I'm Feeling Rather Unoriginal - Sort Of.

You may have noticed I changed the name of the blog. (Thanks Steff for the suggestion!) I figured I may attract more readers this way. Mostly people looking for a recipe for fried crickets. But maybe a few low maintenance folks who don't need a whole lot from a blog like regular posts, or interesting stories. So stick around if you've made it this far! You can consider yourself unique, adventurous, and glutton for punishment!

One of the things I wanted to do with this blog was practice writing fiction stories. But just reading witty engaging prose isn't enough for my loyal readers (both of you)! No, you need to participate! In the spirit of the Choose Your Own Adventure books that I LOVED as a kid, I want my stories to be Vote for Your Own Adventure* - y'all pick the direction the story goes (No back tracking or alternate ending. What you choose is what you get. Unless I decide to overrule the vote and turn communist.) Even  what kind of story you'd like to hear. So here are your choices:

A. Romance - Angela gazed into Malcom's deep brown eyes. She could see the sunset reflected in his dark limpid pools. As she melted into his arms, his kiss, she sighed the deep contented sigh of a woman truly loved.

B. Suspense/Mystery- Greg Bernard lifted Melissa, his 5 year old daughter, into his arms, and held her close. He breathed her warm sent in, memorizing her smell. He noticed that she smelled different now than when she was just an infant. Less baby powder, more girl.  He carried her to her room, and tucked her into bed. His gaze lingered on her brown curls, and her eyelashes, and finally her mouth. She looked almost exactly like her mother. The thought of Angela still struck him right to the heart. Three years ago she had been murdered by a man he arrested- James Calvin. Even though Calvin had taken away Greg's wife and part of his heart, he still hated Bernard. At the trial he swore that vengeance was not done, and that he would see to it Bernard would join his wife. 

Exactly one hour ago James Calvin escaped from prison. Forty five minutes ago Greg set his alarm system and loaded his gun. Thirty minutes ago Calvin crossed the railroad tracks and walked into town. Fifteen minutes later Bernard turned on Melissa's night light, then left her door cracked open as he made his way to the den. Exactly five minutes ago his house went dark, simultaneously the alarm system went off. One minute ago he heard Melissa scream over the wail of the siren.

C. Western - (modern western)

"Reckon she'll live?"

"I've seen worse survive. But it's all about her spirit. If her spirit's broke, don't nothing you do or don't do matter."

The men gazed at the foal who they had just cut out of her mother's stomach. She was a deep sorrel with a white star on her forehead. Her mother had bled out and died during the birth. Not a great way to start life, losing your momma right off. Her surrogate mother did not like her, but the old mare tolerated her. This awful excuse for a filly was not her child. But her child had died one day ago and she knew he wasn't coming back. At least this thing could alleviate the pain in her stretched bag.

Let me know which one you want!

*I don't believe this is copyright infringement as the stories themselves are my original work. Only the idea of voting is borrowed - and if voting for what you want is copyrighted then the whole country is in trouble.

Comments

[Jake]

Good blogging. I'm so proud! I had no idea you could read, let alone write.

I vote for the western. Play to your strong suit.

Also, a lipid is an organic compound used by our bodies; fat is a type of lipid. Limpid, on the other hand, can mean very clear and calm. Don't write a romance about a man with fat eyes. Unless you're into that. Is "J" going to have to get butt-fat injected in his eyeballs to keep you happy? You have such an unrealistic standard for the male body. Shame on you.

[Neshj]

Thanks Jake - I fixed it!

[Steff]

Oh God! Lipid pools, lipid poold!!!

Just kidding. You can't start a romance off all happy. You wrote the LAST line, not the first. A first page would be more like this:

Angela had just swung herself down from the low, rotund back of her horse, Rudy. Her knees were stiff from the long ride, so she stretched them out for a minute and tried to mop the sweat and dust from her flushed face with the front of her shirt. Man, did dhe stink! Oh well... it was just Granny she was here to visit and not anyone that needed impressing or lady-like behavior. She quickly knotted Rudy's reins to a sturdy branch and clomped up the old wood steps. As she reached for the door a man's bemused voice startled her into spinning around, wide-eyed and back to the door.
"Must've either been a hot morning for you, or a hot encounter. What are you doing working like a man today?"
Angela was first a twinge embarassed, then felt the flush of indignation creeping into her cheeks. Working "like a man?" A "hot encounter!?" Who the hell was this asshole with the twinkling brown eyes and too-tight Wranglers?

But anyway, I liked the start to the mystery. The countdown was a suspenseful touch.

[christie]

Ah, and suddenly I remember why my brother doesn't know I blog....smart assed genetic mutants that brothers are...

I vote for mystery, though I did enjoy the lipid pools too.....

[Steff]

AWWWW, come ON!!! The suspense is killin' us! Enough already... write, dammit!