Today feels like a writing day, so let’s try an exercise together. Write a scene, up to 150 words (no more!), about making a sandwich, but do so in a way that makes the genre clear. I’ll go first. Guess the genre:
Almond butter.
She hugged herself. Oh, he loved almond butter. But not just any almond butter. He loved the organic kind, the kind that had one ingredient: almonds. It wouldn’t take her long to pop over the store and buy a jar of organic. She’d make the sandwich just the way he liked it: his favorite bread, two knife-swipes of almond butter, and one generous dollop of strawberry jam. She’d take it to him, and his eyes would light up. He’d smile at her and turn off the TV…
Oh yes. Almond butter.
He wouldn’t even notice the arsenic.
YOUR turn!
Publishing in the Rear View Mirror
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Karen/gang, here’s a oldie but goodie.
“What’ll you have sugar?” Her loud lipstick smiled at me. She could’a been ‘Miss Hash House’ of ‘34.
“Couple eggs on toast,” I replied. “Make it a sandwich. To go.”
The waitress turned, shouting, “Adam and Eve between covers. Traveling. Burn ‘em.”
Later she pushes a pot at me. “Another jolt?” I’d been running on hope and coffee for 17 hours.
“Share your name, babe?”
“Sadie,” she confessed, then shot me a glance. I admit she clung to her hourglass, but sands shift.
“Sadie, I bet you know about men,” I said.
“I’ve known a few.”
“Why would a man skip his daughter’s wedding?” She handed me a greasy sandwich bag.
“Men? It’s always money or women.” She sashayed down the counter.
I thought back. How often my past cases had proved to be money or women troubles. Sadie was right. They oughta button my badge on her!
Great Karen…I guess the teapot got you. Actually in my head was the Grandmother had come from England. Not out of my book but the same feel. Can’t get my characters completely out of my head (<; Great fun and I love the learning. Arsenic got us all I am sure.
“No, not that way. Has no one ever taught you to make a sandwich before?” Thomas snapped. He couldn’t wait until his community service was over. Who’d ever heard of cooking class as a way of teaching English to immigrants?
“A witch made out of sand?” The dark-haired girl with chocolate brown skin and eyes looked over at her mother who shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.
Thomas rolled his eyes. This was going to be a very long night and his friends were waiting for him at the pool hall down the street—his friends that he wasn’t supposed to see until he’d repaid his debt to society.
Yes Karen…contempory women’s fiction with a dash of Dystopian lit.
Thanks for that fun prompt it made my day!
Great—I was thinking of going to bed. Now all I can think of is a sandwich. Not to write about–to EAT! There were no fried eggs on white bread with a tiny slash of mayo—–Rand is asleep– it’s almost midnight—-arrrrrrgh! !@#$%^! you Karen Ball! 🙂
He stared at the ingredients on the table. The rumbling noises from his stomach were loud enough to wake the children.
“Bread, you got bread and almond butter?” He asked with a look of absolute frustration.
“Yeah what’s wrong with that? It’s the cheapest thing at the market and we only have so much to spend.” She turned and stared out the window trying to contain the smile of satisfaction she felt deep inside.
“You know I can’t eat bread” he yelled! “I’m doing low carb and that almond butter just rips me up inside. And don’t get me started on gluten. If I eat any of this I’m going to be in the crapper all night.”
Maria turned and walked confidently into the living room where her sleeping children began to stir.
“Get up kids” she said in a soft voice, “today we have plenty to eat.”
“Your name’s Emma, right?”
“Yep. I said no pickles.” Emma pressed closer to the glass case and watched the boy remove the final pickle from the top of the Swiss cheese. She grimaced at the remaining smear of green over white. “Olives, and green peppers. No tomatoes.”
“We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either.” The boy’s gloved hand stopped an inch deep in the olive tub. He peered back at her with a lopsided grin.
Emma felt her eyebrows scrunch. “What?”
“The Fault in Our Stars. I saw you reading it today before class started.”
“Oh.” Emma’s eyes narrowed, and then widened. It was him. The boy from the movie. She felt her face turn two shades of red.
A good breakfast? A cup of caffeine-loaded beverage, a fruit and my favorite sandwich. Oh, but the crunchy peanut butter is no more. A good breakfast seemingly unlikely, I scan the kitchen for a peanut butter substitute. Chocolate paste? Chocolate paste! Waffles toasted, I take a generous scope, dump in the center of the first waffle, and slap the second waffle on top of the chocolate mound. He made all edible things for a reason, some taste good and others awful but they all serve a purpose. Chocolate paste He made to make my day. All His wonders I’m yet to know but in small things like chocolate paste sandwich, I thank Him.
What’s up, I check your blogs on a regular basis. Your story-telling style is awesome, keep up the good work!
Spot on with this write-up, I seriously feel this amazing site needs a great deal more attention. I’ll probably
be back again to read through more, thanks for the advice!