Writing Exercise: Switch Out Words

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Use Better Words

WRITING EXERCISE: Write a generic scene – no more than 100 words. Then go through and change or add one or two words (no more than that) per sentence to make it better. Then try again, using the same generic start for a totally different genre or feel.

*****

After walking into the bar, a guy sits on a stool. He signals the bartender for a boilermaker. Beer and whiskey appear, and his money gets whisked away. The bartender returns to the girl he was flirting with. The guy knocks back the shot, then walks over to the couple holding his beer. (words 53)

*****

After sauntering into the bar, a guy hops on a stool. Smiling, he signals the bartender for a boilermaker. Beer and whiskey appear, and his meager cash gets whisked away. The cute bartender returns to the girl she was flirting with. The guy knocks back some courage, then walks over to the couple holding his beer.

*****

After walking into the darken bar, a guy mounts a stool. Furtively he signals the bartender for a boilermaker. Beer and whisky appear, and his money disappears. The bartender returns to the working girl he was flirting with. The guy knocks back the shot, then slips closer to the couple swirling his beer.

(first published 1/31/2015; republished new blog format 3/22/2016)

Flash: It’s Dirty

Goldfish crackers

Image courtesy of the Internet

“When can I put ActionMan down, dad?” The four-year old held the toy over the conveyor belt.

Joe reached across the moving rubber. “Let me just put the bar between mom’s stuff and yours. That let’s the cashier lady know to ring up your ActionMan separate.”

“So I get to pay with it with my money!” His parents had decided he was old enough for his own allowance. Joe and Scott had spent most of the shopping trip picking out the perfect toy to spend his first week’s allowance while Cheryl and April, still relegated to sitting in the cart, did the family groceries. Joe was pretty sure Cheryl had the easier task. Once the bar was down, Scott dropped the toy. He gripped the side of the machine to stand on tippy toe and watch its slow movement down the belt.

After a while he got bored and started looking around at all the impulse items specifically placed at child level in the candy aisle.

“Keep an eye on him,” Cheryl instructed her husband. “He wanders.”

“My son, the explorer.”

“Your son, the destroyer.” She placed the last of the baby food on the belt, after moving the bar and toy back a bit. “Eyes on him.”

Chuckling, Joe watched as his son bent at his knees and carefully studied things on the bottom-most shelf in the squat position small children did so easily. “He isn’t that bad.”

“Karen,” Cheryl addressed the cashier, “what do you think?”

The black lady behind the counter smiled at her realtor while moving the merchandise over the scanner. “We do show a profit on your visits.”

“Well said.” The blond turned back to her husband. “Sweetie, every stocker in the store knows Scott’s name.”

Joe came over to kiss Cheryl on the cheek. “That is because he is an extrovert just like you.”

“Goldfish!” Scott explained.

Both parents turned around to see Scott waving a small carton of Goldfish in the air.

“Do you want that, buddy?” Joe asked, approaching the boy and gently taking the carton out of his hands before he crushed it.

The four-year old nodded vigorously. “Yes!”

“Inside voice.” Cheryl’s automatic response drifted from the front of the line as Scott’s expositions finally crossed the threshold of too loud.

“Yes.” He stage-whispered to his dad.

“Well, let’s look at the price.” Joe knelt down beside the child. “What do the numbers say?”

“One…zero…nine.”

“Okay, do you remember how much money ActionMan is going to cost?”

Scott’s young face scrunched up in thought. “No.”

“It’s okay, I do.” Joe recited the numbers. “That leaves just eighty-nine pennies leftover of your allowance.”

“Which is more than one-nine, right?” Scott looked up eagerly.

“Yes it is more than nineteen, but this is one hundred and nine. That zero is important.” Joe held the carton in front of him, lifting it up and down as though weighing it. “You got a choice buddy. You only have so much money. Do you want ActionMan or the Goldfish?”

“But I’m hungry!”

“And mommy just bought a whole bunch of food. When we get home we will unpack it and then I’m going to start cooking dinner.” Joe stood and picked up the toy from the belt and then knelt again, with the toy in one hand and the food in the other. “Which do you want? We can only get one.”

Scott gazed longingly at one and then the other. Sighing deeply, he pointed at the toy. “I want ActionMan.”

“Good choice buddy.” said Joe, giving a response he decided to give no matter what the choice was. At this point making a choice instead of throwing a tantrum to get both options was a great choice. But overall the engineer in Joe liked the fact his son went for the long choice instead of the immediate result. He passed the carton to his son. “Now put this back since we are not getting it.” He stood up as he watched the tiny learning machine put the food back on the bottom shelf.

Subdued Scott returned to his dad’s side, who gave him the toy. He stood on tiptoe and placed it back on the conveyor and watched until the bar hit the cashier area. His mom pulled out the little coin purse where she was storing his allowance.

“Ready for me to scan this, little man?” Karen asked.

Scott nodded solemnly.

“Listen for the beep.”

Once the scanner made its noise, Scott’s face lit up again. “Was that beep mine?”

“Yes, it was.” Cheryl handed Scott the two bills making up his allowance, while the cashier bagged the toy. “Now you need to pay for it.”

Smiling from ear to ear, he handed over the money.

“Eighty-nine cents is your change.” Karen leaned across the counter, placing the money in the two small outstretched hands.

While trying to get the coins into the money holder, the dime escaped. Scott looked at it a moment.

“Aren’t you going to pick it up?” Joe asked.

“It’s dirty!” Scott declared, before handing the coin purse to his mom and going to get his toy from the bagging area.

Cheryl opened her mouth, then closed it, looking at her husband in consternation.

Joe shrugged. “Which rule do you want?”

Seeing her son engrossed with the toy, Cheryl quickly bent over, picked up the coin, and dropped it into the purse.

“Hygiene wins.” Joe smiled wickedly before adding, “Good choice sweetie.”

“I’ll good choice you.” She whispered back in pretend anger.

“Promise?”

“Tonight, after dinner and laundry … if April doesn’t wake up.”

(words 934 – first published 3/20/2016)

Flash: Barefoot with the Rain Falling Down

Woman standing in rain

Image from multiple postings

Why couldn’t the rain have waited just a few more hours to break the drought? Alison thought as she stood in the law office foyer where she worked as a receptionist. She pushed up her umbrella before joining the throng outside on the sidewalk. She elbowed her way into the moving mass.

Unlike most, she did not have a short walk to one of center city’s numerous parking garages. Her massive school debt made owning a car a distant dream. Alison reminded herself, as her left sneaker was soaked in a deep puddle, the walk saved on gym fees. Exercise was good for her.

She huddled under her portable shelter, bringing the umbrella in tight, so its ribs touched her head, and scurried with the rest of the rat race from work to home. Alison tried not to think about the mountain waiting at home from her second job in medical transcription. At least between her two jobs, she managed to pay off the credit card debt from college last month.

If she could keep from punching Mr. Jewels, Esquire, for another six months, and kept dumping everything onto the loans, she would be debt free. She could spend a few more nights in sleeping bag in her little rented room. Ten years from the beginning of school to the end of debt. Show her parents for kicking her out.

Alison turned through the park. Normally more crowded than the sidewalk, the rain drove the bicyclists and basketball enthusiasts home for the day.

She focused her eyes on the concrete walk and picked up speed.

Mr. Jewels really needed to be knocked on his ass. She couldn’t believe he ripped up the contract he had her prepare in front of the client. All because of a clause he had told her to add. She thought it didn’t look right and had even braved his ire to double-check the wording with him. … But no, HE couldn’t look foolish in front of his client, so he screamed .. screamed! … at her for the mistake.

If she wanted screaming, she would go home. The only difference was here she was being paid to listen to his rants. The other lawyers of the partnership were so desperate to have someone act as his secretary, they paid her a bonus for the work she did over and above being the general receptionist.

Still no one should be treated like that. Churned her stomach.

She really should consider having her résumé hit the pavement.

No, no … just six more months, then she could start saving for her master’s degree. Must stay focused.

The sidewalk ended. The rest of the park was grass until she hopped the low brick wall near the project where she rented a room. Alison removed her canvas sneakers and placed them in a plastic bag. They might dry before tomorrow, but not if they go through the puddles covering the park lawn.

She tucked the bag into her carryall next to her office shoes and started crossing the grass.

She dodged the puddles as best she could, trying to stay upright in the slippery grass. The wind picked up and tugged at her protection. She firmly kept the umbrella close. A losing battle to stay dry, but she was getting good at fighting losing battles. Juggling her now thicker and heavier carryall made the umbrella harder to manage in the growing wind.

A gust blew the umbrella away. “Perfect”, she muttered.

She dropped her bag chasing the umbrella. The weather protector stopped in the pine needles between trees. Rushing to catch it while it was stopped, Alison slipped and fell.

Water slashed everywhere. She pushed up and stood. Her business suit was sopping.

Walking more carefully, watching for pine cones, Alison bent over to grab the umbrella handle. Her underwear crept up uncomfortably. The perfect end to a perfect day.

She returned to her carryall, keeping the ineffectual umbrella above her in sheer obstinateness. Water inside the umbrella dripped onto her wet face. Again she thought, the perfect end to the perfect day. She shouldered her heavy bag.

A flower bed was in the way of her beeline home. She looked for harder dirt between the flowers that wouldn’t leave evidence of her steps.

For a second, her eyes focused on the beautiful purple blooms lining the bed. She didn’t know the name of the flower.

… The perfect day.

Maybe it is, if I let it be.

Beside the flowers, she dropped the umbrella to the side and leaned back. The rain stroked her upturned face. Water trickled down her body and for the first time since her parents and her started nightly screaming matches all those long, angry years before she left … she didn’t think.

Alison let the heavens wash her and wash over her. She breathed in the ozone laden air and held it deep in her lungs. A hidden part of her unfurled.

Tears she didn’t know she had in her flowed out. Salt water at the corner of her eyes diluted in the fresh rain drops.

She started whirling and laughing, barefoot with the rain falling down.

(words 863 – originally appearing at Sunday Fun on Breathless Press 4/16/2013 and on blog 4/16/2013; republished 3/13/2016)

Flash: Funner Part 1

Pile Of Books Stock Photo

Photo by Surachai of FreeDigitalPhoto.net

Rating: Mature

Cheryl wrapped her legs around Joe’s midriff again, delighting in the unhurried strokes that were slowly driving her out of her mind. Inside a coil of molten emotion was building, getting ready to explode. Meanwhile, she was enjoying the quiet moment with her husband. Two careers and two young children didn’t leave them much couple time.

The sliding of his cock slowly stopped. Her man stilled, deep inside her. She waited a few breaths to see what next he had in mind, watching his beloved face, hands resting gently on his broad shoulders. Her arousal relaxing, the delicious molten feeling cooling waiting to be reheated to lava levels.

“Hey, are you okay?” she finally had to ask.

He blinked and looked down as if suddenly discovering Cheryl beneath him in the middle of a pushup. “Sorry, just thought of work.”

“This is the only work you should be thinking of.” Cheryl said firmly, giving her hips a wiggle. Taking his face between her hands, she added. “Besides, it’s more funner.”

Restarting his rocking movement at a brisker pace, he smiled innocently. “More funner?”

“Yes, more funner.” She arched as he began to hit her G spot, momentarily closing her eyes.

Taking advantage of the arch, Joe sucked her left tit. Finding no additional reaction, he switched to her right tit. He sucked it a second and then bit lightly down. A moan escaped his wife’s lips. Quickly he switched back to the left tit and sucked again. This time she bucked as though an electric shock went through her. He pushed himself back up for better bracing and increased speed again.

“Is funner really a word?”

The coil was getting ready to explode, but even so she had to ask, “Really? … Grammar police while we are having sex?” She tried to keep her face stern as he hit the perfect place again.

He chuckled, throwing off his strokes. Cheryl’s lips twitched as well. Suddenly he collapsed on her and they were both laughing. The molten emotions switched to humor and joy. His dick shrank a little, then equally suddenly he kissed her full on the lip and pushed himself back up. He pounded into her, and she had to tighten her legs in order not to move into the metal headboard. Within seconds her orgasm took her and he followed her over the cliff, spilling his seed.

(words 397 – first published 12/26/2012)

Flash: Eat Half

Half a Hot Dog

Image from multiple Internet postings

Joe stopped inside the living room. The house was clean. Not just picked up trash clean which was intimidating enough. Because between two small children, one of which was nursing, and a fairly full-time job as a real estate agent, Cheryl usually met “at least not smelling of garbage” standard until he had the weekend to bring everything into the healthy livable please-don’t-call-social-services-on-us environment.

Today his son laid in his onesie in front of the television, wet hair slicked back from a recent bath, watching “Frozen” and not a toy was in sight. The determined dust bunnies and stains he had not been able to unseat had been murdered by a vacuum and … he sniffed … lavender-scented carpet foam. A sparkling white playpen, bleached clean of the thousand of teeth marks and grubby fingerprints, contained his daughter trying to pull her socks off. So far the infant was unsuccessful because the feet kept moving on her when she reached to grab them with her hands. She smiled and gurgled at the challenge.

He continued through the Stepford Wives perfection to the kitchen where his wife scrubbed the dishes he had left soaking the night before, her blond hair swept back into a bun without a hair out of place, her make-up perfect for house-showing, and her nearly re-tamed belly brushing the counter as she leaned over the sink for leverage. He didn’t mind the paunch, two children stretch things, but she hated it and had the adults of the house on diets.

“My love,” Joe bravely called her attention to his existence, “how was your day?”

Cheryl turned toward him, her eyes sparkling angrily, her hands scraping the scrub brush against the non-stick pan hard enough to remove the special surface and leave groves. Through gritted teeth, words emerged.

“Your son.”

“Yes…”

“Lunch.”

She nodded sharply to a plate and glass, beside a ruler and a water-soluble child’s over-sized magic marker. The only dirty dishes in the room. Even the dusty wine glasses had been washed. While she could not drink alcohol, Joe abstained. He never was much of a drinker anyway. The last time she wasn’t nursing or pregnant, they shared a bottle of champagne in belated celebration of their anniversary which likely lead to the baby in the crib now. That was the sum total of in-house consumption.

Walking over to the plate, he examined the offense. A hot dog had been chewed length-wise beside a half-a bun. A bit of ketchup, strangely not a blob, but with a portion wiped clean. Apple pieces broken in the center. A green mark had been made midway on a glass of milk, with the top of the milk aligned perfectly to the mark.

Joe closed his eyes a moment, trying to contain himself. Don’t react, don’t react. He thought to himself. She’s still hasn’t rebalanced hormonally from the postpartum. Life would be easier, maybe, if her balance shifted to the more typical to the depressive state instead of manic.

“So, my love, did you said he couldn’t go outside and play until he ate half of what was on his plate.”

“I blame you!”

Don’t laugh. For the love of God man, don’t laugh. Don’t even say “But you agreed food was the perfect way to teach children fractions.” She will hear it as “I told you so.” The couch is not comfortable, far too short and some of the springs are broke from Scott bouncing on it. And don’t forget she knows where all the knives in the house are. She just finished polishing them.

Staring at her a moment, considering all of his options, Joe’s mind got distracted. She was beautiful. How did he end up with someone this special? Clever, brilliant, utterly gorgeous, driven. Shaking himself mentally from the fatigue of work and wonder of his wife, Joe returned to the temporary minefield of his house. “I’m sorry, my love. Truly. Could I help make it better by finishing the dishes before we eat?” And saving what is left of the non-stick surfaces, he added internally.

(680 words – first publication 2/28/2016)