Timed Writing Exercises for June, 2019 - Hot Water and Heat

Sense of place and setting scenes are two exercises that require a fair amount of brain power. Stream of consciousness writing demands rapid access to descriptors and word crafting. As I began clearing up some loose bits on my dining room table yesterday, I came across a couple of ‘postcard’ stories from this month's Writers group. We were a small group, and still just as entertaining as ever. I’ve included both our assigned writing as well as the writing exercise our host provided for the afternoon. This group imposed assignment for June was a choice of two openings:

‘He suddenly realized his survival depended on knowing what she was hiding from him’

or

“Should I ask why you have a knife in your purse?”

“It’s a dagger actually and no, you shouldn’t.”

Procrastination prevented me from writing out this assignment until the morning of our group. I already had thoughts that had mulled around for an entire month. Here is A Dangerous Liaison penned in about 15 minutes and edited today for this post.

A Dangerous Liaison

He suddenly realized his survival depended on knowing what she was hiding from him. Her voice was soft and just a little too sweet.  But the inflection was so slight, he couldn’t really tell if she was being insincere or it was just the way she spoke. He had only known her for a couple of weeks. They had been out to dinner several times. That should have been enough for him to get a sense of who she was. Then there were the two dances they had been to, She was an excellent and very provocative dancer. Still there were no clues. But damn, she was beautiful! Dangerously beautiful. Going to the movies did not count as they seemed only to sit in silence, her hand resting just above his knee. Softly and casually, but that hadn’t stopped him from being distracted from the movie. As the tension mounted - in the movie -  he could feel her nails dig ever so slightly into his warming thighs. But there was just something. An edge. Sharp and well disguised in her intoxicating presence. Cascades of thick brunette locks graced her bare shoulders. Their wine glasses were full, sparkling with champagne and hope. Steven took a deep breath and locked eyes with her deep violet eyes. 

“We’ve had a wonderful two weeks.” He hesitated, not certain of his next words. Fumbling, they tumbled out: “Should I ask why you have a knife in your purse?”

Daphne tossed her long locks and laughed cruelly. 
“It’s a dagger actually and no, you shouldn’t.”

*****

My second postcard story was our assignment that afternoon. We were given several sentences to use. They have been put in italics. When presented they seemed like the beginning of a story, however when I started this timed (10 minute) exercise it seemed natural to split them up. I did leave out one sentence about how ironing was not at the top of her list. I rather ran out of words somewhere around ‘heat of the day’, but the timer was still going so I just put down a lot of words. I’ve done bit of editing just to have this story make more sense.

It really was a rather difficult write!

Heat Wave

A heat wave had struck. They had been warned that it was coming but the family had not thought that it would feel like a hot iron sitting down on them and holding them fast. Their house windows were open mouths. The walls of their rooms, drying so that the wallpaper began to brown at the edges, seemed as though flames would begin to flicker, burning the paper vining roses that climbed the walls. Starched shirts hung stiffly on the clothesline. No breezes at all. The fabrics hung as still as the leaves on the trees. Electric clothes dryers were only a fantasy, luxuries saved only for the rich.  Sweat poring from her brow, mother's only thought was that, once evening cooled, the heat of the iron would be too reminiscent of the heat of the day. Summer on the farm was always welcome, but this heat wave was not. This was to be their lives for the next two weeks. Water would slowly dry up, the land sucking it dry, except for water evaporating into the dead still air. Washing clothes would be more of a chore. Open windows, whether with or without screens to keep bugs out, would be the order of every day. The hum of cicadas timed the stillness of the air. Even the children were more quiet - only asking for shade.

(Later I explained to the group that the children weren’t allowed water for their plastic swimming pool, but didn’t have time to write all of that.)

“Your intuition knows what to write, so get out of the way.”

~ Ray Bradbury