tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58433477476901651582024-02-20T12:04:57.462-08:00Watershed HeightsHoward Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-13666554001289192762011-05-12T08:18:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:28:21.681-07:00Addendum- Although Leland is dead, his killer...should be by now. So since he isn't, he isn't on the post any longer and boy does he lose some points.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-42845211526124139702011-05-10T05:37:00.000-07:002011-05-13T12:06:38.015-07:00#10 - The Final DestinationIt's early morning, the sun also rises over Watershed Heights for the last time. Surprisingly, the power has been restored. Surprising because of the storm that occurred the night before. Lighting and thunder boomed among and amid the tenants and towers of Watershed heights. For two hours, puddles gathered and joined one another along the streets, washing them clean, if only for the few hours in early morning. As the sun stretches across Calloway Blvd., the fountain gurgles once, then starts to pump water and the sound echos against the walls of Watershed Heights. Perhaps those who arise from the subway tunnel will be confused for a moment. "The fountain's working?" they will murmur. Perhaps pausing for a moment to remember something or someone. The street sweeping truck whirls down Maple Ave. toward the police station and seems to quiet the policeman standing outside smoking a cigarette. He watches the truck, takes a long pull from the cigarette and tosses it just in front of the truck as it passes. He watches the brushes whirl the right signal lights blinks and it goes around the corner only to reappear across the parking lot. The policeman lifts his eyebrows, "Can't remember the last time I saw that truck in this place." He says to noone in particular.<br />The fountain's reverie is interrupted by the heavy grunt and relief of Bus 75 as it stops to pick up the few who ride. They, too, have been looking at the fountain as the sun catches the lifts and falls of water. They are jostled out of their quiet as the bus whistles to a stop. The sign on the Eazy Sleep Motel flickers once and then darkens as the sun catches the rust and neon. <br /><br />Jude C. Wright stumbles up from the entrance of the subway and stops when he sees the fountain.<br /><br />Loli Graciela is one of those who is standing at the bus stop waiting for bus 52. She needs a job, a purpose, and this bus is going to take her there. She, too, is mesmerized by the fountain. <br /><br /><br />Charles Stevens, for some reason, is sitting in the portico of the Old Cinema. He looks as if he's been there all night. <br /><br />Margorie comes out of the basement with her head cocked to one side as she eyes the green hued wall, looks-up and immediately heads across the street to the fountain.<br /><br />Cecili Thompson, plagued by insomina because she tried but failed to give-up her writing habit, is seen walking through the old playground. She looks-up from re-reading her journal when she hears the sound of the fountain. Bleary-eyed and nervous. She stops and her journal falls from her hands.<br /><br />As the sun just comes-up, Blanket Cobb is opening the door to the roof garden. He is seeking food. Although he doesn't actually plant anything, he has grown a fondness for eatable weeds. He is poking through one of the unused beds. <br /><br />Aaron Gallagher's bedroom window was open that early morning. He is awakened by an unfamiliar sound. It reminds him of Vivaldi for some reason. He got-up and promptly found the right record to play. The four seasons. He looks out the window to see the fountain accompanied by violins. <br /><br />Paul Newman is walking into the diner. He had forgotten to get pie. He had smelled it the night before but forgot to go because he became so caught-up in his own thoughts.<br /><br />Finally, Aaron Pernie, for some reason, is standing across the street, in the middle of the basketball court, all alone, looking at the fountain and grinning wildly, eyes ablaze, like a man possessed. <br /><br />And finally, as the day dawns, three poor souls are dead. <br />Remus, Agnes Monaghan, and Leland Jack. Nobody really knows how they died, but they are dead.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-69537214971948178142011-04-29T09:02:00.000-07:002011-04-29T10:39:26.174-07:00Blog #9 - The Power of Pie...At 3:14PM, the power goes out in the entire neighborhood except for the diner. The only piece of equipment that works in the diner is the large baking oven. The smell of pie wafts through the neighborhood, into every nook and cranny, and everyone smells the pies. Everyone smells his/her favorite pie. The lights are out everywhere, but there is a glow from the back of the diner where the oven is and there is a line beginning to form inside the diner for some pie. The neighborhood stray dogs are sniffing at the back door of the diner, and a few medium-sized trunks have pulled-up to the curb and the truck drivers are now standing in line for some pie. The cops are trying to cut in line and people are getting a bit disgruntled. Your character can be a person in line, or elsewhere, but you must include smelling the pie and what type of pie you smell, eat, or whatever. <br /><br />Characters:<br />Andre<br />Billy Farsk<br />Leland Jack<br />Charles Stevens<br />Takuda HiroshiHoward Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-6757574888189729602011-04-22T06:18:00.000-07:002011-04-22T06:39:22.039-07:00Blog #8 - Take FiveYour character must go to a restaurant in the neighborhood to get something to eat. You may order to-go or sit in the restaurant and eat. The entire blog should be about the meal, eating and what you are seeing or doing while eating. <br /><br />Characters:<br />Hans - Georg<br />Bianca Bonelli<br />Nero Fonias<br />Jude Christian Wright<br />Remus<br />Yames MillerHoward Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-27478688651893974162011-03-18T12:16:00.000-07:002011-03-18T12:44:00.706-07:00Blog #7 - How Slow can you go?There is a robbery at the Shop N'Shop at 1Pm in the afternoon. The two robbers take the ATM machine on a hand truck and run behind Foo Food past the laundrymat, and try and load it onto an old Ford 150 truck in the parking lot between the police station and Second Chances<br /><br />Characters:<br /><br />Alice Taylor<br />Kitty Crimson Smith<br />Ceili Thompson<br />Emilio FrancescoHoward Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-241236002144558952011-03-11T11:24:00.000-08:002011-03-11T11:29:08.314-08:00Blog #6 - Burning Down the HouseThe food trailer gets in trouble and a grease fire gets started during prime time of the carnival at 8:00 PM. Smoke and flames rise-up out of the open sides of the trailer. Napkins, cups, menus all jump with flames. The trailer staff, two small nondescript women, run out the back of the trailer. The guy selling the bootleg liquor was trying to gather his bottles, but the flames ran out of the window and jumped onto the shed and it went-up with a small pop of the still and a ball of foul smelling puff of smoke.<br /><br />New Characters:<br /><br />Brian Bunderson<br />Paul Neuman<br />Teddy Geisel<br />Agnes Monaghan<br />SantosoHoward Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-90711587153535678852011-03-04T07:02:00.000-08:002011-03-04T12:07:08.556-08:00Blog #5 - Bouncing to the mooooooonnnnnn...Gilbert's carnival arrives in town. It sets-up in the vacant lot between the animal shelter and the old cinema. The falafal cart gets usurped. The concession booth replaces it. The booth has stale popcorn and the smell pervades the neighborhood. There is dingy cotton candy tacked to the side of the concession stand.<br /><br />Rides:<br />>a bouncy house<br />>the Ferris wheel does not really function well. It stops everytime around. Three of the chairs are crooked.<br />>there is a "ball pit" - there are things that move around the bottom of it.<br />>a walk-through "fun house" has a bunch of mirrors in it<br />>trailer that is a "freak show"<br />>cages of animals - goats, pigs - that race with one another every hour<br />>games with dangerous weapons, water guns, puck-a-duck, etc.<br />>random people walk through eating swords, breathing fire and ranting<br />>the prizes at all the gaming booths are weird <br />>bumper car ride keeps randomly quitting on certain cars. The cars stop, then go, then randomly stop for a few minutes at a time. <br />>the organ grinder has a monkey who is a pick-pocket<br />>The day is ridiculously bright, beautiful and warm.<br />>the exits keep moving and everyone is confused about how to leave<br />>there is a cacophony of soundtracks and the monotone of the MC droning on and on.<br />>a bus full of children from the pre-K school arrive, get off, but the bus breaks down and stalls in the middle of Sam Street.<br />>clowns that seem a little off and a bit scary go around on unicycles. Then they wander around town and are spotted in the strip club, in the diner, the soup kitchen, buying Vietnamese food and sleeping in the abandoned box cars and other random places.<br />>At dusk, the power goes out on the whole block, but the carnival still has power and lights. The power stays out all night and on all night in the carnival.<br />>It's full moon and rises to its apex at 11 PM. It's the beginning of spring. It's still a bit chilly, but the snow is gone.<br />>Food trailer has fried food of some kind and on the counter, there are two big jars, one of pickled eggs and the other is pickled pigs feet. There is a small shed around back of the trailer that is selling bootleg liquor.<br />>Tilt-a-whirl is near the back of the carnival<br />>"rock and roll rattle" ride is the one that looks kind of like a roller coaster but it just goes in a small wavy circle and pushes everyone against the inside edge and then it reverses. <br />>There are three ticket booths that smell of stale cigarettes and use recycled tickets.<br />>There is a balloon man, who is mean, and doesn't ever make what people request and makes snakes. <br />>the photo booth takes pictures, but only one person's face appears on the print. <br />>Carousel that goes backwards<br />>kissing booth with a toothless man and a woman with really, really big textured fat lips and a mole to the right between her lip and nose. <br />>Charlie Sheen has gotten lost and wanders into the carnival grounds.<br /><br /><br /><br />Characters:<br />Babushka Svetlina<br />Mr. John Gappon<br />Lucky the Dog<br />Pastor Dan<br />Shaunicia<br />Loli Gracicia ColgaHoward Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-7887823433993240122010-12-03T08:02:00.001-08:002010-12-03T08:12:56.583-08:00Blog characters for #4Some of you have requested to revise and/or completely rewrite your character -- which is fine. If you choose to do so, please send smackycat a note. If at all possible, do not change the url. If you can keep the same name, please do so.<br /><br />I have five new names: If you are one and fit the above description, please let smacky know.<br /><br />Aaron Perne<br />Jacques Cartes<br />Bill Donga - whoever you are, please change this name<br />Kalvin Klum<br />Phoebe Kules<br /><br />Setting: It's snowing for the first time in the year. It snows one inch of ice and snow mix-- enough to make everything wet and ugly, not pretty like a good coating of snow.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-8903212255724773402010-09-21T05:54:00.001-07:002010-09-21T06:32:04.136-07:00A change of plansInstead copying each blog character, I think I will just post the names. You only need to copy and paste your interactions once in the respective blogger's comment box.<br /><br />Characters for this week:<br /><br />Anastasia Datini<br />Roxy Carter<br />Kent Williams<br />Corbie MacIntyre<br />Dimitri Domonov<br /><br />Also, the setting additions work the same way the characters do. You must include at least one of the setting additions, but you can incorporate more. You should also include at least one of the new character additions in your next blog post.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-88273356979196888702010-09-20T08:10:00.001-07:002010-09-20T08:10:17.109-07:00Setting for Blog #3Raining - Rain - downpour torrents actually, <br /><br />Raining pigeons - flock of pigeons more than normal descend on the block<br /><br />Raining - at midnight, the sky suddenly clears, and there is a meteor shower a small particle lands in the homeless area behind the lake.<br /><br />A boxer from the local boxing gym is out on a training run. He is out running at 6:52 He is running up Calloway toward Sam Street and slips on the wet, poop-ridden pavement, and falls in front of bus #52 that has just turned onto Calloway. The ambulance arrives at 7:33 and takes him away. The ambulance personal takes their time cleaning-up the scene. <br /><br />A limo is parked behind the Vietnamese rest. <br /><br />The sewer backs-ups and floods out the of open manhole. Unfortunately, a severed head of a man appears near the open manhole cover. The severed head is apparently newly severed.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-77339445592854881762010-08-25T13:28:00.001-07:002010-08-25T13:28:20.732-07:00Leeroy JenkinsPart 1: Meet Leeroy<br /> When I think of myself, I see a well-dressed, middle-aged husband in a single-serving American home, not unlike yourself. I have two single-serving American kids and a single-serving American wife. I've only cheated on this wife a couple of times, but those women were even worse. More like appetizers, or something.<br /> That was a long time ago.<br /> If I were to look in a mirror, I would see the disheveled face of someone who has lost everything except for a slew of ideas. Or perhaps I have lost it because of this slew of ideas. Whatever. I am now completely naked with a full-grown beard, and am camped out in the playground, scaring off the kids. Any minute, a cop could roll up and say, "Sir, please quit flogging your dong in front of these kids." Or, they'll say, "What a sick individual! You disgust me! Get in the car!" These people pretend these kids have never seen a porno, or seen their dad's schlong. They pretend they're growing up in a perfectly average neighborhood with perfectly average parents. They make good grades, or if they don't, they're probably "exceptionally challenged."<br /> Oh my medium-sized American heart.<br /> I have nowhere to go, thanks to my decisions. I wanted to "start over." I had "hit rock bottom." So I went to my most basic, and became a nudist. Lived like a dog. I am living like a dog, actually. In fact, I tried to stay at the animal shelter, and the owners were cool with that. So cool. They were cool with that until I started "cleaning myself." That's what they called it, like I'm some kind of dog. I most certainly was not cleaning myself. Regardless, they kicked me out. Maybe I should have tried the strip club ("I am nothing. Save me.").<br /> But I can't do that. She wouldn't like that. I need to pick up the pieces, and find myself. Clean up, and put myself back together. You know, "put my self back on the market."<br /> Ugh. I'm getting too young to do this.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-44597160789116662242010-08-25T13:22:00.001-07:002010-08-25T13:22:47.669-07:00Shiloh SwitcherMovie Kid<br />"Switch?" She called from the staircase. Eight minutes early. I'd been counting. I never miss a count, not by more than a minute. Damn kid ever hear of a watch? You're supposed to be on time for folks, its just the decent thing to do.<br /><br />I jumped in the shower. "I'm in the shower."<br />I never could lie to the kid.<br /><br />I stood there in the shower a while, my foot throbbing, it got a little banged during the jump. You think you've got a good sense of where things are, and then you don't. I usually do.<br /><br />I waited for it to subside, standing in the still shower, which is a strange thing and feels kind of wrong. It felt like it ought to have been boring too, but it was good, like a vacation or getting lost in a grocery store or something.<br /><br />I don't how long it'd been. I stopped counting. I never stop counting. I began to grow all itchy, one of those ithes you can't scratch, where its just there, you don't know where you feel it, you just feel it. My watch was real itchy a lot, one of those cheap aluminum jobs, so i chucked it onto the tile floor. It didn't even thud, just squished into the carpet of muck. Can't even get a good thud when you want it. It didn't make the itching stop either. I knew it wouldn't.<br /><br />She knocked again, or somebody knocked again. I guess she could've left and someone else come. So, I turned, wobbly on my abused ankle, and fumbled for the faucet. The water moved through it, those pipes, with a thud, a good thud. Man, it knew what was up. I hoped she didn't hear the water come on just then. I supposed to have been in there for a while<br /><br />I was crashing through the apartment the moment I barely could. I knocked over the vase and a couple of reels. Glass shattered all over the damn place.<br /><br />"Hey Switch!"<br /><br />She knocked.<br /><br />I sprinted for a camera, I don't know which one I grabbed, it still hadn't quite worn off, which is why I was crashing around like a maniac. I filmed the carpet and the fuzzy glass, I bet it looked like something. And I wanted to know that something. I left it recording, must've been one of the older u-matics, it felt good against my face, simple and smooth, and had more of a base sound than that mosquito hum of the newer models.<br /><br />"Switch?" She was sounded damn worried, in that movie kid kind of way, supposed to break your heart or something. I felt real bad about making her wait, so<br />I tidied up the film reels as best I cold, careful not to fingerprint them. It felt better to make them right. When they're right I'm right.<br /><br />"Hey Alien"<br />"Hey Switch"<br /><br />Her pitch matched mine damn near perfectly, like some sort of confirmation of the false fact that we got each other. I always did think that damn kid kind of got me or something. I usually get people. I didn't get her though. She smiled like she hadn't been waiting a while, but she had, she smiled like she'd been waiting a while, but at the same she hadn't been waiting a while. I don't know how she did it.<br /><br />"You're taller" I remarked.<br />"You're stinkier"<br />"Yeah" Yeah, I probably was.<br /><br />I guess I should've talked then to the girl, the lady, the ma'am, the whatever the damn she was that was with her, but I don't like talking to folks, seems more respectable not to. She seemed a little scary too, with one of those polyester jobs that shrink and tug and say "I bought my pale tomatoes one isle over from where I bought this tugging and talking matching polyester job I'm wearing that was shelved between a boy's bathing suit with the last decade's cartoon characters on it and a Monopoly game with instructions printed in Spanish. She had either eaten one too many pale tomatoes or was creating a consumer for the cartoon character bathing suit and an El Monoployo game.<br /><br />The girl, lady, ma'am, whatever the damn opened her mouth at me before taking. Not really a smile, just sort unhinged her jaw in my general direction.<br /><br />"Mr. Switcher, someone's been by to inspect?"<br /><br />What I am, a bug?<br />"Yeah."<br />No.<br /><br />"They went over the legal?"<br /><br />That sentence lacks a damn subject.<br />"Yeah."<br />No.<br /><br />She unhinged her jaw at me again.<br />She wanted to know what took so long answering the door. I wanted to tell her. I want to tell that damn kid. I couldn't tell her though, not for the sake, the well fair they say, of that damn kid.<br /><br />"You're cloths are wet."<br /><br />What is this, damn Jerusalem? My 'cloths' are wet, are my robes and sandals dry though?<br /><br />"I took a shower."<br /><br />Alien piped up.<br />"You take a shower with your close on?"<br />Pipe down kid.<br /><br />"Mr. Switcher, you shower with all your clothes on?"<br />Careful, don't to burst out of your polyester.<br /><br />"Yeah, I shower with all my clothes on."<br /><br />Quick, don't think about elephants. Thinking about elephants?<br /><br />Polyester left. Left me with the kid, the kid she calls "Eileen" like it hurts to talk.<br /><br />"Uh..." I grabbed her bulging suitcase and put inside, next to the reels and tapes. I put the u-matic, it was the newer one, seventy-six, not new enough to hum I guess, down.<br /><br />Alien looked up at me with those damn movie kid eyes of hers.<br /><br />"Do you have laundry?"<br /><br />"No. Just my, my, well, everything."<br /><br />She shrugged and smiled her braces covered movie kid smile.<br />"Guess its just not dirty yet."<br /><br />She's damn funny. I like this kid, always have.<br /><br />"I thought we'd go to the laundry mat. I thought you'd have laundry."<br />"I'm sorry"<br />"I do laundry every month. I thought you'd have more than once a month laundry"<br />"I can have more than once a month laundry"<br />"But you don't today."<br />"I don't today."<br /><br />"Want dinner?"<br />"I want dinner."<br /><br />We walked over to Mr. Foo's. Alien wanted to take the camera, the film one. But I told her there's no point in filming what you can see.<br /><br />Mr. Foo's smelled like rice and nail polish. I didn't eat much. Alien ate like a goat. Damn kid. Ha. Ha. Kid.<br /><br />We came back, I made sure we walked real fast past the old package store, nothing a damn kid ought to see.<br /><br />We sat around the apartment for a while, I figured we'd sit and chew the shit for a while, but she was just drawing something on a yellowed pad of paper she'd brought. Those damn movie kids are always drawing pictures, of elephants the color of raspberry ice cream.<br />I showed Alien her bedroom, next to the old desk, in the corner of the living room I'd blocked with boxes of film.<br /><br />"This is cool" She said with wide movie kid eyes. When I showed her her bedroom, a corner of the living room I shoved a cot in. It was pretty private, blocked off by walls of film and tape. A couple of Time magaiznes and few issues of Rolling Stone, mostly from the eighties.<br /><br />"Bye" I said, leaning over and tugging on my sneakers.<br />"Where are you going?"<br />"To work." To work, to work, doesn't the damn kid know I work?<br /><br />"You're leaving?"<br />"Of course."<br /><br />"Oh."<br />"I'll be back" I added.<br /><br />"I know!"<br />She didn't know.<br /><br />I pulled the rusted draw string in the doorway. The light flicked off. It was perfectly dark.<br />"Don't talk to strangers."<br /><br />"There will strangers in the apartment?" She said, bolting her movie kid face into the doorway where I was.<br /><br />No, I just didn't know what else to say to you kid.<br /><br />"If there are, don't talk to them." I winked.<br /><br />I heard the swooshing of blankets. I'd put the best blankets on that cot, those blankets were the best in all of Watershed Heights, I guarantee it. That kid wasn't going to have pale tomatoes smelling blankets.<br /><br />Then it was starting up again. I burrowed out of the apartment quick, before it turned into a steeple chase course. I felt around for the right key to lock the door, not that one, not that one, the last one, that one.<br /><br />"Switch?" She called. "Can you leave the light on?"<br /><br />I was blind then.<br />"Why do you want to leave the light on? Aren't you going to sleep?"<br />"Yeah, but, sometimes when you want to fall asleep, its easier with light, like the dark is too dark, and the light is like a better dark, 'cuz you're asleep." She was twisting her words in circles. "Its like fake dark."<br /><br />So I crashed around until I located the fake dark switch.<br /><br />Quick, there's an elephant in the room you can't see, don't look at it.<br /><br />I tapped along the sidewalk, by the time I got to the theatre it was gone. I played Citizen for the ten o'clock. No one came. They rarely do.<br /><br />I have this fantasy, that if it rained dimes, slick, shiny dimes, over Watershed Heights, it'd look just like Xanadu, and we'd be none the happier, but I'd have a cool fedora like Orson.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-83194576650527904312010-08-23T11:05:00.001-07:002010-08-23T11:05:35.144-07:00Corbie MacIntyreWeekly Visit<br />She will be here soon, Koraki said from his perch. I did not respond as I rocked slowly back and forth in my chair, slowly clicking my knitting needles.<br />She will try to take you away again, he persisted. I nodded slowly. Sarah was my only child, who visited me once a week for an hour. I was very happy she came to see me at all, but I also hated the fact that to her our visits were nothing more than an unavoidable piece of her schedule. Sarah was a busy young woman who loved nothing except her job. She was 43 with no family or prospects of one, content to spend her career as a lawyer alone. The only thing keeping her from her job 24/7 was me, and it seemed that she was set and determined to send me off to a retirement home where she could be sure I was getting the care I needed. That way she could reduce her visits to once every few months. I sniffed reproachfully. This was the thanks I received for bringing her into this world?<br />She comes! Karaki cried. Sure enough, moments later I could hear the clack of her heels against the floor outside in the hall, followed by a rapt knock on my door.<br />"It's open, dear," I called out to her. Sarah came sweeping in like the plague. Her smile was as fake as her chest, her dye-blond hair sculpted into place, and acrylic nails poised like claws.<br />"Hello Mama," she smiled. But as she looked around her smile faded slightly. I kept my place as clean as any old woman could keep a small apartment with 78 years worth of stuff could, but apparently she was not satisfied.<br />"You know Mama, this place really isn't the best place for a woman of your age..." She began.<br />Here we go, Koraki sighed.<br />"I saw a whole group of hobos on my way in. Imagine! And that strip club? I really don't feel comfortable leaving you in this neighborhood." Sarah proclaimed with a shake of her head.<br />You don't care! You never cared! Koraki said with an audible screech. Sarah looked at him in horror.<br />"Ugh! A raven!" She screamed.<br />"He is a crow," I corrected her. This didn't seem to help.<br />"Shoo! Shoo, you nasty thing!" Sarah said, waving her fingers at it, refusing to get any closer. Karaki did not move. I laughed, finding that the whole thing looked rather silly.<br />"Do you see? This is why you should move!" Sarah said hysterically, "Vermin like this all around the place! It is disgusting!"<br />Vermin! He cried again.<br />"Hush." I told him, and both he and Sarah fell silent. My daughter assumed it was directed at her, and she became offended.<br />"Fine," She huffed, "I know when my opinion isn't wanted, and I won't stay here knowing I can't speak my mind." She spun on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her. I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut.<br />Good riddance. Koraki huffed.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-51760771764514341362010-08-23T11:03:00.000-07:002010-08-23T11:04:07.696-07:00Marjorie WilkinsEntry #475<br />Time: 6:37 am<br />Location: Bus 52 towards Watershed Heights<br />Temperature: 22° Celsius<br />Humidity: 55%<br /><br /> Buses make me queasy. Why am I looking down? <br /><br />Time: 6:40 am<br />Location: Outside Watershed Heights, surrounded by boxes.<br />Temperature and Humidity: Same<br /><br /><br /> The manager isn't awake yet. There aren't any lights on. Strange. It's nearly 7:00!<br /> Never mind. There's a rusty door around the side, and it's unlocked, I think. It should lead into the basement, if the steps down are any indication. I'll just go and get my boxes.<br /><br /><br />Time: 7:03 am<br />Location: Third step down the flight of stairs leading to the basement of Watershed Heights<br />Temperature and Humidity: Same<br /><br /><br /> Oooooo! There's a fine Polytrichum commune growing between the steps! I was not expecting this sort of society right outside my door. Bryophytes make wonderful neighbors - he and I shall be great friends, I'm sure. <br /> Oh dear. I've left the clothes box in a puddle. I do hope that the bottom won't rip out...I can't imagine 20 pounds of someone's laundry falling on one's head as making an excellent first impression. I so want to start things out on the right foot.<br /><br /><br />Time: 7:20 am<br />Location: Watershed Heights basement<br />Temperature: 20° Celsius<br />Humidity: 21.5%<br /><br /><br /> The accommodations here are simply stunning. The door to the outside is on the west wall, which is covered in the most fantastic crop of mildew I have ever seen. The foundation is cracking a little near a pile of rotting boards in the northeast corner, probably because there's a root (or maybe it's a spiderweb. I can't tell) forcing its way through the concrete. I hope it isn't a root. The poor plant must be quite confused. There's various bits of garbage scattered about, but I should be able to compost most of it, once I find my formulae. <br /> The cast-iron coal-burning furnace in the corner is a bit creepy. It will probably try and eat me while I sleep. <br /> <br />Time: 7:25 am<br />Location: Watershed Heights basement<br />Temperature and Humidity: Same<br /><br /><br />I wonder if there's a hardware store around. I need to buy potting soil and 2x4s.<br /><br /><br />Time: 7:29 am<br />Location: Watershed Heights basement<br />Temperature and Humidity: Same<br /><br /><br /> I should get a humidifier for the mildew, too. It isn't nearly moist enough, poor thing.<br /><br /><br />Time: 7:30 am<br />Location: Watershed Heights basement, near the foundation crack<br />Temperature and Humidity: Same<br /><br /><br /> I wonder if the manager would mind me digging a hole in the foundation. <br /><br /><br />Time: 7:37 am<br />Location: Watershed Heights basement, in the pile of boxes inside the door<br />Temperature and Humidity: Same<br /><br /><br /> I can't find the box with my compost formulae and Cornell doctorate.<br /><br /><br />Time: 7:38 am<br />Location: Watershed Heights basement, under the pile of boxes<br />Temperature and Humidity: Same<br /><br /><br /> Where are my compost formulae? I NEED them.<br /> Did I lose them in the airport? No. I still have all my boxes. I think.<br /> NO! One is missing!<br /> <br />Time: 7:39 am<br />Location: Same<br />Temperature and Humidity: Same<br /><br /><br /> I wonder whatever happened to that botany undergrad who helped me carry my things through the airport? He was so nice, and asked some very intelligent questions about my book...particularly the compost chapter. <br /> The sneaky bastard. If I ever find him, I'll teach him about compost first-hand. We'll see if he still likes it so well when it's HIS flesh decomposing.<br /><br /><br />Time: 7:40 am<br />Location: On the floor of the Watershed Heights basement, near the boxes.<br />Temperature and Humidity: Same<br /><br /><br /> I might have left them on the subway. I should make reward posters. But what would motivate people? <br /><br /><br />Time: 7:45 am<br />Location: Same<br />Temperature and Humidity: Same<br /><br /><br /> I'll give them one of the Passiflora edulis seedlings. Everyone likes passion fruit, and they make lovely companions. Such a nice sense of humor.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-38796459188531653102010-08-23T11:02:00.001-07:002010-08-25T13:29:16.523-07:00Ms. PiggIt was a dark and stormy night when Ms. Pigg woke up from her nap, and her cable went out. She was so bored that she decided to play her sousaphone in the lobby of watershed heights. With her instrument case open wide on the floor, she was waving to people that passed by. If nobody walked by within 30 minutes she would stroll around town playing her sousaphone. Wherever there was a crowd of people on the side of the street she would stop, play, and open up her sousaphone case for tips.<br />Ms. Pigg wandered to the records store with her sousaphone, umbrella, and sousaphone case. She was trying to buy the new "Islands" cd because the reviews have been really good. Luckily she got the last copy and ran straight home to listen to it. After she heard every song three times she walked back downstairs to the lobby. Once there she played and waved to people walking by.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5843347747690165158.post-29828811652913484742010-08-20T06:02:00.000-07:002010-08-20T06:04:15.313-07:00Blog #1 - Character beginningYou should have your first character blog. Remember, you are not writing a description of your character, you are writing the first chapter/page of a short story, novella or novel. Good luck.Howard Roarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09502749250711312160noreply@blogger.com0