Welcome to the 1st Red-Hot July Writing Fest

[Lin Neiswender]

This month join our Red-Hot July Writing Festival with a new writing prompt every day for 31 days. The prompts will be in a variety of styles and you can respond in any fashion you like- poetry or prose, flash fiction or fantasy, whatever you choose.

"What's my reward for participating," you say? Besides the satisfaction of completing it? You have 31 jumping-off points for stories or poems or plays or movies or articles or blogs or... you get the picture. Plus we post a list of the winners with a gold star by their name- how's that for motivation!

So let the writing begin (once we get that first prompt up)...

(And if you would like to volunteer a prompt, message Anne or Lin)

[Anne Westlund]

my response to the July 16th prompt:

Temporarily Grounded





I missed my flight—again. Well, avoided was closer to the truth. Marsha emerged from the women’s bathroom and made her way back to the departure lounge. The gate attendant seemed nonplussed when she showed her the ticket. There was another flight in four hours. That would give her time…. I’m terrified of flying. But it was her mother’s funeral tomorrow. She had to go. Her reluctance to visit her home town was compounding her fear of flying. She found a pay phone and rang her Aunt Katie.
“I missed my flight—again. I’ll be about four hours late. I’ll just call from the airport.”
After she hung up the phone, she searched her purse. She found muscle relaxants and tranquilizers. Marsha had already taken a Valium, to no effect. Now what? Oh yeah, a drink. A drink to take the edge off. Watching the planes taxi and take off was making her sick. She passed a water fountain and downed a couple pills.
Marsha walked down the busy concourse and found a pub, of sorts. She took a seat at the bar and ordered a rum and coke. Next to her was a pilot. They started up a conversation. It took Marsha only a few minutes to determine he was the pilot of her next flight. What am I supposed to do now? The pilot unsteadily left to use the restroom.
“Another rum and coke, please.”



July 20, 2008
© 2008 Anne Westlund

[Lin Neiswender]

Anne, I like that she has to get blotto to cope with the idea of a drinking pilot! Who wouldn't!! Maybe she should ask for a double!

I did find it a bit confusing that you mixed first person and third person and also get into her head within three paragraphs. It might be stronger to stick to one, maybe make her thoughts separate paragraphs too.

My, you are being prolific today- I can hardly keep up! I better get off my butt and start writing....

[Anne Westlund]

I wasn't sure how to do the inside/outside perspective thing. I've done it before where it worked. *sigh* Thanks for reading this one!

[Lin Neiswender]

I think just splitting the self-talk into its own paragraphs will help. A very minor thing. I like where you are going with it.

[Lin Neiswender]

Sorry I missed the Prompt Tuesday. My house is being tented for termites plus I caught the stomach flu! Here it is:

July 15

You're a pizza delivery driver and it's your last stop of the night. The house is on an unlit, unfamiliar street. As you ring the doorbell, you're greeted by an unusual character who invites you in while he gets cash--and abruptly knocks you out cold. When you wake up, you're tied to a chair. What happens next?

[Carol Clark]

Hi Lin -

Sorry you got sick, I hope you're feeling better. Seems like everything hits at once, doesn't it...?

This is a great prompt - full of possibilities!

Take care,
Carol

[Mary Hicks]

LIN!! You need water! You sound dehydrated! Don't you know that the termites will eat away the chair and the rope, and that delivery man will be set free just before the old unusual character forces him to eat a "magic mushroom" off the pizza he delivered?

Please, my friend, get some more rest!!

XO

[Anne Westlund]

my response to the July 15th prompt:

Study in Cerulean Blue





Owww! My head hurts! I tried to move, but my wrists and ankles were tied. Now, I remember. I was delivering pizza. This was my last stop for the night. I’m pretty sure no one knows where I am. That fact sent a chill down my spine. The room was dimly lit and badly decorated. There were doilies everywhere, from the Late Doily Period, I presume.
“Hey lady, there’s not enough pepperoni on this pizza. Like five pieces. I don’t know why I keep ordering from you guys. Oh yeah, fast service.”
The owner of the voice came into view. A rather overweight guy, dressed entirely in plaid, in his 30s, with thinning hair stood before me.
“Let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”
My fingers were crossed behind my back.
“No. Not yet. There’s something I want to show you first.”
Oh my God. A pervert.
He was soon back holding something in his hands. They were canvases. He stacked them against the wall, painted side away from me. He brought out more and more, until I couldn’t count them all. Then he stood in front of me and dramatically turned over the first one, saying, “No one is interested. I just wanted to show someone, anyone.”
His paintings were revolting pictures of bucolic subjects, all rendered in hideous colors, all very badly painted.
“Nice,” I said.
“It’s a farm,” he said, unnecessarily. In between paintings I asked him to let me go. I found out his name was Edgar and that he lived alone, of course. He showed me painting after painting. I said the most charitable things I could come up with.
“Nice use of color….I like that there….just like Van Gogh….”
He ate it all up. Beaming with pride, he finally untied me. I promised to come back and look at future paintings. Once out the front door I walked very quickly to my car, the Domino’s side panels mocking me. I started it up and put my foot on the gas. Never to return. Except maybe with a cop.



July 20, 2008
© 2008 Anne Westlund

[Lin Neiswender]

... and the bad art task force! Boy, I thought she was in for some perv action for sure, so being forced to look at crappy living room art was a real twist. Love the comments she made!

[Anne Westlund]

Thanks, Lin!

[Valerie K]

July 17th prompt:

Write a 250-word story about an apparition.

(From Musings by Grim Software)

[Anne Westlund]

my response to the July 17th prompt:

Ghost Brother





It was the ghost of her brother, Justin, Tara just knew it. When the room took a sudden chill, or papers skidded to the floor effortlessly. Justin had come back. He died three weeks ago in a car crash, his fault, drinking. Two other friends of his had died as well. But this was Justin. The ghost of Justin. He could dial up the anger in any room in seconds. All of a sudden there were heated arguments at the breakfast table, along with frost on the windows. In May. Tara had cried at the funeral, but not since then. She wished Justin would go on to the Great Beyond and soon. Tara especially hated it when he followed her to school, like a lost puppy. Then she was just as likely to drop her lunch in some boy’s lap, as lose her chemistry book. It was all Justin’s fault. One night she’d had enough, she screamed, “Go away, Justin!”

He responded by slamming the closet door. Tara dissolved in a puddle of tears. Her parents checked her into the Crisis Center that night. No one believed her, no one understood her. They started her on anti-depressants and everything was ok for awhile. For a little while.


July 20, 2008
© 2008 Anne Westlund