising from hot sand rose into the air, visible in every direction.  In this miniature desert, Terry raised an arm to his forhead and wiped away beads of sweat.
"Whew, it's hot today!", he said to himself.  He continued; "When I get back to town, I'm gonna find me a cold shower and stay there forever."

Terry had been walking since sun-up, which arrived just after five a.m. this time of year.  He'd hoped to get through the pits and into the more wooded areas before noon.  By nine o-clock, the sun had already warmed the air to eighty-five degrees, and the day promised to get hotter.  Fortunately, the cool shade was only another fifteen minutes away.

"C'mon feet.  Don't fail me now."

The day had started much like any other day.  Terry Gibbons, the head of sales management at a local furniture store had pulled himself out of bed and into the shower before the sun had risen.  He was a man of habit, following the same routine day after day.  And there was no reaason to expect that this day would be any different.  But a phone call had changed his day, indeed, had changed his life.   And now, he walked through hot sand, toward a familiar forest that led to a secretive facility in the remote back-country of Upper Peninsula Michigan.

"Ow!" he exclaimed as he slapped the back of his neck.  "I hate horseflies."    He scratched the tender skin where the horsefly had bitten, and felt the wet sticky blood drop that welled from his neck.  Terry knew it would soon scab over, and itch for a day or two.  But he turned his attention once more to the task at hand and soon found himself shaded by a thick growth of maples, elms, poplars, and pine, all mixed together in an immense forest.  He pulled his compass and checked his direction, for the forest canopy was thick enough to hide the sun from view.

Will continue later.

Seeeeeeya; Goodweeed of the North


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## LEFSElover (Aug 13, 2008)

Hurry GWOTN, I'm 'sky'hooked
Fast fast fast, write fast please.........you're good bud...


----------



## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 14, 2008)

*Continued:
He was suprised by the darkness that surrounded him.  He had rarely before experienced woods so thick that light was all but obliterated.  He almost wished that he had brought a flashlight.  

Terry continued on his journey, pressing through ferns, brambles, raspberry bushes, and thickets of pines stunted by the lack of sunlight.  His face soon bore the scrapes and marks of slender, biting branches that frequently whipped his face as he hurtled through the forest.  The mosquitoes swarmed about him incessantly, biting his unprotected hands, wrists, neck, and any other uncovered skin.  When the occasional ray of light penetrated through the leafy canopy, his lot was made worse by biting deer flies.  And still he pressed onward.  His goal made it all worthwhile.

As the sun traveled into mid-afternoon, Terry spotted a swift, but small stream that burbled though its tiny riverbed.  The water looked crisp and fresh. 

“Man, I’m thirsty!  Why didn’t I bring my canteen.”  Terry quietly chided himself for his lack of forethought.  He knew better than to drink the water from the stream.  Who knew how many animals had dropped their excretion into the water as they drank its cold wetness.  And Terry new what e-coli was, not to mention the microscopic parasites that were a part of every stream.  Instead, he lay down in the chill water and let it wash his scrathces and cool his body.  After a few short minutes, the water had done its job and began to cause his nerves to protest from the cold.  He stood and left the water, following it downstream toward his destination.  Another hour found him at the edge of a large pond.  He estimated its depth at five feet and its width at eighty yards.  At the far end of the pond, the water cascaded accross a well contructed beaver dam, then continued Northward toward the big lake, Superior.  Terry felt as if he were part a a fraternity, a brotherhood of forest creatures.  He continued forward.

Terry called out; “Bill, Cathy, you here?”

He listened intently for a reply, but was greeted instead by the whoop of a nearby crane.  The big bird was followed by its brood, all dipping their beaks into the shallow water where it met the high-ground.  Again Terry cried; “Bill, Cathy, Where are you guys?”

Again he listened for the sound of a human voice, and again he heard only the sounds of the birds, frogs, and crickets.  He turned Eastward and followed the dam edge until he reached the dam itself.  He turned right and walked forward, pushing aside more thick brush that fought him for every step.  HE sank to his knees in muck, taking great care to extract himself with shoes intact and still attached to his feet.  By and by he reached the end of his journey.  Before him sat a small cabin, constructed of logs and timbers, with a tin roof.  Smoke issued from the lone chimney, climbing into a cloudless sky.

Terry walked up to the cabin door and knocked, calling; “Hey, you old gangster.  You in there?”

The door opened and he found himself greeted by his best freind.  Bill and Terry had known each other, it seemed, since birth.  They were more like brothers than freinds.  

“Hi Bill.  Did I hear you right this morning?”
“Terry, glad you could make it.  And yep, they’re in the stream, and I gotta say, they’re bigger than I’ve ever seen them.”

“Where’s my pole?”

“Cathy’s got it, down on the stream.  She’s breaking it in for you.”

“She’d just better not break it.  I haven’t even gotten a chance to wet a line with it yet.”

“Ah.  Don’t worry about that.  She’s just down there plaing with some chubs.  She’s not gonna break your pole.  Instead, you better take care of that coconut on your shoulders.  I’ve got a hat or two inside.  I’ll get you one, to keep the deerflies off of your head.”

“Uh, Bill.”

“Yeh, what?”

“Are ya ready?  Got your pole all set up?”

“Oh, I have three beauties already cleaned and frozen.  I’m done for the day.  But you’re welcome to go down there by yourself.  Just keep your eyes open.  There’s been a few blackies reported around here.”

“That’s balderdash and you know it.  Yeh, every year I hear about those bears.  But in twenty years of fishing, I’ve yet to see one.”

“Well, today just might be your lucky day.  Wanna borrow my pistol. Just in case?”

“No, you keep it.  I could use some night-crawlers though.”

Bill entered the cabin and soon returned with a belt-box of cold, lively night crawlers.  He handed them ot Terry and said; “Good luck, Terry.  Bring me back a trophy rainbow.”

“I thought you said the salmon were in.”

“I did, and they are.  But I’m hungry for rainbow.  So go catch me one.”

“Go get your own.  I’m here for one fish only.  I’m here for the king.”

“Well, good luck to you then.  Now git before it gets dark.  And tell my wife to come back to camp.”

“Will do partner.”

Terry grinned broadly as he walked toward the nearby stream.

“Hey Cathy.”, he called.  “Where’s my pole?”

The end.

Goodweed of the North*


----------



## Barbara L (Aug 14, 2008)

Okay, I was tired as I wrote this, and it is obviously a vent session. lol I used the last words I saw posted, which were luvs'. 

Once upon a time, but not so very long ago, there was a handsome king and his decent looking queen. The king had been all aflutter, pacing the castle halls, anticipating the arrival of his daughter. The queen had felt apprehensive, remembering her stepdaughter’s last visit. Unfortunately, her apprehension was warranted, and the visit was not going well. 

The king’s daughter complained incessantly about everything. Her father lavished her with gifts, but rather than show appreciation for them, she sneered and complained that they were not good enough. She spoke to her father the king with much disrespect, and she cursed at her stepmother the queen and said rude things to her constantly.

Watching her evil stepdaughter, as the princess picked through all the hors d’eorves on the table, the queen thoughtfully applied cherry-flavored Chapstick to her lips and began to formulate a plan. 

The printer in the queen’s office was not working, so she grabbed a pencil and a pad of paper and started writing some notes. Then the queen realized that she was making the whole matter much more complicated than it needed to be. With that, she grabbed a couple rolls of extra-wide duct tape and headed for her stepdaughter’s room. Before the princess had a chance to wake from her mid-day nap, the queen quickly wrapped the sheet from the bed around her, with the help of two of her loyal and trusted aides. The queen began to wrap the princess with duct tape, winding it around and around, beginning with her mouth, since she had started complaining again, and working her way down. She then had her aides toss the princess into the back of a hay-wagon. The queen took over at this point, driving for half a day to a large swamp. She easily rolled her duct taped mummy of a stepdaughter out of the wagon, into the swamp. She drove away whistling a happy tune, looking forward to the happily-ever-after that had eluded the castle over the last few days.

Barbara


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## expatgirl (Aug 14, 2008)

oh, my, there are times when all mothers and or teachers would love to do what Barb -oooops the queen did with the taping act and throw them into the swamp that they spawned from....I imagine that the princess in the story is a teen.....if so.... that's the way they act even to their own mothers....I won't tell you what my little Prince used to call his Princess of a sister during the ages of 13-16...she was not a very pleasant person to be around some of the time......good story, Queen, oops I mean Barbara!!!


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 19, 2008)

Hey!  Where'd all the story-tellers go?  Here's some more words.  Anyone want to try their hand at some poetry?

Goofy
Weasle
Race
Utopia
Bouliabase


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## Barbara L (Aug 19, 2008)

Maybe not the kind of poetry you were thinking of, but here's mine:

A goofy young weasel named Ace
Was preparing a rich bouillabaisse.
"If Utopia were home," Ace said,
"I'd eat lounging in my bed,
"Instead of running in this rat race!"

Barbara


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## LEFSElover (Aug 19, 2008)

_how many goofy ways can a weasle run across a blade of grass
well I'm not sure said the bouliabase maker to the lass

what kind of a race would anyone want to put together
especially in a place that is far away and grows heather

a man who was hoping to reach a kind of utopia he said
as a put his tired head on the pillow and fell into bed_


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 19, 2008)

Limericks are good.  I'm impressed. 
Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 20, 2008)

Lefe's; both of the poems show great imagination, and are so very cute.  I'm impressed with both of them.  Hmmmm, guess I should give it a stab.  Let's see....

Goofy
Weasle
Race
Utopia
Bouliabase     

This is more of a silly lyric than a true poem, but hey, I just want to go fishing.

There was this goofy weasle
who ran a goofy race
it seemed there was a contest
for making bouliabase

The winner of the contest,
you see, would win a prize
seven hundred squid
baked in seven hundred pies

Who caught those many squid, you ask,
Why the captain and the crew
of the Utopia- based fishing boat
while singing, "The Yellow Tuna Blues".

There.  Now is that reaching or what?  C'mon BT.  Let's see you apply some of your magic wit to this little exercise.  And RonJohn, jump right in, and Mods, we're waiting to hear from you too, Michael, GB, everyone...

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## Barbara L (Aug 21, 2008)

Goodweed of the North said:


> ...and Mods, we're waiting to hear from you too, Michael, GB, everyone...
> 
> Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


What am I, chopped liver?    Just kidding of course!

I enjoyed your lyric poem!

Barbara


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## LEFSElover (Aug 21, 2008)

_post some new words please....
like you GWOTN, I love writing stories but am not sure they're received well due to  folks who don't have time to actually read them.  I liked the idea of poems, they're short, sweet and imaginative too.
very nice, liked reading them..._


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## blissful (Aug 21, 2008)

LEFSElover said:


> _post some new words please...._
> _like you GWOTN, I love writing stories but am not sure they're received well due to folks who don't have time to actually read them. I liked the idea of poems, they're short, sweet and imaginative too._
> _very nice, liked reading them..._


I like the poems too but I like the stories best. I'm reading all of them!


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 21, 2008)

Barbara L said:


> What am I, chopped liver?  Just kidding of course!
> 
> I enjoyed your lyric poem!
> 
> Barbara



Chopped liver!  I could never forget you.  I just didn't have time to put every name in and so you became part of the "everyone" group.  But where's your poem?  Hmmmmm? (that hmmmmm should be accentuated as Lucy does when asking questions of Schroeder in the Charlie Brown animations).

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## LEFSElover (Aug 21, 2008)

_Hey GWOTN
I'm lookin for you to come up with 5 now, it's your turn.
ahhahahahahh_


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## Barbara L (Aug 21, 2008)

Goodweed of the North said:


> Chopped liver! I could never forget you. I just didn't have time to put every name in and so you became part of the "everyone" group. But where's your poem?...
> Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North





Barbara L said:


> Maybe not the kind of poetry you were thinking of, but here's mine:
> 
> A goofy young weasel named Ace
> Was preparing a rich bouillabaisse.
> ...


LOL, I'm the one who started this thread, so this mod has participated a little bit!  

Barbara


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## expatgirl (Aug 22, 2008)

Barbs and Goodweed, I'm no poet and knowit, but you guys are good.....


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## LEFSElover (Aug 22, 2008)

expatgirl said:


> Barbs and Goodweed, I'm no poet and knowit, but you guys are good.....


whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah


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## expatgirl (Aug 22, 2008)

oh, come on be nice.........Lefselover......they weren't that bad......... ok, corny, like my stuff but still they contributed.........I'd rather read something light and funny these days anyway.......


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## Robo410 (Aug 22, 2008)

Goofy
Weasle
Race
Utopia
Bouliabase

Walt Whitman imagining Utopia upon the weasel race of life
Commenced his view of verse made free by long phrased lines
Indeed a verbal Bouillabaisse of that both innocent and richly
Fortified the goofy leaves of grass.


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## LEFSElover (Aug 22, 2008)

expatgirl said:


> oh, come on be nice.........Lefselover......they weren't that bad......... ok, corny, like my stuff but still they contributed.........I'd rather read something light and funny these days anyway.......


just kidding, and I am nice, I only meant I did one too, didn't you see the wink in my post.............


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## Dina (Aug 22, 2008)

Where is the next list of words?


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 22, 2008)

Hero
sublime
indicative
extrapolate
snail

Our hero, the ever-popular Sally Drake, who usualy sold seashells on the seashore, climbed into her snail-driven chariot and rushed to the next destination shown on the map.  The wind blowing her hair forward was indicative of the chariot's speed, or lack thereof.  But nevertheless, she led the search for the elusive treasure.

"C'mon Fred!" she cried.  For in the distance behind her, she saw the cloud of dust kicked up by her arch-rival, William Von-Porcupine.  Von-Porcupine, like herself, sought the sublime treasure that awaited the quest winner; and his squirrel driven wagon was so much faster than her chariot.

"Fred, let's extrapolate a little.  Now old porky up there can maintain his top speed of 150 feet per minute for about three minutes before his squirrel starts huffing and puffing.  He's about a hundred feet ahead of us and we're on the last leg of the quest.  But we've three miles to go.  Hmmm, If I figure right, that's a little over 15000 feet.  His squirrel needs to rest every three minutes, for about two minutes.  So he's in fact, traveling at about 450 feet for every five minutes.

You cover the ground at three feet per minute, but never tire.  At your rate of speed, in that same five minutes, we travel fifteen feet.  So, we need a thousand minutes to complete the journey.  He needs, let me figure this out,  thirtyu-three minutes to cover the same distance.  I think we're going to have to break out the seret weapon...



_Ok ladies and gents; I started the story, and included all of the words.  Now someone else has to pick it up and finish it.  Let's make this a collaberative story.  But I think to be fair, everybody who helps, must include the five words as well._

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


----------



## expatgirl (Aug 22, 2008)

LEFSElover said:


> just kidding, and I am nice, I only meant I did one too, didn't you see the wink in my post.............


  Sorry, lefs....now I've seen it, yours is great, too,  I'm just bone tired and I really was just ribbing you.....glad you're a great sport----


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## expatgirl (Aug 22, 2008)

Goodweed of the North said:


> Hero
> sublime
> indicative
> extrapolate
> ...



are you nuts????  couldn't you have picked more difficult words???

well let's see here.......

Already amply supplied with the logistics: longitude, latitude, speed, velocity, viscosity, Sally extrapolated that to her discomfiture that she was dealing with an \
engineer from Texas A&M. Did she care about the speed of light or how fast something was going in so many minutes.......not really.....only after many dates and getting to know what a great person that Bill (William Van Porcupine)was did she gaze into his eyes as if he was her hero....she wasn't being sublime  now--she really did care for him......his behavior was indicative of someone who really cared about being precise..........okay, let's say it  "a Nerd" even if he moved as slowly as a snail in the romance department, Sally had come to appreciate the qualities in her engineer that were indicative of a future great hubby and father......reliable, dependable, caring, loving,......  the wedding was around the corner and she needed help planning it......


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## Alix (Aug 23, 2008)

*Editors note* Its not fair to hijack the thread and change its intent midstream folks. While 





> _Ok ladies and gents; I started the story, and included all of the words. Now someone else has to pick it up and finish it. Let's make this a collaberative story. But I think to be fair, everybody who helps, must include the five words as well._


 is a wonderful idea this was Barbara's thread, lets stick to here original idea OK? GW...why don't you start a collaborative effort in a new thread? I can split this off for you to start if you like.


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## blissful (Aug 23, 2008)

Goofy
weasel
Race
Utopia
bouillabaisse

I've never made bouillabaisse, so I have to google it, (google will weasel out almost everything including everything about your boss or next door neighbor) and google says I'm wrong in my spelling. The correct spelling is Bouillabaisse but I just don't care about spelling that much and there are enough links with the original spelling to learn about this dish. I'm always up for learning something new.

We were just talking about food in Bermuda in the office on Friday. A fellow traveler was describing the island favorite fish stew as a fish stew with some type of local rum added to it. Since I love fish stew or fish chowder I thought I should look into it. 

Bouillabaisse is another type of fish stew, from WIKI online, it says the broth is served with bread rounds with a type of flavored mayonnaise with saffron and cayenne (rouille) and the fish is served separately. I'll have to make this sometime soon, using the fish I have in the freezer and race the clock against the freezer burn that is sure to follow if I don't get motivated.

The utopia of trying a new dish and having the textures and flavors resound on my taste buds as I learn something new is something that drives me and I realize a recipe as others have before me. My research usually consists of two things. Google-ing it online and tasting it at a restaurant. Going out to eat, for me, is rare, and it's a goofy hunting trip, because sometimes it's useless and the food isn't special. I'm looking for someone else's opinion and ability to provide something special to eat, a specific taste and texture so I can enjoy something new. It's a gauge to test my recipes and ability as a comparison. When a taste and a texture of a recipe, passes my enjoyability standards, I keep it, and I put it into my routine, and that is what we are going to eat that night. You are invited, stop in anytime, we'll be having something special.


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## Barbara L (Aug 23, 2008)

Blissful, I love your take on this!  All the stories/poems, etc. have been good.  

Barbara


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## Robo410 (Aug 23, 2008)

Hero
sublime
indicative
extrapolate
snail

(from a National Geographic special)  Ah, the sublime hero snail, so indicative of nature as we extrapolate the bizarre mating rituals of other species...


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 23, 2008)

Alix said:


> *Editors note* Its not fair to hijack the thread and change its intent midstream folks. While  is a wonderful idea this was Barbara's thread, lets stick to here original idea OK? GW...why don't you start a collaborative effort in a new thread? I can split this off for you to start if you like.



You see; that's why your a mod.

So does this mean I have to finish my own story?

Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## LEFSElover (Aug 24, 2008)

expatgirl said:


> Sorry, lefs....now I've seen it, yours is great, too,  I'm just bone tired and I really was just ribbing you.....glad you're a great sport----


well I have to be a good sport, it's not like I can come beat you up in 'wut-evah-khstan'
oh and GWOTN, you're on your own with this list my friend, those er sum scary hard words.........


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## Barbara L (Aug 24, 2008)

LEFSElover said:


> well I have to be a good sport, it's not like I can come beat you up in 'wut-evah-khstan'
> oh and GWOTN, you're on your own with this list my friend, those er sum scary hard words.........


Actually I was kind of hoping, when I started this thread, that we could use just simple ordinary everyday words.  Each person can then write as simple or complex a story as he or she wants to write.  I had hoped that this would make everyone feel comfortable, as not all of us are professional writers.

For instance, if the words are things like "somnambulism" and "copious," that could be somewhat limiting.  However, if the words are things like "notepad" and "keychain," one person could write, "She quickly tossed the notepad and keychain into her already overflowing purse," and someone else could write, "He had filled his notepad with copious notes at the somnambulism seminar.  He grabbed his keychain and headed for the door."  Simple words taken in two completely different directions.

Barbara


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 24, 2008)

Ok then.  Here are some words that aren't quite as challenging.

Monkey
Hornet
Aardvark
Dutch Oven
Thyme

Easy enough words?

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 24, 2008)

Ahhh.  I was just kidding.  Here are some words that we can all use.

Kool-Aid
Watermelon
Squirt Gun
Lake
Picknick

Seeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## Barbara L (Aug 24, 2008)

Thanks for being a good sport!  I will probably work on my story while we are on the road tomorrow and post it as soon as I can get back online.  

Barbara


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## LEFSElover (Aug 24, 2008)

Barbara L said:


> Actually I was kind of hoping, when I started this thread, that we could use just simple ordinary everyday words. Each person can then write as simple or complex a story as he or she wants to write. I had hoped that this would make everyone feel comfortable, as not all of us are professional writers.
> 
> For instance, if the words are things like "somnambulism" and "copious," that could be somewhat limiting. However, if the words are things like "notepad" and "keychain," one person could write, "She quickly tossed the notepad and keychain into her already overflowing purse," and someone else could write, "He had filled his notepad with copious notes at the somnambulism seminar. He grabbed his keychain and headed for the door." Simple words taken in two completely different directions.
> 
> Barbara


um, ok, but don't know why you'd quote me on this Barbara, all I was doing was teasing Expat and GWOTN {???}


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## Barbara L (Aug 24, 2008)

I quoted your post because I liked what you said.  I wasn't really responding to you, just agreeing with you.  

Barbara


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 24, 2008)

Hero
sublime
indicative
extrapolate
snail

Our hero, the ever-popular Sally Drake, who usually sold seashells on the seashore, climbed into her snail-driven chariot and rushed to the next destination shown on the map. The wind blowing her hair forward was indicative of the chariot's speed, or lack thereof. But nevertheless, she led the search for the elusive treasure.

"C'mon Fred!" she cried. For in the distance behind her, she saw the cloud of dust kicked up by her arch-rival, William Von-Porcupine. Von-Porcupine, like herself, sought the sublime treasure that awaited the quest winner; and his squirrel driven wagon was so much faster than her chariot.

"Fred, let's extrapolate a little. Now old porky up there can maintain his top speed of 150 feet per minute for about three minutes before his squirrel starts huffing and puffing. He's about a hundred feet ahead of us and we're on the last leg of the quest. But we've three miles to go. Hmmm, If I figure right, that's a little over 15000 feet. His squirrel needs to rest every three minutes, for about two minutes. So he's in fact, traveling at about 450 feet for every five minutes.

You cover the ground at three feet per minute, but never tire. At your rate of speed, in that same five minutes, we travel fifteen feet. So, we need a thousand minutes to complete the journey. He needs, let me figure this out, thirty-three minutes to cover the same distance. I think we're going to have to break out the secret weapon...

Sally pulled the reins, stopping her steady steed, and dismounted the chariot.  Walking to one side, she removed a skateboard that had been attached for just such a purpose.  She had known that the last leg of the journey would be run across a plateau of granite, which would allow the wheeled board to be of use.  With skateboard in hand, she briskly walked to the other side and opened a compartment that folded away from the chariot side, and removed a collapsible kite, along with a long cord.  

"Fred, Let's give you a rest, and get some speed up.  I think we have enough wind to make this work."

Sally placed the skateboard on the ground, parallel and beside the snail.  She then toppled Fred to his side, no easy task considering that his shell weighed nearly two-hundred pounds.  Then she kicked the board sideways, and with a gargantuan effort, managed to right the snail onto the board.  She then attached one end of the sturdy cord to his yoke, and the other to the kite.  The wind quickly lifted the silken kite into the air, tugging fiercely on snail's yolk as the impromptu sail flew before the it.  Sally had barely enough time to close the compartment and climb once again into the chariot.  But with a quick burst of speed, she managed.

"Now we're moving, Fred." she cried.

In a matter of moments, she percieved the distance between her and her adversary lengthen dramatically.  Fred, he just enjoyed the ride.

The thousand minutes was shortened to 1 hour, with the aid of the wind-driven kite.  Before the day was out, she had completed her journey.  Sally pulled the kite from the sky and stored it in its compartment.  She removed the skateboard from beneath Fred, and tied him to a nearby tree.  For before her lay the treasure, a year's supply of Fine chocolate conffections from and estraordinary New York chocolatier.

Another hour saw her arch rival, the insidious William Von-Porcupine arrive at the treasure.

"Vell frauline,..." he said.  "It seems you beat me to the treasure."

"That's right porky." she said as she popped a lucious blueberry-filled truffle into her mouth.

"But how did you get here so fast, and with just that snail?"

"Ah, you old scoundroll, that's my secret now, isn't it."

"Next time, frauline, next time..."

And with a shake of his fist, William Von-Pocupine auspiciously fled the scene, heading back the way he'd come, with a cloud of dust making the only testimony of his presence.

"Fred,..." inquired our hero, "...how are we gonna get all of this chocolate home?"

Before Sally could ponder the question for very long, a man dressed in a crimson tuxedo appeared, seemingly from nowhere and addressed her.

"Miss Sally Drake, you are the winner of fine chocolates from the owner and chocolatier of our fine company, and she has an offer for you.  If you will agree to her terms, you will not only receive the fine chocolate that is already yours, but you will become the next owner and chocolatier of our company."

"But I don't know anything about making chocolates." answered Sally.

"Ah, but in successfuly completing this quest, you have shown great fortitude, and an uncanny ability to overcome many great challenges, using wit and wisdom.  You have proven yourself worthy."

Sally thought for a moment, then inquired, "Can I bring Fred?"

"Yes child, you can bring Fred, and your imediate family, all to live in the cloud mansion, in the hidden mountain."

Sally could hardly contain her composure as she gleefully answered, "Then I accept the offer.  I accept, I accept, I accept!"


"Sally." came her mother's voice from the bedroom doorway.

Sally awoke from a most wondrous dream.  She stretched breifly and answered; "Mom, I had the most wonderful dream..." and she began to repeat the dream for her mother.

"Sally..." her mother interupted.  "There is someone at the door to see you.  He's dressed in a crimson tuxedo and says he has a business offer for you."

Sally's eys grew wide as she leaped out of her bed.  She hurriedly threw on her robe and ran to the door.  Before her stood the man from her dream; and he held before him a a box of chocolates...

The end.

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North
* 
*


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 24, 2008)

Goofy
weasel
Race
Utopia
bouillabaisse


"This is just nuts!"
Bilben, an accomplished chef, was frustrated by the contest rules.  He continued complaining to his wife, a very lovely weasel named Irma; "Look at this.  First I have to make a bouillabaisse, and then hall it all the way to Utopia, and it has to be hot when it gets there!"

"Oh Bilben..." she replied.  "...Why do you enter these goofy races?  They always get you so upset."

"I race because I'm the best.  Can't you see that woman?  I have a reputation to uphold."

"Well I think you're as goofy as this race."

Bilben ignored his wife and began planning his strategy.  The first thing he had to do was contact his partner, Harry, the blue-tick hound.  Harry could sniff out any ingredients that would be needed, and was a powerful ally in a scrap as well.  And Bilben, as his weasle nature would suggest, was good at getting into scraps...

To be ocntinued.   I need some breakfast.

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## Chico Buller (Aug 24, 2008)

I was wondering if unkempt bikers could play.

Kool-Aid
Watermelon
Squirt Gun
Lake
Picknick

It was a dark and stormy creme brulee. ‘Burnt cream’ by my sweaty riding saddle! This sludge looked like a Guernsey cow had trod boldly into a flame thrower. Smirking from across the sideboard was my witty brother-in-law, the nouveau riche Nicholas AusVenner, heir to the Doucheman rose hips fortune and my best friend.

"Perhaps if you poured whiskey and Kool-Aid into that mess no one would notice," the urbane bon vivant chortled, "it wouldn’t make this weekend anymore frightful."

"Considering that this fortnight has delivered to a us a grizzly murder I could probably entertain the family with poached marsupial and no one would notice..."

There, I had said it openly. _The murder_. A scant two syllables that hung crepe upon the regatta, its opening spring festivities and the unspoken realignment of status for a few nondescript local virgins. And just as the breathless remains of our beloved Tyrone Vizniak (head split like a summer watermelon) reclined in the dank stable abutment awaiting Constable Brunhill’s entrance, also lifeless was this murky pot before me.

"I fear that if this potters’ porridge stiffens further you won’t be able to cut it with a Pick, Nick," I lamented.

"Quite ghastly that Sir Fredrich Smerdley was taken ill," the young Nicholas gesticulated, "Tragic to imagine both upstairs servants dying in the collapse of that drafty old manse he puchased from Veronica Lake’s estate after she died in The South of France in 1974."

Without warning the missing clue shot through me like a simmering saute of lard from a child’s squirt gun.

"Nicholas, you old highwayman, you’ve solved the ruse!" I intoned. "Any movie fanatic of Ms. Lake knows that she expired in Burlington, Vermont in 1973!"

Instantly, the brulee started to clear...


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Aug 24, 2008)

Chico Buller said:


> I was wondering if unkempt bikers could play.
> 
> Kool-Aid
> Watermelon
> ...



Think you should rename yourself - Biker Shakespear.

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## blissful (Aug 24, 2008)

Chico Buller said:


> It was a dark and stormy creme brulee.


You've made very many funny lines.


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## Chico Buller (Aug 24, 2008)

Well, I don't know about you, but I'm having fun.

Hero
sublime
indicative
extrapolate
snail

*"A Stormy Brulee" Chapter Two*.

...and as my tawdry concoction thinned, it became clear to the twain of us that this most foul deed was crafted as artfully as is indicative of a hand lacquered Chinese Puzzle Box.

I spun sharply on my Bruno Magli kid glove Nemans and confronted Nicholas in this sublime euphoria of acuity. "My brother, did Sir Vizniak keep his steamship agency travel license updated?"

"Of course, fine waste of money to traverse the globe at the pace of a snail, if you ask me, what," the AusVenner sniped, "Just Thursday I saw his girl Friday place the renewal document on his bureau, poor Wednesday’s child..."

"Bod Hopkins, you are correct, Nicholas," I bleated, "she was stricken at quite the speed of that wallpaper blight. I fear more is to come!"

"Tell me, ol’ dodger," Nicholas mused, "At just exactly what school did you matriculate on this abiding art of deduction you extrapolate?"

"Elementary, my dear Nicholas, elementary," I responded, "But we haven’t the luxury to compare old school ties at this juncture. Tell me, do you still keep a revolver?"

"Dear, me, of course," tossed AusVenner, "as is my practice I am always with my Webley-Vickers .38 Cartridge of Smith & Wesson, secreted in my rumba truss."

"Then let’s be off in your Duesenberg sedan, post haste," I commanded, "If correct, it means that the very life of girl-Friday Philopia Gorgonzmeier is at risk!"

"Izod," gasped Nicholas, "you may be the hero yet...!"


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## LEFSElover (Aug 25, 2008)

thanks Barbara, I must have been tired when I read that originally.

Hero
sublime
indicative
extrapolate
snail


my best friend in high school was named Gail
we were complete opposites, my nickname for her was snail


she was very shy, and of that, I'd extrapolate
it annoyed her so and was something she grew to hate

I adored her all my life though
she was in fact my hero

her quiet self was indicative of her sweet spirit and loving heart
meeting her in the ninth grade, I fell in love with her from the start

her taste in clothes was simply sublime
I didn't have the energy, or effort to buy for me, nor the time

we're now adults, with nothing left in common at all
hoping she's full of health and love and that the life she's made is truly a ball


I wrote this due to just having spent a few hours with her @ her friends house, just over the hill from where I live.  There was a birthday party for the friends' 8 year old son and she went, since it was close to me and our house, I met her there just to talk a bit.
We are now very different.  She's never been married, has no children of course and works in Holyweird w/ movie types too.  But her memory of us and all we did as little girls is gone, not there any longer.  Mine is vivid and without hers, it's just hard to keep a conversation going on.  She was a wonderful person and I loved her so much.  Although we are 10 days apart in age only, and, the same birth sign, we're opposites in our personalities.  I could have easily left after 3 minutes as I kept the conversation going or started each subject.  She would just answer.  Never asked about my husband who she grew up with too, never mentioned our children or asked about any of them nor asked how many grands we have.  I think it's sad to lose a really good friend but maybe some day we'll reconnect somehow...


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## expatgirl (Sep 6, 2008)

I had a hero once.......it was my 30 year old mother...........you didn't mess around with her........she grew up on the east side of Philly...tough woman...there was nothing sublime about her..........what you saw is what you got.....I remember one time as a 5 year old sequestering myself under a bed and thought I was safe...nahhhhhhh......she just lifted the bed up.......with both hands.......it must have been indicative of the adrenaline flowing thru her body........you didn't mess with her.......

But she willed you to do your best........there was not such a  word as "can't" in her vocabulary......for some reason my sister Linda was allowed to bring "C's" home.....I wasn't...........she never gave up on us...........


Then she fell sick while I was in 3rd grade......in and out of the hospitals.......even at age 9,I even extrapolated (okay big word for noticed) that she was losing weight.... ....she just disappeared before my eyes..........the last thing that she ever did was to attend my field trip to the circus.......she was wearing a white blouse and sky blue skirt and one of the girls in our coterie of 5 spilled a red soda on her white blouse and she even didn't get mad........I remember waking up one night and joined her on the sofa, she hugged me closely to her.........we always talked about everything......then the following week she left for the hospital for the final time..........I never saw her again..........anyone who says that love is sublime has never loved........my great uncle who was with her to the end asked her if she wanted to hold a rosary......my mother was neither religious or sentimental but at the very end she grasped it...and she died during the night.............true story........love your mothers and let them know how much you care.........don't be slow as  snails to express it......forgive all faults.......and love like you never loved before........


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## Chief Longwind Of The North (Sep 6, 2008)

expatgirl said:


> I had a hero once.......it was my 30 year old mother...........you didn't mess around with her........she grew up on the east side of Philly...tough woman...there was nothing sublime about her..........what you saw is what you got.....I remember one time as a 5 year old sequestering myself under a bed and thought I was safe...nahhhhhhh......she just lifted the bed up.......with both hands.......it must have been indicative of the adrenaline flowing thru her body........you didn't mess with her.......
> 
> But she willed you to do your best........there was not such a  word as "can't" in her vocabulary......for some reason my sister Linda was allowed to bring "C's" home.....I wasn't...........she never gave up on us...........
> 
> ...



Best submission yet, IMHO.  I could relate from personal experience.  You obviously loved your mother, and still do.  That makes you one of the great ones around here.

Seeeeeeya; Goodweed of the North


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## Barbara L (Sep 6, 2008)

I agree.  That was very good Debs.  

I feel terrible that I have been so slack in writing.  I will hopefully do better when I get home from vacation.

Barbara


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## Barbara L (Sep 6, 2008)

“Popeye,” Olive Oyl exclaimed, “you’re my hero!” 

Rolling his eyes, Popeye muttered, “Aw shucks Olive Oyl, it wasn’t anything special.”

“Nothing special!” Olive Oyl practically screeched, indicative of her highly agitated state. “It was a sublime deed of daring do!”

Becoming agitated himself, Popeye could not help but extrapolate from her rantings that Olive Oyl’s weekly stalker therapy sessions were not working. “Why are you even here in my spinach garden?” he asked, backing toward the rear door of the house. 

“I just had to see you Popeye!” declared Olive Oyl. “I love you, and now, after you saved me from that hideous creature, I know that you love me too!”

“Hideous creature?” Popeye asked. “Yes, it was a hideous creature. Do you know how much damage a snail can do to a spinach plant?! But it wasn't going to hurt you!”

Olive Oyl stood with her mouth open, not sure she heard correctly. “You mean you weren’t saving me from that creature? You were just saving your spinach? I’ll show you what I think of your precious spinach!”

Finally reaching the back door, just as Olive Oyl pulled out her pruning shears, Popeye slammed the door behind him, unable to watch the tragedy now taking place in his spinach garden. Remembering the love he once had for Olive Oyl, his heart was heavy as he reached for the phone.

Barbara


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## Barbara L (Sep 8, 2008)

How about some new words?  

bus
necklace
opportunity
report card
strain

Barbara


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