Category: Daily

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Beh Lavi at the Bottom

April 18th is my new end date for 1000 Days.

A FANBOY warm up:
Elizabeth and Tony made the lasagna, poured the wine and served the bread, for Gustav and Konstantine had grown too old and too important to bother themselves with such dinner preparation.

The bolter rose slowly to hover above our heads, and Terri flew away.

The servants were not allowed to light the candles to guide the old king’s feet down the hall to his bed, nor were they encouraged to assist him up the uneven steps.

Rajesh intended to prepare the beds for his guests, but the sheets he thought were clean were dusted in ash and sand.

Stan spurred his horse to a throaty gallup, or he would never make the train.

The wind tugged at the candles’ flames like a spinster plucking eyebrows, yet the little fires remained.

The barbarian threw up her shield to block my sword, so I rolled to her side and kicked her feet out from under her.

Some of those coordinating conjunctions, specifically ‘nor’ and ‘for’, are a challenge to write. I’m better at ‘yet’ than I am ‘or’ most times too.

Beh Lavi, Curswoom, Praincala or Pratacalla, Jingle-pants.

Goal: Curswoom, “Woo”, wants to convince the city to increase the water flow for her district for more hours of each day.

“You won’t get in looking like that.” The guard distinctly avoided looking to Curswoom’s uncovered legs or tail. She whisked the auburn tip of it into the edge of his gaze then cracked it’s ropey length on the concrete floor. He continued to stare over her shoulder like a blind man missing all the normal interests.

“They called my number.”

“That just means ‘next’.”

“I can’t afford jingle-pants.”

“None of you Beh Lavi-curs ever can.” He surprised her by using the [proper name of both her race and clan] rather than the denigrating slang: bird-dog. [maybe he wasn’t as bad as she’d assumed].

325 words on day 944

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I Bought Plotto

A book arrived in the mail yesterday from Amazon. Hardcopy book; real mail. I hope the texture, heft, and aroma of a book will never stop bringing my day to a halt so that I can imbibe the sumptiousness of a new one.

This one is an odd duck of a book. It is a reprint of a book from the late 20s, and it is a Mechanical Turk for plot construction.

I’ve always been skeptical about learn-to-write books and software. Maybe it’s the too-good-to-be-true sense I get for the effort of writing. Maybe it’s the instinctual knowledge that writing is a gifted art. But since I still struggle with unloosening that gift from the packaging and finding the batteries, I rubber-neck these types of books. I’m sure all these books have at least one morsel of value, but the good books are the ones which have more morsels than gristle. I’ve read a few of those.

I think this new book, Plotto by William Wallace Cook, out-gimmicks all the gimmick riddled how-to-write books. The intriguing part, the characteristic which brings the value, though is that it is the grandaddy of such books. It is the how-to-write book that this generation of books forgot existed. I’m looking forward to finding out how this genre read for our grandparents.

So far, it seems genuine and lacking of self-awareness. And complicated.

229 words on day 935

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The Junko Cafe

Thomas flecked a chip of red paint from the railing overlooking the river. Underneath the red, a layer of green separated from the perpetually moist teak; he dug his thumbnail into that next. His last breakfast at the Junko Cafe was talking longer than it had all week.

He heard the waiter approach from behind. Thomas blocked his coffee cup with a hand and turned. “Could we switch me to just water?”

The waiter withdrew the coffee pot.

“With ice, please” Thomas added in practiced Bandeeian.

“My apologies, sir. We have no ice today.” Thomas peered into the main area. Only overcast sunlight from the wide entry arch illuminated the empty dining room next to his balcony spot. A double row of silhouetted four-tops seemed to barricade the exit. When he’d arrived it had been darker than usual, but he’d arrived earlier than usual as well. Hadn’t there been other diners then?

“You are having trouble in the kitchen. No electricity?”

“It should be back up soon. I came to tell you they are finishing up your breakfast. I’ll get you some water.”

“Make that two, Taniel.”

The waiter nodded to the man at the top of the steps and retreated to the kitchen. The newest and only other person in the Junko fingered back a spray of dark hair that may have been better groomed when he left the house. His moustache, however, was precisely trimmed. He wore a grey suit and black monk strap shoes, but no tie. He was a little person.

Thomas felt a bubble of mirth rise to his chest while the words ‘midget’ and ‘dwarf’ rose to his head. Fear chilled the feeling in his chest when it occured to him that one of those two words was the equivalent of nigger, but he wasn’t sure which. Not that he had plans to use either aloud.

The man’s arms seemed shorter and his head larger. He was standing at Thomas’ table when Thomas realized he’d been speaking as he came down the steps from the main floor to the balcony. His hand rested on the back of the empty second chair.

“Sure. Please,” Thomas gestured for the man to sit with him.

The man coaxed a polite smile from a stiff sigh. “I was saying ‘My name is Harry Whiteround.’ I believe you are Thomas North?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Sorry for that. I don’t…I just…I…”

“Don’t get out very much?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Sorry.”

//

xxx words on day 932