Job

I haven't responded to a 100 Word Challenge in 100 years. Last time I looked, it was Velvet Verbosity prompting us to write, but the torch has been passed to Thin Spiral Notebook, a regular contributor. This week's prompt is "Job." I gave it a whirl for old time's sake and because I need to get back to more creative pursuits:



"It's not my job to fuck you on your birthday!" She said it with a smile and a wink.

"Good thing it's not my birthday." I winked back.

She was hot shit, and used to be she didn't know it. Used to be she was pretty beat down, but she came back from that pure on fire. Tore up jeans, tight t-shirt, and no makeup. She could drop any jaw she wanted.

"So..." I asked, looking her up and down and grinning. "Whose job is it to fuck you on your birthday, doll, and where do I get an application?"

Poetry Slam

It's been awhile since I wrote something for Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge. I guess it's National Poetry Month, or something, and I don't really do poetry often, but I was inspired this time. I give you:

Poetry Slam

“Midnight plays piano,” she said,

And my eyes are rolling already.

“Velvet black, or blue, jazz like ink… blots…”

And I need a drink, or maybe shots

Lined up on the bar, one after the other.

And she’s got the moves, hands waving.

I can almost feel it in my guts, moving, almost powerful,

And the audience rapt.

Until she wails, wordless, arms upraised, uplifted.

And the crowd responds in kind, uplifted too.

The Artist goes on, but I hear nothing but empty noise after noise, echoing

And pretty, and not pretty, and pretty empty, and prettily empty, after all.

Tremble

For Velvet Verbosity's 100 Words Challenge:

I remember: when I was a child, my father’s hands shook, and I was ashamed for him and his lack of strength. I thought when he held the saw, or the screwdriver, or the paint brush, that his hands should be steady and sure. He coached, he taught, he lead, with patience, generosity, and knowledge, but the shaking of those fingers made me afraid.

Years later, I see the tremors in my own hands now. The harder I try to steady them, the more pronounced the trembling becomes. I realize: the weakness and mortality I fear most are my own.

Grandparents' Luncheon

For Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge:

The first wave of grandparents came through, nearly as excited as the kindergartners they were visiting, and already we were out of grilled cheese. Volunteers stood around in hair nets, gloves stretched too tight or hanging loose, and aprons like garbage bags. Too much to do and too many people to get it done. A mountain was forming, though, with no one conquering it. Trays covered in tomato sauce. Cups still half full of chocolate milk. Thirty minutes later, I was soaked and splattered, smiling. The mountain was gone. I need an industrial dish washing machine like that at home.

A Stone for Two Birds

I've been meaning to jump back into Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge, but haven't in a long time. Also, I was declared 2nd place winner of Trifecta's first of three prompts this week, which earned me a place in the Write-Off this weekend. So I decided to fulfill the requirements of both prompts with one piece, because I'm lazy like that, and a sick kid all week kind of wore me out. Here's "Triumph" for Trifecta and "Swagger" for Velvet Verbosity, with a 100-word count:

Parenting teaches: do not plan; you will plan for the wrong eventuality. I bought my son a balance bike at two. When he graduated to a pedal bike, he wouldn’t need training wheels. But he did.

Imagining myself running beside him yelling encouragement, I bought a handle for the back of his bike. We used it once before he demanded his training wheels.

A friend rode two-wheeled; he borrowed that bike and took off without me or my plans. It was a triumph. You should have seen his swagger. He was proud, and it had nothing to do with me.

Goals Met and Unmet

So I'm 40 now. Last year, I set some goals for myself. Some of them I met; one of them I didn't. I'm only halfway to my weight loss goal, mostly because I did not stick to the calorie-counting and limited alcohol consumption. I'm not sure why this is so hard for me, but it's a lifelong struggle. I'll keep struggling.

I'm not going to beat myself up too badly for it, though, because I have succeeded in some ways that I never have before. While I didn't lose as much weight as I wanted, when I stopped losing, I maintained instead of gaining. I ran my first 10K nearly 2 years ago, and I've continued to run, to improve, to decrease times and increase distances, and it's that long-term commitment to running that's new to me. I have, all my life, lost weight, stopped exercising, then gained weight back again. This time I'm keeping regular exercise as part of my lifestyle, mostly by continuing to add running events, 5Ks, 10Ks, and even a half marathon, to my calendar.

Oh yeah, did I mention I ran the 3M Half Marathon? I registered to give myself a new challenge, but at the time, and right through to the time that I crossed the finish line, I didn't really believe that I could do it. I set a time goal for myself that was only a little bit slower of a per-mile pace than my 10K pace at the time, and I thought I couldn't possibly reach that goal, either.

But I did. I ran the whole way, never stopping to walk, and I beat my time goal by 30 seconds.

So looking to the future, I guess it's time to remind myself of old goals, like controlling my calorie intake and especially my alcohol consumption. But it's also time for new goals. I would like to reach my 200 lb. goal by the time the local pool opens for the summer, which is around May 1. I'd also like to be a better father to Thumper. I'm terrible at controlling my annoyance and exasperation. I can see clearly how I'm teaching him to react the same way as every day I see my irritation reflected right back at me. One of the members of the Stay-at-Home Dads group was talking about a class he's taking, called Logic and Love, and it may be that Thumper and I would benefit from something like that. At any rate, I'm tired of being bitchy so much of the time.

This is the year that Thumper will enter kindergarten, and I also plan to start writing now. I'll be staying home full-time for a while even after he enters school, and I'll need to find ways to do that and still earn more money. I've always wanted to be a writer, but I've never actually written very much, so now is the time to establish a more regular writing routine by blogging more often and participating in writing challenges like Trifecta and Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge. To write, and to sell, short stories, articles, and eventually a novel, I have to actually write short stories, articles, and a novel.

So continue to work on my health and fitness, read and write more and watch fewer movies and TV shows on the internet, and try to be nicer to my son. That's where I am right now. Happy 2012!

Hallowed Evening

I'm supposed to be working, but my VPN access is in limbo while I wait for a new part-time job (mostly a title change) to come through. So here I am, sticking my toes back in Velvet Verbosity's "100 Words" pond:

The neighborhood is dark now, and quiet, conspicuously lacking in Halloween ghosts, ghouls, and other assorted monsters. There is nothing out there to mark this as a special night, as anything more than just another Friday. The house is quiet, too. In the silence, though, I still hear the doorbell ringing, the cries of “Trick or Treat!” the noise, the electric atmosphere that used to put the cats on edge. The boy is grown now, and the neighborhood has grown, too, aging quietly, waiting for a new round of kids to come and bring this magical night back to life.

Chasm

I haven't done Velvet Verbosity's 100 Words in awhile. I write so many product description blurbs, using the Word Count feature on MS Word so many times to make sure that I'm writing enough but not too much, that it feels a little odd fitting a paragraph to a purpose that isn't selling a product I've never seen or touched. So here's my 100 words.

I'm trying so hard these days, but it's tough, to use only one space after a period. A graphic designer friend of mine Facebooked this article, pointing out that it's a sin in the modern world to use two spaces after a period, regardless of what my 8th grade typing teacher told me. So I'm trying. Anyway, "Chasm:"

Each trip down this path has worn something away, crushed underfoot some small living thing, until the way is hard as rock and void of life. From the very beginning, we have known that it leads nowhere, yet we cannot resist following it one more time. Regularly as seasons, we pass over it again and again, year after year. Our persistence has worked magic on the landscape between us, laying waste, scuffing out a line, a ditch, a ravine, finally a vast chasm, until there is nothing left to say, no way to reach across. Next time, let us leap.

Consent

Sometimes the mood strikes to do Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge.

This is simply idle speculation on my part, but it seems to me that sharing a bed with a writer of erotica would have its benefits. I would happily consent to be your research subject, baby. What precisely would happen, if...? Is it actually possible to fit bodies together like that? What sound, exactly, would one make? Let us study the subject together. I will vow under oath and sign before a notary consent forms and non-disclosures. I don't have to be the hero of your story as long as I can act it out with you, before and after.

Hidden

It's been awhile since I did one of Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenges. This one is "Hidden."




"I don't care if you do it," she says. "You know I love you."

"I know," he says. And he does.

"I just don't want you to lie to me."

But that's what she doesn't understand, and maybe he doesn't either. Not really. It's not the doing; it's the hiding. It's the getting away with it. He can be a good man, he can be a good husband, and father, and son, and brother. He can be everything that everyone expects him to be if he can just have this one thing, this one secret that no one knows. Hidden.

Place

Here's 100 Words on "Place," inspired by Velvet Verbosity:


She hasn't got a place, though she could if she tried. No matter where she is, she's happier elsewhere. The fault is in the place, in the people that occupy it.

She lights another cigarette. She doesn't smoke, not really. Not anymore. It's a temporary fix. The stress is unbearable. She deserves a little outlet, no matter what they say. They don't know when to keep their mouths shut. They can't imagine what she's been through.

The baby cries. "That's got to stop," she says. I make a face. I roll my eyes. "I can't ever say anything," she says.

Eh, a Little Gimmicky

Maybe I'm too late, but here's my response to Velvet Verbosity's 100 Words on "Bear."


When I reminisce, sometimes a memory swells, more than I can bear. Lingering in the past, the ghost-thought creates a sharp physical sensation, a pain that makes me grimace, and I bare my teeth and growl. Some are memories of what I did, or what I didn't do, or what I should have done; these are the anecdotes that don't bear repeating. Please, I ask, let no one bear witness to my weakness. Standing naked, bared to my own cruel judgment, I close my eyes and change the subject. Shame is a crop I cultivate, though it bears no fruit.

Wrong

Hey, Velvet Verbosity is back! I admit I was afraid she might be pushing up daisies by now. I'm glad she's back to motivating the rest of us to write. Anyway, here's my version of Wrong:

I could never deal with that.

He/she/I will change, I know it.

I don't need a degree.

My boss is bound to retire in the next year or two.

Eventually in a marriage, you just learn to understand each other.

If that happened to me, I'd surely die.

My parents don't know what the hell they're talking about.

If I could just achieve that, I'd be happy.

He can't possibly have anything left to throw up.

Other people spend as much time thinking about me as I spend thinking about what they think.

I don't need to go to bed.

Me Myself Personally

Velvet Verbosity's latest challenge: "myself." Ergo:

I have a friend. She likes to use the phrase, "Me myself personally," as in, "me myself personally, I can't abide a know-it-all." Or, "I never watch that kind of movie, me myself personally." Given my history of deep disdain for other people's grammatical mistakes, superfluity, and other personal quirks, it should irritate the hell out of me. But some part of me finds it to be a charming iteration of self, a progressive statement of being, a declaration of individual value, tripled. And I like it. I applaud her, and her joyfully repetitive celebration of herself. Me. Myself. Personally.

Osiris Waits for Her

Velvet Verbosity wants to send books around the world and hear the tales of their travels. It sounds like a fun idea to me. Here's my attempt at "Doorway:"


She stood outside the doorway, the molding pressed into her shoulder, and strained to hear something other than her own heart beating. She should go in. She knew she should. But how could she? How could she take that first step, how could she make herself reach out for the doorknob and turn it? It was an action impossible to imagine, as impossible as making herself rise from the floor and float there, bobbing like a balloon in a breeze. Instead she stood frozen, listening, waiting for the sound that would, like a starting gun, allow her to move again.

If He Runs Fast Enough, Maybe the Earth's Spin Will Reverse

Not a very creative attempt at Velvet Verbosity's 100 Words; it's just that Time has been on my mind lately.

How does time move both fast and slow? Five days creep by like the passing of a month, trapped in the house with a sick kid, trying not to spread his contagion. But sixteen months flit away like a fly I'm trying to catch with chopsticks. Those framed photos must be some other baby we knew once, because they're not him anymore. In constant motion, he's moved on. Now, for a moment, he'll stop and let me hold him. He'll press his head to my shoulder and gently pat my back, and the clock will freeze. Then time races on.

Why I Don't Talk About the Bailout

Here's another 100-Word Challenge from Velvet Verbosity. These are fun. I'd kind of forgotten about them, so I added VV to my blog roll to help me remember.

Moral

In 1992, Bruce Springsteen sang that there were fifty-seven channels and nothin' on. Now, only fifty-seven channels seems quaint. Provincial. Like how many you're allowed in England. Or France. Here, in America, the Greatest Nation on Earth, we're into the hundreds by now. At least. Maybe more. The cutting edge. 24-hour news channels. Passels of passionate pundits yelling at each other for their due while the crawl contradicts. The moral of the story is no moral, is passivity: we can do nothing because we can know nothing, because everybody knows something different. We are crushed beneath an avalanche of information.

Pillar

Hey! 100 words sounds fun! Of course, I've sort of been doing this anyway with my copywriting assignments. Tell someone who gets paid by the word to write something 75-100 words long, and guess how many words you'll get? Anyway, I saw Mr. Lady do it first, but it comes from Velvet Verbosity. I think I'll do it.

Pillar

He's a stand-up guy, a pillar of his community. He's a professional. He always replaces the divots at business meetings. He shakes hands with his pastor Sunday mornings. He wears pressed polos and khakis to the grocery store Sunday afternoons. He wears brightly colored lycra jerseys when he rides his bike. He prefers ones with Italian words silk-screened. He tells people how they wick away moisture. But sometimes, just sometimes, in the dead of the night, in the quiet glow of a flat-screen monitor, he burns with desire and shame, watching strange, hungry, male tongues lick strange, nyloned, female toes.