Soup Pot

I was super inspired by the book that my husband and I have been searching for the past 2 weeks. My grandmother’s ‘reference’ cookbook. I have a great idea but will post about that later. Here is my short story Soup Pot (word count 229).

“2 cups water, check,” Amy called out ingredients as she poured them into her grandmother’s pot. What better way to feel her grandmother around her by cooking her soup recipe in her soup pot? She swore her grandmother’s soup had healing powers.

After hours of gently simmering it was time to serve. She ladled spoonfuls into a soup bowl and sat with a box of crackers. Instead of her first bite taking her back to the days they spent in the kitchen it was just soup. It tasted fine and was very satisfying but not what she had expected. Amy read the recipe again and every ingredient was in that pot. She stared at the soup, stared at the empty kitchen, and stared at the recipe.

All Amy could do was gently blow on her soup and cry. Unknowingly a tear fell into her bowl and with her next bite a warm began in the pit of her stomach and worked its way to her limbs. The kitchen took the nostalgic warm hue and she heard it. Amy heard the voice of her grandmother.
‘A recipe, cricket, are just words on a paper of food thrown in a pot. It’s the love you stir them with that makes the dish so good. Cook with love. That’s the one ingredient you can’t put into words or buy of a shelf.’

Serial Date

Trying something new and tried keeping the story short. I don’t think I was too successful but glad I gave it a go.


Liz nervously fidgeted at the table. When she answered the ad she made a promise to herself the blind date would happen in a public place. Startled, she nearly knocked over her water when a handsome blonde haired man said hello from across the table. Liz stood, “Hello, Graham?” she shakily said reaching out to shake his hand. Graham was more handsome than she imagined and the two sat talking and what she thought had some sort of chemistry. She hadn’t felt a connection with anyone since her husband passed in a horrific head-on car crash with a drunk driver several years back. Liz felt so comfortable around Graham almost as if she had known him for years.

The evening was going better than she had imagined when a gentleman at the bar caught her eye. He was staring at her so intently it caused Liz to shiver. She didn’t want to do anything to spoil her date and shifted in her chair away from the man at the bar. Graham was in the middle of a story about his sister and a spider when the waitress interrupted with a glass of lemonade and a napkin ready to set underneath and said, ‘Excuse me, sir, do you own a black sedan?’ Graham nodded. ‘Your lights are on.’ Graham excused himself to go and turn the lights off. ‘Miss, there is a note on the inside of the napkin just open it. Please read it before he gets back.’ The waitress almost seemed to be pleading.

‘Dear Liz,
 YOU ARE IN DANGER! My name is Graham and I am the gentleman that was supposed to meet you here tonight. I was sitting at the bar watching you. I was so mesmerized and thought that I wasn’t good enough for you so I essentially stood you up. That’s when I noticed that a gentleman introduced himself and you two seem to be hitting it off well. Behind the bar, the TV is on the news station and they just aired the report about the serial killer that has been murdered thirteen other women that have the same characteristics as you. Between the bartender and me, we have him distracted for you to read this and the cops are on their way. When he gets back, do the best you can to kill time (no pun intended) and try not to give anything away.
Graham’

Liz didn’t have time to process exactly everything that was happening and as soon as the imposter sat down in front of her she could tell he knew something was up. ‘Is everything ok Liz?’ the man asked. She nodded tried making small talk nervously watching the door waiting for her rescue. Graham stood, ‘This evening has been going so well, I don’t want to jinx anything. Would you like to go on a second date?’ Liz nodded and before she could answer he told he would be in contact and walked out the door. She stood and the real Graham was by her side offering comfort. ‘Hi, I’m Graham. You look lovely tonight.’ Liz smiled then jumped into his arms when the gunshots started. Graham tucked her into his embrace while backing up. The cops questioned her after the scene was cleared. Liz learned that he was, in fact, the serial killer and she was going to be his next victim. She only had one question. How did he know her date’s name? Wait. He never said his name was Graham.

Prompt: August The Doll Maker

Back to my goals of writing and plan on catching up on my classes here soon. This means I have to push myself instead of curling up in my recliner brooding over bullshit that I can’t handle. Yes, this isn’t my best work but it’s something. I took August’s prompt words and created a short story.


August the Doll Maker
lawyer justifies beliefs

‘The headline read: Lawyer Justifies Beliefs.’ It was difficult not to follow the doll maker’s story. Growing up we were told not to go in the north woods where a society of witch crafting people dwelled. It was rumored that the witches that lived in the woods would steal children and keep them stored in their cellars like we would keep pickled vegetable and jam for the winter months. I turned the page to read about the wide-eyed doll that was the key evidence in the crime.

The doll creator, August, being charged with murder was a feeble man that everyone in our town felt sorry for and purchased his creations as often as possible. They weren’t your run of the mill homemade crocheted dolls or something that you see everyone on a Pinterest DIY mom board try to recreate. No. For a man living in the woods created beautiful, delicate, yet resilient dolls that stood the test of time. I actually have one of his sitting on my mantle that was my mother’s. I cringed looking at the doll and back down at the paper.

The doll maker’s picture in the paper made him look more domineering than weak and I found an absence of sorrow for him. ‘The bodies of 3 missing kids and cow were found during the search of the property.’ I felt betrayed more than anything as I’m sure the entire town was feeling, reading the same paper. We trusted this man believing he was trying to launch a business so he and his family wouldn’t go hungry, but that wasn’t the case. He didn’t have a family to feed he had crimes to cover. ‘The surviving victim stated that he was supposed to be part of the next line of products. Lamps were something that his kidnapper would work on almost every night by the light of his own old coal oil lamp. August wanted to bring back the antique light sources.’

The paper continued ‘August struggled with creating a voice box that mooed for his farm animal line of dolls and was some of his most recent unsuccessful creations.’ I remember those mooing dolls. They were hideous cow shaped monstrosities that he was very pushy about selling. The sound after pulling the cord on the animal’s back wasn’t a moo but more of a cow being slaughtered. I nervously laughed that day, struggling with politely refusing the purchase. I crossed the street that day and turned to see a child clinging to his mother as the doll maker realized that he was losing another sale. The image of the survivor that was pictured in the paper was the same child that clung to his mother that day. The child looked as if he aged overnight full of wisdom and advice.  I guess a traumatic experience would do that to any person.

I finished my cereal while reading the article. ‘The doll maker believed that sacrifices had to be made to live in today’s society stated his lawyer. While the lawyer curved this reporter’s questions of black magic and the death of children he did state that his client was mentally unstable to stand trial and his medical team will ensure that his client will get all the medical treatment necessary and are diligent in his care. He is asking for the death penalty to be removed as part sentencing and a life without parole be considered instead. The lawyer also stated that his beliefs are justified as many people pray for survival in this world. He shouldn’t be persecuted for his religion and solely on his crimes that don’t warrant death as he was delusional about how to worship. The doll that was gathered for evidence was created from his previous victims discovered through forensic testing and the police are asking that anyone with a doll created by the defendant to bring it to the police station.’ I clapped my hands together afraid to touch the poor soul sitting on my shelf and instead ran and dialed the local PD to remove the doll.

Flaws (advanced)-Section 3: Lecture 11

This was a difficult writing exercise. Following the lecture was a snap and completely understood the end goal. I don’t know if I’m overthinking the material and prompt or is it writer’s block? I know it doesn’t help that I have a toothache (dental appointment and tooth extraction scheduled for tomorrow). For this 10-minute writing prompt exercise, I had to pick a number 1-10 for the character and then again for the random flaw. The name of the exercise is. ‘What needs fixing?’ Find a character with some sort of unexpected flaw and give it a try. This exercise helped me realize that this can help add dimension to my characters.


A pirate (character) that hates conflict (flaw):

The last looting adventure was a complete blunder. The owners of the ship were so strong and intimidating. I know my crew thinks that I can’t run this ship and are already planning to take my vessel from me. It’ll probably be better if I just give it to them because they’re right. What kind of pirate am I to back down from a tea merchant? He was just a little man but he had a brute personality and I know he meant that he wasn’t going to give his tea to just anyone. It was better for all involved to go separate ways. Maybe the next raiding voyage we do should be at night when everyone is sleeping. We can sneak on the targeted boat, grab what we want, and quietly leave.

6 Word Story: 7/13

I don’t really mind it being Friday the 13th but there are people I will have to work with that will hold tight to their superstitions. Going to try and do something different with today’s prompt with it being on the 13th. I just learned…it’s difficult to make a mystery out of 6 words.


Prompt Word: Locket

 

 

Fenton Friday: Week Two Collaboration Project

Yes, Fenton Friday is here. I have been ridiculously busy here at work that I haven’t had much time for breaks to collect thoughts. I would like to thank a few bloggers for great suggestions:
Kristian
Stuart
The Ministry of Shrawley Walks
The Dark Netizen

What we started with:

Fenton buys this old desk that was on sale at a shop that is going out of business. He’s been using the desk for a few months when he discovers a hidden compartment. In the drawer is a document written in an unknown language. He takes it to a professor/friend/ researcher which has only seen a few symbols here and there but can’t confirm origin.  Fenton (and other characters that will be created along the way) form an odd group. While they are all working together they discover that the unknown language holds clues to a local unsolved mystery that hasn’t been touched in decades involving the disappearance of a secret society that founded his small town (read more about what we are trying to accomplish with hopefully a bright future for Fenton).

To recap what we have so far:

As for Fenton. I see his as a young man in his late teens or very early twenties, 18-21. He is bookish and rather retiring. Shy but he comes out of his shell when people start talking about books or history. He is studying for something, degree or diploma and works part-time for a bit of extra money. He goes to museums a lot. Thank you again, Kristian, for giving Fenton an age and personality. I think it will serve him well and add a great deal to his adventure and to the creation of new characters (psst, welcome aboard). And he is uncovering something of a secret drawer society brilliantly introduced by Stu (glad you’ll be joining us). There is a lot of detail and I could be sensing a little suspense possible murder mystery? Did the secret drawer society be the founding fathers of the town? Let’s see what we can come up with. I think we can also work in the idea that Shrawley Walks (the video clip had me laughing and people were looking as if I gone off my rocker, oh, and thanks for coming along) brought to the discussion of the French manor house flooring being replaced. What if the house he’s staying in is part of the society? Or did he by the desk from the estate sale of the society’s house? And with a nudge from the Dark Netizen all contributions are going to have a word count of 500 or less. If more is needed just let us know. Enough to give us your thoughts and ideas.

As for the reference to us, I am still in need of some volunteers that can help on a regular basis (just shoot me a message):

    • Researcher (someone to help me make sure the facts and other things are on point)
    • Copy Editor (yeah I’m not the best as you can tell from my posts)
    • Another Writer – or Two (quick honesty-there will be times that my CPTSD will kick me in the butt! Or even better-getting overwhelmed with all the contributions so help will be needed)

First Episode Goals:

  • Introduction of Fenton’s character
  • Place
  • Time (present/past?)
  • A little backstory
  • Publish date: July 1st

And as always you can comment here or send a message. Everyone is invited to help Fenton grow and tell his story. I know we can do this because we have an awesome blogging community. Happy Friday!

Entry: The Dog House

If I ever need to view things from a different perspective and need a little inspiration for doing so, Walk the Goats is where I land. Reading through the author’s viewpoints on situations and working towards goals is mesmerizing. Tell her to break a leg, wait for her to enter stage left and become a member of her audience. If you would like to participate in the contest or share, check out May 10th’s post. A different perspective was promptly delivered from her 150-word story. Good thing my dogs don’t chase cats.


The Dog House

https://pxhere.com/en/photo/417409

He was ruined. Bewitched by that wicked cat who had warned him that if he didn’t stop harassing her, she would use her cat-craft to put a spell on him.

But he hadn’t listened.

She was good on her threat. He had finally chased her one too many times. Instead of running, she spun around and with a hissing spell, turned him into a bungalow, his pink tongue a welcoming entrance, his little black nose a decorative door topping. The thatched roof matched the color of his shaggy ears and hovered above beady window-eyes.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The real humiliation was that she moved in. She settled into his window-cheeks, basked in the sun, and watched the world go by, regularly twitching her tail in his face.

“Take that,” her tail signaled.

And he had no choice but to do just that.

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