Sense and Sensibility-ness-ing-ly

It's that time of the week again - so let's get started with this prompt from the IndieBlogger's weekly challenge (my entry is also posted here)...

17 Words regarding:

You start a secret society complete with complex, occulted handshakes,
weird symbols, and a ‘history’ dating back to the Egyptians. To recruit
members, you write this simple Google text-ad:

Sick of being outcast simply because you're a freak? We're the friends you've been looking for... PHARAOHICS!!!

Here we go again. I have to say, these short/ione word responses are the ones I find the hardest. Mine and more at IndieBloggers.org...

One word regarding:

You volunteer to be the first resident of the darkside of the moon, manning a
cramped receiving station. One day you wake up to alarms, no internet, no
video and your printer has spooled 30 linear feet of pages covered with a single
word:

PANIC

One more weekly challenge. Obviously what I am writing isn't capturing your imagination... oh well. Your loss. Check out my entry at Indie Bloggers, and see the other offereings too!

Up to 10 words regarding:

Shipwrecked on a deserted island with no hope of rescue, you risk
your life in a difficult climb over a volcanic ridge, descending through
razor sharp grasses and gravel paths to a beach on the other side
where you see a tiny plane crumpled on the beach surrounded by
31 clowns. You notice they’ve written an SOS in the sand down the
beach and from your vantage you clearly read:

The mimes are circling! Our squirting flowers are nearly dry...

A short challenge this week, from Stacy (IndieBloggers boss/guru). Not a lot of brain power required, but many drafts scrapped before I settled on this. I liked it anyway. Read on, or check it out at Indie Bloggers here.

17 words regarding:

On your honeymoon cruise, your ship is captured by Suranamese channel
pirates and everyone is held for ransom. You get ‘unruly’ and are made to
walk the plank. Just before you step off into the drink, as your tearful spouse
and the rest of the crew watch, you confess:

Darling, I know this probably isn't the time or place, but... I faked it. Every single time...

Another week, another challenge. This one makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy because G who writes the challenge quotes me from a previous prompt response I offered to a past weekly challenge. I guess that makes me in-famous (you know, more than famous... Get a copy of Three Amigos and watch it and have a laugh). Hope you enjoy this movie, coming soon to a cinema near you... Check it out here along with other soon-to-be films or, for just my pitch, read on.

147 words regarding:

As a successful screenwriter, you’ve come a long way from the days when
you basked in the shadow of your world recognized genius mentor. You’ve
since penned a few notable movies yourself and spend a lot of time in
development meetings. You’re in one now when a bunch of suits walk in all
serious carrying a thick envelope. Your mentor died in the arms of a nimble
little prostitute in a Bang House on the outskirts of Mumbai. He left his much
anticipated unfinished final script, supposedly a life changing experience to
read, and a note with your name saying “My protégé is the only one who
can finish this.” They carefully and dutifully hand you the script–141 pages,
all blank, except for the opening scene which reads:

“Nice Dress.”

“Nice chicken.”

Please title your film, and provide the promotional copy.

 There have been many great love stories…

‘Anthony & Cleopatra’

‘Romeo & Juliet’

‘The Karate Kid’

‘Boogie Nights’

Now, the greatest screen writer of our time gives you the greatest love story ever…

‘PULLET TOGETHER’

Few people can understand a man’s love for a woman and her chicken. Hugh Grant will help you understand as the troubled accountant looking for feathered love in all the wrong places…

Rosie O’Donnell and Glenda the Wyandotte feature as the twin loves of our hero’s life, but can this traffic cop and her banty share this accountant’s love or will it tear them apart?

This story of the unrequited love of a woman for her chicken, a man for his woman, and a man for his woman’s chicken will touch your soul and lay an egg of happiness in it that will incubate into your very own chick of love.

This week was a GREAT challenge - I could have written way more than 234 words, but doing my besst I managed to come in right on the number. So much fun, and a great mental workout (mainly to come up with a bit of a left-of-centre approach to the prompt). Read it with the others here, or simply read on...

Not more than 234 words regarding:

You and your twin sister are photographers for national geographic on
assignment to cover a famous interspecial linguistics professor who’s
spent the last 10 years on a mountain in Borneo studying the language
of silver back mountain gorillas. You think this is total bullshit and your
sister is bitching about how much easier it would be to just work for
Get Up & Go Girl! travel blog. After days and days of arduous climbing in
the worst conditions you arrive at this geek’s mountainside encampment
only to find him dead, his body twisted like a ragdoll around the trunk of
a Banyan tree. As you’re both taking pictures and trying desperately to
dial out on your cells, a 700 pound silverback male lumbers quietly into
the camp carrying a tattered copy of “Dream Tigers” by Jorge Louis Borges.
You both freeze. It stares at you. Your sister blurts out, apparently to
you, “What the fuck happened?” and the gorilla says “Well, to be honest,
we had an argument about redundancy.” He looks from you to your sister
and back to you.

“Oh… he suggested that he’d become redundant?” you inquire, cautiously.

“Actually he offered me a redundancy. We ended up arguing over his offer,” the gorilla replies flatly, book under his arm, starting to clean up. At this point you notice the professor’s hut seems to have emptied itself into the compound, and the many other gorillas sitting just outside the tree-line watching the interaction with you & your sister.

“Can we ask what the issue was?” your sister enquires, edging closer to you.

“Not at all.” He snorts, you feel his sharp, hot, monkey breath from 5 feet away. He puts a bunch of paper neatly back into a folder. “He offered me this book and two large bunches of bananas. I said Borges was an unenlightened fool, believing too much of his own press. I suggested he offer me something more worthy of my intellect.”

“…that’s when all this happened?” you probe.

“Yes – he went berserk, shouting that Jorge Luis Borges was one of the great modernist thinkers, poets and authors of our time. He grabbed the book, dropped his pants, and started maniacally throwing all you see scattered here. So I threw him over there.”

You shift uncomfortably on the spot, glancing at the body. The silverback faces you:

“So… would either of you like a tea? We have english breakfast or camomile… supplies don’t come up for another week, I’m afraid…”

Another week, another challenge - and this week, G has fired up his thinking pants! You can check out my response (and those of the other challengers) here, or simply enjoy and post after this...

119 Words regarding:

You get drunk and ride your friend’s Harley through an Amish apple butter
store in Arthur, IL. You wake up in their barn, in overalls and ill fitting shoes
wearing a goofy wide brimmed black hat/in a floor sweeping ginger dress
wearing clogs and a stained frilly bonnet. The Harley is missing and there’s a
barefoot nine year old kid holding a chicken standing in front of you. You try to
sit up but the kid says:

“Nice dress.”

“Nice chicken.”

The kid offers you the chicken. You smile, shake your head, carefully stand, and brush the straw off your dress and readjust everything so that it sits right.

“Got a name?”

“Jenny. What’s yours?”

“Grunt - where’s my bike?”

Turning, Jenny leads you outside. You hobble out and are met by another, older, kid, who comes alongside you as Jenny leads you towards the house. You see to the side a ball of kids all over your friend’s bike, in pieces.

“HEY!”

“The bike’s fine, Mr Grunt,” says Jenny.
 
The kids pull you inside, and down to the basement where you quickly realise by the 5 chained adults in gimp outfits you’re in some trouble…

Another week, another challenge. This one has some 'fruity' language, so kids look away now. I'm serious - now! For those that are up to it, read on here at Indie Bloggers, or simply below...

77 Words regarding:

You wake up and your apartment smells like ass. You walk into the living room to find that your one night stand took a dump in the middle of your kitchen. Indignant, you box it up, take it to work and toss it on their desk in full view of other workers, saying ‘you forgot this.’ You tell everyone what happened and the person is ostracized at work. Three days later, you get called into the office and the HR person writes you up and demands that you write a letter of apology and attend sensitivity classes for your wanton act of shitscrimination. Write your apology.

Another week, time for another challenge (that Chris Garlington is becoming quite the literary prompting bastard! Has he nothing better to do?! Seemingly not...). This is my offering, titled "The Letter"... the prompt in italics, my response below (or view the entry at Indie Bloggers here)...

122 Words regarding:

You get off work at the coffee shop at 5:45 and walk thirteen blocks back
to your flat where you’ve been receiving mail addressed to the previous
tenant, someone your age, sex, and same first name, for the last four years.
You’ve even answered some of it. You have, in fact, as far as magazine
subscriptions and junk mail goes, become this person. When you arrive home
today, there’s a flotilla of gloss black limousines blocking the street to your
building. Neighbors are hanging out of windows, clogging the sidewalk. As your
foot falls gently onto the very first step, a man in a Brooks Bros suit walks
out the door and reaches for your hand, a nervous smile on his face. He says:

“Do you live here?”

“Yeah - 5B – why?”

“Residents only.”

He stands aside, barely leaving you room to enter, looking past you with his unblinking stare. He still smiles nervously. Must be his first day.

You continue upstairs, where you notice your neighbour’s door is open and other similarly black suited people are tramping in and out with seamless efficiency. Peering in, you see your neighbour collapsed on his coffee table, head in hands, his apartment upturned with the remaining gaggle of suits opening, breaking everything in sight.

“Dude… what the…?”

Head turned, hands unmoved, he sighs.

“You gotta talk to these guys. YOU’RE the one that’s been getting the old guy’s mail, not me! They want that letter you showed me…”

I've been challenged, and I believe I am up to the Indie Bloggers task.

Mr Death By Children himself is the devious one responsible for setting the weekly challenge, and he'd suggested previously that I get involved. After reading his response to this week's challenge, I'm not sure if he suggested it because he wanted the competition, or if he suggested it because he wanted someone else to climb over on his way to collect the "King of the Weekly Challenge" trophy - such is the quality of his post.

Nonetheless, I continue on, undeterred. I will work on making it a blogging priority... I know I can be a good writer, it's just giving me the time and the chance (and the inspirational head space) to do so.

If you're interested, my first attempt is posted here...