Write About the New Baby from the Dog's Point of View

Contributed by Dan Baker. Thanks, Dan!

Write Something Scary

When they found Charles, he was slumped to the floor, looking up into a pale light, his eyes dilated like the eyes of a dog; the narrow passageway glistened in the moist dark.

Where was the light coming from? From a gentle harbor.

Charles shifted, and rose up from the floor. His features were like one who had been imprisoned in the earth, living for a time a worm. He moved closer to his friends. He seemed ravenous, so they receded until he said, “Don’t you want to know what I have seen?”

I have seen everything.

Write about Bologna Sandwiches

Some Song Lyrics

Youth I understood
Doing well was doing good
Even if we played hard
And cracked our heads in the yard
No one died
Nor was meant to die
And we unlaced our stitches
And ate bologna sandwiches

…

And I’m cashing in my riches
For bologna sandwiches

Debunk a Myth

I made a trial mirror
Before it fell in two,
And afterward
I made another clear,
But only through
The closest side
To my own eyes;
It works perfectly for spies,
And now I look the millionaire.

Write a Recipe

Hot Cold Fresh Soup

This soup is perfect for punishing your children on a dreary Sunday morning in late fall.

Ingredients (Serves 4)

For the Hot:
2 cups leeks
4 cups new potatoes
4 cups canned low-sodium chicken broth
1 bouquet garni (see p. 44)

For the Cold:
2 cups butternut squash
1 cup canned low-sodium chicken broth
½ cup sage, roughly chopped
Cinnamon

For the Fresh:
½ cup cilantro
1 cup tomato, diced
½ cup scallion, sliced thin

1. Simmer the ingredients for the hot and the ingredients for the cold in two separate pots until the potatoes and the squash are both tender, about 45 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, combine the ingredients for the fresh.
3. When the butternut squash soup is done cooking, chill it in the refrigerator for half an hour. Put it in a blender, and puree until smooth.
4. Ladle the potato-leek soup into four bowls. Spoon some of the butternut squash soup into the middle of the potato-leek soup. Garnish each soup with the cilantro, tomato, and scallion.
5. Serve with salt, pepper, and butter.

Let Them Eat Cake

“You’re not fat.”

“What do you mean, I’m not fat? I didn’t say anything about it.”

“Well, you implied –”

“I didn’t imply – this is imply –”

“Ow! Hey!”

“That was imply.” She had knocked him on the forehead with the rather un-fleshy base of her palm. The question was whether she should have a second piece of wedding cake; there was plenty and it was so good that it was almost impossible not to. And for her, as is often the truth behind mysterious shadows in the brain, two more pieces of cake would not have harmed her; and for him, as is often the case for mysterious reasons in society, even the piece that he had was easily overlooked by all despite its detrimental contribution. He had tried, charitably, to make the benefit of the cake clear to her, or rather, to mitigate the severity of her self-hatred, and his words were too abrupt, too suddenly sour. But it was just a conjugal moment – they would both be eating more cake shortly, and he would say not in vain that he loved her.

Write a Plot (any old plot)

It’s a perfect day for washing the car, but Eric doesn’t have any car washing soap. He goes to the drugstore to buy some. While he’s there he runs into an ex-girlfriend, Jessica; she gets to the checkout just before him. They strike up an odd conversation about how it’s been a long time, how they each have families, and how they didn’t know they were living in the same neighborhood. After Jessica is done checking out, she looks confusedly at Eric, seems to want to wait for him, but leaves abruptly, saying goodbye, even though Eric is just buying the soap.

Write a Story in a Single Sentence

This topic was contributed by John, along with some other excellent ideas to come later. Thanks, John!

Melvin woke at four, sank his teeth into a steak – breakfast for men – assumed his long day of work; he took a break for a steak lunch – lunch for men – and continued to round up the cattle, whom he had names for; he finished the day with a light tomato salad – tomato, scallions, parsley, thyme, grapefruit – and went to sleep contented that he knew what he was doing.

Include the Description of a Room

I preferred mood lighting the first time I wooed a man before killing him. I always have the room arranged, but you can imagine that I took special care. The walls I had done in a light pea, a dresser placed in burgundy; it was not my actual dresser, nor would I do this in my own room – can you imagine? wouldn’t that seem…false? The bed was sleek, refined, modern, something to suggest the arousal of the loose generation; white sheets, white sheets; I procured a tall backed chair for the throwing on of coats and clothes, amidst smiling and laughing. And this, this was the coup de grace: a sword hanging on hooks beside the great hanging mirror that overlooked the bed; when he saw it, what could have gone through his mind?

Use the Linked-To Painting in Any Way You See Fit

Amherst Campus, No. 1 - By Fairfield Porter

Whosever idea it was to stake that tree had a sumptuous design, wouldn’t you say, Fairfield, connecting two disparate realms?

Yes.

I just love late-summer avocado.

The fruit.

No, no – the color – have you ever seen so many early autumn avocado?

Whose car is that?

A late bloomer.

Write, Focusing on the Sense of Smell

The cheese was where they took you first, rather than to the subtler smells. Here you learned “grass”, “ash”, “brine”, “nutty”, “fresh”, and even “caramel”. “Caramel?” I asked. Yes, on this Vermont brie; get a whiff of the rind. There was nothing to be done except obey orders; I found that the brink of madness stank like wild cotton, and that summer, too, that epiphany was like fresh dresses drying on the line.

Write About the Moment at which Sleep Takes Place

line
breaks
to
line
how
ember
crests
to
ash

Write for a Child

He burst into fine laughter at the loop of the plane. The plane was red, it had yellow wings; he loved the soft clouds it made. Nothing like a hot dog with ketchup, and ice cream, on a summer day at the air show! There was nothing like it in the world!

Write a Treatise Using No More Than 40 Syllables

Photography requires light, a camera, and a view. Its art is making images, using the media of film or data, sans apparent motion.

Pretend You are a Thief Scoping Out your New Neighbor

Say what you want about me, but know I leave the weak alone. So the first thing I’ll do is go over to invite the man shooting. If he says no, flat out, then I know he doesn’t own a gun; check that off. They usually say no. If he comes along, and if he doesn’t shark me out of some money; and if it winds up that after a couple hours he hasn’t hit a damn thing, then I don’t worry about that. That’s step one.

The family that just moved here last week – four kids. That’s step two. And I hate these traditional moms – that’s step three. You wonder why the shooting comes first? I just like to make sure that remains an art. In my line of work, you have to set boundaries. It’s like a sad person who refuses to drink a beer by himself in the morning.

Rewrite the Last Paragraph of a Favorite Book

With the gardeners, Elizabeth was always on the most intimate terms. Darcy, for the well-being of Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into love with Derbyshire, had been the means of her reconsideration.

Write Positively About Something You Dislike

I would gladly give you ten dollars to see fantastic gore lavished on the screen. There is nothing so intricate and well-planned as a dismemberment. Put my heart through its paces, keep my brain fit and humming through the night, trim my reflexes; when they come after me, I will be the first to slip their grasp.

Meet Someone You Know, Years Later

This exercise was generously suggested by Kate. Thanks, Kate! Note that the name of the person in the exercise has been changed, although it is inspired by a real person.

“My God! Ernest?” I was just then walking down an aisle at the supermarket, pushing my cart slowly, kind of eyeing the canned tomatoes, when I had looked up and seen this other man doing the same. He pulled his attention to me, his look fixed, as though I needed to be decided on. “Adam: it’s me, Adam.”

His face believed into a bright smile: “You freaking bastard! What the hell are you doing here?”

I smiled, too; I had already been smiling. “Well” – thinking that his manner of expression hadn’t really changed – “I guess I’m grocery shopping.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“This is pretty freaky.”

“Do you live around here? I live over on Myrtle.”

“Oh my God – since when? I’ve been living on Blue Oak for like five years.”

“Get outta here.” He thought for a moment and said, “You know, now that we’re seventy freaking years old, maybe we should just play cards and drink a beer on the porch.”

“Oh good – it’ll be like playing Magic.”

“Oh shit, don’t remind me!”

Describe a Stranger You Noticed Recently

He looked like one of those Italians who grew up with the wrong kind of Catholics, and who now traveled to Florida in the winter – but he was darling with his grandchildren. When he told them to sit down he would nod, not vehemently, and his eyes would push up his eyebrows a little; he would make a knob with his hand, his finger pointing out, as though it had been disengaged from a cup of tea, and he would push a single button with it in the air immediately above the table. His way of urging was kind. His thin lips made his open mouth urgent, but not to be taken too seriously.

Write Historically

In 1832 Elizabeth Barnaby managed to sell over the course of the entire year two pounds of beans per day. This netted her $.32 per day, which allowed the Barnaby family to purchase a regular supply of candles and cloth for work clothes, and the family’s industrious tether to the land continued to raise their prospects, albeit quite slowly. One of Elizabeth’s diary entries noted, “40 p. to-day!” While we cannot be certain what was the cause of the sudden jump in income, we can, through the concomitance of several of Elizabeth’s diary entries with documents showing incremental increases in the family’s landholding, draw a conclusion that she may have been able to sell more beans as the family land increased; and one allowed for the other continuously, as her efforts, and eventually the efforts of her children, contributed to the overall health of and to the ability of the family to make productive gains.

Conclude Without Beginning

She can rest.

Write a Poem Containing a Synonym for the Word "Foxotory"

If you play with wires in the afternoon,
Do you imagine that they move
A weary soul? What else
Is like a satisfying turn of the wind
In the direction that you wanted? Earth? –
Better places there are none
For producing a moment of cerebral cunning.

Write the Beginning of a Job Interview

A full job interview would have taken me much longer than the prescribed half-hour. So here's the beginning of one.

Marvin walked into the room and shook hands with Mr. Trotter.

“Good morning, Mr. Andrews. Elijah. Nice to have you come in.”

“Good morning, sir… er –“

“Please, you may call me Elijah. And may I call you –” Elijah Trotter looked at Marvin’s resume before Marvin had a chance to speak, then looked Marvin in the eye as they both said “Marvin” simultaneously, the former with the appropriate questioning tilt and the latter almost rushing.

“Yes, of course, certainly, thank you –”

“Good – that is always an important piece. Please, have a seat. I’ll be interviewing you this morning. Is there anything I can get you, first – coffee, tea, you know, that sort of thing?”

“Um –”

“Do let me know, anything you want.”

“Um, I’m actually a little thirsty –”

“Did they not offer you any water at the desk?”

“I, actually, I arrived right at 9:00, and they ushered me right in.”

“Oh – perfect. Well, hold on a minute.” Elijah picked up his phone. “Hello Harold. Fine, everything’s fine. Would you please bring Mr. Andrews a bottle of water? Thank you.” He hung up the phone. “He’ll be here any minute. So, tell me about yourself.”

Write Something Cartographic

What’s more important than the dividing line?
What suspenseless and beautiful colors?
What decision to include a name?
What accuracy?

Confuse Your Reader

Perhaps you won’t find this worthwhile, but John, a.k.a. Sally, met his father for a game of bingo when he died. His father’s mother, Sally, a.k.a. Sal, slept soundly that night, after opening and digesting a can of sardines. Sal, a.k.a. John, was a hard-edged man, but he liked bingo and his son had a soft spot for him. She lost the thought of his tears in the brine of her sardines, as he had eaten sardines so often throughout his life. Her sister-in-law said that when her son had died, it had been so hard for him, the loss of her son. One doesn’t know how to stand in a situation like that of leaving his son behind. That is why the carnival and the sardines and the bingo were now her favorite things, too.

Narrate Someone Sleeping

Jenny is sleeping soundly and calmly. She lays on her back, her head lounges in the pillow slightly to the side, her mouth is closed, the fluffy sheets don’t even move to her breathing, her hair is being pressed into a plumage. She is no less at rest than the northern evening beach, or the deep beach of the night under the moon.

Write a Seinfeld Plot

Kramer tells George that he should propose bring a friend golfing day to Steinbrenner, who loves the idea.

J. Peterman tells Elaine that he wants her to start working on a line of Yankees inspired clothing. She begins having meetings with George’s boss, Wilhelm, who secretly becomes enamored of her.

Kramer’s mother, Babs, starts going to Jerry’s comedy shows, and Jerry starts acting like Kramer.

Kramer invites himself to bring a friend golfing day with George. Steinbrenner and Wilhelm both bring their wives, but Wilhelm is not feeling well, and has his wife go with George, while Kramer plays golf with Steinbrenner and his wife. Wilhelm’s wife teaches George to play golf, and Kramer convinces Steinbrenner to trade a starting pitcher to the Mets for a reliever.

After Jerry hears the news about the trade the following day, he starts to go haywire at his comedy routine and falls off the stage. Babs rushes him to the hospital, and stays with him.

They put Jerry in the same room as Wilhelm, who had come to the hospital for some tests. Elaine eventually shows up with Kramer, and Wilhelm starts hitting on Elaine. Kramer tells Jerry about the golf outing, and when Jerry gets mad, he won’t let Kramer defend himself.

George continues to play golf with Wilhelm’s wife, who tells him that the Yankees should start to make golf clothing. George makes his way to J. Peterman’s office, where he surprises Elaine by having scooped her. Elaine beats him up; Peterman makes her take George to the hospital, and they both see Wilhelm there with his wife.

Write a Circle

I owe my father partial credit for this exercise; we both developed the idea independently of one another. He did it, too: perhaps he will contribute his excellent example.

If I am articulate,
I can be a communicator.
If I can be a communicator,
I have two choices to make:
Will I or will I
Not be a communicator?
Will I or won’t I
Be a communicator?
I have two choices to make:
And if I can be a communicator
I will be a communicator,
Articulating if I am.

Convey Pain

“Mommy, my finger hurts!”

“Your finger hurts? Where?”

“It hurts a lot!”

“Where? Show me.”

“See? Look, I bit that part off right there and now it’s bleeding.”

Emily gave me the ring finger on her left hand. I examined it carefully. She had ripped the cuticle out of its lodge. “Yep – those hurt a lot. Next time, don’t do that.”

“It burns.”

“I know. We’re going to put a Band-Aid on it and it will feel better.”

“Oh – guess what Jenny did to James yesterday at school.”

“You tell me while I put this Band-Aid on.”

“Okay – she kicked him, right down here, and then afterward he was rolling around on the ground holding himself there; and the sound he made sounded like he was trying to cry but he couldn’t; and he was just coughing, and his face looked really weird.”

Write in Jumbled Syntax

Videogames is nowadays the kids problem. Out of the whole world, a kid is stuck in a room. He doesn’t know anyone, or her, sometimes a girl can be it. Unless they are playing with friends and on the Internet, and it’s better. Have you ever seen a video game – if not you should? You would see its ineducatable. First of all, when you blow things up; finally, some videogames are puzzles and good for the brain, but why? Not unless they do good, and the rest is bad, after all they are made with people, and perfect people are not.

Write Something Exciting

“He could not have been any clearer, Bill – ‘The time is now.’”

“I agree: and what we are about to see is unprecedented, coming to you, in your living room, on your computer, text updates, twitter feed, via CNN live broadcast. John, you tell me – what is the buzz down there?”

“Well, Bill, you can hear the people yelling in the background – and for everyone seeing this at home, it’s hard to get a sense of the crowd gathered here, off the Florida coast – let’s get the camera to pan that way – there, you can see, that’s about one-hundred-thousand people.”

“Thank you, John. We’re watching on CNN, in a few minutes, the first NASA water landing since the US went to the moon. The astronauts in the space pod carrying cargo – Martian life… how can you describe this feeling?”

Describe a Typical Morning in Highly Metaphorical Language

The sun examines me asleep; and as one knows when he is being considered a vista, my eyes know that it is day. I remagnify my duties: help me, Lord, for I am astride the sea.

Translate the Passage Below from German to English--If You Know German, Skip Today

Den Gott des Ganges und der weiten Botschaft,
die Reisehaube uber hellen Augen,
den schlanken Stab hertragend vor dem Leibe
und flugelschlagend an den Fußgelenken;
und seiner linken Hand gegeben: sie.

From Rilke’s “Orpheus. Eurydike. Hermes”

The Glenmary Gardens had broken soft,
like effort ever taken from the resourceful,
onto a valley veiled from the calls that men
once forgotten make in their feeling through all;
once opened for all they sought to save all: woe.

Note: This exercise was adapted from one of my favorites in creative writing class that I took with Mark Rudman senior year of college.

Write Cleanly

Day opened. Leonard woke up; the sun brightened his room. A square of paper lay on the floor. He imagined that it was a letter from Mrs. Elm: “Dear Leonard, I am glad you studied well enough to get an A. We should talk in the afternoon. Don’t forget. Love, Mrs. Elm.”

Imagine You are Standing on a Boat Deck--Write Something from that Perspective

It was noon before Scratch saw anything of interest. Most of the morning I felt hungry and a little sick, and I pinched my arm and cooled my face in the spray, beating off the sun and distracting myself so I wouldn’t eat another biscuit. I loved the biscuits. If there was any peace and comfort on the sea it was a biscuit.

There wasn’t much to do on a calm day. I leaned my torso over the railing, getting the spray, and I shrugged my shoulders up, as if the ocean would call my name if it saw a huskier man. One saw belts of blue.

What Scratch found was indeed interesting, a post of wood. It was so interesting, in fact, to a bunch of men lost at sea, that we took the effort of getting the boat down into the water to grab this post; and, having taken it up, we set ourselves around it as at a dining table, to touch it carefully and look into its grooves. It was more of a plank than a post actually, seeming to have been shattered at both ends. When bearded Jenkins mumbled that he had found something, I anticipated it with some trepidation; but it was just initials, two sets, encased in a rough heart, the blithe initials of lovers on some island a thousand miles away.

Write a Travelogue

Kelly, who was younger than Julie, who was younger than Eileen, was the first off the plane to Rome. I don’t begrudge her at all, being her father, but it seems like something that needs to be said. Anyway, when we got to Rome, we had five days before us, in which we could do whatever we wanted. I wanted to see the Pantheon, and to sit in the Piazza Navona, and Eileen agreed with me; Kelly, however, wanted to eat gelato, and Julie sided with her. Now, I wanted to eat gelato, too, but I figured that that was something we could do on the way about doing other things. Kelly, fortunately, understood my reasoning and agreed, and so on the first day we saw the Pantheon and sat in the Piazza Navona, where we ate gelato.

The weather was cold, but not too cold to eat gelato. You could eat gelato and get a coffee afterward, and that would warm you up a bit, although I have to say, I was surprised that the coffee was not that hot. That was good, though, because I didn’t burn my mouth.

On the second day, we went to St. Peter’s Basilica, and Ellen, my wife, had to trick the girls into wearing sleeves by telling them that it was going to be cold; we were lucky that it was cold, because they would have made a stink about it otherwise, and I would’ve had to sit outside the basilica lecturing at least one of them while their mother took the remainder inside. We also went to the Coliseum that day, had our picture taken with a gladiator, and ate more gelato.

On the third day it warmed up, and we decided that it was prudent to avoid the churches, at least the big ones. Ellen suggested that we walk from our hotel, which was near the Gesu, to the Spanish Steps, eat lunch near there, and then get gelato near the Trevi Fountain.

The fourth and fifth days were more of the same, making plans, meandering around, and eating gelato. I never really got the sense that I was experiencing real Roman life, but you really never can tell. I did have risotto one night for dinner. The kids seemed tired, although, honestly, the trip was rather romantic for Ellen and me, and the coffee was very good.

VR Software Not Working

For anyone reading today, my voice recognition software has gone haywire, and because I basically need it to write anything of length, there will probably be no blog today.

Write About a Pillowcase

“That can’t be good.”

“What?”

“Look.”

I looked. “Well, so, we burn it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t you ever spend any time with mom?”

“Aw – why do you have to bring mom into this?”

“This is her favorite pillowcase.”

“Mom is dead.”

“Don’t say it so –“

“But she’s dead.”

“Well, I can’t have her looking down from heaven at me, praying for me, and my soul, and I’m burning her pillowcase.”

“Jesus God damn.”

“Hey – I’m not so slight with her memory!”

“Freddy – Freddy, you just killed grandma. You suffocated her! Who the hell cares about a pillow case?”

“It was mom’s favorite!”

“Freddy – we just whacked her mother!”

“Yeah, and don’t tell me the old bitch didn’t deserve it, too!”

“Jesus God damn.”

Write For a Parent

When Amanda started inserting “like” after every fourth word in her sentences, you can bet I wanted to send that word the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. It took a lot of nagging on my part, but it didn’t take long – and now I am happy to say that she only uses “like” in its proper verbal form or to introduce a simile. I’m not too worried if she uses it around her friends; at least I know she’s capable, and I’m not looking to ostracize her from the group.

Here’s how we did it. First, I felt it was important to use a double tactic. Studies have shown that children between the ages of four and 11 make sharp leaps in language learning, almost daily. Why not learn two things rather than one? So I decided that if Amanda wanted to play with her friends in the evening, not only would she have to stop using “like”, but she would also have to think of a new verb to express to me what they were going to do.

Second, I knew that if I couldn’t be clear myself, then she wouldn’t listen to me. And I couldn’t say “like”.

Third, I sat her down and we discussed the problem. Here’s how it went:

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.”

“Because articulate people are considered intelligent, and inarticulate people and people who use “like” are considered stupid; and you work too hard to be considered stupid.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Eventually, however, Amanda warmed up to the idea. She actually thought it was fun to express herself in new ways. She would come up to me and say, “Daddy, we are going to remind ourselves about the day, and then we are going to engage in a game of Barbies.” And eventually, the likes fell away, too.

So don’t be afraid of your child’s language, and be an exemplar yourself, and you will have success raising an eloquent, intelligent child.

Let the job interviews begin.

Write an Epic Composed of Three Haikus

Sing, goddess of truth,
how Adam left his kingdom
and returned in gold!

Hearing of marvels,
he traveled without weapon
to be well disposed.

Although still he slew
his enemies, for wisdom
is a sharper spear.

Write a Google Search

Type in “alliance for a smarter country.” Press Enter.

Sorry, no results were found that match your search criteria. Try entering your search again, but without quotes.

Type in alliance for a smarter country. Press Enter.

Search results: 1-3

Brainiacs
Making our children smarter in the 21st century… as a country we must pull together and form an alliance to help get our children back on track.
www.brainiacs.net

The Alliance for Economic Expansion
We at The Alliance for Economic Expansion believe in the United States economy… smarter workers are the key to success in this country.
www.afee.com

Going broke?
Get a jump start! Free credit counseling services. The smarter choice for getting you out of debt.
www.getoutofjailfree.com

Write a Parable

Maggie spoke to them in parables, saying, “Mr. Coleman had three employees. One was the administrator, one was the salesman, and one was the advertising executive. His wife, however, fell gravely ill, and he stopped working for six months in order to nurse her back to health. While he was away, he assigned the administrator, the salesman, and the advertising executive specific duties: the administrator he put in charge of hiring, the salesman he put in charge of product development, and the advertising executive he put in charge of the accounts and spending. When Mr. Coleman returned, his business was ruined (although his wife had returned to health). He demanded an account from each person. The administrator said that she had not hired anybody because there had been no demonstrated need. The salesman said that he had not created any products because there was no financial support. The advertising executive, however, insisted that the brand was strong – he had spent all the money on a smart campaign that would draw young customers. Mr. Coleman said that he had obviously been wrong, that there was nothing to advertise, and therefore nothing to buy. He fired all three of the employees, since there was no more money.”

Her friends asked her what it all meant, for they were confused. She answered them, “Like, so, I say to you, the administrator is God, the salesman is the priest, the advertising executive is the Pope, and Mr. Coleman is a human being. Sometimes, the Pope makes keeping things together difficult even for God.”

Write From the Perspective of the Floor

Men ask me, “Don’t you like being able to look up women’s skirts all the time?” First thing: I don’t understand why they’re talking to me; second thing: I’m a floor. Perhaps – perhaps – I’ll look at the ceiling once in a while, but I learned a long time ago not to put any hope in that relationship. This is an office building; I’m the lobby floor of an office building – these are, like, twenty-foot ceilings. For years I gave the ceiling the eye, and you know what it said? “Long-distance relationship.” I guess it was for the best. Maybe someday, when they demolish the building, we’ll spend some time together. I mean, I daydream about our cords and pipes getting tangled, but what else am I supposed to do? The only really good part of my day is when the janitorial staff mops, and I have to wait until the evening for that bit of romance.

And on a slightly related topic, the rug really pisses me off. There’s all kinds of things I can’t see in that spot, like executives tripping. Although if that ever happens on me just by myself, it makes me kind of dizzy.

Invent a Word That Rhymes with Orange And Analyze the Logic Behind It

Cornge 1.
(kornj) NOUN – Any not widely cultivated tall grass (Zea Citronensis) that resembles maize and has a sweet citrus flavor. 2. A tea made from the leaves of this plant.

The logic behind this choice of word seems to me somewhat self-explanatory; thus, I feel that this is a failure as far as the exercise goes, although I did have fun doing it, and I think that the word sounds funny.

Hence,

Cornge 2.
(kornj) NOUN – British English. Vulgar Slang. Jail, as in the phrase, "Throw him in the cornge."

Just sounds like a rough and nasty place to be.

Write Something Fantastical

“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t eat robots for dinner?”

“I don’t understand you – you’ll eat anything, but you won’t eat robots. In all my life… and in this economy, too. Robots are lean, they don’t cost much, and they’re very nutritious.”

“I don’t like eating the eyes.”

“What do you mean you don’t like eating the eyes? Just last Tuesday you inhaled two dragon eyeballs, and you didn’t even so much as ask for a second helping of fairy wings for dessert.”

“I don’t like the way they crunch.”

“Which?”

“Which what?”

“The robot eyes, or the fairy wings?”

“Well I ate the fairy wings, didn’t I?”

“Well it’s robots for dinner or nothing.”

“Aye.”

Thus ran a typical evening in the household of the world’s only remaining wizard in the year 2409. His wife, Anna, had learned the hard way not to tell him to conjure his own meals, not because he had done anything bad, but because he was a bad cook. She decided that she would rather enjoy her own cooking, and she couldn’t understand how anyone could not like robots. She had been raised on robots; she suspected it was a matter of pride that he so refused them, as her mother-in-law had confided in her that he loved robots as a child, but developed a distaste for them the more he learned to conjure fire out of the air. It makes sense – you can’t cook a robot with fire; it’s a matter of patience.

Write In a Pattern (But Not a Metrical Poem)

Jared looked up; a flock of geese was flying overhead. They looked like the fork of a snake’s slithery tongue. There was a gray fleck of cloud in the sky. Suddenly, he felt a flick on his shoulder, his sister. She gave him more flak than even his nagging father. They were like a folk song, making words awkwardly beautiful. He couldn’t understand why Frank saw any merit in her. He was in a funk because of their row yesterday. It hadn’t been a freak thing, just another silly argument. It was about the frock his sister wore to school.

Write a (Short) Jeremiad

Righteousness, his head held high, has strewn his excrement behind him on the ground. He shows no remorse!; day falls upon day, as good men fall upon spears in the rush of battle, and new thoughts come to his mind from what he sees. If a woman scolds her child, a shrew scolds the sun; if he hears a man crying, he shuts the ears of his own children; if his daughter chips a shard from a rock, it is her idle and lonely future beside him.

But Righteousness, too, will bear his own stench on his deathbed – woe to you Righteousness! Your God will be your nurse, and she will hold a mirror above the bedpan that will be for your vomiting.

Write Something of Everyday Use

Regulate the surge
By carrying a flask.
But don’t take me to task
If you purge.

Instead, use tea tree oil.
One part to ten
Of water cleans like zen,
Small miracle.

Correction: Write a Square

Apologies--today's piece actually turned out to be "Write a Quadrilateral."

Write a Square

In an even once-male-dominated world, the battles are inevitable. Meteorology is no different on that score, and when Peter Starlite, the weatherman for the morning show, came into Dewey Snowcropp’s evening news room, Snowcropp glared at him like the sun coming over the horizon one minute later on the subsequent day.

“What do you want, Starlite?”

“I’m here to do your weather, Snowcropp.”

“We’ll see about that. Who sent you?”

“Pudge.”

“Your anchorman should keep his opinions where they belong, between the morning recipe and the birthday greetings.” Snowcropp came down the stairs like a cold front.

“Said I could forecast your guessing game into the ground.” There were only six inches between their faces.

“Yeah? What’s tomorrow’s high?”

“88.”

“92 – it’s heating up, and the next day’s going to be 94. A scorcher.”

“Going to cool way down, Snowcropp, once the salmon start swimming upstream in Alaska. I say 86. Ruffle that cool air up there.”

“I eat salmon for dinner, Stargazer.”

“And you look like an orange coward.”

Write Something Boring

The slug moved slowly across the sidewalk. It was a mild day, about 70°. The sun was moving west at 3 PM. Sylvia was reading a book entitled, Molecular Condensation, and she flipped a page; she was now on page 74, and an hour earlier she had been on page 50. She had an iced tea, but it was not really hot enough to drink iced tea, and she was sitting in the shade. She had a pencil, too, to take notes. Using the pencil, she made a line next to the passage that she had just read, to indicate its importance. It was Saturday.

By the time the slug had moved an inch, Sylvia was on page 76. She propped herself up on her elbow to shift herself further back into the chair. At 3:15, Sylvia got up to go into the house. The slug moved another half-inch before she emerged from the house. She picked up her book and continued reading. The book engaged her; she was already on page 80.

Sylvia stopped reading for a moment to think about what she would do tomorrow. After she came home from church, she decided, she would continue reading about molecular condensation.

She looked around. On the path to her left, she saw the slug. It was 3:30, and the slug was nearing the edge of the path and the cool shade of a bush over the bark.

Write Something Journalistic

NEW YORK, NY – Mayor Michael Bloomberg announced today that he would be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch until the city’s economic crisis takes a turn. The announcement came as part of a press conference at City Hall in which the mayor detailed strategies to break a lack of confidence pervading Wall Street.

“I was visiting Goldman Sachs yesterday, and I saw nothing but gloom,” he said. “My new policy is meant to be an example to others.” Several times the mayor repeated the slogan, “Have a little sunshine in your day,” which he unveiled during the press conference.

Seth Pinsky, president of the New York City Economic Development Corporation and a close adviser to the mayor, told reporters that the mayor would also be having carrot sticks and potato chips with his sandwich. “I plan to follow his lead,” he said. “There’s nothing like a good old-fashioned PB&J to put a little sunshine in my day. It reminds us of when we were children, when there was less stress.”

When asked whether he would be having cookies and milk in the afternoon, Mr. Bloomberg noted that it was tempting, but said that he would avoid it in these difficult economic times. “It is important to show some restraint,” he added. “The slogan is, 'have a little sunshine in your day.'”

He admitted that “If somebody has a birthday or something like that, there will probably be some cake.”

Write Mathematically

Read. Eat dinner. Go to bed. Wake up to pee. Go back to sleep satisfied. Wake up when the sun shines. Add two eggs to a hot pan. Make two pieces of toast with unsalted butter. Put the toast on a plate; add the eggs. Make an egg sandwich and eat it with orange juice. Think quickly: one egg per day, two eggs – wait two days. But wait: indulge on Saturday with a three-egg omelette – subtract accordingly. That means on another day make two eggs with toast, unless you’re bored. If you’re bored, does that mean nine eggs the following week, and the consequence? The consequence being malfunctioning limits, or the growing allowance of a heart attack, remain steady. Perhaps immediate desire is the best judge; it will govern what your body needs and detests. Unless, unfortunately, you have a not too rare hormonal imbalance that negates your body’s food regulatory abilities. What do you count on then, when your body doesn’t understand how to calculate calorie intake, enlarging itself?

Write About Skinny-Dipping

“In the old days it was never a make-fuss, that nude swimming. But then there was this egalitarian social way, and the men made a pitch to the girls and tried to be tolerant, but I ain’t going away.

“It was a free curling rush, that first jump in the lake, or my neighbor, Benjamin, had a pool. And the girls didn’t play with the boys, unless you were young, and then we all went our private ways, grabbing a girl that you might want to share an intimate secret with. That was a thrill, and it still is.

“It’s different now – it means something. It was a bunch of us, splashing around, gay as could be, edenic. Or you snuck out with a girl in the middle of the night and took your clothes off and jumped in, and let it all take place.”

Write about Flying

“Whichever one of you amounts
to elemental transcendence, let
me know – right now I only bounce,
gravity my ornery net.”

Like I would tell him. Maybe flair
is all he’s likely not to find
if insight lets him conquer air
to buoy up his fleshy kind.

Instead I have a heart to sing
my body to a twirling high,
for I am lighter than any thing
when my love waits patiently by.

Write Something that Engages All Five Senses

“Honey! I bought Rita some new treats!” Edward yelled to the upstairs. He heard his wife on the balcony, and down the stairs, and she appeared bright to him in the kitchen.

“I’m glad you’re home.” Jenny put her arms on his shoulders, letting him hold her at the lower back, and kissed him on the lips. “What are they?”

“Peanut Butter Paws. Let’s let her in.”

“Let’s dissolve into each other.”

“Wait. Let’s give her a paw.” He saw her at the back glass.

Jenny released Edward and went to the back to let Rita in. She could smell the air of fun.

Take the Full Amount of Time To Write Something Extremely Short -- And Be Satisfied with It

Embrace.

Write Something With Your Eyes Closed

I write with voice recognition software. It has its quirks, so that what I said during this exercise is not what actually ended up on the page (although it is almost entirely correct). What I originally dictated appears at the top of the entry; below that, I have included the text as I intended it when I spoke it, as far as I can remember. The changes, again, are slight.

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The underlings whose echoes descend into the toes of the King made breaks for a stone church. Lately, it was all but one could do for food, given the famine, for the work paid small subsistence amounts.

They shaved and shaped the bricks. It had been one of those misguided economic disasters. Kalamazoo had ordered a stone church; but the Kings friend on the brick-making business, and Kalamazoo was far away.

The bricks eventually did go to Kalamazoo; and the King of Kalamazoo, furious, took the bricks by force, paying for nothing, and assembled a team of laborers to build a brick road from the town to the church that was not there. He installed his pastor of the church the poor shipmaster of Ireland who was taken with his shipment of bricks. He directed the man, O’Neill, “preach to the masses so that they will not feel their knees get cold on the damp earth – and live in their spirits.”

And this O’Neill did, to such ecstasy that no attendant peasant ever left with a new sense of body, which had faded away on the clouds, or a new sense of spirit, which had thrilled them as his quiet words filled the empty air. “Do not rejoice,” he told them; “do not rejoice until you have been good or have been humbled. For I was good and I was humbled, and I live directed to be a servant, and I am happy.”

No structures were in place that suggested happiness to them, nor had it ever seemed possible, until indeed, this man, O’Neill, had laid it down as an option.

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The underlings whose echoes descend into the toes of the King made bricks for a stone church. Lately, it was all that one could do for food, given the famine, for the work paid small subsistence amounts.

They shaved and shaped the bricks. It had been one of those misguided economic disasters. Kalamazoo had ordered a stone church; but the King’s friend owned a brick-making business, and Kalamazoo was far away.

The bricks eventually did go to Kalamazoo; and the King of Kalamazoo, furious, took the bricks by force, paying for nothing, and assembled a team of laborers to build a brick road from the town to the church that was not there. He installed as pastor of the church the poor shipmaster of Ireland who was taken with his shipment of bricks. He directed the man, O’Neill, “Preach to the masses so that they will not feel their knees get cold on the damp earth – enliven their spirits.”

And this O’Neill did, to such ecstasy that no attendant peasant ever left without a new sense of body, which had faded away on the clouds, or a new sense of spirit, which had thrilled them as his quiet words filled the empty air. “Do not rejoice,” he told them; “do not rejoice until you have been good or have been humbled. For I was good and I was humbled, and I live directed to be a servant, and I am happy.”

No structures were in place that suggested happiness to them, nor had it ever seemed possible, until indeed, this man, O’Neill, had laid it down as an option.

Write a Poem Not Containing the Letter "R"

Unto the sea I go,
walking, and thinking of whales:
between one sea and the next I go,
taking plankton and watching sails
that villains mend
to make them billow
in the wind, to give chase,
to make haste,
in those days of gold. Why,
if they had wet stockings,
and tasteless food, why
didn’t they want to be good?
I play my tails and my fins, sea-slap,
and if they hunt me,
between one sea and the next I go,
to escape.

Write About Sloth

Be frail if you can, but do no more.
Take necessities to action – comply.
Autonomy is why you were born.
The porter’s wife is mystery.

Write Something Suspenseful

“Hold him, but take his eyes into account before you kill him.” Marshall left the room without saying another word.

It was me, and a knife, and a murderer. I was fastened to a chair. Take my eyes into account, please.

“Do you know what he means, take your eyes into account? It’s an unusual request.”

“He says it because I’m blind.”

“He says it with everyone. The eyes are a force to be reckoned with, he thinks.”

“So I’m –"

“But see, I think the eyes just get in the way –"

“So I’m not going to close my eyes. And I’m going to listen to you kill me with my eyes open.”

“So be it.”

And I was afraid.

Write Something Simple

John went to the store. He bought apples, peanut butter, and a toothbrush. He ate the apples and peanut butter for lunch, and he used the toothbrush to clean his teeth. John’s teeth were clean.

John went out for coffee with Jane. John and Jane both ordered black coffee. Jane paid the cashier. John and Jane talked about economics. They got up to leave; they kissed. John had gas. They parted.