MISHA GERICKE IS HOLDING her first 'Word Master Challenge’ blogfest and I am all over this one. I totally know how not to start a novel, any of my half-dozen or so actual attempts could be held up as an example. But instead of using one of them I decided for some original prose instead.
Without further adieu:
To say the winters in Minnesota are cold is to say that the summers in the Sahara are hot. Hot like the heat from a oven turned to broil – except the cold version of that. That’s what winters in Minnesota are like: Sahara summer cold.
Of course, Beatrice Jenkins doesn’t live in Minnesota, or the Sahara. She just wished she did, then disposing of the body jammed into her trunk would be easier.
Not that she knew how snow would make it easier to get rid of a body, but it felt like it would help. And in the desert, well, it’s a desert, nobody even goes there. Except for people who live there already, and those people are pretty weird.
Wait, where is the Sahara? Beatrice thought for a few moments. Is that the one in California? If the one in California isn’t the Sahara then nevermind. Because she meant one in America. She doubted she could get her unemployment checks if she lived in a foreign desert.
Thinking of all that cold in Minnesota made her want some coffee, which made her want some smokes. Definitely not moving to Minnesota, she’d be back to three packs a day within month.
There was a light touch on her arm. Lenny, the man that got her into this mess, was staring at her.
“Don’t do that,” he said, tapping the side of his nose with his finger. “I don’t like the smell of mentholated cigarettes.”
She looked down, sure enough, she held a lit cigarette. Didn’t recall lighting one up. “I’m not overly fond of the smell of rotting corpses either,” she said, “but I’ve learned to live with it.”
He looked out the window and let out a deep breath. “It might be you in the trunk next time.”
I worked hard on that one. The rules said it had to be 300 words or less… that’s 300 words ON THE NOSE! I should get bonus points for that. If words are missing then that’s on purpose, it’s supposed to be bad.
Actually, I started out trying to make it as corny as I could and in the end I kinda liked it. I’m not sure what that says about my taste in prose.
AND DON'T FORGET Andrew Leon’s short story competition where the prize for winning is the greatest chocolate on the planet earth. The talent that is lining up for this one is pretty daunting, but hey, you can always accuse the judges of unethical behavior if you lose… that’s my plan anyway.
