This second challenge was, in my humble opinion (the same humble opinion that no one listens to anyway), a tad harder than the first. We were given five different prompts and tasked with doing one or all of the following:
I chose to write a piece of short fiction (under 200 words) on the following prompt:
Two people are sitting together under the remains of a concrete bridge. Their backs are against a rusted bridge support. One person’s leg is cut. The other person has wet hair.
We were also given the opportunity to invite critiques from our fellow campaigners, which I am formally doing now. This is the first piece of short fiction I’ve written–at least for public consumption–which is just a not-so-subtle way of saying, be kind to me…I’m just a poor, lowly (and menopausal, therefore over-emotional and ultra-sensitive) blogger.
Oh, and honesty is very much appreciated, since I can use all the help I can get.
In the meantime, I’ll be cowering under the coffee table.
Jack dropped to the ground next to Dougie, his breath coming in quick, short bursts. His shirt clung to his back like a soggy blanket as he slithered out of his knapsack. His fair hair, normally neat and tidy, was wet and standing on end; he looked like a startled hedgehog.
“Well, I don’t think we were followed,” he said, sucking in air. He had doubled back in the dark after settling Dougie under the remains of the concrete bridge that used to link the island with the rest of civilization.
“How’s your leg?”
Dougie let out a low grunt as he shifted position against the rusted metal bridge support.
“Hurts like hell! One of Fowler’s goons got me. Where’d they come from anyway? I thought the area was supposed to be deserted!”
“It was. Somebody clearly knew we were coming.” He leaned over to inspect the ragged gash running up the length of Dougie’s calf. Good. Not too deep, then. Jack got to his feet.
“Can you walk?”
“Guess I’ll have to,” Dougie said. “Unless you can find me a taxi off this god-forsaken a-toll.”
Jack grinned, reaching down for Dougie’s arm. “I’ll see what I can do.”
After much pondering and putting-off, I’m finally getting this blog-thingy started. I have no clue where it will lead, because just as my mind tends to jump from one thought to another with no warning, this blog will probably be just as haphazard. As a result, I will most likely break every blogging rule there is, and maybe even some they’ve not thought of yet.
As anyone who knows me will tell you, I’m not a rule breaker. I am one of those stodgy legalists who needs structure to function. So, as you can imagine, I have had a hard time deciding how to begin. My problem is, I seem to have to do everything right the first time – can’t help it – so I put it off until I can take a reasonable run at whatever I’m contemplating with a minimum number of errors. Sheesh…it’s a wonder I ever get out of bed in the mornings, as the trip from my bed to the bathroom is wrought with potential missteps. But, I do get out of bed every morning and up to now it hasn’t killed me.
So, I’ve started this blog and I hope my luck holds. However, now that I’ve officially got one, I don’t know quite what to do with it. I think it’s a lot like having a kid. You want one, but once you get one, it occurs to you that your life was a whole lot simpler without one. It also occurs to you that you must now live up to all those silent commitments you made to yourself, because you sure don’t want to start something (again!) that you won’t finish.
Therefore, I must ask myself, why do I want to blog? Hardly seems necessary, since I haven’t written any book I want to promote, or published any article I want to brag about. I want to blog because I want an excuse to write. And, I’m certain I’m not the only one out there with insecurities and doubts the size of…well, something really gigantic.
Surely, I’m not the only neurotic out there.