Writing Club Week 6

[Posting a link?]

Forum Guidelines
Posting a link? Read This!

Forgot your password? Need help?
Click Here To Contact Us

Mudflats Merchandise
AKMuckraker Amazon Store
Support AKM Merchandise

Download it here!

[Icy]

Have at it!

Give us a topic, someone!

This week, we'll try something a little different....take the topic of the week and write for 15 minutes....

But the genre challenge:  Fiction - Mystery

(Write in any genre...but extra points for taking on the challege!)

[the problem child]

Open doors
 

[Icy]

Oooo...good one, PC!

Might finally get over my torschlusspanik!

(I added a little something to the instructions...enjoy!)

[ira2]

Open Doors

With a roar the chainsaw came to life. The woman, oddly dressed in a skirt of unflattering shortness and boots of unflattering length, her knobby knees jutting camel-like between the hem of the one and the top of the other as she affected a stance of cocky confidence, raised the saw up to the bolted and barred door. Thunder rolled and echoed along the mountainside, heard as a warning by some and as a groaning accompaniment to the lustful sighs of the woman's adoring if small audience by others. The saw chain bit into the wood. At eye level, a painted sign - "Do Not Enter!" - splintered under the onslaught of the steel teeth and downward they screamed through boards and braces. With a crash the mangled planks fell, and the woman turned towards her audience. Out of her face, so grotesquely distorted by a laborious wink and flashing snarl, came a grating voice: "You see? God opens doors for me to plow through also too, you betcha!"

The small group of worshipers swayed and exclaimed in unison, "Our Lady of Alaska, we are your servants. We adore you. There is none greater than you. Lead us, Oh Great One, let us follow you through any and every door God opens for you!"

Drunken with power and triumph, the woman plowed through the remains of the door. In mid-stride, her heel caught on a fallen iron bar. Arms, flailing wildly for balance, and failing. A shout of anger, of rage at being thwarted.

The chainsaw screamed on.

[the problem child]

and a small voice called out from the wilds "brave"

[califpat]

@Ira2:
I am clapping and giving you a standing ovation. What a wonderfully creative scene. You definitely took me there with you. You are a talented writer and I loved your leading lady's destiny. 

[Lucy]

First stanza:
1st line: Inspired by SP,
2nd line &3rd line: inspired by A.J. Jacobs (Year of Living Biblically)

Second stanza: inspired by my life

third and fourth stanzas: totally dedicated to SP

OPEN DOORS
  Open Doors - God's call
  Closed doors also God's call
  Keep you warm and safe

  Or to keep you from
  ignoring what's there to see
  before moving on

  or to keep you from
  making a BIGly mistake
  Catastrophic.  Whew.

  God does not play games
  Open doors are open.  Closed
  doors are closed.  Don't barge.

[Lucy]

I couldn't get away from Haiku, but I decided to give it a second try and follow this week's challenge.

Oops.  I rememgbered the mystery-fiction, but forgot the topic: Open doors.  Back to see if I can adjust it.

[The Blogger]

It was 3a.m.  Rapheal moving around cemetary.  Not finding it.

I smell maihunana spot broken whiskey bottle.  Smell is strong, but we are alone.

Raphael joining me.  "Here Jim Morrison body," I telling him.  Raphael nods.  Hums "Riders of the Storms."  Smart monkey. 

Loud crashing behind us.  I turning to see man in trunch coat.  He carrying envelope, but seeing us and turning around.  "TMZ?" he ask.  I shake head and he run away fastly.

Raphael squeeking loud monkey squeeks.  We chase man across Paris.  He fastly, but we fastlyer.

Finally catching him on stairs of stripped club.  He grabbing doors, but doors remaining shut.  Now 4a.m.  Envelope spilling open.  Names, addresses, photocopying passports.  Man in trunch coat grunting.  "Where my money," he demanded.

We not knowing and telling him.

"I must having money," he say, gathering everythings back in envelope.  "TMZ promising money."

Raphaell and I exchange glancings.  Raphael glaring as if to ask why TMZ promising money.

Man in trunch coat sigh.  "Jim Morrison, he not dead.  I having proof."

Six men in riot gear round corner wavering big guns.  Man in trunch coat run away.  Rounding corner.  I winces at shots.  Six.  Maybe seven.  Pick up envelope turnch coat drop and put inside coat.

Man in riot gear return.  "You with him?"  We shake heads.  "Then move on."

Raphael and I walking slowly back in light rain to hotel.  5.am., but hotels door wide open.  Upstairs and we closing, locking doors. 

I opening coat... and taking out envelope, dumping papers onto bed.   I join Raphael and both whistling along "Riders on the Storms" as we pack to leave Paris...

[califpat]

Where is writing club week 7? And what topic? How about Martin Luther King since his day is coming up? I know I missed week 6 but will go back and catch up. Been very busy with personal stuff.