PROMPTuesday #10 - Dream Book

San Diego Momma's PROMPTuesday #10:

You’re in a bookstore. You see stacks and stacks of books, but one in particular catches your eye. Something about the title. You’re intrigued. You pick the book up, open it, and read the first paragraph. Now you’re hooked. What is the title of the book and what did the first paragraph say?

THE CAVALIER OF KENSINGTON PARK

He pressed the tip of his rapier lightly into the back of the Ruffian’s neck. His stance was sure; his body perfectly balanced and each muscle was alert and ready to spring into action. There would be no mistakes tonight. The moon was full and he had no trouble sizing up his opponent and calculating the risks. The cavalier had carefully positioned himself between the moon and the struggling figures on the grass, knowing his elegant cape and plumed hat would cut quite the dashing . . . and intimidating . . . silhouette.

“I’d thank you to unhand the lady.”

PROMPTuesday #8 - You Know What They Say About a Picture

Author's note: This little prompt "seed" that San Diego Momma planted has grown into a fully-realized short story. I plan to submit it for possible publication in the very near future. You can be sure I will blog about the success or failure of my attempt. Keep checking back for updates! -- Cocktail Maven

San Diego Momma's PROMPTuesday #8:

This PROMPTuesday is about what lies beneath. So this week, I’d like you to look at this picture:

…and very quickly write down the first three words that come to mind. Now, start writing, using those words anywhere in your story. (Be sure to name the three words in your post or comments for our FYI.)

Oh! And the genre is “memoir.” (It can be a fake memoir.)

Three words: Cold, Sediment, Lost.

It was during the summer of my twelfth year that I became an only child. That was the year my brother was lost. He took the little rowboat out on the lake early one morning and simply never came back. He wasn’t supposed to go alone. We were always supposed to stick together,to watch out for each other. But it was early and cold, and I was tired. I yelled at him and told him that if he wanted to fish that badly then he should just go already and leave me in peace. Now, thirty years later, I still look for him on the shore. I stand knee-deep in the water with the sediment sucking at my feet and I expect to see Danny striding up with that classic smirk on his face, his “you’ll believe anything, won’t you?” look. I keep hoping he stayed away all these years just out of spite.

It was six months before we found the boat, caught up in some reeds. A family of ducks had made a nest in it. There were no holes, no damage of any kind, nothing to indicate where the boat and my brother had gone. Just seeing the boat made me angry. It should have had the decency to stay lost.

Like my brother.

Like Danny.

PROMPTuesday #7 - The Story Spinner

San Diego Momma's PROMPTuesday #7:

Thanks to the Story Spinner, I generated a random prompt that’ll give you a starting phrase, the setting, and two items to include in your story.

Here they are:

First sentence for your story: “Dear Diary,”
Setting: In a limousine

Two words you must include while writing:

• Missile
• Hearth

Dear Diary -

Another effing limousine and another effing premier. Who conned me into thinking this was going to be glamorous and fun? The accumulated days I’ve spent in the dentist’s chair for these perfectly pearly whites are days and hours I’m just never getting back. The time spent having hair ripped from my body and coiffed on my head . . .

I just know this boob-tape is giving me a rash.

To top it off my feet are killing me and we haven’t even arrived yet. Damn. I really shouldn’t be wearing such pointy-toed shoes so soon after my bunion surgery. Why do I subject myself to this? So I can wear those little strappy sandals with the diamonds on the red carpet for five minutes in MARCH? So not worth it.

I’d rather be tending hearth and home back on the farm in Iowa. I miss my horses. I miss my mom’s tuna casserole. I even miss my dad’s tobacco spitting. I miss EATING. And just look at this guy at the other end of the seat. Unbelievable, the guys they pair me up with for these things. The international heartthrob with the cavernous nostrils and nothing to say. Dumb as a box of rocks and gay as paint.

I hope the movie flops.

I hope the theatre burns down so I can turn around and go home.

I hope a stray missile lands on the limo.

I knew I should have been a French teacher.