These daily challenges have caught me in a vice. Since I missed the first one (Poem A Day) last month, I have been trying to stay up to date with the blogosphere just so I don’t miss anything again. I came across an interview with blogger-poet Robert Lee Brewer and thus, I have entered myself into another challenge.
The Story A Day site is a writer’s playground. There’s lots of other writers to connect with, stories to read, and always prompts to help you get going. They declared May as the month to do this challenge and boy, it is kicking my booty.
What have I done!?
I cannot vouch for my determination, because, as far as success is concerned, it doesn’t matter if I’m not putting forth all my efforts, right? I am doing alright though. Here are some samples:
The school didn’t want her to teach, they needed her. Their easy acceptance of her indiscriminate résumé was the first clue. Then, when the bell made its first clang, both sound and sight startled her. The children liberated the school gates, like a landslide of cotton and cornflower, in their blue checked tunics and smart tie ensembles. She felt overwhelmed. They hired her. Mrs. Swanson, the principal, shook her hand and told her, “You begin on Monday a week from now. Summer vacation is only for the children.”
Now she stood on her front porch with her father’s briefcase and a skinny strapped purse, hastening her heartbeat at the sound of churning gravel.
May 3 Prompt: Tech Convention
They called it “The Tree”. It was no more than a few millimeters in diameter and a little slimy. Too many of us had already fondled it the wrong way, stopping our hearts short when it threatened to slip. One candidate ruined his chances when the room turned to the sound of fiber crunching underfoot. We had only primitive prototypes to examine, but they were still expensive samples.
This was the gathering of a nerd herd. Sweater vests were in full swing. Last year it was tightly buttoned polo shirts. I was wearing a blue one. Rick Weston slid his glasses up his nose in a pensive way.
He turned to me and said, “I don’t think they need us to optimize this.”
That was a sure sign he didn’t want the job.
May 4 Prompt: Mad House
The iron gate creaked open to my childhood. Through my adult eyes the garden was outgrown and miniature. Weeds and creeper draped a carpet over the driveway. I walked up to the house fingering the hem of my shirt, unsure. When we lived here it was white, with the occasional stain of red dirt hiking up along a vulnerable side. It was a grayish-yellow now. Years and subsequent owners did that, but the red stain remained.