Thursday, January 1, 2015

WRITERS WRITE... WRITING PARTNERS FEUD ~ New Year's Day A Bit Before


(Football and holiday guests have precluded the blog being on Thursday, but the writers did work on Tuesday.  Still, they did have all their party gear piled in a corner, party hats, glittery attire, taco warmer, out-dated fondue pot, crepe maker, rotisserie roaster, waffle iron, cookie pans, Bundt pan and a basket of mixes, spices, and one large plastic jar of antacid)

 

Z:  (Zi was giving the bird to the computer screen... no, not leftover turkey, but the single finger salute... why... he pulled up his folder he kept on past New Year's Resolutions)

 

Dieting - New Year Resolutions

2009: I will get my weight down below 180 pounds... I can do this!  (Remembers doing three jumping jacks after typing that out)
2010: I will follow my new diet religiously until I get below 200 pounds... I shall eliminate gummy bears and gummy bear related products  (Had managed two... two jumping jacks)
2011: I will develop a realistic attitude about my weight... I am the master of my own fork  (Couldn't get off the ground)
2012: I will work out 3 days a week... Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays... I have joined a gym and have signed a three year commitment... I am resolved (Tied his shoe and called it touching his toes)
2013: I will try to drive past a gym at least once a week... and stop if I'm dressed for it.  (Does mental gymnastics... one Mississippi... two Mississippi... three miss my cupcakes... I'll be back)

2014: I will use the word gym in a sentence once a week while doing twelve ounce curls, ie, lifting a diet soda can.  (Eventually, decides to use six ounce cans)

2015: I will blame my parents on my imperfect genetic code... they are the reason I am portly... no cake for them this year... more for me.  (Plans on a triple layer Italian cream cake with a side of cheesecake... and two forks... why... he is the master of his own forks) 

 

A:  (Ang enters the office wearing a Merida outfit and carrying a bow with a quiver of arrows, though the arrows are not arrows, just straight things she put in an open mini-backpack)  My Mom's a bear today.  (She tries to use a Scottish accent which sounded more the pirate.  Tapes a paper bulls-eye, with directions reading -- hit me --,  on the computer, rethinks, giving herself more credit for accuracy then she merits, starts toward Zi, considering pinning it to his chest, then sees he appears, with a growl-face, more bear-like than Mom and ends up placing it on the candy jar.  If it breaks, she'll just have to eat the contents)

Z:  What are you wearing?

A:  I am Merida.  (Tries the accent again, but it doesn't get any better... it was missing an Arrr Matey!)  I will be fighting for me own hand!

Z:  Huh?

A:  Didn't see the movie?

Z:  Noooo.

A:  Shame on you.  (Does the tsk... tsk with one finger,  then twirls around, admiring her dress and red ringlet hair... made by paper-clipping thick red yarn to her own hair)

Z:  I know I'll regret this, but I'll ask, why the gown?  (Watching her spin joyfully to the point she makes herself dizzy and flops down to avoid falling)  Do you know your sleeves are ripping at the seams?  I can see side boob!

A:  Don't look.  (She scowls)  I'm going to a Princess Party, and yes, I know.  They're supposed to be ripped.  Mirada tears them on purpose so she can use her bow and arrow more efficiently.

Z:  You gotta be kidding me.  If she is built like you how does she get around the obstacle of her boobage?

A:  For real... stop being boorish!  (She kisses her fingers and touches the gown, quite pleased)   I made the dress this way.  It's not cause it is a size too small.  It fits perfectly.

Z:  If you were going for tight-as-hell.  D√©colletage is so puffy-dramatic I'm surprised you can see pass your boob tops.  (Realizes she is about to blow emotionally, backs off)  Ok, fine, I believe you.  But really?  Aren't you a bit old for a Princess Party?

A:  We are never too old to think of ourselves as Princesses.  (She pulls a wooden pot stirring spoon and draws her bow, aims it at him, her eyes narrow slits)   I am a Princess... say it.

Z:  Ok.  I am a Princess... happy?

A:  Prepare to die.

Z:  (He turns to his dog, Jamie, pretending the princess doesn't exist.  He talks as if the well loved mutt understands)  Hear me.  These are your resolutions.  Say them with me.  I will not bark each time I see or hear a dog on TV, a knock at the door, a person walking outside, or sense a cat a mile away.  I will never lift any leg in the house with ill intents.  (He points two fingers at his eyes and then the dogs)  I will not steal underwear belonging to anyone and then dance all over the back yard with it.  I will not eat the crotch out of said underwear.  That one is important.  I will not chew red crayons or pens, because my master will think that I am hemorrhaging, drag me to the Vet, who'll poke, prod and possibly pinch.  I will not roll my toys or hard turds behind the fridge.  I will not roll in any, dog dung, horse dung, or  sheep dung.  I must shake the rainwater out of my coat before I enter the house.  I will not eat my own poop.  Remember that I kiss your snout.  (Jamie woofs softly as if having understood every word and agrees)

A:  (Not liking being ignored she feigns shooting the spoon arrow, taking it via hand, simulating flight, an irregular flight pattern of dips and spins ultimately lodging in Zi's armpit.  Of course, she adds sound effects that resembles passing gas rather than a flying arrow, and, you got it, blames the dog)  Die scum-master.  

Z:  What doooo you want?  (Exasperation is obvious... pulling the spoon free and plunges it into her ample cleavage... and when she reacts the spoon smacks her on the nose)

A:  Tell me I'm a Princess.  (Says like her idea of royalty.  Sounding like a spoiled five-year old... rocking side-to-side swaying the spoon like an upside-down clock pendulum)

Z:  You're a Princess.

A:  Mean it.

Z:  Ohhhh,  I mean it.

A:  What do you want?  (Mollified, puts down her fake bow, knowing his consent deserves a quid pro quo)

Z:  Tell me the world has shrunk and that I have not gotten bigger.

A:  (Squares her shoulders, which rips her garment along the back seam, not just the armpits)  I'm a Princess I can't lie.  You got fluffy. 

Z:  (Looks horrified)  I am not talking to you for twenty minutes... count them twenty!  Fix your gown.  Now, I am not talking to you.  Really, fix it... women parts are hanging free.  Now, I am not talking to you. 

A:  (Takes his cardigan sweater and puts it on, buttons it, the buttons scream for help, and looks apologetic)  She IMs him.  New Year's Day: Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual.  ~  Mark Twain

Z:  (Returns the IM)  Still not talking to you.

A:  I'll make a donut run.

Z:  No.

A:  Bear claws?

Z:  Whose mother is a bear?

 

CHASING YESTERDAY EXCERPT

 

Elizabeth wondered was it instinct, or imprinted upon the make-up of human nature to act so. The stability, the playfulness, the courting, the protecting, and rebuilding. That was the way it was and she felt would most likely forever be. A seagull skimmed the water’s surface, rising with a wiggling fish in its bill as a hermit crab picked its way into the sand beneath crushed shells that littered the waterline.

 

Nearby, a rare fully formed conical shell gleamed white-pink, a jewel cast carelessly away by an apathetic sea. A teenager scooped up the find, cradled the small conch against her ear, listening as if to secrets. She protected those secrets as if words scribed in her diary. Did it tell her she would find love with the boy who stood at her side? One could imagine that. The boy may have been doing so as he leaned into her, she coltishly withheld the shell but he persisted so she shared, heads near the scalloped opening as if he too could hear the shell’s wisdom. Were they sharing foreshadowed dreams or   possibilities just unspoken? Or did it truly hold a promise of future trysts with love’s pure verse, at a time and age more in rhyme with who she will become. Young love was all those dreams, what ifs and more, only held at bay by imagination. This was the world so apart from the everyday, from the mundane, a place where romance could be nurtured, could thrive, where strangers met and found ever after, at least for that summer, sometimes for more.

***
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Angelica Hart and Zi ~ Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane
www.champagnebooks.com - www.carnalpassions.com - angelicahartandzi.com








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