I feel like when I come on here, it’s to whine about my life. I need to chill out and get back to the basics of writing. Thinking creatively.
It’s July, time for camp Nano, and I have no new ideas, no new characters. I keep repeating the same themes over and over, and it’s keeping me from finishing anything. And the one great and unique (maybe) idea that I have seems like too much work and while the concept is good, it seems like a lot of research to do the background and I just can’t get into it right now.
There are too many hikes to go on, kayaking to do, deep cleaning in the house. This summer is about action, not sitting around and writing, I guess. And, I’m actually having fun being outside and active. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone outside this much in the summer. Last summer was too stinking hot; this one is looking a bit cooler so far. I’m fine with that.
So I have a writing prompt app from writing.com that gives you a scene, and you run with it, trying to put in all the elements into one story. Let’s try one now.
Place: on a boat
Character: a master chef
Object: an airplane
Weather: cold front
I also have a writer list app. To name my chef, I flipped randomly down the list and got Bernard Castillo. I usually think about my characters names with a little more thought but that app is great for creating background characters.
So, this’ll be a little rough, but I’ll give it a try.
I can’t believe this woman, Bernard thought as he carried the tray up the narrow stairs, teetering like a ballerina on pointe for the first time. I didn’t hire on for this. He’d taken the job because it seemed like easy work. Accommodations would be provided, he would get to shop for his own supplies, and just do work for dinner parties and other events. Lots of down time.
She just didn’t mention in the interview that the job would take place on this stupid yacht and he’d have to travel all over the world with a crazy bimbo. Not only was she blonde and slim and tanned, like every cliche’ in the movies, she was slightly evil. Or, at the very best, there was just something wrong with her.
He attained the top of the stairs without dropping anything, ignored the crystal clear Mediterranean waters that sparkled in the morning sun, and kept an eye out for the new cat the crazy lady had just purchased. It was a young Savannah F-1 that she’d found in the market somewhere, and it looked like a miniature cheetah. Also, it loved to climb on the boat and drop down on him, claws extended, while he carried the food.
Right now, it was nowhere to be seen.
She lay in the cool morning sun, already in a bikini, mirrored sunglasses on, and she saw him coming and languidly waved a hand toward the table. “Just set it there, Bernie.”
He gritted his teeth. He hated being called Bernie. He set the table down, and after a quick glance around for the feral cat, he said, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
She lowered her glasses, her cool pale blue eyes drilling him like kids pelting stones into a pond. “That will be all, Bernie.” Her mouth twisted into a sneer. She knew it bothered him.
He turned to go back downstairs, and as he started to walk away, she called out, “Oh, there is one thing.”
He set his face into a mask of politeness before turning back to her. “Yes?”
“We’re heading back to the States,” she said.
Another cross-Atlantic voyage? His mind immediately started ticking off the time it would take to get there, the items that would need to be purchased for the crew and the spoiled brat. “Excellent,” he said, trying not to be too enthusiastic. The second they made port, he was jumping ship. He was going to go to New York, find a pretentious job cooking prawns and escargot, and live happily ever after, without a crazy rich woman, and without a cat that came up to his knees that liked to hunt him.
“We’re going to head to the Caribbean,” she said. A breeze blew up, and she grabbed her cover up as she shivered it over her head.
Even Bernard glanced up into the sky. That breeze was the coolest piece of weather they’d had since hitting Spain six weeks ago. Strange. He noted a small plane, high up in the sky, heading west. Towards America. Towards his freedom.
He couldn’t wait. He nodded to her. “I’ll make the necessary preparations for the food for the journey.” They discussed some of the details, and then he headed downstairs to put on a sweater and make a list before they left port the next day.
And that is all for that. It has all the elements of a story. A little conflict, even. It’s not horrible, I guess. And it’s different from the rest of the stuff I write. Plus Bernard was my uncle and grandfather’s name, lol. I was amused when I saw I landed on it. Neither of them were a chef, though.
Maybe there’s a making of a longer piece there. Bernard and the crazy rich cat lady are more interesting than Raven, the young woman I’m supposed to be writing about currently.
All that from two writing apps. Knowing me, there will be some sort of cursed object that makes it onto the boat, rendering their return trip haunted or cursed, or something along those lines.
I know next to nothing about boats, except they float in the water. I know nothing about being a chef. I know nothing about being rich. LOL I’ll do some research on being rich. hahahahahahah