There’s definitely a wonderful sense of comraderie and experimentation among the current collective of writers that I think would lend well to critique.  I’m open to suggestions.  With respect to time, if we workshop, we probably won’t be able to generate new writing.  Would everyone be okay with that?

SEEKING ORIGINAL, creative writing prompt and response piece of 3,500 words maximum, fiction, nonfiction for anthology. Submit: Prompts and Pieces, P.O Box 103, Maynard, MA 01754. Include bio, SASE, e-mail. Deadline: January 30, 2010. Free book upon publication—traditional publisher. Guidelines: mdellafera@charter.net.

http://staringatangels.wordpress.com/

And please bug me about the novel writing–it will help motivate me!

Leaves stirred and fell on to the water, floating alongside a small boat tied to the pier. An owl called out, its hoot quickly lost inside a raging wind. Tree branches began to shake. A young woman of maybe 19 years of age came from a cabin into the darkness to observe the gloomy weather.

“Looks like rain,” a voice from behind said.

She jumped, turned, and saw the faces of one of the other camp counselors.

“Cody, you asshole!” she said, and slapped at him.

“What, you afraid ole Jason will get you?” he asked.

“No.” She crossed her arms and looked away.

“Lisa, you know all that bullshit was just a story, right? Something fun for Halloween?”

She was about to call him a foul name, but something in the air gave her pause. Was that the smell of…no, she must be crazy.

“Yeah, well all that stuff about a guy in a hockey mask coming back from the dead and killing all the young and horny camp counselors isn’t my idea of funny.”

“Why…are you horny?” Cody squeezed Lisa’s breast.

She pulled away. “No, you jerk!” she cried. She really wanted to use a certain vulgar name on him now, but again she had to stop and sniff the air. “Do you…do you smell that?”

“Smell what?” he asked, sidling closer. “I think it’s love.”

“It smells like…like pumpkin!”

Suddenly, a long blade slashed from the shadows of the forest—and straight through Cody’s chest, his body writhing as his arms hung for a moment in mid-air, still reaching for Lisa’s breasts, then went slack.

Lisa screamed as a hockey-masked madman stalked from the darkness toward her, raising his machete. She turned to run, got a few feet, then fell.

They always fell.

As Jason Vorhees raised his killing weapon, the water of the lake erupted in a terrible explosion! The maniac froze in confusion and watched as a huge, round, orange object emerged. A pair of black, triangular eyes stared at him as a jagged row of teeth smiled.

The Great Pumpkin flew at Jason with deadly viciousness. Jason brought his machete down, hacking pieces of orange into the Halloween night.

But the Great Pumpkin released its mightiest weapon: pumpkin seeds. Hundreds of them flew like bullets into Jason’s body, tearing it apart into small red bits.

Lisa stood up, picked up one of the gore-covered seeds, and ate it.

“The kids will love some roasted pumpkin seeds!” she said.

“Happy Halloween!” the Great Pumpkin exclaimed.



Here’s an excerpt: “Today has been officially designated The National Day on Writing by the United States Senate to recognize, among other things, that “people in the 21st century are writing more than ever before for personal, professional, and civic purposes” and that “developing digital technologies expand the possibilities for composing in multiple media at a faster pace than ever.”

Now why they would choose “on” instead of “for” or “in” or “with” I can’t figure, but it’s feels good to have a day in honor of writing all the same.  Plus, there’s a great link in the article to 10 Personal Writing Ideas.  It would behoove you to check it out.

Also, my I suggest re-envisioning a memorable phrase from a film or novel by altering the preposition, as they’re done here by using “on” instead of the more expected “for”.   How does that change the original meaning? Consider rewritting the scene with the new context.

Not sure what constitutes a preposition? Check out this list of 100.

Rune for Ernesto, 6-12-09 –by Mariella

Son of seasons of shotgun sleep, of rust wagons wading by dark gullied creeks,

of Sasquatch sniffing the cloud fields for goblin elixir, as your hot holder steams with splinters of light.

The soul orbs in its black reflection you, the union fruit of scat spirits,

stare down to scry the dream deaths of cryptozoologists, shadows undulating in pools of panic.

This is your earth beat, this your sunset queen of untouchables,

on whose foot throne you–forever–place pierced piles of pollen holders.

Open the word gate; drown in the mad sea gush of memory.

Kennings

shotgun sleep–death (by gunfire)

rust wagons–trailers

cloud fields–skies

goblin elixir–coffee

hot holder–cup

splinters of light–colors

soul orbs–eyes

union fruit–child

baby scat spirits–beatniks or hippies; alternatively, Sasquatches

dream deaths–nightmares

pools of panic–deep lakes

earth beat–heartland

sunset queen of untouchables–West Virginia

foot throne–ottoman

pollen holders–flowers

word gate–discussion

sea gush–flood