Who Needs Cupid, Anyway?

Jane tapped her pen against the legal pad on her desk, half-listening to the soft rock station that played on a constant basis in the reception area. The quiet secretary batted at a strand of her warm auburn hair that insisted on falling into her face. She'd tried in vain to get it to stay back in the ponytail she wore almost every day, but not even the strongest of hairsprays worked.

Jane had 45 minutes left on her hour lunch break, and nothing to do. No one else was in the office and she was all caught up on work, for the moment. As she shuffled papers around on her desk, the radio host's voice caught her attention.

"Since Valentine's Day is coming up, we're giving away romantic prizes all month long. Since the big day is only a week away, today we're giving away two tickets for an ocean view room on a seven day cruise to Cancun. The caller who can identify the song that I'm going to play a three second clip of wins, so be ready. We're going to play the clip at 12:30. For now, enjoy the set of ballads coming up."

Jane rolled her eyes and gave a derisive snort. "Ridiculous. Valentine's Day is such crap." Still, she couldn't resist listening for the three second clip at 12:30.

"Okay, folks, here's your chance to win a romantic cruise for two to Cancun. I'm going to play a three second clip of a song, and the person who can identify the song will win our most decadent gift yet. We'll throw in $500 as a bonus if you can also identify the artist. Here it comes."

She knew the song instantly. The drum beat was so unique that she was sure the first caller would get it. After three people called in and guessed wrong, Jane started getting annoyed. How can they not know this? What kind of music do these people listen to, anyway? She snatched up the office phone and dialed the station. Her stomach clenched when she realized she'd actually gotten through.

"Hi, caller! What's your name?"

"Jane." She swallowed, noticing that her mouth felt as dry as sandpaper.

"Welcome to the show, Jane. So, can you tell me what song I just played a clip of?"

Jane smirked. "Yeah. It's 'Tusk' by Fleetwood Mac." She heard a ridiculous trumpet fanfare and arched a brow.

"Congratulations, Jane! You've won two tickets on a deluxe cruise to Mexico, and the $500 bonus for identifying the artist, too! Stay on the line so I can get a few details from you, and you can pick up the tickets at the station as soon as this afternoon!"

Jane was sitting ramrod straight in her desk chair and her brown eyes were wide with shock. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights when her boss Alice walked in. The tall graceful blonde touched her secretary's shoulder and Jane jumped. "What's wrong, Jane?"

She shook her head dumbly, but managed to choke out. "I won two tickets on a deluxe cruise and $500."

"And you're not jumping up and down screaming with joy why?"

"Alice, you know I haven't had a boyfriend in over three years. It's supposed to be a romantic vacation to Mexico for Valentine's Day. Who in the world am I going to get to go with me? I don't think I'm going to go. Probably I'll just give the tickets away."

Alice narrowed her sharp green eyes and planted her hands on her hips. "No, you're not. You're going to take this vacation. You've earned it, and it doesn't really matter who you ask to go with you! Be spontaneous for once! Just grab a guy and offer him the other ticket for the cruise. Any guy would have to be nuts not to accept."

Jane chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before replying. "Well...I could use a vacation. I hate this city in the winter, anyway. It gets cold, but it never snows. What's the point in that?"

"Exactly. Take the rest of the day off, and go pick up your tickets!"

A few hours later Jane was staring down at two cruise tickets in her hand and she had five crisp, new $100 dollar bills in her purse.

Wow...how the heck did this happen to me? I never win anything, and now I'm going on a deluxe cruise with $500 to spend however I want without having to worry about blowing my paycheck.

She started walking back to her car, eyes still on the tickets, when she plowed right into someone. Jane tumbled backward onto the sidewalk, and she dropped the tickets. Her eyes watered, and she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that her backside was going to bruise. "I'm so sorry! I was so stunned that I won these tickets...I wasn't even watching where I was going."

"It's okay. I wasn't watching where I was going, either." He picked up the tickets with one hand, and extended the other to help Jane up.

I write like
Agatha Christie

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

The Brave New World Was a Lie - Inspired by "The Sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel

Hello Darkness, my old friend.
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision
That was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

Mara stared into the darkness of her isolation cell, contemplating how many weeks she’d been trapped in darkness and silence. The former assassin had a first class ticket aboard the prisoner transport Subiugāre bound for the penal colony on Gliese 581d. The prisoners were supposed to work to build cities for the aristocracy who were eager to leave Earth behind. The place was a toxic waste dump with rapidly diminishing resources and the filthy masses were scrabbling for what little was left.

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone.
Beneath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed
By the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

There was nothing for her to do but lie down. She winced as the needle for the intravenous nutrition system stabbed between her shoulder blades. A dark chuckle escaped her as she closed her eyes, hoping that she would never open them again.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share…
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of silence.

Mara’s eyes did open again. It was because the ship was shuddering as if it were being torn apart. She sat up and the intravenous nutrition system disengaged, leaving blood to trickle between her shoulder blades. A startled cry ripped from Mara’s throat as the ship suddenly stopped moving with a sickening crunch. The impact flung her across the cell and her head hit the thick metal wall with a sickening crack. After a moment of searing pain, she succumbed to blissful oblivion.

”Fools,” said I, “you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you;
Take my arms that I might reach you.”
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed in the wells of silence.

When Mara came to, she experienced light for the first time in more than a month. She squinted and swore at the pain in her head. She jumped when someone spoke beside her. “We’re two of the very few survivors. I wasn’t sure if you were going to wake up.” Mara turned and let her green-gold eyes focus on the man’s face. He was a scruffy-looking blond with unreadable gray eyes.

“What do you care, anyway?” Her voice was dull and devoid of any emotion.

“I couldn’t risk exploring on my own. We didn’t make it to Gliese. This planet is wild and apparently uninhabited. Some of the other inmates have already threatened cannibalism if they can’t find anything edible in the surrounding area. I don’t know about you, but I’m not too keen on being eaten.”

Mara rolled her eyes and ran a hand through her waist-length brown mane. “Why me?”

The man shrugged his broad shoulders. “Call it a misplaced sense of chivalry.” He stood and extended his hand to her. Without knowing why, Mara took it and followed him into the underbrush, leaving the rubble from the Subiugāre behind.

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made,
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming,
And the signs said: “The words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls,
And whispered in the sound of silence.”

((The lyrics are from “The Sound of Silence” by Simon and Garfunkel. I have no idea where I want this to go, but this is where the muse took me. Feel free to join.))

I write like
James Joyce

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

"I can't believe you've taken up jogging! What about our pact?"

"I can't believe you've taken up jogging, Lucy! What about our pact?"

Guilt tugged Lucy's cupid bow lips into a momentary frown, and then she bit her lip. Guilty didn't look good on the petite strawberry-blond. I'm searching for a good excuse or explanation to give my best friend, but nothing's coming to mind. I guess I have to resort to the truth. "I had to do something, Vic! I was going stir-crazy in that cabin by myself." Lucy widened her baby-blues, trying her best for the innocent look.

Vic rolled his caramel-colored eyes and scrubbed a hand down his face in frustration. Lucy had seen the gesture a million times before. "Uh-uh. Don't you try to give me those big doe eyes; I'm too angry for it to work right now. Lucy, jogging down the side of the road defeats the purpose of putting you in a safe house. Some nut with a taxidermy fetish is after you. Jeez, woman! Didn't you ever watch Psycho?" Vic's dark brown curls were mussed from where he'd repeatedly shoved his hands through his hair while he was stressing over getting to the safe house and finding Lucy gone.

She cringed and gave an involuntary shudder. "Okay, I see your point, but can't you put someone in the safe house with me? I'm dying of boredom out there."

Vic scowled and it made his face look even more hawkish than usual. "I'll keep you company, since you obviously need a babysitter."

Lucy couldn't stop herself from pouting. "That's not fair!"

"Tough shit, cupcake." Vic smirked down at Lucy, and she scrunched her nose.

"I really want to slap you right now."




Prompt from The Writer's Book of Matches.

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

"Are you here alone?" / "Yeah, I'm bad. But in a good way."

"Are you here alone?" The husky, masculine voice almost made me jump out of my skin.

"No. I was supposed to have dinner with my boyfriend tonight, but he isn't answering the intercom." I tried very hard not to let my anxiety seep into my voice.

The raven-haired man gave me a grim smile. "I hate to be the one to tell you, sweetheart, but your boyfriend is dead."

Shit. I hadn't noticed the shoulder holster under his sport coat before. It held a pistol big enough to make King Kong nervous. I swallowed convulsively. "Are you a bad guy?" I can't believe I just said that. What am I, a four-year-old?

He smiled, and I almost had a hot flash. "Yeah, I'm bad. But in a good way."

I choked back a hysterical giggle, suddenly wishing I wasn't quite so fond of Humphrey Bogart movies. "How do you know my boyfriend's dead?"

"I saw you pushing the buzzer for 3C. I've been working a homicide scene in that apartment for the past two and a half hours. I'm just getting back from a coffee run." The man gave me the once-over and sighed. His eyes were a flinty gray, but they softened a little as I returned his look with a blank stare. "You look like you could use a cup." He plucked one from the cardboard carrier and passed it to me. "You can have mine."

The warmth from the cup helped lessen the shaking in my hands. "It's not black, is it?"

He shook his head. "It's got plenty of sugar, but no cream."

"That's fine." I took a sip of the dark, scalding liquid. "Thank you."

((I felt like this story was going to be a mystery, so I put it in the first person so you discover things right along with the heroine. Hope that's not too troublesome.))



Both prompts from The Writer's Book of Matches, but I'm too lazy to look up page numbers right now.

I write like
William Gibson

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

"Hello? Hello? I think the phone just went dead..."

"Hell no, dude. We need to get out of here. I've seen this movie."

Alice slammed the phone back on the base and grabbed her purse. "I know I don't say this often enough, but you're right. Let's go."

"Way ahead of you," Ginny barreled for the back door with her friend right behind her. They heard the front door get smashed open as they bolted into the wet grass at the back of the house.

Alice slipped and went down in the mud, cursing all the way. Ginny hauled her up by her dress's skirt and they staggered to the back gate as they heard the racket of the house being ransacked.

"What the hell did you do," Ginny panted as they burst through the gate and hauled butt down the street.

"Nothing! At least, nothing I know of!"

"Wait a second, why are we not in a car?"

Alice tugged on her friend's arm. "Because both our cars are out front, and we don't know how many of them came to the house."

Prompt from The Writer's Book of Matches, page 154.

I write like
J. K. Rowling

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

"I'll have an egg-white omelet and a side of sausage. And a beer, if you've got one."

The waitress stared at Jack with her mouth open for two full minutes before she responded. "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't serve beer here."

He muttered something under his breath and sighed. "Fine, I'll just have a water. The beer can wait until I get home."

He glowered at the young blond's back as she scampered off to retrieve his breakfast. "Can't have a single night without something going to hell."

Prompt from The Writer's Book of Matches, page 27.

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Spark Word: Bad Hair Day

I glared into the mirror, swearing under my breath. I can NOT afford to have a bad hair day today.

"I have traffic court at 8:30," I muttered as I stared down at the curling iron with disgust, "And a lunch date after that."

I threw down the curling iron. "I don't even know why I bother." I snatched my flat-iron out of the bottom drawer and started a new attack. By the time I finished, not a single hair was out of place, but I slipped a hair tie into my purse just in case.

Prompt from The Writer's Block. I just want to say that the picture they put next to this spark word made me laugh so hard I fell off my stool.

I write like
Harry Harrison

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

The Process

So, I've decided that I'm not going to do prewriting for any of these fragments. I'm only going to let myself sit down at the computer and compose whatever comes to me from the prompt (or occasionally an unprompted idea).

I really need to work on my habit of planning something to death.

I also wanted to make the notation that the prompts in The Writer's Block: 186 Ideas to Jump-Start Your Imagination does not give page numbers. So the prompts will have to stand on their own.

The Premise for This Blog

My fiction often comes to me in very random, sporadic ways. So, I'm going to catalogue my ideas and fragments of fiction here. Some pieces may stand alone and some may be continued. The continuance of pieces may well be influenced by the feedback that I get.

Also, many of these may be the results of prompts. When they are, I will cite the book and page number from which the prompt came.

So, here's to the creative person's non-linear way of thinking.