A Night Out With Friends - Fun in Writing September 14, 2008

Thank you, Aileen Aroma

The prompt here is used as the title. Here again, I couldn't use a memory. This was much more fun. 

Half a dozen people sat around a green, cloth covered table playing cards. Some were smoking, others drank light brown alcohol from short glasses tinkling with ice.

One of the women squinted past the smoke spiraling ceiling ward from the stub of a cigarette dangling from red painted lips.

"I'm thinking of killing her off," she tossed down a queen of hearts.

A bearded man picked it up, discarding a one eyed jack. "Why? Did she piss you off?"

The others chuckled lightly as the game progressed.

"No, it just has to happen for lives to move onward. She's an obstacle, a nuisance. No one likes her."

They nodded agreement, six heads bobbing in unison.

"So, how did you figure to do it?" A well dressed, handsome man next to her said quietly.

"Stabbing," the woman replied, grinding the cigarette out. "With and antique Scottish Dubh."

"Stabbing's messy," a younger woman with long red hair wrinkled her nose. She sat opposite the cigarette smoking woman.

"She's right," the well dressed man agreed.

"Is it premeditated or a crime of passion?" The bearded man wanted to know.

"Oh, it will be very well planned ahead of time."

"Knives are for crimes of passion," the well dressed man interjected. "I'd use something neater."

"Shoot her," the redhead contributed.

"Then I have to dispose of the weapon. And the powder residue is a dead giveaway."

"Do you want it to look like a murder?" A pretty blonde next to the redhead had been silent until now, waiting for her turn to play.

"What do you mean?" The smoking woman lit another cigarette with a blue lighter, inhaling deeply.

"Well, some contract killers use drugs to make it look like a heart attack. Much less messy. No one knows the difference. It's the same drug they give you when they work on you at the hospital, so it doesn't show up on a tox screen."

"Clever! I like that. What's the drug?"

The blonde looked puzzled. "You know, I don't quite remember. You can spray it on, though. I saw that on TV."

"Hmm, have to research that."

"Set her house on fire," the bearded man said calmly, resuming game play.

"That doesn't look accidental."

"It does if she smokes in bed."

"She quit twenty years ago."

"Drunk driver killed in fatal crash," a dark haired man said enthusiastically, holding up his hands as if announcing a newspaper headline. Everyone groaned.

"Dammit, Barry! I just saw your hand," the bearded man complained.

They tossed in the cards. The redhead shuffled and dealt as the well dressed man refreshed their drinks.

"You never answered me," Barry reminded the smoker as she lit another from the stub of the one dangling from her lips.

"Quit smoking and drinking when her dad died."

"Does she have any vices?" The redhead looked alarmed.

"None."

"The woman's a saint," the bearded man objected. "Why kill her off?"

"That's what bugs people. She's too damn nice!" the smoking woman complained.

"An old lover returns, stabs her in the back for jilting him." Barry said, taking a sip from his drink.

"It's not a crime of passion," the redhead reminded him. 

"Well, yes and no. It's metaphorical. She stabbed him, so to speak, so he's returning the favor."

"No, I don't think that would work, but it's an idea," the smoker conceded.

"So," the well dressed man laid down his cards, ticking off points on his fingers. "We've ruled out stabbing, shooting, poisoning, fires and car wrecks. That leaves us strangling, bludgeoning, drowning and what? Fatal fall? Does she frequent tall buildings?"

The smoker shook her head, wrinkling her nose. "Afraid of heights."

"Earthquake, cave in?" Barry added, tossing down a card.

"Oh, you control Mother Nature now?" The blonde asked sarcastically.

"She told us last week the woman is a caver. You know, a spelunker thingy. Lots of unstable caves around. Lure her in, trap her in a landslide."

"What if it backfired, killing the killer?"

"Tragic irony," he shrugged, spreading his hands.

Everyone groaned again.

"Dammit, Barry!" The blonde fussed, tossing her cards at him.

"He always does that when he's losing," the bearded man grunted as he leaned across the table for cards.

Barry took the cards, shuffling rapidly. "I still like the cave in idea."

"Awfully hard to orchestrate," the smoker countered. "But I haven't ruled it out. I'm still liking the poison heart attack."

"Lots of research involved," the bearded man shook his head. "How soon did you want to do it?"

"Sometime this week. I've got to put an end to it. It's been keeping me up at night. Over three hundred pages and no resolution."

"Once she's dead, won't you have to solve it?"

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Tragic suicide," Barry said, nibbling a pretzel. "Nice, succinct, everyone knows she did it, leaves a pathetic note about how unhappy she's been. Coroner's inquest to determine cause of death. Badabing, wrapped up nice and neat."

The cigarette smoking woman stared at him in wonder. "You know, that just might work! She isn't happy and she has some tragedy in her life."

"Old lover returns and threatens blackmail," the redhead said excitedly.

"All her ugly secrets will be revealed. Maybe she has a child no one knows about!" The blonde's eyes sparkled.

"Oh, better yet, a secret child and a husband. Her marriage to this guy was a fake."

"A string of fake husbands, phony divorces and a secret child," the cigarette smoker giggled. "That's exactly what I need! Thanks, all of you! I knew I could count on you."

The table and people faded as the woman set down her drink. She was alone in her office, computer screen flickering gently in the half light. With renewed vigor, she hammered at the keys, putting her new ideas down while they were fresh. She finished the chapter with a smile, patting the screen fondly.

"Thank you," she said to her characters. Thanks to all of you."

With a smile, she shut down her computer and went to bed.

To buy Dellanis' Books:

Indian Summer

Lone Wolf

The Ninja Tattoo

Under the Western Sky

Shakazhan – Lone Wolf series book 2

Letter of Complaint - Fun in Writing August 17, 2011

Thank you, Aileen Aroma

I'm not sure what the prompt was for this one, but I chose to do this. I had fun with it.

Dear Sir or Ma'am:

I bought this thingummy a fortnight ago and the dumb thing don't work right! You're s'posed to put the whatsit into the doomaflachy thingy but it ain't going. I wiggled and jiggled it some, but that's a no go. Mum kicked it and still nuffin.

I wants me money back pronto! How dare ya sell crap which don't work right? Buggers—all of ya.

Walt Simmons

Dear Mr. Simmons,

We're very sorry that you had problems with our product. Could you, perhaps, be more specific as to which product you refer? This would greatly expedite our refund to you.

Neville McNee

Customer Complaints

Mr. McNee,

Wot kind of name is Neville anyway? Don't know how much more specific I can be. It's that thingummy wot was on sale last week downtown. It sits on your desk and you're s'posed to be able to access that intranet whatchacallit wiff it. I want a proper thingy as will work right.

Walt Simmons

Mr. Simmons,

Do you mean a computer? Have you hooked it up properly? Perhaps you need to read the user's manual or take it to the shop where you purchased it and get instructions.

Neville McNee

Customer Complaints

Whot you talking about, Neville?

Mr. Simmons,

Afraid I don't understand your last communication. I'm talking about the computer you bought at one of our stores last week. I was able to access your purchase information. You also purchased the extended warranty, so any service you require will be covered. Please take your computer back to the store where you bought it and they will be happy to help you out.

Neville McNee

Customer Complaints

Neville,

I done wot you said. I took the computer to the shop and they laughed at me. Bunch of nerdy looking types in blue shirts told me I'm computer illiterate. I'm not sure exactly what that means, but it's and insult, be sure of that. I just want me money back, but Mum dented it when she kicked it, so they say they can't give me a full refund.

I've sent it back to you lot, part and parcel. Take the bloody thing and to hell with you and it! Pox on you, the ruddy machine and the horse you both rode in on! And you never answered my question—wot kind of wimpy, dorky name is Neville anyhow?

Walt Simmons

Mr. Simmons,

Thank you for returning your computer to us. Unfortunately, as you've chopped it in a million pieces, we can't give you a refund. Also, I found the letter you included with it somewhat inflammatory and personally offensive. Neville is a fine, old fashioned family name. My grandfather's name was Neville. I thank you for keeping such comments to yourself.

On a less personal note, any further missives are to be directed to my supervisor, Cedric Hinkle.

Neville McNee

Customer Complaints

Mr. Hinkle,

Wot sort of a daft name is Cedric anyway?

It Is What It Is - Fun in Writing 12/7/11

       

It Is What It Is has to be one of the dumbest expressions ever coined. Thank you, Captain Obvious!

When you look at the English language, there are some really dumb expressions out there. What must a foreigner think when he hears some of them? Can you imagine a conversation with someone whose English is good, but lacks a knowledge of our slang and idioms? How confusing! I can't imagine being on the receiving end. Actually, I can. So I wrote one. This is an exchange between an average American and a person who speaks English, but doesn't speak "American".

A foreign man approaches a pleasant looking American fellow on the street.

"Excuse me, sir. Could you give me directions to the nearest restaurant?"

"You want sit down, fast food or carry out?"

"We have been walking a lot. We prefer to sit."

"Okay. Cool. Best bet's to head over to – Say, you like Mexican?"

"Yes, I like Mexicans. What does that have to do with food?"

"There's a great Mexican place two blocks down on the right. Or there's and Italian place three blocks over yonder."

"I beg your pardon? Yonder?"

"Over that way." Appropriate hand gestures accompany the explanation.

"I see. We would like an American meal."

"Oh, gotcha. For good, down home cooking, nothing beats Angie's Place. It's a fair piece. Up the road a bit. Might wanna snag a cab."

"We have a car...."

"Okay, then. What you're gonna do, you're.... Say, where are you heading out from?"

"Heading out?"

"Starting from."

"This is our hotel."

"Gotcha. Okay, so you're gonna head up to Tenth. Hang a right at the light. Go through the next three lights, hang a left at the Boulevard. You can't miss it. It's a big, white building on your right. Across from the Shiny Bright. Next door to the Suds to Go."

"Thank you. You're most kind."

"No problem, buddy. You have a great rest of your day."

The foreign man returns to his family as the American man walks away, whistling. His wife looks anxiously up at him.

"Well? What did he say?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

Special Adage - Fun in Writing June 2, 2010

The prompt for this Fun in Writing was Adages. As I often do, I kind of took it my own direction. 

 I couldn't think of anything to fit this subject, so I changed it up a little to quotes that are frequently misquoted. Shakespeare suffers a lot from this, but so do movies, plays, books and even songs.

One that springs to mind, since I just saw it on DVD, is from Hamlet. When he's in the graveyard and picks up the skull, he's often misquoted as saying, “Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him well.” Not so! He says, “Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio.”

A second one, also from Hamlet, when the queen is asked her opinion of the play: “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” Instead, it's: “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

Another one, this time from MacBeth: “Bubble, bubble toil and trouble.” When if fact, it's “Double, double toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

Leaving Shakespeare for the moment, let's reflect on a couple of Bogart movies. The main one misquoted is from Casablanca. It is, of course, in reference to their famous song. So often, this line is not only misquoted, it's attributed to the wrong character. How often have we seen Bogart impersonators take on the famous overbite and say, “Play it again, Sam.”

He doesn't even say the line! Ingrid Bergman spoke to Sam and said, “Play it, Sam.”

From another Bogart movie, the famous whistle quote. I've always heard, “You know how to whistle, just pucker up and blow.” Lauren Bacall didn't say that at all. “You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow.”

Moving on to another movie icon, Mae West. We've all heard “Come up and see me sometime.” She actually said, “Why don't you come up some time and see me?”

One of my favorite misquotes of all time was said by Clint Eastwood in Dirty Harry. Everyone always says, “Do you feel lucky, punk?” Poor Harry didn't say that at all. He said, “Ah-ah. I know what you're thinking: 'Did he fire six shots, or only five?' Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But, being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, PUNK?”

So, in conclusion, I leave you with a great quote, (which is correct) and sums up my point perfectly: “What we've got here... is failure to communicate!”

To buy Dellanis' Books:

Indian Summer

Lone Wolf

The Ninja Tattoo

Under the Western Sky

Shakazhan – Lone Wolf series book 2

If I Had the Chance to Do It Over - Fun in Writing July 7, 2010

Here's another one from my Fun in Writing class. The prompt is used as the title. Once again, it was more fun to make something up. 

If I had it to do over, I suppose I'd have done it differently. At the time, it seemed okay, but upon reflection, I guess it wasn't my best decision. However, you know how they say hindsight is 20/20? Yeah. That'd be me.

Not that it's a bad thing – per se – not exactly.... But I could have done better. I suppose we all kick ourselves from time to time, ruminate on the whys and wherefores of a situation, but this one really doesn't bear thinking about.

I should probably start at the beginning. I was standing on Molly Henderson's porch painting her trim. I do odd jobs around the neighborhood to make some extra cash. Anyway, she invited me in for iced tea and I graciously accepted. It was well over 90° in the shade and humid. Kind of like standing in a sauna – no air moving. The cool air in the house bathed my boiling skin in a chilly layer of gooseflesh. I sipped my tea, feeling it glide down my throat, as I chatted with Molly.

After my break, I worked my way around the front of the porch. I was glad of the deep overhang and the fact the sun was now on the back side of the house, and dipped my brush in the glistening white paint. Moments later, a wasp started circling my paint can. I swatted it away with my hand, but it came back. Something about that paint really caught its attention. I took another swat, this time with the paint brush.

All I succeeded in doing was pissing it off. Ever been on top of a ten foot ladder with an angry wasp buzzing around your head? I got off the ladder, taking a break away, hoping the damn thing would leave. When I went back up, there were three wasps circling the paint can. Great. Just what I needed.

I hopped back down and got a rolled up newspaper from the recycling bin on the side of the house. Armed with my weapon of wasp destruction, I went back to my ladder. In my absence, three more wasps had joined the ever widening circle of my paint can. I now had six wasps weaving a wobbling flight path over my can. I couldn't even approach it for fear they'd sting me.

Maybe now's the time to tell you that I'm deathly afraid of being stung. I sat on a swing with a wasp's nest under it when I was a kid. Couldn't see it because of the tall grass around the swing set. Twenty-eight stings I got that day. So maybe you can understand why I'm a bit leery, huh?

I halfheartedly swung my paper around, hoping to discourage and scatter the critters, but they weren't about to comply. Molly came to the front door and watched me for a few minutes, hands on her hips.

“Skip Richards, I'm not paying you to play tag with that paint can. Get back up on the ladder and finish my trim!”

“I'd like to, Miss Molly, but there's wasps....”

“Don't make me call your mama!”

“Miss Molly, I'm 23 years old. You don't need to be calling my mama cause of some wasps.”

“Swat those things away. Big boy like you ought not to be afraid of a couple wasps!”

“There's eight of them now. I can't kill all eight at a time! Not with this!” I held up my paper.

Molly huffed angrily and went inside. She came back with a spray can and a broom. “Spray 'em with this and knock 'em aside with a broom.”

I took the proffered weapons with trepidation. What good was hairspray? I thought she'd bring me some wasp killer or, better yet, a blow torch – but no.... I've got me a broom and a can of AquaNet.

Taking careful aim, and making sure I was upwind, I sprayed that hairspray for all I was worth. I must've used half the can. One wasp after another wibbled and wobbled and fluttered away. All but one. It landed on the rim of the can.

I sprayed it again. Instead of flying away, it did a strafing run at my head! I swatted at it with my hands, but it kept coming. I took up the broom, flailing around me like some kind of straw armed Ninja.

All of a sudden, Miss Molly's screaming at me from the front porch. I couldn't understand what she was saying until it was too late. I thwacked that ladder and paint can, ladder and all came down on me.

Covered in paint with a huge knot on my head from where the ladder hit me, I sat on Miss Molly's yard while she and the entire neighborhood had a good laugh at me.

Yup – wish I'd of done it differently....

To buy Dellanis' Books:

Indian Summer

Lone Wolf

The Ninja Tattoo

Under the Western Sky

Shakazhan – Lone Wolf series book 2

. . . Repent in Leisure October 19, 2010

Thank you Aileen Aroma!

This is another one pulled from the files from Fun in Writing. The prompt here was A Hasty Decision. Most of our members talk about things from their past, but I find it more fun to make something up. 

“Marry in haste, repent in leisure,” my Aunt Martha said as she fluffed my veil. “I swear, you look a treat, Sammie!”

“Thanks, Auntie M,” I said, hugging her.

I adjusted the wreath of flowers on my head, gazing at myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess, but the veil was gorgeous. Martha was making it for me from silk flowers and lace. It was lovely. My dress was still being made, so I stood there modeling it in jeans and a T-shirt.

“Just gotta ask again, Sammie. Are you sure about this boy?”

“Very sure, Auntie. RJ's fantastic. You'll love him. Mama loves him.”

“Well, just cause my baby sister likes somebody, don't mean I will.”

“He's the best. Honest!”

“Didn't you say that about what's his name? The carpenter?”

I couldn't look at myself anymore. “Yeah. But I was wrong as can be about Bobby. This is different, Auntie.”

“And you said that about that policeman.”

I sighed. She had a point. I'd said that about Tom too. Let's face it, my experience with men isn't all that great. My record relationship so far is this one with RJ. We've been dating four months and are getting married in six weeks. At least that's the plan, provided something doesn't come along to screw it up.

“My point is,” she continued. “Sammie Jean, you ain't got the best track record of any girl. You fall in love too easy. You get your heart all trampled on and then regret like crazy you ever hooked up with that lunatic man in the first place. You sure this ain't another time like the last...twelve?”

“Not twelve, Auntie. Just two.”

“Seems like a lot more than two. Didn't you almost marry that florist fella?”

I'd forgotten about Dean the florist. Good grief, I'd forgotten half a dozen men I'd dated too. She had a point, damn close to twelve. I hadn't been engaged to them all, but RJ was the third. Or was it the fourth? But the only one who'd got so far as setting a date and buying the material for a dress. Mama was sewing that, Auntie M. was making the veil. My Aunt Tessa was making the bouquets and Aunt Mamie the cake. My mama's got a bunch of sisters and they're all good at different things.

“This time, for sure! I'm really positive about RJ.”

Her eyes looked sad and I knew she was thinking of some other guy I'd said that about. She thought I was gonna back out again—like I'd always done before.

“Can't help thinkin' a man who'll propose and get married real fast—he ain't reliable, Sammie Jean. I feel like I'm wasting precious time making something for a wedding that ain't ever gonna be.”

“You're not wasting your time, Auntie. This time, for sure! I love RJ so much! He's real special. And I know I've said that a million times before, but this time for sure! Wait until you meet him. He's coming by at seven for dinner.”

“I guess we're all expected?”

I nodded, taking the wreath of flowers off my head.

“Well, I reckon I can give a few minutes.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon working on wedding plans and cooking dinner. RJ was right on time. My aunts were all in the living room waiting for him to arrive. He knocked on the door and you'd think someone lit a fire under those women. They lined up in birth order to meet him: Martha, Tessa, Mamie and my mother, Reanne. I felt like making a drum roll when I opened up that door.

RJ walked in, gave me a kiss and turned to see that room full of females. He's real good looking, dark brown hair and big green eyes. He wears a real diamond stud in his left ear. That surprised my mama some, but she didn't complain. I introduced him to my aunts.

“Wait a second,” Martha said loudly. “You're that doctor, aren't ya?”

“Yes, ma'am. Sure am! I work at the Emergency room.”

“You sewed up my boy when he cut his foot,” Aunt Tessa said with a grin.

“And you took the splinter outta my neighbor's eye,” Aunt Mamie said.

“This is who you're gonna marry?” Aunt Martha asked.

“Yup, Auntie. This is RJ.”

“Well, baby darlin'. You forget everything your auntie said and just go on and be happy.”

RJ wasn't quite sure what to think, but he took it all in stride. He charmed those aunts of mine and had them about eating outta his hand before dinner was done.

After he went home, Aunt Martha took me aside and gave me a hug. “Baby girl, you did good.”

“Thanks, Auntie.”

“I take back all the bad I said. You're gonna do just fine.”

“Thanks, Auntie.”

“One thing though, you gonna let him wear that earring?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Well then, he better get you a ring at least twice that big, or it's gonna be competition,” she declared as she walked out the door.

I sat down on the couch and couldn't stop laughing. Finally, I'd found a man that everyone loved just as much as me.

To buy Dellanis' Books:

Indian Summer

Lone Wolf

The Ninja Tattoo

Under the Western Sky

Shakazhan – Lone Wolf series book 2

Highly Suspicious - Fun in Writing July 30, 2008

Thanks Aileen Aroma!

As I've said before, I attend a small writing group once a week. I'm revisiting those files and finding them just as fun as they were the first time around. This one was written from the prompt Suspicious.

I'm told I have a suspicious mind. I prefer to say I have a healthy dose of cynicism with a spot

of paranoia. Though it is true, I am suspicious. Crime is all around us. Every day someone gets robbed or killed and the police can't find a clue. That's why a guy like me is necessary. Bill Sussman, Private Eye.

My career started in the second grade when little Myron Golden lost his marbles, twelve of them, plus an Aggy. Someone stole them from his coat pocket at recess. I found those marbles. Who but me would have thought that Vera Teigler was capable of such a heinous crime? And at such a tender age.

From there, I progressed to bigger things, each case more impressive than the last. In middle school, I uncovered the gang responsible for the graffiti on the bathroom walls. In high school, I uncovered a term paper forgery business by posing as a football player in need of a grade fix. None of

my discoveries made me very popular with my classmates, but sometimes a man has to do the tough jobs whether he gets extra swirlies or pantsed in gym class.

Let's not forget my biggest case to date, the Japanese Sumo Wrestling Pornography Ring! Okay, so I was wrong that Mr. Sato had a porn studio in back of his sushi shop. But he was fronting for a bookie, so my suspicions about illegal activity were correct.

Things have been a little slow lately, so I've been taking any case that comes my way. I'm not proud of the fact I'm doing car repos or following deadbeat dads, but it puts food on the table.

So imagine my surprise when the blonde walked in. My suspicious nature kicked in the second she opened the door. Trouble had just entered my office. She was a real babe, tall, thin, willowy - like Lauren Bacall in "The Big Sleep". Dressed in silk and smelling like Chanel No. 5, she stood across the desk from me. My knees were weak as I stood to greet her.

"Please, have a seat, Miss?"

"Oh, Mr. Sussman, you have to help me!" She burst into tears.

I handed her a box of tissues. She nodded her thanks and cried like crazy. Not many babes can cry like that and not move their makeup. Bill Sussman's suspicious nature stood up and said hello. Any woman who's sobbing like her heart is broken is gonna leave tracks. Her eyes go red, her face turns puffy. Not this chick. My professional mien descended like a lead zeppelin.

"How may I help you?" I tried again.

"I'm so sorry," she gulped and sobbed, looking just as perfect as when she walked in.

The tissues clutched in her well manicured hands were dry as a bone. She kept her head down and her hands in her lap. I moved around to the front of the desk, leaning against the edge.

"It's me, Bill. Vera Teigler. Don't you recognize me anymore?"

"Little Vera Teigler from second grade?" My smile nearly split my face in two. "How ya been, Vera?"

"A little of this, a little of that," she said with a funny smile that made me very suspicious indeed. "A lot better than you, you low life creep!"

And suddenly I'm looking at the business end of a snub nosed pistol. I figured I had two choices, grab the gun or put up my hands. Bill Sussman ain't a hero, dig? My hands flew up and I got real nervous.

"Hey, Vera. I'm sorry about the marbles, okay?"

"This isn't about the marbles, you freak! It's about Andy!"

"Andy? Andy who?"

"Tucker. Andy Tucker, my boyfriend. Don't you know anything?"

"Come to think, that name rings a bell or two."

"You were following him because his wife hired you to find out who he was seeing on the side. He was seeing ME!" She screamed at me. The gun wavered in her hand.

"Well, sorry about that, Vera. Didn't mean to put a dent in your love life."

"She shot him, you idiot! Shot him dead! You killed the only man I ever loved! I hate you, Bill Sussman!"

My choices had just narrowed to one. I leaped at her, grabbing the barrel of the gun, pushing it out of my face as she pulled the trigger. I felt the bullet whiz past my ear, the sound of the explosion loud in the small office. I got the gun away from her, holding it carefully so my prints wouldn't get on the grip.

"It's over, Vera. I'm sorry about Andy, but business is business."

"Yeah, well, he was a pretty lousy boyfriend. Sorry about the gun," she brushed her hair out of her face. "So, Bill, you seeing anybody?"

"No," I grinned. "So, Vera, want to go out for a cup of coffee and talk about old times?"

"Sure," she said, taking my arm.

I smirked. Yeah, life comes at a guy fast, but sometimes it tosses in a hell of a ride.

To buy Dellanis' Books:

Indian Summer

Lone Wolf

The Ninja Tattoo

Under the Western Sky

Shakazhan – Lone Wolf series book 2

Pet Peeves - Written June 11, 2008

I belong to a small, informal writing group that meets once a week. The prompt for this particular story was Pet Peeves. I could have listed all the things I find annoying, but this was more fun.The characters reflect my pet peeves in an exaggerated way.

 The therapist looked around the group steepling his fingers. Smiling ponderously he turned to the newest member. "Everyone, this is Letitia. She's joining us for the first time. Letitia, why don't you share with the group some of the things that make you angry."

Letitia smiled sweetly at him. "You mean like other than smarmy psychologists with ingratiating voices and sissy mannerisms?"

His smile faded slightly as he brought his hands to his lap. "Yes, other than that."

"Stupid people," she said tersely.

"Define stupid," a short, wiry, Hispanic youth across from her said.

Letitia thought for a moment. "Stupid people, hm. Can't walk, can't talk, shouldn't breathe?"

He grinned, nodding for her to go on. The therapist frowned.

"Get behind them in the grocery store - Oops! They forgot something. Okay, we all do that sometimes. Once, I have no problem with. But this one lady I got behind went back three times! I wanted to choke her."

"What did you do?" An excitable older woman to her right said.

"Next time she started to turn around, I blocked the way and told her the only way she was leaving the line again was through me."

"What did she do?" The youth asked.

"About peed herself," she looked smug.

He clapped and nodded. "Right on!"

"See here," the therapist tried to assert himself. "We aren't encouraging this kind of behavior. What Letitia did was wrong. You can't intimidate people at the grocery store!"

"Why not?" The man next to him asked. "I think it's great. Get what you need and get out. If you forget something, go back after you pay for the rest. Not so hard to do." He leaned forward toward the group. "My pet peeve is people who can't make up their minds what they want to order at a fast food place. They've been in line ten minutes with that huge menu in front of them. Do they look at it? No. Not until they get to the register."

"I know what you mean, dude," the Hispanic young man said. "I worked McDonald's right? Got myself fired."

"Manuel, I don't think this is the time for that story," the therapist interjected.

"Dude, chill, okay? So this lady, must have weighed like three hundred and change, waddles up with her chubby kids. I'm waiting while the fat broad makes up her mind how many pounds of burgers she's gonna scarf down and her six year old starts yelling, 'Mommy, Mommy! I want a Whopper!'" He snorted, rolling his eyes expressively. "So I said, 'Kid, we don't do Whoppers here, that's Burger King.' And he starts crying. 'How about a Big Mac and fries?' I'm being nice. She starts to argue with me about why can't I give her dumb kid a Whopper? I sad, 'Lady, I'd love to give him a Whopper, but we don't do Whoppers at McDonald's.' She's screaming by this time. So I climbed up on the counter, drop my pants and flash the entire restaurant. 'Lady, that's the only Whopper in the store. Okay?' I got arrested for indecent exposure." He shrugged, fidgeting like he wanted a cigarette.

"This is getting out of hand, Manuel."

"Hey, ain't my fault." He shrugged, leaning back in his seat.

"I hate bad drivers," the lady to Letitia's right said angrily. "Can't decide what speed to go! Can't stay in their lanes! Blinkers going for six blocks and they slow at every cross street!"

"Or tail gate on a four lane road when nobody else is around," the older man added. "I had some guy follow me back and forth like I had a magnet on my rear. Right on my bumper. Every time I changed lanes, he did."

"How did you handle that, Frank?" The therapist asked despite himself.

"Hit my brakes and let him rear end me," Frank nodded happily, grinning.

He and Manuel did a high five.

"I hate when people turn and think about it," Letitia added. "Like they start to slow down two blocks away, with the blinker on. Practically stop to turn in at the gas station. Come on, already! Get out of the road! I wish I drove a huge truck or maybe a tank. POW! I'd take 'em out!" She giggled with anticipation.

"Did you ever see that movie, 'Death Race 2000'?" The older lady asked.

"Dude! I love that movie!" Manuel grinned.

"Well, more than once," she admitted forcefully. "I've wanted to hit the accelerator and mow people down!" She put her hands up like she was gripping a steering wheel, mashing her foot to the floor. "VOOOM!"

"Marie!" the therapist was appalled. "That's it!" He bellowed. "Class dismissed!" He got up and walked out, banging the door behind him.

"Hey, Chica," Manuel addressed Letitia. "You rock, baby. Want to go out for coffee?"

"Sure!"

"Yes, let's all go," Marie said excitedly. "I feel like stirring up trouble."

"That's why I love this group so much," Frank said with a grin. "I feel so much better when it's over."

To Find Dellani's Books:

Indian Summer, Lone Wolf & Shakazhan

Under the Western Sky & The Ninja Tattoo

Pounding the Pavement

The prompt from writing group was Pounding the Pavement. This is what I wrote.

I've never really actually pounded the pavement, except with my butt. What can I say? I'm clumsy. If it's possible to hurt myself, I will. I don't know what my first experience with pavement pounding was, but several incidents certainly stand out in my mind in rather spectacular ways. I seem to have a proclivity for injuring my feet the most, though my shins and knees refuse to be left out of the action.

When I was four, my family lived in married student housing in Cambridge, Massachusetts, while my father attended Harvard. There were lots of children running around barefoot and we played outside all spring and summer. One of the boys was given a red wagon for his birthday and we were all getting rides. I was determined not to be left out and claimed my place in the front while two others piled in behind me.

I started out with my feet under me Indian style, but there wasn't enough room, so I let my toes dangle over the side. Everything was fine until we hit a bump. I fell forward, my toes dragged on the pavement and I took part of the nail and the tips of my big toes clean off.

Screaming and crying, I was carted back to my mother who cleaned and bound the wounds, administered baby aspirin and kept me inside for the next week. For a long time after that, I was confined by tennis shoes.

My first major knee involvement came at age nine when I was learning to ride a bike. The neighbors had an old, battered, dark green bike with nearly flat tires. Jane, the eldest who was four or five years older than I was, got me set up, ran me around and got me confident. Feeling empowered by my new found skill, I decided to ride around the block a few times.

Flying along, I felt the freedom the bike gave me, enjoying the sun on my face and the wind in my hair – until I hit a patch of loose gravel. The bike went one way and I went the other, down on all fours in the dirt road.

Gravel and dirt embedded themselves in my flesh, leaving a trail of grime and blood. Luckily for me, I fell in front of the same neighbors' house. Their father carried me inside and their mother, a registered nurse, cleaned me up while her daughter ran down and got my mother. To make me feel better, Mr. Magsman got me a bowl of ice cream with chocolate syrup. It kept my mind off the fact his wife was taking stones from my knees with tweezers.

My last major escapade with pavement pounding involved my right shin. This time, in college, working summer stock at a theater in Tennessee, I was coming off stage when disaster struck.

We were doing Carousel and I was singing and dancing in the chorus. I was going to the dressing room in the basement laughing and chatting with my friends. I really was paying attention to where I was going, but I was wearing slick bottomed dance shoes.

There was a rise in the floor, a step up of about ten inches. Instead of stepping on it like I should, I missed, catching my heel on the edge of the step. The shoe flew out from under me and I fell down, grinding my shin against the edge of the concrete step.

Luckily, there were several doctors and nurses in the cast as the theater drew extras largely from the community. One of the doctors gently checked my leg while one of the nurses held my hand and tried to calm me down. It wasn't broken, but I had a gash in my shin down to the bone that went from my knee to my ankle. I couldn't even get stitches because there was no skin left.

I've done many things to myself that defy description. None of them have ever been life threatening, but all of them have been painful and of major inconvenience. I'm not quite as clumsy as I was as a child, but that's probably because I try to be more aware of what's around me. Aside from the occasional stubbed toe, I do pretty well and avoid pounding the pavement.

© Dellani Oakes

For more of Dellani's books, check out Indian Summer, Lone Wolf and The Ninja Tattoo on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.

Pet Peeves

I go to a small, informal writing group once a week. We get a weekly prompt to write about. This is what I wrote for Pet Peeves.

 The therapist looked around the group steepling his fingers. Smiling ponderously he turned to the newest member. "Everyone, this is Letitia. She's joining us for the first time. Letitia, why don't you share with the group some of the things that make you angry."

Letitia smiled sweetly at him. "You mean like other than smarmy psychologists with ingratiating voices and sissy mannerisms?"

His smile faded slightly as he brought his hands to his lap. "Yes, other than that."

"Stupid people," she said tersely.

"Define stupid," a short, wiry, Hispanic youth across from her said.

Letitia thought for a moment. "Stupid people, hm. Can't walk, can't talk, shouldn't breathe?"

He grinned, nodding for her to go on. The therapist frowned.

"Get behind them in the grocery store - Oops! They forgot something. Okay, we all do that sometimes. Once, I have no problem with. But this one lady I got behind went back three times! I wanted to choke her."

"What did you do?" An excitable older woman to her right said.

"Next time she started to turn around, I blocked the way and told her the only way she was leaving the line again was through me."

"What did she do?" The youth asked.

"About peed herself," she looked smug.

He clapped and nodded. "Right on!"

"See here," the therapist tried to assert himself. "We aren't encouraging this kind of behavior. What Letitia did was wrong. You can't intimidate people at he grocery store!"

"Why not?" The man next to him asked. "I think it's great. Get what you need and get out. If you forget something, go back after you pay for the rest. Not so hard to do." He leaned forward toward the group. "My pet peeve is people who can't make up their minds what they want to order at a fast food place. They've been in line ten minutes with that huge menu in front of them. Do they look at it? No. Not until they get to the register."

"I know what you mean, dude," the Hispanic young man said. "I worked McDonald's right? Got myself fired."

"Manuel, I don't think this is the time for that story," the therapist interjected.

"Dude, chill, okay? So this lady, must have weighed like three hundred and change, waddles up with her chubby kids. I'm waiting while the fat broad makes up her mind how many pounds of burgers she's gonna scarf down and her six year old starts yelling, 'Mommy, Mommy! I want a Whopper!'" He snorted, rolling his eyes expressively. "So I said, 'Kid, we don't do Whoppers here, that's Burger King.' And he starts crying. 'How about a Big Mac and fries?' I'm being nice. She starts to argue with me about why can't I give her dumb kid a Whopper? I sad, 'Lady, I'd love to give him a Whopper, but we don't do Whoppers at McDonald's.' She's screaming by this time. So I climbed up on the counter, drop my pants and flash the entire restaurant. 'Lady, that's the only Whopper in the store. Okay?' I got arrested for indecent exposure." He shrugged, fidgeting like he wanted a cigarette.

"This is getting out of hand, Manuel."

"Hey, ain't my fault." He shrugged, leaning back in his seat.

"I hate bad drivers," the lady to Letitia's right said angrily. "Can't decide what speed to go! Can't stay in their lanes! Blinkers going for six blocks and they slow at every cross street!"

"Or tail gate on a four lane road when nobody else is around," the older man added. "I had some guy follow me back and forth like I had a magnet on my rear. Right on my bumper. Every time I changed lanes, he did."

"How did you handle that, Frank?" The therapist asked despite himself.

"Hit my brakes and let him rear end me," Frank nodded happily, grinning.

He and Manuel did a high five.

"I hate when people turn and think about it," Letitia added. "Like they start to slow down two blocks away, with the blinker on. Practically stop to turn in at the gas station. Come on, already! Get out of the road! I wish I drove a huge truck or maybe a tank. POW! I'd take 'em out!" She giggled with anticipation.

"Did you ever see that movie, 'Death Race 2000'?" The older lady asked.

"Dude! I love that movie!" Manuel grinned.

"Well, more than once," she admitted forcefully. "I've wanted to hit the accelerator and mow people down!" She put her hands up like she was gripping a steering wheel, mashing her foot to the floor. "VOOOM!"

"Marie!" the therapist was appalled. "That's it!" He bellowed. "Class dismissed!" He got up and walked out, banging the door behind him.

"Hey, Chica," Manuel addressed Letitia. "You rock, baby. Want to go out for coffee?"

"Sure!"

"Yes, let's all go," Marie said excitedly. "I feel like stirring up trouble."

"That's why I love this group so much," Frank said with a grin. "I feel so much better when it's over."

© Dellani Oakes

For more of Dellani's books, check out Indian Summer, Lone Wolf and The Ninja Tattoo on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Smashwords.

Pick Five Words

I belong to a small writing group that meets on Wednesdays from 12:30 - 2:00. We meet at the local Council on Aging building and I'm the youngest person there. I think the average age (not including me) is probably 70. One member is 94!


The way it works is we get a weekly prompt and we write something about it. We read these aloud to the group, laughing and enjoying one another's work. After that, we pass a bag of words around and each pick five random words from the bag. Once we have them, we compose a paragraph or sentence using the words we've chosen. We get some pretty crazy results. 


I attended another writing group a couple years ago and they did something similar. Instead of five, they chose ten words. We were given 15 minutes to write a short piece using all 10 words. The following is what I wrote. My 10 words were: 10 words drawn were: nightmare, explode, toe, pocket, sharp, young, surrounded, either, return, pull. See if you can spot them below.

 Amanda Sharp walked down the street in her fancy, new red shoes. They cost a bundle, but the young woman was determined to look her best at her job interview. With a special spring in her step, she rounded the corner and ran into a man. Knocked back a step, she stumbled. He caught her by the elbows, setting her on her feet once more.

"What a nightmare!" Amanda thought. "Now I'll be late for my appointment."

The man apologized and pulled the door open for her. He was really quite handsome. Distracted by his good looks, she didn't pay careful attention to where she was going. She caught the pocket of her jacket on the door. It swung shut, hitting her big toe. Her foot exploded with pain and she cursed inadvertently.

Worried that she was seriously hurt, the man helped her to a chair. Once he was assured she was alright, he excused himself.

"I apologize, but I have an appointment in five minutes. Are you sure you're okay?"

Amanda, who was now surrounded by everyone in the office, told him she was fine.

"I'll check on you later," he promised. "I'll return after my appointment."

Amanda examined her beautiful new shoes after the man left. They were scuffed and dirty. Fortunately, they had taken the impact, protecting her foot, or she would have seriously injured her toe.

Distressed, she almost didn't hear when the receptionist called her name.

"Oh, that's me," she said. "Sorry."

Walking into the office, a familiar face greeted her. The man she'd collided with stepped forward with a smile.

"Either you need to be more careful or I do," he said with a grin. "Congratulations. You're hired."

I liked this so well, I decided to write a novel using this as the beginning. It's at 22,700 words and growing!

Spring Cleaning - It's for the Birds!

I belong to a small writing group which meets once a week. We get a writing prompt every week and (usually) write on that subject. One week, it was spring cleaning. This is what I wrote.

"Effie!" Mama screeched from the back porch.

I'd almost made it. I was halfway over the fence between us and the Mason's when I heard her. Had I been on the other side, I could've claimed I didn't hear her, but she'd see me in a second if she looked.

"Effie Marie!"

"Coming, Mama!" I hollered, pouting. "Dang it, just about got away!" I shuffled my feet as I approached the porch.

"Where you runnin' off to? Today we start spring cleaning."

"Mama, we just cleaned up the house last week."

"But that was just regular cleaning. Now we got to open up the house, freshen the air, beat the rugs, scrub the floors...."

"Why, Mama?"

"Because it's spring. Need to greet the new season with a fresh house."

Pouting and griping, I followed her inside. She handed me an armload of dirty rugs and told me to go beat them clean. I took 'em to the side of the house and whacked 'em against the corner until she fussed at me and took over the process.

"Go mop the kitchen," she ordered.

I got the mop and bucket and marched into the kitchen. I slopped some water around and left big puddles of grubby water on the floor. Mama came back in while I was shoving the pools around and fussed some more.

"Swear to God, Effie Marie, you can't do nothin' right! Give me that mop!"

I handed it over. "Sorry, Mama."

"Go sweep the front porch. Can't tell me you're not able to do that right!"

"Yes, ma'am." I took the broom and went out to the front porch.

There was quite a wind blowing. Every time I got a pile of dirt together, it blew away before I could sweep it up. I went and got Daddy's leaf blower and fired it up, blowing the crap off the porch that way. Mama came out screaming.

"Effie Marie, what're you doing now?"

"Sweeping the porch, Mama. Wind kept blowing it all back around...."

"You're more trouble than you're worth, child. Go on up to your room and stay outta my way! If you want something done right, got to do it yourself!" She griped & grumbled as she finished working.

I went up to my room with a sly smile. I closed the door and lay down on my bed to watch some TV. Yup, there's sure something to be said for incompetence. "If you want something done right....do it wrong so Mama will do it." Boy, do I love spring cleaning!