Yesterday I posted the following on the Facebooks

File Jan 06, 8 19 21 AM

It wasn’t long before many of my FB friends had ideas. At first it was helpful suggestions–people weighing in on whether they preferred “poured” or “ran” in the sentence. It wasn’t long before I was getting full fledged sentence ideas, complete with metaphor and plot devices. My post had turned into a writing prompt.

One writer friend wrote,

He sweat like a fat man chasing a donut through the Amazonian jungle.

Another friend channeled the classic film Throw Momma From the Train and suggested, “It’s sultry in here.” That would make the whole thing moist.

A wordy pastor friend of mine suggested the interjection of a medical condition, writing the sentence as,

It wasn’t the first time he was thankful for being born with anhidrosis.

The concept took a bizarre turn when someone suggested he word “glisten” in order to make the torture scene sexy, then this decidedly romantic idea was postulated by a friend from New Orleans:

He glistened as sweat poured down his face. His sultry eyes took long pauses when he blinked as he inhaled deeply to slow his racing heart.

A Star Wars fan tapped into the zeitgeist of the times and wrote,

Waving his hand like a Jedi Knight, ‘this is the phrase your shooting for.’

Then, the donut Amazon writer friend chimed back in with this gem:

Sweat shot from his face, head and back, like a fire hose in a five alarm fire, knocking everything down, drowning children and small woodland animals in the process.

How about this other one,

he sweat like a sieve held under a waterfall after a heavy rain.

Another writer friend took the time to send me an email suggestion.

Beads of sweat attacked his face like the rage of a thousand angry, wet dentists.

I never knew that tortured sweat could be so much fun.

In case your wondering, here is the way it currently looks in the WIP, which is part of the finale for my Deep Cove series–of which there will be big news in early spring. Keep in mind this is the WIP and not the final product.

Without saying anything else, Finn opened the door so quickly that it startled both Jack and A-Jay. Agent Finn swept into the jail cell and was on top of the prisoner with his knee in the chest of his target. From his coat pocket he produced something that looked like a ballpoint pin. He jammed it into the prisoner’s side. The victim began to shake, only slightly at first but then with the force of a major epileptic seizure.
Finn pulled the device away, then he brought the back of his hand hard against the victim’s jaw.
“Now, what is your name? What are you doing here? Are there any more with you?”
Sweat covered the prisoner’s face. His teeth rattled.
From where A-Jay was she thought his eyes were rolled back into his head. It occurred to her that she should intervene, but then, she was not in the best position herself. She felt vulnerable, and that was a feeling she didn’t like.
Finn yelled, “Answer me!”
There was a momentary silence. The prisoner grunted, then looked Finn in the eyes. In perfect English he said, “I will never tell you anything.”
“I believe you,” Finn said, jamming . . .

You’ll have to buy the story in March to find out more.



I can’t help myself, I am a writer.  There should be some sort of 12-step program for fiction writers, because sometimes we need help with our imaginations.

Mrs.Greenbean’s dog, the idiot dog named Dobby, immediately investigates the same spot at the corner of the house whenever I take him to the front yard.  Every.  Single. Time.

He played a writer in this movie, remember?
He played a writer in this movie, remember?

This is where the fiction writer in me takes over, and I wonder what the idiot dog is picking up on with his supercharged sniffer.  My goodness, the options are limitless.

A.  It could be where a body is buried.  I don’t know what kind of body, but perhaps before the concrete was poured for our home, one of the workers with a nefarious past dug a shallow grave and hid the body in that spot, at the corner of the house under the concrete slab.

B.  That spot is where the aliens landed.  Their tiny spaceship filled with tiny, but potent invaders from another planet landed in that spot two years ago.  The dog can sense the difference.

C.  The government has hidden invisible equipment in that spot to spy on me.  The dog can sense the odor from the G-Men who come every night to check the footage and biometrics.

D.  A combination of B and C could be in play.  There is invisible equipment there, but it is not tended by G-Men, it is the ‘duck blind’ of aliens studying human life so they can better understand and conquer us.

E.  Once every full moon witches come to this spot, hallowed from before the time of the Comanches, in the ancient days, as a place for sacrifice.  On this spot they slaughter stray house cats and rogue gerbils as they make incantations to the devil.

This is the fiction writer’s curse.  Even the most mundane aspects of life erupt into plot that will never be developed.  The good news is, as curses go, this is a very delightful and entertaining one to have.

image from www.standard.co.uk