Drugs and robbery

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I love taking words/setting I'm given for 5 Word Wednesday and going a different direction with it. My friend Kelli suggested a Robin Hood theme, and instead of going with bandits in the woods, I went more with a "people in need, taking from people who have it" type of twist. What do you think?

Words:

persnickety

divination

brigand

squalor

goldfish

Zak leaned out the window and pointed. The hospital across the street rose floors above the apartment building they were in. “The fire escape there,” he said. “That’s your plan C.”

Macy nodded.  Dana peered around them, scanning the street.

Zak pointed at another building. “Dana, you stake out at that abandoned laundry mat. It should be mostly empty.”

Dana’s face scrunched up, as if she couldn’t imagine spending more than a minute in such squalor. Macy bit back a grin. Dana used to think the wrong side of the tracks was a mall without a Pottery Barn.

Zak turned and faced Macy again, his gaze sweeping over her face, reading her emotions as if they were painted in words on her forehead. “What?"

She glanced at the hospital. “I can’t help feeling that this makes me a bad person.”

“Not a bad person, a brigand, Mace.”

“A criminal, Zak.”

“Definitions nowadays are loosely defined. Don’t be so persnickety.”

Macy scoffed. “Right, because breaking into a government hospital is just how I thought I’d spend a May evening my senior year of high school.”

Zak pierced her with his gaze, his green eyes snapping. “People are dying from hunger and lack of antibiotics, Mace.” 

She bit her tongue, holding back the retort she wanted to fling in his face. Why did he always have to call her out in front of other people? Macy waited until Dana walked to the other side of the room.

Zak spoke before she could. “We’re going in, and get what we need.”

His voice was even, as if he’d received some divination about the success of what they were doing. Which was robbing. A government hospital. Macy had been in middle school when the planes rained down bombs on the US and the economy tanked. Rebuilding had happened, but slowly, and the gap between the poor and the rich grew so wide that ‘middle class’ was considered an archaic term. Zak was right. People were dying. Selling out their daughters and wives to afford penicillin. Macy’s own brother had died from strep throat.

Zak stood and handed her the pistol, glancing at her hand which rested on the swell of her stomach. Zak’s eyes softened. “We’re doing it for him, Mace.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Tomorrow was not something she took for granted anymore. It’s why they’d gotten married, and been thrilled when life first blossomed inside of her. She smiled. “It could be a her.”

Zak grinned. “Our little goldfish is a boy.” He bent and pressed a kiss to her lips. Then handed her the pistol. “Ready?”

Christmas in October! (I'm just like Walmart!)

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Got some absolutely crazy words and setting suggestions today. Hope to make stories from all of them, but here's the first!

prudent

blissful

ornate

janky

perplexed

*setting:retirement home

Gosh, this place was depressing.

Claire balled up the leftover plastic wrap and tossed it in the trashcan. Most of the snacks the Beta Club brought had been torn from their trays and now littered a dozen paper plates left on chairs. Mostly uneaten. She sighed and blew a stray bang out of her face. The turnout had been ok -  13 students, mostly juniors looking for a college app booster. By all accounts it was a success. Retirement homes were just depressing.

Claire picked up the leftover plates and scanned the rec room. A raggedy Christmas tree stood in the corner next to a piano that looked like it had been dragged out of a church basement. A single ‘Happy Holidays’ banner stretched out across the room. Not exactly ornate.

A cup of eggnog lay tipped on end, its sticky contents spilling out on the floor. Claire bent down as someone dropped to the ground in front of her. Dean Grayson. Who knew why he was here, and if he was really in Beta Club at all. He mopped up the liquid with brown paper towels - scavanged from the bathroom no doubt. He tossed them in the trash then wiped his hand down his jeans. A half dozen stains already marred them. Claire scrunched up her nose. His faded black t shirt didn’t look any better.

“It smells,” he said.

Claire blinked. “The eggnog?”

“No, here.”

She bent around him and threw the leftover snacks in the trash. “It smells like old people and cleaner.”

“It smells like wheelchair grease and denture cream.”

Claire scoffed and scanned the room once more. She picked up a stray printed sheet of Christmas carols someone had dropped and put it in her box.    

Dean picked it up before she could and moved to the door. “I heard a volunteer say they’re starting Bingo in five minutes. We should get out of here.” That would seem prudent. He used his back to push open the door then nodded to the sparsely filled parking lot. “Which one is yours?”

“None.” Claire took the box from him before he could react. “I live just up the street. I walked here.” She tipped her head then turned.

“Wait” Dean grabbed her elbow and turned her around. “I’m parked right here. I can drive you home.”

Yeah, like she was gonna ride home with the perpetual class loser in his janky 1989 geo metro. Was he flirting? She’d been in Dean’s class since first grade but never really talked to him. He kept to himself. Had a bad home life, people said. Dad in prison. Mom worked three jobs and went through as many boyfriends every week.

Dean plucked the box from her hands, snatching her from her mental list of his poor qualities.

“I’m sure you’re anxious to get home for Christmas break.” He ambled toward his car and opened the door, sliding her box into the back seat. “You doing something festive tonight?”

Festive? She edged toward his passenger side door. “I’m sure I’ll drink powdered Swiss Miss and watch cheesy Christmas movies with my 11 year old sister. Sounds boring, right?

“Sounds blissful.”

Claire stopped and stared. A wistful smile smile lay across Dean’s face. She was an idiot. She’d barely spoken ten words to him their entire school careers, and here he was probably just a lonely kid looking for a friend. For a night to sit with someone drinking cheap hot chocolate and watching stupid movies.  Claire took a step forward. “You want to come over? My mom always makes a lot for dinner. And we have the Sam’s Club barrel of Swiss Miss.”

He stared at her, his open mouth and creased forehead making him look perplexed or shy, she couldn’t tell which. A long moment stretched by as he glanced away then back to her face again. Geez, this wasn’t the Geneva Convention.

Claire tucked her hair behind her ears. “Well?”

Friday is the new Wednesday.

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A little high school basketball setting today, and I thought I would combine both lists I got to make a story.

Words:

stars

pearls

infinity

desire

cows

feather

words

together

facebook

flocking

"Did you see it?"

Allie swung her head as her best friend plopped onto the bleacher seat beside her. A swish sounded from the court and the crowd around them erupted in a roar of celebration. “What?” Allie asked, leaning in to hear Nat’s words.

“Julie’s response to your Facebook status. Did you see it?”

Allie whipped out her phone and read Julie’s snarky response. What was with people and their rampant a-holeness on social media? 

Nat gave her a knowing look before taking a swig of her drink. “She thinks the stars shine out of her butt. Which, there’s room enough in there, that they probably do.” Nat tilted her head to where the cheerleaders hovered. 

Ugh. Fat cows. Even now Julie Morris’ thighs clapped together when she ran into center court for the time out cheer. Not that it mattered. Her ample chest had boys flocking to her like moths to a flame.

“Easy Bake oven.” Allie said the words with a wry grin on her face. 

Nattie snorted, spraying her Diet Coke onto the guy in front of them. 'Easy Bake' was the label they gave girls who were known for being sleazy. “Only a light bulb inside of her,” Nattie giggled.

“Yeah, and it probably takes her an infinity to cook even the tiniest cake.” 

Nattie doubled over. 

Good gosh, only the two of them could talk about lewdness and desire in terms of a toy for a six year old.

Nat fingered the pearls at her throat, her dad’s version of a purity ring. “Now you have Jared, and you’ll leave me soon.” 

Whatever. Nattie was proud of her virgin status. She just hated that it meant she’d probably be the only member in that club by the time senior year ended. Allie bumped her shoulder. “Two months Nattie. We’ve only been together since Labor Day.” 

Not that she had any intention of giving it up to Jared soon. Dear stars. She wasn’t Julie Morris, and no one was going to use the term ‘easy’ in association with her, despite Jared’s feather light kisses and too-good-to-be-true good looks. She looked to the court as Jared took his place on it. He tugged the end of his jersey up to wipe the sweat from his face, then jammed it into his shorts, a hasty tuck-in to appease the ref. She watched him glance at the score clock. And then watched as he looked over to the cheerleaders at Julie Morris.

Who winked at him.

Oh no she did not. No way did that tawdry slut just wink at her boyfriend. Julie's lips quirked up in a smile and Allie could have sworn that she jutted her chest out even more. Allie whipped her head back to Jared, just in time to catch the tail end of a smile he was giving.
To her? Allie couldn't tell. But heaven help her, she would beat the pulp out of Julie Morris with Nattie's Diet Coke cup if she so much as glanced Jared's way again. And him? Allie would give him fifteen minutes after the game to shower and change, and if he wasn't out to give her answers, she'd walk into the locker room herself and drag him out. And if he thought he could date her and still have Julie Morris on the side, Allie would strangle him with Nattie's virgin beads. 

Words, words, everywhere are words.

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So, I broke up with Facebook. Don't worry, it was mutual. I drowned myself in mint chocolate chip ice cream, and moved on.

But, all of my 5 Word Wednesday contributors came via Facebook. Ugh, it's like trying to find a new social circle after a breakup. ;)

If you happen to be here, kind friend, do comment with 5 little words. Making 5 word stories is my favorite. Don't be all mean and leave me with nothing, or else I shall drown my sorrows in ice cream again, and soon be fat. And diabetic.

Any 5 words....give them to me, and I'll spin you a story!

NaNoWriMo Thoughts

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National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo as it is affectionately called, is coming. Have you heard of  it? I think it's a brilliant idea. It's an online based creative writing project. Participants are challenged to write 50,000 of a novel (either a 50,000 word length one of the first 50,000 of one longer) from November 1 to November 30.

The goal of the project is to get people to write. It gives you a specific goal (50,000 words) to be completed in a specific time frame. 

I had no idea what NaNoWriMo was a year ago, but now that I've delved a little into the writing world, I am familiar with it. And since we are only a couple weeks away from November, NaNo is getting a lot of buzz around the internet. A lot of things I've read about have said it's great because it gets you in the habit of writing every day. Most writers, I have discovered, work 40 hours a week (or more) doing something else. We love to write. We may not be published yet (some are). We have jobs and spouses and kids and houses and other responsibilities. We all want to write, and have to write. But we struggle with making it a habit.

NaNoWriMo is all about completion over perfection. Which is perfect really, because, as they say "writing is rewriting." Getting the first draft on paper is (for me and so many others) the hardest part. Once that piece of crap first draft is there, you have something to work with. You can add and delete and mold that draft into something truly great.

I so badly want to do NaNoWriMo, but I'm torn. I really want to keep working on my fantasy story rewrite. But I also love the allure of something new. I don't know if I could do 50,000 words in 30 days (1650+ words a day is easy some days, hard on others). I have a husband who I love dearly, plus the gym, and a job....excuses? Sure. Reality? That too. 

I have a ton of ideas for stories in my head (oh so many, and they must mate like rabbits because new ones pop up every day). But I don't know if I have one solid enough to make a book out of.

But, I love (LOVE!) the idea of trying to turn a loose idea into a book. To take one of my 5-word-Wednesday characters and let the story fly. (Pumpkin Spice Girl got a ton of love from friends...perhaps she will get her own full length novel? New Adult genre! So fun!) So maybe I'll do NaNoWriMo, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll do my 'write a novel in a month' in January or March. We'll see.

Though, admittedly, Pumpkin Spice Girl is dying for her own story...

On my bookshelf

I am so behind with my reading. And then the library sends me an email that a book I had placed on hold a month ago is now available. Seems I can either read a lot or write a lot, and not both at the same time. Reading has definitely taken a back seat lately. But, I did read this little gem recently and wanted to tell you about it.

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Sleeping in Eden, by Nicole Baart

Here's the first line of this book:

"On the first day the leaves began to fall, Jim Sparks hung himself from a rafter in his condemned barn."

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME??!!

Ok, so there's this general rule in the writing world that you have to have a hook for a first sentence. Something that is so good it pulls the reader immediately in. I agree with this rule somewhat, but not entirely, because who reads just one line of a book and then stops reading because it's not 'gripping enough'? Psychopaths, that's who. A first line does not, in the opinion of anyone sane, make or break a book. That being said, this is probably the best first line of a book I have ever read. And it stunned me so much when I read it, that I stopped, and read that line again and again. (*insert goosebumps or writing awe here*)

I don't even know to classify this book. It had a pink "Inspirational" sticker on it when I picked it up from the library. I guess it gets that stamp even though there are only a couple of vague references to God in the book.

*sidenote: I love Jesus, and pretty much hate all Christian fiction. It's so squeaky clean and portrays the idea that oh, if you just trust Jesus, life will clean itself up for you. What gospel are Christian publishers reading? It's not real. This book defies that mold (fist pump!) and is one reason why I love it. And I love that it's tagged Inspirational, but don't let that fool you. It's also adult contemporary and YA and a million other things. It defies genre.

You can read the blurb about the book on Nicole Baart's website.

The book is so much more than the blurb conveys. It's gripping....haunting...so authentic to human life and emotion and the incredible complexities of it. I've never read anything more 'real'. Does that make sense?

Meg's story and Lucas' story are both so raw and moving, but not in big, showy, earth-shattering ways. It's a quiet book but a great book. It just hits you, because it's so real. It feels like hearing a story of someone's life. Not someone great. Just normal people. You and me. A story of how decisions can lead to mess and how sometimes we don't say what we need to. A story of how assumptions can be our worst enemy, and honesty with ourselves can lead to the greatest healing.

Read it. You may not love it. But I guarantee you part of it will resonate within you. Five stars from me (and those are rare).

The girl staring at the dragon tattoo...

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A tatoo started this story in my head, on a man installing an appliance (really, what mind altering drug am I on???)

Five Words, given to me by my lovely coworker, Cheyenne:
carnival
estranged
sandwiches
strife
giggle

Story:

It was the dragon tattoo that fascinated her. It took up the nearly the entire length of his arm, the lower half of the dragon ending at his wrist, and the top half crawling up his bicep. When he moved, the dragon seemed to come alive, like it was going to eat her.
          She'd stopped believing that the dragon was alive, of course, but couldn't help but stare at the tattoo each time it glared up at her. Mike's arms flexed as shoved the new oven in place. He turned to her. Sweat glistened off of his forehead. He yanked on the tailend of his shirt, using it to mop up the sweat, revealing more ink on his abdomen. Mike had more tattoos than blank skin. "What do you think, darling?"
          "Mom will love it," Lennie said. Especially today. She glanced at the clock. Mom's court appointment was at four, and it was just now quarter til five.
          Mike followed her line of sight. He bent - quite a motion for his 6'4" length to reach her measly one of 5'5" - and planted a kiss on her forehead. "It'll be all right."
          Yeah, cause it was every day you sent your mom to court to tell your dad you didn't want to see him anymore. Lennie could have done it a year ago, when she turned fourteen. But she'd waited, too scared to do it then.
          Lennie's dad was straight laced, suit and tie. No alcohol. No tattoos. Clean cut. Responsible.
          Estranged. 
          He'd had left them when Lennie was ten. For years, they were fine. Then her mom met Mike. Tattted up, huge, works-in-a-garage, drinks-a-beer-nearly-every-night Mike.
          Mike who never left. Mike who taught Lennie how to climb a tree and drove her to her first dance and who stood outside the bathroom door when she'd locked herself in, sobbing, because she got her first period while mom was away on a trip.
         This big, burly, beast of a man had plowed right into their lives. No more quiet nights with mom. No more calm dinners and girl time.
          No more strife and loneliness.
          Lennie's dad never called, except to yell at her mom. Mandatory weekends with him were a nightmare. It was Mike who had bought her cell phone when she was twelve, just so she could text him and her mom while she was there.
         Lennie loved Mike to pieces. She smiled up at him now, excited about the new stove he had bought Mom as a present, and so nervous about what the judge would say she nearly vomited in her mouth.
          Her half brother Dexter tore through the kitchen, their labradoodle, Pippin, behind him. Dexter clung to Mike's leg. His Thomas the Train t-shirt was stained with grape juice. And from the waist down, he was naked.
          As usual.
          Dexter shoved a chubby toddler arm out at the dog. "Pippy, no!" Peanut butter clung to Dexter's face, leftover from his sandwiches at lunch. Lennie giggled when Pippin bent her head to lick it off.
          She grabbed a towel and put it under the sink, then used it to wipe Dexter's face. He smooshed his face to hers, leftover clods of peanut butter sticking to her face as he kissed her.
          A clatter sounded beside her, and Lennie spun. Mom barreled through the door, her blouse untucked. Mascara trails ran down her face. Mom had been crying, which could mean one of two things...
          "We're good," Mom said, a smile swallowing up her face. Mike howled and lifted mom, all four-foot-two-inches of her, off the ground. The noise excited Pippin, who lunged at Dexter's peanut buttered face, tackling Lennie to the ground. Dear heavens. Her house was like a carnival.
          Lennie smiled. It was the calmest, most stable place she'd ever know.