Boyfriend

You are 15 again. Write a diary entry about what you endured at school today.

November 14, 1991

Hi Diary,

Had a bad day today.  I failed a science quiz, I didn't finish my Spanish homework, and I think I'm getting bronchitis again!  I did get an 80% on my math test, though.  I just painted my nails melon but I think I'm going to put a coat of poppy over it because it's not bright enough.  I'm really sick of Rhonda.  Everything is "Mark Mark Mark and Mark this and Mark that and Mark Mark Mark Mark Mark!"  Ok, we get it, you're infatuated.  She's my best friend but lately she's acting so horrible, since she got a boyfriend. Did I tell you what she said to me yesterday?  I told her I thought we should go practice our singing in the chorus room 7th period, and she was like "No!  *gasp* Mark will be there 7th period." And I was like "Oh, come on.  If we make it big you'll be singing in front of thousands of people.  I think you can sing in front of Dork Brain."  And she said "Well, at least I HAVE a boyfriend."  Can you believe that? It was so mean.  I just rolled my eyes but it really made me feel bad.  I just don't know who she is anymore.  She's not the Rhonda I know.  Sometimes I think I'll never have a boyfriend.  That I will just be that old lady down the block that everyone thinks is a witch because she's ugly and gross and she never leaves her house.  

On the bright side, I had a great time talking to Mandy and Kristin today at lunch.  They are really funny.  At first I thought I would be bummed out that Rhonda wasn't in my 6th period lunch this year but the way things have been going lately with her it's been kind of nice to have other friends to talk to.  Mandy and Kristin and I are talking about going to see "Beauty and the Beast" next weekend.  I'm excited for it!  I loved "The Little Mermaid."  This new one looks really good!

Well, my nails are dry.  Time for bed.  

Till Tomorrow,  

- M

By Brian

You are 15 again. Write a diary entry about what you endured at school today.

 Monday April 14^th, 1986

            School sucked today until lunch time. I had to go to the bathroom across from the Band room and the smoke was from the ceiling to the floor. Totally grody. I had to hold my breath, run in, pee and run out. Gag me with a spoon.

            I have Mrs. Penner for English. She is really nice, but I wrote an essay about how people do not have to do everything that they are told and that there are people out there who like to manipulate other people and she just seemed confused. Earth to Mrs. Penner. Come in Mrs. Penner!

Passed notes back and forth with Mickey Hanson. She has a boyfriend who is supposed to beat up people and stuff. She hates him, but stays with him. I do not understand girls, but she puts her feet under my seat and I put my feet back and sometimes they touch and that is awesome.

All these USB dorks didn’t invite me to join their stupid student government stuff. I don’t want to be a part of it, but they could ask, right? It’s not like we aren’t in every single class together.

I am almost done reading the Hitchhiker’s books; I read part of the second one during history class while Mr. Crow lectured. All the stuff is in the book, which I have to read anyway. I laughed at one part, which was a problem because nothing was funny in class, but no one noticed.

It’s going to be super smoggy today, too hot for my Members Only jacket. Scott said I can come over after school and we can swim right after we watch Robotech. That is like the best show ever, I mean a guy dies in a cartoon and stays dead, not like he turns out not be dead later. It is so much better than Inspector Gadget. Scott’s dad just waxed the slide, so we are both going to go upside down and backward. I went down on my knees last week and almost fell over the side on the twist. No way am I going to try that right after its waxed!

Lunch time was cool, as usual I threw away the lunch my mom made for me and bought the school pizza. I saw Mickey at lunch, her boyfriend was out sick and she sat with me. She complains about him a lot. She would never complain if she went out with me. We would be the happiest couple on campus because I am a nice guy.

I finally got a copy of Ultima IV and I already mastered one of the eight virtues. I pinned the cloth map on my wall and I carry the golden Ankh in my Velcro wallet. Bill says he mapped out the whole thing on graph paper and it wallpapers his entire room. The game is hard, but cool. If my stupid disk drive would stop chunking and rebooting I might actually solve the game. OK, I probably won’t, but that sound makes me want to throw the thing out the window.

Steve says his school sucks, private Christian high school, but school sucks no matter what. I hope to god I do not grow up and become one of those people who says, “Oh, I miss High School, it was the best years of my life, because I am here right now and it sucks. We run around like rats in a maze, when the bell rings we scurry from one cubby to another. The jocks try to steal my M&Ms at PE and the girls are crazy.

            I gotta go talk to my grandma and grandpa on the phone. Will write more tomorrow.

Where Be the Captain?

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

 

O

ne day, a group of outcasts were sailing the Seven Seas. A man named DogBreath Doge called from starboard, “Aye! Where be our captain?”

T

he crew suddenly looked around for Beratilo Barnicalos there captain.

“There be no captain on board. Who is driving this transport. Who cares who be doing it, no cap’n mean no rule following.”

 

S

uddenly, one of them named Bongo Billy said , “Why not we make a party?!” Bring out old crates! Even though I do know where me captain is!”

 

“He be at Chattersworth Town, drinkin’ a beer with pretty ladies. I wish we’d never left that town!” said DogBreath.  “Well, now that he’s gone, I’m the new captain. And my first rule is: Why there be any rules?! Party time all day! We drink rum out of kegs and steal away treasure from sailors.”

 

THE END.

Story by Rachel Arnold (Age 8)

 

 

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

There was no wind that day.  The local mermaid, who usually enjoyed causing minor discomfort for nearby vessels, was disappointed and bored.  The English navy was stuck in shallow waters and there was no way for any of the sail boats to move beyond their current resting place, no matter how much the crew prayed, cursed or pointed their fists to the sky.  “Per-rr-fect,” thought Black Tooth Brian – the proud captain of that nameless brigade that is known in South Caribbean for their blood thirst and love of treasure.  “Pe-rrr-ffff-act!” screamed his loyal parrot, lovingly known amongst the crew as the That Bloody Bird.    No, there was no wind that day, but the treasure, safely bound at the bottom of Princess Royal, was in no way of monetary value and couldn’t have been spent either in My Lady’s Thighs whorehouse or in a Gold Finger, Black Tooth Brian's favorite pub. 

You, idiot!!!”  The screams of enraged mermaid could be heard all through the island.  Groans of pain, not uncommon on her part of the land were as often followed by gun shots as by sounds of shattered glass and mad-sounding laughter.  Mermaid was new to this island.  Her arrival was announced a few weeks ago by the sudden violent death of all local men named Eric.  The local population, originally frightened by these developments, attended plenty of church services asking Father O’Henry to intercede on their behalf on the question of removal of green female creature from their peaceful island.  Someone even suggested that since mermaids weren’t mentioned in the Bible, the Catholic Church should consider calling the Holly Inquisition on them.  Father O’Henry agreed to write to the Vatican and the good people of the island were patiently awaiting Holy Father’s approval to burn the mermaid at stake.  She, however, wasn’t a bit concerned.  Loud laughter and screams of pain never seized, in fact, they became more frequent.     

-        “You stupid, useless, impotent idiot!”  The Interim High Commander of Spanish Navy and Chief Intelligence Advisor on the Matters of That Heretic Queen of Great Britain to His Highness the King of Spain Grand Duke Phillip Avilliaroza was getting used to being addressed this way by the mermaid. 

-        “Calm down, Agent.”

-        “Don’t you be asking me to calm down!  You called me in here for WHAT?” 

-        “We needed your skill, Agent.”

-        “That’s right!  You needed my skill in avenging the loss of the Spanish Armada.  You asked me to scare the living souls out of those nimrods aboard of the British vessels and to abduct the illegitimate child of the British Whore who is being shipped to the Colonies to be brought up in obscurity.  What you do with this child, Phillip, is not of my concern, but you can’t expect me to do my job if there is no wind!  Give me the wind!!!”

-        “Agent, you know perfectly well that I can’t command natural forces of the wind,” Phillip replied for calmly.  This wasn’t the first time that they engaged in this discussion.  The mermaid never stopped being unreasonable.

-        “Bastard!!!!!  How dare you ask for my help if you are unable to conjure the wind!?!,” the high pitch of mermaid’s voice broke yet another glass window in Grand Duke’s apartments.  This mermaid business irritated him immensely, but they needed her help and windows could always be replaced.

-        “I am taking a vacation,” announced the mermaid.  “I am going back under the sea for a few days of relaxation, beauty sleep and massages.  Call me when you are able to provide me with the proper wind.”

-        “As you wish, Agent.”

-        “I don’t work for you,” hissed the mermaid.  “Now, where is he?”  The doors opened and a young sailor was pushed in. 

-        “This is Eric,” announced Phillip.

-        “Of course he is, stupid.  I told you that I only wanted sailors named Eric. After all, I am on the mission of killing all men by that accursed name to avenge myself on that idiot of a prince who didn’t notice me when I was in love with him.”  A gun shot was heard and Eric’s blood spilled on the floor.  “It’s too bad that your name isn’t Eric, Grand Duke.  I would have loved to shoot you as well.”  With this words the mermaid disappeared into the sea. 

-        “Enjoy your rest, Agent.  I will work on getting you the wind,” whispered Phillip.

- Asya Zoolman

 

 

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

The bottomless ocean opened up and Brian, the sea god of nastiness and colds, came out and took all his play toys away.  Towering fifty stories in the air, not to mention his toes that were under the waves, Brian was happy with his work.  Nothing was left, not even a rubber ducky to sail the seven or eight seas.  Then to Brian’s shock, a lone vessel came skipping along the sea shore right smack dab towards him.  Brian couldn’t understand how this could be.  Then again, he was the sea god of nastiness and colds, and not of brains or brawn. In any case, there was no doubt that Brian had missed one of his toys.  The god looked dumbfounded as drool dropped from his mouth.  In itself, this was nothing to be alarmed at.  Brian was dumbfounded quite often.  Remember he was the sea god of nastiness and colds, not of thinking, nor manners.  Where were we? Oh yes, upon looking closely at the toy that got away, the mighty sea god noticed that upon its mast was a black flag with a skull and crossbones on it.  

- Jason Margolies

 

Sunburned

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

Where the seawater burned off under the sun's watch, Michael's skin was weighted and pocked by the thousands of millions of salty micropustules that were the sea's signature.

His regular business was not normally so carefully conducted this close to the shoreline, where gulls circled the cracked and flaking nape of his neck a mile or so above the din of Michael's life. But on this particularly sweltering Sunday, he could not escape the weight of his charge and the responsibility that shackled him under the steaming sun's focus. He longed for the cooling breeze that licked his arms at home, that fed the green pasture on which he spent most his summer months. There he was among a chosen few men whose worth and merits were balanced not by their willingness to chart stars or work ropes, but by their brute strength, sweat-fueled speed and ability to work wood and cork.

A crack pierced this quiet reflection, and Michael's sinews tensed. He could hear a collective breath drawn all around him, as if thousands of watching spirits now focused on his every twitch. His legs responded. They whirled before the rest of his taught body shook into position. Arms pumping, Michael's eyes darted upward, choosing among the circling vulture-gulls a satellite moving unlike the avian ballet above. 

Where is the wall? Michael's feet were attuned to every step. Unlike most men his were trained to feel past the rubber soles, past the ground crust and into some tertiary level, where his feet would know when he left the grass. They had to. Their role was critical in the engine of his body, where each part worked independently yet reliably. Arms made their pendulum rhythm opposite the pistons in his legs. Eyes kept locked to their target, impervious to sun and sharp salt sea air. Lungs and heart sang, propelled in a push-and pull match keeping the rhythm of the rest of his parts in lock-step.

The downward arc began. From the sky the object darted to the earth, at lesat to the untrained eye. To Michael it dripped, poured from the heavens into one mark on the perfectly coiffed grass that only he could see. He arrived at the location well before his prey, and his predator body need not stretch to meet it. He stood instead erect, defying the coarse saltwater that rubbed on him, in him. In the air around him it stuck, now taking form, the air vibrating with a hiss and boom meant to cripple Michael and break him under the constant burning thumb of the sun. 

He stood and he waited. His run gave his arms a little relief, like the cool river breezes of his native Pittsburgh.

"I hate away games," Michael puffed as he heaved the ball back to the pitcher.

Marooned

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

Sand and saltwater filled her nose and scraped down her throat.  Her head felt too heavy to lift, but she knew she had to get up and move or the sea would claim her.  She pushed herself up to her elbows and heaved up all she had just inhaled, exfoliating her throat and windpipe.  Waves crashed on the rocks and ripped at the sand beneath her, threatening to pull her back into the ocean. She pushed herself up on shaky legs and staggered toward higher ground, away from the reaching waves.  She collapsed under a group of trees.

When she awoke, it was morning.  The sea had calmed, and the sun was warming the ache from her bones.  She pushed herself up to sitting and looked back to the sea.   The horizon was azure, and unbroken. There was no sign of the Chimera.  They had taken her from her home, used and abused her, thrown her overboard and not looked back.  They hadn't even had the courtesy to let her walk the plank; just dumped her into the depths like a dead crewman.  She was marooned, and left for dead. 

But she survived.  She was alive, and on land.  And furious. 

They had no idea what they had created in her, but she could see it. She would take back what they stole from her town, and others.  She would hunt them down, beat them, humiliate them, and then throw them overboard as they had done to her.  She would become what they were.  Right after she found some food.  

AS OUR HEROINE’S SAGA CONTINUES…

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

BY FS Abrahams

As our heroine’s saga continues...

She sits and ponders what she could have said that would have caused him discomfort enough that he would sever their correspondence.  So long has it been since their time together on the high seas and so much does she miss seeing his face. What can she have done... have said? Could it be that she had been bold enough to mention his comely appearance? But no, surely he is aware of that... could it be that truly he is as shy as the whelp who has been kicked one too many times and therefore mistrusts any seeming of kindness?  If so how does one get around a dilemma such as this?   She looks through their missives once again to see what she may have said and how it could be rectified, but just where she misspoke is lost to her!  Alas, perhaps this be the end of the tale... woe betide the one who should try an console her... less laughter is now in her life and sorely does she miss he who can bring a smile to her face. She wonders as he sails the seas will he think on her still?

In this new life she has so recently begun for herself so far from all that is familiar she has cherished her moments with him... to lose one such as he would indeed be a sore blow for always has his humor brought a smile to play upon her lips.  An yet they rarely did see one another as his life is at sea as hers is on the shore; but those furtive moments they have managed to steal together... odd how one can become akin to a special treat, like unto a ripe summer melon consumed in the middle of a harsh winter storm. How did he even become such a part of her life when never has even a kiss been exchanged! 

As she ponders this conundrum she realizes with some shock and some awe that they began their missive exchange at a time when the only people with whom she had contact were those few who she did know from her time in the land across the sea where she dwelt before.  Is it such a staggering anomaly that she should miss one who has been part of her life through such a time of trauma for her?  No she declares to herself, she must not allow this to occur - but what can she do to prevent that which seemingly has already come to pass?  How can she remedy a situation when she knows not what caused it... how to cure an ill whose symptoms are hidden?  Mayhap she must take to the sea to search for him or perhaps he will betoken to respond to her plea if she dost send yet one last missive... but alas, how to know what to say and where she misspoke before so as not to repeat the fatal blow? 

What shall our heroine do?     To Be Continued...

Blackbeard v. Johnson

Write the opening to a pirate story without using the words PIRATE, PATCH, ARR,  MATEY, PEGLEG or SHIP.

 

Blackbeard v. Johnson

§§ 76 – 88

Argued September 5, 2032

Decided September 5, 2032

710 U.S. 313

 

APPEAL HEARD BY JUDGE CATHERINE BANES

Session 1

 

Judge: Mr. Johnson, are you aware of the charges filed against you at this time?

Johnson: It sounds like I said –

Judge: May I remind you that you are in my courtroom, Mr. Johnson. I caution you right now that I will not tolerate disrespect.

Johnson: Um, I called someone a bad word.

Judge: You used language of hate, Mr. Johnson. Certainly as a man of color you must be sensitive to just how much damage such rhetoric can cause?

JUDGE WAITS

Judge: Mr. Johnson?

Johnson: Oh, yeah, your honor. I don’t particularly like being called the N word or even a Republican.

GENERAL LAUGHTER

JUDGE BANGS GAVEL

Judge: Silence! Mr. Johnson, please keep your comments germane to the case.

Johnson: Yes, your honor.

Judge: Will the defendant please rise and state his name.

DEFENDANT RISES

Blackbeard: Yes, yer honor. I be Phineas P. Blackbeard, at yer service.

Judge: Would you please point to the man who used hate speech against you?

The court will note that Mr. Blackbeard pointed to the Plaintiff, Mr. Johnson.

THE PLAINTIFF POINTED AT MR JOHNSON

Blackbeard: That thar be the man who said them words what hurt so bad. He did.

Johnson: Seriously?

Judge: May I remind you that you are already on thin ice, Mr. Johnson?

Johnson: Sure, go ahead.

Judge: The court will note that the defendant is in contempt, which will be factored into the eventual decision rendered by this court at the end of this session.

THE DEFENDANT IS IN CONTEMPT

Blackbeard: Ya see Judge? He has a mean streak, that one. Even me parrot don’t take to him, and Barnacles loves everyone, don’t ya, Barnacles.

Judge: Mr. Blackbeard, though you have special dispensation to bring an animal into the courtroom due to your unique cultural heritage, please do not think that you can turn this court room into a zoo. Keep comments focused on the case, please.

Johnson: He’s trying to win jury sympathy with the bird, your honor.

Judge: This is not a trial by jury, Mr. Johnson. If anything, Mr. Blackbeard’s shenanigans with the bird are to his detriment.

Blackbeard: I most humbly apologize yer honor, it is a tradition in my family to speak to our parrots when considering the fates of others.

Judge: Noted, but keep it to a minimum. My family has a tradition of screaming at each other in similar circumstance, but that will not be tolerated either.

Blackbeard: Yes, yer honor.

Judge: Where are the case briefs, bailiff?

Johnson: So, Judge, if I were to call Mr. Blackbeard a no good, low down, egg sucking son of a bitch, then that would not be an ethnic slur, right?

Defendant looks directly at the plaintiff.

Blackbeard: You’ll walk the boards for that you land lubber! I’ll keel haul you seven ways from Sunday and then send your gnarled testicles to the briney deep

JUDGE GAVELS HEAVILY

Judge: Order! Order in the court!

Court reporter (I am going to stand and speak) the following words: Your honor? My name is Sheena Yellowbeard, I be second generation sea gypsy and must speak my piece about this varlet Blackbeard; he be an arsehole! Mr. Johnson’s words be not hate speech, they by truth!

COURT REPORTER RITA KORNBLATT TAKES OVER NOTES

SHEENA IS ESCORTED OUT OF THE COURTROOM BY THE BAILIFF

Judge: Alright, then. Mr. Johnson! Mr. Blackbeard! If there are not further interruptions, I would like to resume this trial in a dignified and proper manner. Do you have a statement of damaged Mr. Blackb-

WOODEN DOORS BURST OPEN, A BAND OF UNIVITED PRIVATE CITIZENS ENTER

Citizen1 Wharr be the prisonarr?

Judge: You will leave this court room at once, your disruption is –

Citizen2 Silence the wench, me hearties, string her up from the yard arms!

Citizen1 They ain’t got no yard arms, captain.

Citizen2 Well then, use that there useless flag pole, then.

Citizen1 Right-oh, sar!

Johnson See, do you see how they are, their kind is always over running things.

Citizen2 Yo, Blackbeard! We are here to rescue ya from the clutches of the imperial dogs.

Blackbeard Idiot! You toothless, wrinkled, senile, wart faced son of a camel!

Citizen2 Yer welcome, brother!

JUDGE IS STRUNG UP BY HER ARMS FROM THE FLAG POLE

Judge My feet touch the floor you idiots, you don’t even know how to string someone up! You are still going to jail for this.

DOORS EXPLODE AND A CANNON BALL RIPS THROUGH ROWS E-H

MORE CITIZENS ENTER

Citizen3 Yarrgh, we be here to free Blackbeard!

Blackbeard Kenny, is that you?

Citizen3 I know not this Kenny whom you are trying to call out to, in a name like, that – um… yeah it’s be, but I wanted to come in all authentic.

Mr. Johnson Is that a real cannon?

Citizen3/Kenny Yeah, sure. Isn’t it cool.

Johnson Damn right it’s cool. I want to join your group!

Blackbeard I want it on the record that I did not invite any of these people to come here and I am being taken against my will.

ALL THE CITIZEN, DEFENDANT and PLAINTIFF WALK ARM IN ARM TOWARD THE RUIN OF THE DOORS

Judge Wait! You can’t leave!

Citizen2 Any why not? You have no authority over our kind.

Judge I want to come with you!

CITIZENS CONFER

Citizen1 You’ll have to swab the decks.

Judge Deal.

Citizen2 Unstring the wench,

Judge Katey…

Citizen2 Rescue that fair Kate, we sail at dusk for Perkins. Yarrrrgfh!

END SESSION

 

 

 

-Barnold

Kickoff!

Hi, Boils and Ghouls!

Play Onwards Writers' Group is kicking off its new-fangled blog this week.  Can I get a woo-hoo?

So, what are we doing with this blog thing?  Well, not our A Material.  Hopefully some A- or B+ stuff at least.  This is sort of our mental playground.  This is where we can write little stories  to help flex our mental muscles so we can go back to working on our big stories (that aforementioned A Material.)  This is also a place where we can get feedback on our work, as we are writers, and we like to hear how good or bad we are. 

This blog is also a way to be interactive amongst ourselves, since at the moment, our group is comprised of people who are sprinkled around the country.  This is the place to come for POWG news and updates.  Like online meeting times, or in the not-to-distant future, actual meeting times and places. (Spring 2010.)

And, if you are a reader of this blog (we're sorry) you to can participate!  The e-mail address for story submissions is in the right column, in with this week's assignment.  Wanna do the assignment?  There's your chance!  We do have certain guidelines - no adult content, and no fanfiction.  Other than that, get creative!  

Write on!

- POWG Overlords