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Wednesday’s Word: On Vacation and Thinking of Cake.

Every Wednesday, on Writing Under Pressure, you’ll find a post based on Today’s Word (from Wordsmith.org). You can find past essays, poems, or flash fiction pieces under the Wednesday’s Word category on the sidebar to the right.

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This week, I’m out of town and mostly unplugged, so I’m taking a break from the usual Word of the Day challenge. But, I’m not ignoring my commitment to post a flash piece.

I dove head first into writing when I signed up for Ariel Gore’s online class over a year and a half ago. During her course, we began each week with a quick write assignment. We were given a prompt – a phrase, a photo, or just one word – and given a limit of seven minutes to free write.

Many of these quick writes, from myself as well as from other writers in class, ended up in an Anthology that we put together and published in July 2009: On the Fly: Stories in Eight Minutes of Less. It’s a great little book that illustrates the kind of powerful writing that can result from letting your mind go and your words fall onto paper.

Below is one of my pieces published in that anthology, one based on the word I pulled out from a word bag: cake. Enjoy, and at the end of this post, check out the links to other sites with word prompts or writing prompts.

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Cake. My Nemesis.

2003: Find out that my son has an egg allergy. Remember that chemistry was never my best subject, but realize the importance of eggs when it comes to making a birthday cake. Wonder how egg substitutes will work. Hold head high and promise to be the best mom ever and make the best birthday cakes of all time.

2004: First attempt at an egg-free birthday cake. Things fall apart. No worries – next year will be better.

2005: The dinosaur cake. Recipe calls for no eggs – perfect. Cake stands eight inches high. Okay, plenty of eats for everyone. Decorations, which play well with the overall monstrosity of cakeness, include small, plastic dinosaurs and palm trees. Dinosaurs are a big hit, but the cake is dry. Cut myself a huge piece and pretend it’s the best ever (then slam 8 ounces of water nonstop, to wash it down).

2006: Block out all memory of cake, too painful to report.

2007: The Transformer cake. Recipe from a box, which calls for three eggs. Proceed with caution. Find a bubbling concoction of baking powder, vinegar, and milk to substitute. Looks good out of the oven, crumbles during icing. Decorations include small Decepticon figure climbing up the corner of the cake that fell apart. No one seems to notice. Disaster averted, this year.

2008: Wave the white flag cake. Recipe from a box, three eggs. Whatever. Find a pre-made substitute that looks like a fine white powder and smells funny, but works better than bubbling concoction from past years. Decide to bake and keep cake in metal 9×13 pan (to make sure the sides hold together). Decorations include a variety of sugary goodness: icing, sprinkles, more icing, and interesting candles. Tape wrapping paper around the outside of the pan in hopes no one will think I’m lazy.

2009: Hear a remake of that old song, Someone left the cake out in the rain. Empathize with woman in song who can’t bear to do it again. Wonder why cake is such a big deal anyway.

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If you love writing prompts, here are a few sites to inspire your best ten minutes of writing:

Wordnik.com: This site offers a “word of the day” and a “random word” option. With “random word,” you can gamble for your word of choice: if you don’t like the first word, click “random” again. And, again. And, then twenty more times (I did when I tried it). But, eventually you’ll have to stop clicking and start writing.

Wordsmith.org: My usual favorite. There’s always a weekly theme and never a dull moment in word choice. Plus, there’s no “random” option. As my son says – in a mocking way at dinner sometimes – “You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit.”

A recent post from Lisa Rivero, where she lists a host of links to writing prompts and writing exercises.

Take a peek at those sites and punch out your own flash fiction or quick write. Happy Writing!
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Wed’s Word Flash Fiction: Mrs. Randall’s Bear

Every Wednesday, on Writing Under Pressure, you’ll find a post based on Today’s Word (from Wordsmith.org). Past essays, poems, or flash fiction pieces can be found under Wednesday’s Word on the sidebar to the right.

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I like to check in with Wordsmith.org on Tuesdays to get a feel for the theme of the week and build up a good does of writer’s anxiety about what kind of challenge I might face on Wednesday. I’ll be honest, this week’s theme threw me off guard: dirty words.

Okay, I told myself yesterday, don’t jump to conclusions here. “Dirty words” could mean anything, maybe just words about dirt and soil.

Then, I read Wordsmith’s blurb on the theme of choice:

This week [we’re] showcasing words related to — well, if the English language made any sense (as in words include/exclude) — the opposite of increment.

Excrement, and anything related to it…boy, oh boy. And today’s word goes right to the heart of it:

scatology. noun. 1. The scientific study of excrement. 2. An obsession with excrement or excretion. 3. Language or literature dealing with excretory matters in a prurient or humorous manner.

Alrighty, then. Here goes nothing.

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Mrs. Randall’s bear

Mick Skuzowski drove the honey wagon for the small town of Palmyra for twenty years. He knew all there was to know about cleaning up and removing waste.

“My career is in the shit house!” he joked more than once over a pint at the Palmyra Tavern. He came from a long line of waste collectors, and he was proud of it.

The Skuzowski’s were well-known for clearing out a septic tank in fifteen minutes flat, stench-free. And, Mick in particular was famous for tracking bears by studying the scat they left behind. So, when Mrs. Randall’s pet, a 350 pound black bear named Bessie, lunged at her throat the morning after Thanksgiving and killed old Mrs. Randall, Mick got the call.

“Mrs. Randall didn’t have a chance,” her husband sobbed. “She was carrying a bucket full of bones and giblets from the last evening’s turkey dinner. Mr. Randall said that Bessie tore a path from the back of their yard, through Mrs. Randall’s garden, and into the woods on the other side of the two lane road.

“Bessie’s never laid a claw on Mrs. Randall, didn’t even nip her when she was a young cub.” Mr. Randall shook his head. “But Bessie had been acting funny lately. Then, this morning she just turned, lumbered across the yard faster than a jackrabbit, and –”

“Don’t you worry,” Mick assured him. “We’ll find her. I’ll track her, and Billy’s hunting crew will shoot her.” At that, Mr. Randall broke down again.

Within the hour, Mick was dressed in his heavy brown overalls, rubber boots, and a camouflage hat. He went into the woods with only a knife. He found where Bessie broke between some trees and discovered a clump of Mrs. Randall’s gray hair hung on some low brush. Mick kept his eyes on the ground and his mind on that bear.

For the most part anyways.

Mick couldn’t help but be a little distracted by the pain in his lower back. It’d been bothering him since last Friday. After he finished cleaning out the septic at the Johnson’s place, he went to wind up the hose and felt it hit a snag on something or other. He tugged the hose and tried to shake it loose. When he finally jerked it toward him, the hose let go quicker than he expected. Mick stumbled backwards and fell onto a cluster of rocks hidden in the grass beside the Johnson’s garage.

Mick stepped gingerly through the woods, standing on his left foot once in a while to alleviate the pain. He walked with his knife open and used it to lift brush or stab and push over a rotting log. He was a few yards from a creek bed when he stopped to straighten his back. He winced at the pain and fell to his knees.

He thought if he could make it to the water, he’d splash his face and rest a bit. Soon enough the pain would subside and he’d head back to town and ask for help. He hated to let Mr. Randall down, but he couldn’t do much tracking on his hands and knees.

Crawling towards the edge of the creek, he thought he heard a noise from across the water, the crack of a stick and the rustle of ferns. He looked up, but saw nothing. As he leaned over and scooped up water, he heard a splash.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her as she rose up on her hind legs. She had a rabid look in her eyes and blood on her teeth. Mick froze. Then, he fell over on his side and yelled out. The pain in his back prevented a quick escape, so the bear was on him before he could stand and run.

The hunters found Mick, and the bear, the next day.

“In the fight,” Billy told Mr. Randall, “Bessie must have fallen on Mick’s knife. She didn’t suffer long.” Billy put his hand on Mr. Randall’s shoulder. “Mick was a real hero, Mr. Randall, always looking out for others.”

“Yes,” Mr. Randall said, quiet. “Ain’t nobody who could clean up a mess as well as Mick Skuzowski. ”
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Wednesday’s Word Flash Fiction: Knitting at Littleton Elementary

I love the quote Anu Garg uses to jump start this week’s theme on Wordsmith.org:

The French writer and philosopher Albert Camus once said, ‘Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.’

Today’s word is:

nescient. adj. Lacking knowledge or awareness.

I tried different strategies to get my story going: word association, breaking down today’s word into others that might spark an idea, trying to come up with a character name using only the letters from “nescient” itself (if only I’d had one more decent consonant). Nothing worked like I had hoped. So, here’s to writing by the seat of your pants!

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Knitting at Littleton Elementary

Joyce’s Dansko clogs squeaked as she turned from the clean black board and scanned the classroom. Twenty-four desks glistened from a long overdue date with a Clorox wipe. Each chair was pushed in snug against each desk. In the reading corner, books were lined up on the shelves in descending order according to height. The bulletin boards were de-cluttered, all those ridiculous xerox copies – of this rule and that rule – tossed in the trash.

Kids needed organization, structure, and only one rule. That’s what Joyce told Marcie after Marcie had gasped and stopped dead in her tracks during their morning walk.

“You signed up to do what?” Marcie’s face went pale.

“Knitting. I’ll be teaching knitting for one week to first through third graders. They’ll be making dishrags.” Joyce smiled confident.

“Joyce.” Marcie took her by both shoulders. “You’re an awesome knitter, but you don’t know squat about kids.”

Joyce took offense to Marcie’s comment. Sure, Joyce was older and never married, but she had nieces and nephews whom she saw twice a year. And, she observed enough bad parenting in the grocery stores. She knew all about how not to parent.

Marcie gestured wildly with her arms. “I know some of those third graders, Joyce. They’ll eat you alive.” She sighed, “what were you thinking?”

Marcie was young, that’s what Joyce was thinking. Just because they were neighbors and walking buddies didn’t mean Marcie knew Joyce that well. Joyce had a look that could make a chatty teenager sink down into the pew any Sunday morning. And, she had a stern voice that could freeze her cat in mid couch-pluck and send her flying under a bed three doors down.

“It’s only a week, Marcie, and I know plenty about kids. I’ll remind them of the Golden Rule, and they’ll behave like angels.” Joyce turned and started walking again.

The Recreation Department told Joyce that the kids loved knitting last year, but the woman who taught it said she was too busy with other projects to teach this year. The class maxed out at ten kids; all she had to do was teach them to cast on, knit, and cast off.

“Okay, but take my cell number in case you need help.” Marcie looked Joyce in the eye. ” And, you’d better bring candy.” Continue reading “Wednesday’s Word Flash Fiction: Knitting at Littleton Elementary”