Wednesday, July 30, 2014

GNG Exercise 7/12/2014 A Meeting with my creation:Read Georgia

GNG Exercise 7/12/2014

Create a dialogue between you and the character in your book.


I turned and lulled about the spacious rooms of the Atlanta Made department store. Strolling among the locally designed furniture and craft, my eyes lit as I settled my gaze on a fabulously carved Tungsten egg.
"Deri!" Feeling assaulted at the sound of my own name, I fumbled the egg while holding my breath.
"Oh Lord!" I whispered with an nervous exhale as I tentatively placed the egg back upon it's cradle. At that moment, a sharp, uncomfortable poking on my back caused me to turn to face my irritation with more venom in my expression than I intended.
When my eyes fell upon the cheerful, but startling glare of Frankie's golden irises, I could feel my features soften as I recognized my creation.
"Hey!" Boisterous as ever, she continued to smile up at me. No more than five feet, she was dwarfed by my towering height.
"How you doing, Francois?" I smiled "What have you been up to lately?"
"I don't know?" She raised a inquisitive eyebrow and grinned impishly. "Shouldn't you know?"

Mia Maine

It couldn’t be helped. For a brief moment, sound evaporated. The world dissipated in liquid pools of hazy charcoal.
“Mia,” Victor calls, slightly amused by my preoccupation.
“Huh,” I ask distractedly.
At his pointed look, I shake loose the last dregs of a silly girlhood fantasy. Oh my! Did I really just do that? “I apologize, Mr. Jordan for my distraction,” I state blushing slightly.
“Victor,” he interrupts, reminding me of the informal atmosphere. “My grandmother warned me that they would get me into trouble, if I wasn’t careful.”
“I used to be a sucker for pretty eyes,” I confess. Victor’s eyes reminded me off a young man from my past. His were a warm sherry brown with flecks of gold. God had just been showing off the day he crafted Daniel’s eyes.
“Used to be?” Victor jokes.
“Yes, heartbreak will do that to you.” I answer solemnly.
“It sounds like a great story but one best left for another time.”
“Only if the first round is on you, otherwise, that story will remain encased in the past.”
“Down to business then, how long have you known Bernard?”
“Three years.”
“And the nature of your relationship is?”
“…is none of your concern, apparently.”
“What do you mean, apparently?”
“Apparently, Bernard decided not to share with you the nature of our relationship. I won’t speculate about his reasons for not clueing you in. Though, I am sure that you will.”
“I won’t speculate either. I’ll just ask him.”
“You’ll have to.”
“He was right. You don’t ruffle easily.”
I look at him and shrug.


I bumped into Ki'Korema among the shadowed fronds overhanging an upper path on the in skirt of Bohemie. The sun was descending behind some of the tall trees occluding the west end on the valley, which itself, bit by bit was falling into indigo shadow.
"What's going on?" I tossed her way, casually.
"Hey." Her stride is like someone on a mission. I heard her feet kicking through fern leaves a few steps before I called after her, a little to my own surprise; "Key." I turned to see her stop and face about to me. I noticed she was wearing around her neck the thin golden chain Do'ow had given her. "Hey," she offered again, maybe presuming she hadn't been heard the first time. Damn, I thought to myself, taken aback. She was easily only half my size, but looking into her face is like watching fire burning in an iron oven. She regarded me silently. I realized time was slowly inching forward and I still hadn't said anything else.
"Thanks for helping Do'ow last night," she said. "After the party." Something in her tone or posture lent an almost acrid taste to the final word of her statement.
"It’s okay…" I started, but she sliced softly right through my sentence, interjecting quietly:
"It was not okay. He was being shit."
I was trying to come up with different things I thought might be decent enough for me to say when she added, stonily, "You probably saved his life."
"From you," I ventured, clearing my throat first. Her stance softened just a bit. Her eyes, those dark stones from which the heat of the furnace behind her face emanated, slid sideways slowly, taking in the late evening glow encompassing the rich life down below. A slow breath left her, sailing off to join the banners of smoke snaking up from the shanty cooks throughout the valley.
"Probably from a whole bunch of people," she concluded. "How's Neess?" She still was looking out into the reaching warmth of the evening.

Zakiyyah Zai'mah

I make my way through the thick brush looking for the path to the wall where our work is taking place. With each footfall, squishy sounds emanate from beneath my feet and puncture the occasional silence which alternates with the cacophony of sounds from nocturnal creatures that guard the night.
Finally, I reach the road which winds upward towards the wall. Just ahead of me is Zainab. She has become a true leader for the warrior-women. She is our voice, our conscious and the central motivating factor in our drive for freedom from our watery prison.
Quietly I approach her and as I come closer to her, she swiftly turns around as if in preparation to defend herself from attack. Hastily, yet very succinctly, I offer the warrior-women greeting code that was established when we began this clandestine project,
“If your sister is your hairdresser…” Immediately she withdraws and responds with a smile, “Then you need no mirror.” Zainab then focuses and calls out, “Zakiyyah, is that you?”
“Yes, it is”, I happily respond -- grateful that she knows my name. We smile, turn and together, we continue walking toward the wall.

GNG Exercise on 06-14-2014 Read Georgia

GNG Exercise on 06-14-2014
Create a  paragraph based on the words of a game.

Most people think the water in Tahiti is blue. In some places I suppose that’s true. But where I’m standing it is sea green. The sand isn’t sand colored either, it’s more of a marigold, not yet kissed by the sun for too many years that the brightness has white washed away.  So here I stand, meat sandwich in my hand. I’d grabbed it from the cooler bag in my Porsche strategically parked between a Solara and believe it or not an old school Model T. Someone on this island must be a collector because outside of a museum I don’t think I have ever seen one and I’ve travel all over the world from Amsterdam to Mumbai. It is amazing to me the things people hold on to but at least that car was worth something instead of the piles of junk mail, empty milk crates and lamp pieces I’d left behind. Sometimes people need a clean slate, and my move to Tahiti was just that. Now all I need to do is decide where I’m going to live, how I’m going to survive and which of these sodas I’m going to down first.

Vacation by Mia Maine

With her salami Panini in hand, she slid into her scarlet Miata. The raw gnaw of hunger caused her stomach to growl louder than the subtle humming of the car’s engine. Sierre, named after the nation Sierre Leone, was glad that she splurged on the sports car. It was a vacation after all. Her usual frugal manner urged her to get the Prius, Scoupe or the compact Toyota. Yet, her adventurous side won out. As she finished the last bite of her sandwich, she un-wrapped a piece of milk chocolate and stepped outside of the air conditioned vehicle. A balmy breeze whipped her Trinidad red sundress to and fro. Barefoot, she walked down to the shore’s edge, popped the chocolate in her mouth and savored its silky sweetness as she stared out at the foamy turquoise Moroccan waves


John pulled up in a periwinkle Plymouth, the tires grinding the gravel of the mountain road quietly in the misty mid morning air.  It couldn't have looked less out of place sidling up next to John #2's silver Chevy Sierra.
          "Really?,"  John #2 asked drily as his number 1 namesake stepped out onto the loose pale stones underfoot.  Number Two simply looked about, pivoting at his hips to take in a panoramic view of the slope of Paraguay.  "It's really just a bunch of mostly clouds, isn't it?"  His voice doled a serving of the nonchalance of someone whom has seen it all.  John number 2 regarded him momentarily in full consideration of every reason he had originally not wanted him along on this job.  Way too much was riding on today's final conversation to take chances with somebody as whimsical as John Number 1. 
          "You ready?" Number 2 was taking a moment to give the appropriate attention to number one's mauve leisure pants, at least one size too small even for his class of person."Jesus H. Christ!  What's that?!"  He couldn't stop his exasperation from climbing up his spine, crunching through his shoulders and flinging outward through his rolling neck.  Number 1 gazed down at the large yellow stain apparent on the front of his purplish pants.  It was roughly the shape on Mongolia and seemed half the size.   

"Mustard.  Turkey sandwich," he muttered, his tongue digging for something far down in his cheek.  "What?  It happens," he offered blandly, seeking to assuage number 2's growing disapproval.