Appearances

Deceiving or no. Enjoy.

Articles

Okay, here's a technique I've been thinking on for a while. You rewrite a fairy/folk tale using no articles. 'Articles' as in "a", "an", "the" or "some". find a way to do without them. (another form of this "exclusive writing" is to write a page containing no words consisting of a specified number of letters. These are awesome exercises for finding synonyms, and ways to rephrase)

More tomorrow!!!

CLIFFHANGERS

SATURDAY THRU MONDAYS PROMPT.

Yup, you heard me. Cliffhangers. We've all come across them, probably far oftener than we'd like to. But now... now it's our turn to torture our readers pitilessly, till they're ready to become that cliffhanger. Or maybe it's jumper. Don't worry though, suicide--however much it is considered--is never an option. "Must know what happens next!!!" Remember? Just be careful not to enjoy yourself too much, or you might very well arouse murderous thoughts within your readers. Happy writing!!!

We Are Liars

So, you know how we claimed that we'd be back here on December first?

Either we misled you with filthy, evil lies intended to break your heart and crush your soul, or we plain forgot.

But don't worry, because Sarah is nicer than all the rest of us and decided to provide you with a writing prompt, even if it is a Saturday and two days late. Behold ... The Lonely.

Now, some you may have seen this video already on my own blog, where I told you all about the heartbreaking, eerie, but mostly boring story I wrote this week and invited you to partake of the genius of Christina Perri, which is much more worthwhile. But today, I dare YOU to write a piece on The Lonely.

Come on. I dare you. If five other people post something, I shall put up my own story, even though it took longer than thirty minutes and what I really want is to bury it deep in the earth and never let mortal eyes view it. You can't pass up such a shametastic bribe, can you?

That's what I thought.

EDIT: Just realized I forgot to put an expiration date on my bribe. So let's try this again. If five people respond BEFORE Tuesday, I shall post The Lonely. Because I really, really don't want to put that story up. Like, I really don't.

Hi-ATE-Us!

Good mornin' y'all!

And it IS a good morning. Far better than yesterday, at any rate. The sky is clouded a pearly white, my house smells like oatmeal, and there are no invisible assassins in it.

Also, it is November. And I'm sure you know what that means.

IT IS NANOWRIMO TIME, PEOPLE!!! AND WE ARE BEHIND!!! SO BEHIND!!!

That is why we have very calmly and rationally decided to take a one month hiatus from 30 Min Mad. And I have helpfully prepared a list of suggestions to occupy you until December 1st, when we shall be up and running again!

If you feel BORED: Come and visit! I swear, this will banish all your boredom. We are very exciting people, even when we are all sitting in a row typing furiously and shushing each other. If you live too far away, follow me on Twitter! Or check out my personal blog. (I promise not to completely abandon it this month.) And if I'm not enough, well, here's Kiersten White, who is guaranteed to be far more entertaining and enlightening. And here is the lovely Lisa's blog, which has enough pictures of cute babies to make your head asplode. And here, completely unrelated, we have a happy kitten.

Do you still feel bored? If so, go clean your room.

If you feel DEMOTIVATED: Join us! NaNo is fun, I swear. It's not too late! There's also 750 Words, which is just like this blog but with no writing prompt and no social element and no strict time limit. But it's awesome anyway. It has become like my competitive journal.

If you still feel demotivated after doing NaNoWriMo and writing your 750 words, then you probably need serious help and this blog cannot give it to you. Go clean your room.

If you feel SAD: Hello? Halloween was just a few days ago! Bring on the chocolate!

Then you can also clean your room.

And if you feel OVERJOYED: What the heck are you doing reading this post? If you don't like the blog, you can go somewhere else. You don't have to wait for us to go on hiatus. Clean your room, lowlife.

Erm ... yeah. This post turned out rather longer than expected. And ... I think I sense an underlying theme. Perhaps a message from another plane. I'm going to go clean my room now. See y'all in a month!

Sarah's Bid For Authority

Now, I know I haven't been writing anything for these prompts lately. I've been hanging out at 750 Words and NaNoWriMo instead. *hangs head in shame* But I am here now, because I MUST present a writing prompt.

Today, dear friends/slaves, we will be continuing our terror theme. Only this terror? It involves darkness. And assassins. And possibly an urgent need for a bathroom. Write away. I will post my response below.

* * *

I cower in the darkness, breathing in the stale air trapped beneath my covers. It smells bad. And I'm talking really bad. Like, mountain-lion-who-hasn't-bathed-in-months bad. I swear I brushed my teeth.

Or did I? Perhaps all this, all the life I have been living for years, is just a dream. And the dream, the one that haunts me? It is reality.

I really don't want that to be true.

A floorboard creaks in the next room, and every muscle in my body is instantly tense. I close my eyes, trying to pray, but unable to wrench my focus from the violent death that probably awaits me. Do I get a last request? Because I would really like a trip to the bathroom right about now. Not that it really matters that I wet my bed, but I'd really prefer that the cops investigating my murder not have to deal with that mess. There will probably be blood and gore enough.

So I wait. And I wait and I wait and I wait, until, finally, I have to believe that nothing is going to happen. I am alive, and I am going to stay that way. And so, with a sigh of relief, I let the covers fall away from my face ... and stare straight into another one, right above my bed.

I scream. Loudly.

My little brother cracks up.

I sit straight up, clutching my pillow to my chest. "I ... You ..." I splutter.

"Got you!" he chortles. "You were scared, admit it."

That's it. This time, I am actually going to kill him. Or, you know, let Mom finish the job. I don't want my fingerprints on the body.

* * *

Oh drat. That just freaked me out even more. Well, it can't be too long until sunrise, can it? Can it?

*checks how long until sunrise*

For the record, I did not just swear.

Terror

Happy November, world! For those of you doing NaNoWriMo, like Mom is, today is a very big day! We wish you all the best in this adventure.

The writing prompt today is terror. As in, chased by fire. And dinosaurs. And brutal tyrants. And... well, you can come up with this one.

Witches and Goblins and Ghosts, oh my!

Well Mom has fallen asleep on the couch and no one has posted a writing prompt so I guess its up to me. In honour of Halloween today, the writing prompt is: Witches and Goblins and Ghosts, oh my! (Even though Halloween is one of my least favourite holidays for those reasons.)

Happy Writing!

NaNoWriMo

Who's going to participate in NaNoWriMo this year? For those who don't yet know, November is National Novel Writing Month, only now that the movement has exploded world-wide, it really should be InNoWriMo. For 30 days, November 1st to 30th, participants are invited to write a new work of prose fiction. Everyone who makes 50,000 words is a winner. Winners get 50% off of the fabulous fiction-writing software Scrivener that is available for trial download at http://literatureandlatte.com/

Winners also get to print a certificate that tells them how wonderful they are. If you donate $10 to the folks who run the fun, you get a halo. And they call you a cherished friend.

You can register for the fun at nanowrimo.org and they'll send you daily pep talks, count your words as often as you like, commiserate with you in your unshowered, manic misery which will probably become acute about Nov 25. So far as I know, they don't yet have support groups for families of nanowrimo participants, which is a sad thing because I think some of my family members may be wishing they had a support group this month.

Yes. I am doing nanowrimo this year. So is Sarah. Meg did it last year and will be participating in writing frenzy but since she will be working on her longstanding work of fiction, she can't exactly call it nanowrimo. But that's okay because we'll still be racing each other for word count. "We" meaning Meg and I. Not Sarah. No-one races Sarah if they care about winning.

Lizzie is going to cheer us on. And do math.

Meg has pretty much finished next month's math already, so she won't have to do math.

I will still have to do cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc. Or my family will need more than a support group.

Maybe Lizzie wants to be apprentice mom for a month. Does apprentice motherhood count as homeschooling? Meg says it counts as CALM.

It's Not My Fault My Room's a Mess

My Dear Mother:

It is not my fault my room is messy. Therefore, this solitary confinement is entirely uncalled for and utterly disgraceful.

It all started when we moved into this house. I told you I couldn't share a room with Kayla. I perfectly recall informing you that she would mess up the room and I would be the one who had to clean it up. You assured me it would not be the case and I magnanimously relented.

You may be assured, Mother, that I will never be believing you again. Imagine my horror when I returned from my stay at Elizabeth's house and found my room in such disarray! Can you really believe that my packing set it in such disorder? Though Kayla may say that she has not touched my things, I am positive that she is culpable. You should have seen the look on her face when she saw me walking in this morning.

If you seek to remain in my good opinions, I pray you will reconsider and set Kayla the job of cleaning instead of me.

Your Aggrieved Daughter,

Rachel Savannah Lewis

No prompt today

We're behind and doing math. Back tomorrow.

Dear Diary...

You don't have to use the words. The painting is the prompt.

The dance was fabulous. It's past two in the morning and I really should be in bed, but I'm not the least bit sleepy. I think if I could stop the bumble bees and butterflies that are buzzing and dancing in my middle, maybe then I could sleep.  But I don't want them to stop. Who needs sleep, anyway?

Johnny was there. On leave for a whole week. Yes, Johnny... the monster who used to dip my braid in his inkpot and leave mice in my desk. Johnny, who teased me about my stutter -- back when I did stutter, which was just about anytime he was around. Johnny, who smelled bad, teased worse, and had a roguish grin that used to madden me because it made me like him when I wanted so badly to hate him.......

I'm stopping there. Don't like the rest of it. Should have just jumped to the end...

And imagine this:  I thought I despised the boy. But all I needed was the way he looked at me tonight and the things he said to realize that I've never despised him. All along, all I ever felt was a longing to love.

Why not buy fish?

This is Lizzie's suggestion. Because she went into a brother's room yesterday and found a dead fish decomposing in its fish bowl. I guess the boys were waiting for a chance to hold a funeral?

Dear Dad,

I'm writing because you said I'm not allowed to talk to you about it anymore. Fine! I won't talk. And I won't even mention the magnificent creature the Braxtons are selling for 1/3 of what you would pay anywhere else. No exaggeration. I checked on the internet. But I'm not even going to mention that.

What I am going to mention is what you wouldn't let me say last night when you turned off my light and closed my door in the middle of my sentence.

I don't want a fish! I don't want an aquarium full of fish. I don't care if aquariums are good feng shui. I want a pet, Dad. Not a centerpiece.

Fish aren't pets. You can't talk to them about your problems. Well, I guess you can, but they can't hear you. They just swim around stupid. If they look at you, they stare with those unlinking goggly eyes and then you feel either stupid or freakish.

Oh, and you have to take them out of the bowl every week and clean it. So you have to catch them with the fish net and the second you pull them out of the water, they start thrashing around like they're dying. And they might be -- if they thrash enough they'll throw themselves out of the net and land on the floor before you can get them safely into the glass of water you have sitting there. And then you have to chase them all over the floor with the fish net and they get covered in fuzz and hair. And finally, you figure out that you have to pick them up with your hands. So if you're lucky and you didn't accidentally step on them and they're still alive, you scoop them up with both hands, (one hand doesn't work cause they're slimy and wriggling) and if you get them safely into the glass, then you can go throw up. That's emotionally scarring, Dad. Not what I want in a pet.

No, fish were never meant to be pets. They're meant to swim free. Who knows how much it hurts them to be pulled out of the water. They sure look like it hurts.

Okay, so maybe you can get a whole aquarium with a filter and you don't have to clean it. But they're still not pets. They're still clued out and stupid.

I want a pet I can touch (without throwing up). Don't you remember what those studies said?

I don't want fish.

Jana

To Sleep...or Not

Inspired by Meg's post the yesterday and the fact that I got approx 1 hr of sleep last night. Stayed up til 6:30 writing script for the Bridge Awards this Sat night. The Bridge Awards you ask. Never heard of them? Didn't know they were the most prestigious awards event in North America... Maybe in the world? That would be why I would be writing the script. Wry and tired smile.

So now I will write for 1/2 hour and then I will try going back to bed.

To sleep or not to sleep; that is the question:
Whether tis wiser to abandon care,
Renewing strength in sweet oblivion,
Or see that tight-wound state of mind forbids
Refreshing rest, then sally forth fatigued
And daft, inept but diligent. Forsooth!

Cool etc

Today, use the words, "cool," "quantum," "quandary," "quaint," and "cucumber in your post. I am past a deadline so will not be able to join in today's write, having my own madness to deal with. Have fun!

Courage

Dogs and cats.

Our prompt today is compliments of Meg. Actually, she gave me several options. This one is postable. She is welcome to write on any of the other options she provided. They would all fit under at least half of the given topic.


Here's mine. A continuation from Half a Mind written in about 35 minutes. Lots of distractions this morning.

Dear Reginald,

I have decided to give you another chance, even though you have not answered the letter I sent last week. I should not have sent it. I am sorry. I should have known that a man as romantic as you are would also be very sensitive. I did not intend to cut you so deeply that you could not find it in you to give any response at all.

Oh, my poor darling! I hope you are not entirely shattered because you are much too magnificent a creature to waste away, to become only wreckage. No, my darling, you must exert yourself. You must fight for this love.

I have been thinking about us a great deal. I have been thinking while I have been watching my pets. You loved Alphonso, didn't you. Such a sleek greyhound he is. And Persia, she is the queen of cats. Sometimes they fight. Persia has a temper that keeps Alphonso in his place. But she loves him, too. She relies on him. And he always forgives her after one of her spats. He always lets her back on his cushions. He has to, after mooning in misery while she was angry.

My dear Reginald, you must forgive me for lashing out at you. I was so impatient to be in your arms again that I wrote what I did not mean. Hurry back to Paris, my love. I can accept your half a mind. You do not have to be both Alphonso and Persia. Alphonso is enough.

Your dearest love,

Mimi

Sarah's Copycat Response

(Did this during CALM class. I think it was about half an hour. For those of you who've read Kaz ... it's half canonical. This is a planned scene, (from book four) but I don't know if it'll turn out this way. The essentials, however, are correct.)

I tiptoed out of my room, shielding the candle flame with my hand. A floorboard creaked underneath me, and I winced, sure that everyone on the hall must have heard it. But nothing stirred, and after a moment, I started breathing again.

Dip curled around my legs then slipped off down the hall.

“Hey!” I whispered. “Wrong way! We’re going to the stables, remember? There’s nothing that way but bedrooms.”

He looked back at me, blinked, and continued on his way.

“You stupid cat. What, you don’t think I should go? Too dangerous for the crown prince, huh? Well, nobody thought that when I took down that hag!”

That was me, Clarence said from the scabbard under my arm. You didn’t do anything.

He had a point there. “Well, what about the dragon?”

Also me.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re just my sword, Clarence. I killed it!”

Well that’s rich, Clarence said indignantly. I’d like to see you kill anything without me!

“I took down those mermaids by myself, didn’t I?" I hadn't fought them, exactly, but Clarence didn't really have to know that. "The point is, someone has to go scout out the mansion, and I’m the best choice.”

Plus me, Clarence added. And the cat.

The cat. Yaks, I’d almost forgotten about the whole reason for the argument. I crept down the hall, peering in the shadows. “Come on, Dip. Where …” I cut off as I found him. He was squatting beside a door at the very end of the hall, looking pleased with himself.

“You’ve made me come a whole hallway in the wrong direction. I could have been caught. Are you happy now?”

He meowed, causing me to wince and look around at the bedrooms. Nobody stirred – I guess they were all used to cats by now.

“Shh,” I hissed. “Do you want to wake up …” I peered at the door, trying to remember who was sleeping in there. Al? No, he was on the other side of the hallway. That door was … “Sharli?” I said incredulously.

Dip meowed again, scratching at the door. I dived for him. That was a very bad idea. His claws flashed like lightning, raking down my hand, and I stifled a yelp. “Dip … we can’t take Sharli. Not anymore.”
He hissed at me, his eyes glowing yellow in the light of my candle.

“It’s not my fault!” I snapped. “I’d take her in a minute. It’s her. She doesn’t want us anymore.” Not that she wouldn’t come if I asked. Sharli wouldn’t want to be let out of something this big any more than I would. But that was the point – she had left me out of that business with the giants. I figured it was my turn.

But … didn’t someone have to make the first move? I could use a partner at the mansion … and Dip wanted her. My lucky cat. He’d never been wrong yet.

I shrugged. “Suit yourself,” I whispered. I reached out to rap on the door, then stopped. I couldn’t risk making that much noise. So, holding my breath I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

A chilly breeze caught me in the face, but the room was quiet. She must be asleep. I lingered out in the hall, quite sure she wouldn’t like me barging into her room. 

“Sharli?” I whispered.

Dip meowed and padded into the room before I could stop him. Still, Sharli did not wake up. “Sharli?” I whispered again. That breeze was still there – was she sleeping with her window open? How could she stand that cold? I took a cautious step inside … and froze.

The window was open, all right. The bed was untouched. Sharli was gone.

“Oh Yaks.”

Copycat

Oops

That is today's writing prompt: oops.

And, by the way, just want to mention how exciting it is to read everyone's responses. I'm a little awed by the quality of the responses of young writers, delighting in all their rich characterizations, among other things.

But you promised!

Old Woman Cooking Eggs

Today's writing prompt, Old Woman Cooking Eggs by Diego Velazquez. Meg and I spent approx 40 minutes at it, because this Thanksgiving morning offered many distractions while we were trying to write and I wasn't nearly done when the timer rang at 30 minutes. Nor when it rang 5 minutes later. I was nearly done 5 minutes after that so we wrapped it up in the next minute or two. A friend joined us long distance today. Or will. If family responsibilities permit.

Click comments to read what we came up with. And then... or before you read ours... be invited to add your own.

Dance at the Moulin Rouge

I found this picture in a book of masterpieces Grandma sent for the birthday of one of our budding artists. Great book. Grandma graciously pasted a few of the pages together before sending. Painting the naked human figure may be more craft than eroticism for the artistic masters, but none of my young artists is quite at that point in their craft. Fortunately, Toulouse Lautrec was featured with a painting that passed muster, so At the Moulin Rouge: The Dance was our writing prompt on Sept 27th.

Their intention when they darted into the ballroom was to get lost in the crowd. The toughs that were pursuing them had been close on their heels. Too close. And they meant business. Stanton had had enough close calls with their like to know about that.

The ballroom had seemed like a good idea. He was, after all, dressed like a gentleman and Gertie was got up like a lady. It was the perfect hideout. And crowded. They would blend right in.

But he had forgotten that he hadn't taught Gertie anything about how the upperclass dance. And he'd had no idea that her high-class costume wasn't complete to her underclothing. Who would have guessed that she'd be wearing long, red underwear beneath her gown? Or that she'd lift her skirts and dance with the abandon of the dance hall.

It wasn't surprising that all the dancing around them ceased. That they found themselves in the center of a gaping circle, at the edge of which hovered the toughs. Of course, they could do nothing in here, not with all these witnesses.

So Stanton simpered and stepped like the gentleman he was pretending to be and looked askance at Gertie with all the rest of them, while his mind buzzed over their predicament. There was a way out. He was sure of it. And any moment it was going to hit him. Either that, or the toughs would.

Half a Mind

Back to routine after 1 day in Calgary and another playing catch up. Today's writing prompt is "half a mind," again compliments of Lizzie. I had to give myself approx. 5 extra minutes to finish.

My Once Dearest Love,

I weep as I write this. Who would have ever guessed that there would be a final goodbye between you and me?

I close my eyes and find myself again in Paris, trading kisses with you atop the Eiffel tower. You didn't worry then about who might be watching.

Again, I see us in the little bakery, sharing an eclair. Do you remember how I giggled when the whipped cream erupted from the pastry and landed on your best shirt as I took a bite? You didn't chastise me then. No. You scraped the cream off your shirt with a finger, and then you fed it to me between kisses.

You were so romantic. So spontaneous. So loving. But now, look what you've become.

Responsible. Logical. Cold and boring.

Don't you want to live? Don't you want to love?

No. You want to be reasonable.

You don't want to get married 'til we're living on the same continent. Fine. Then come join me in Paris. You love Paris. I love Paris. Everyone I love and care about is in Paris.

But you worry about your work. You say you have to get the right visa. You say we can't live on my earnings as a beautician.

So play your guitar in the streets! I know a street musician who isn't half as good as you and he makes all the money he needs.

But no. You must practice law. Then practice it away from me. I thought you loved me. I thought you were a whole man. But you are only logic, sense, responsibility. No spontaneity, no emotion, no passion.

You can not be my other half. You have only half a mind.

I can not love you,

Mimi

Daily Fun

I love to write. Don't find much time to, though, between homeschooling and homemaking and ... many other things. But this year we have inaugurated a new daily exercise of 30 minutes of creative or expository off-the-cuff writing. And I'm enjoying it so thoroughly that I want to share. Sometimes I want to share one of my daughters' writings. Sometimes mine. I will only share theirs with permission, which probably means none of Lizzie's. At least, not for now.

Lizzie came up with the theme for today's write. Strawberries. Here's what I got:

Succulent and sweet with Springtime's nectar,
Tangy with the taste of dreams ahead,
Resplendent-hued, like clouds on the horizon
Aflame with rising light, enticing red;
Water droplets resting on their roundness
Beckon me and I no longer fight.
Eager for the burst of tingling flavour,
Resistless, longing, I can only bite.
Rapture greets me, capturing my senses.
I simply cannot stop at only one.
Enticing berries overwhelm my scruples;
Sorry dear, your breakfast is... well... gone.