Writing Adventure Group: Results #6 / Instructions #7
WAG #6 Results and WAG #7 instructions below. All are welcome to join next week’s adventure!
The theme for the Writing Adventure Group #6 was “Overheard”.
Don’t forget! The Writing Adventure Group is on Facebook. Join us there too, and get weekly reminders so you never miss an adventure.
For those who participated, please cut and paste the links below (and instructions for next week, if you wish) to your own blogs. This will help promote the group and give some linky love to each other, creating a fantastic cross-promotional network of WAGs!
How to Join the Writing Adventure Group
Nancy J Parra
Next week’s Writing Adventure:
“WAG #7: Imaginings” This one is people-watching with a twist. Observe a stranger and sketch a brief background for them, including a secret. Then describe why they are in that particular place at that particular time (where you ran into them) and how it will affect their future. Feel free to be creative, but don’t forget to describe the concrete reality that made you pick them in the first place! (Thank you to Christine Kirchoff for this week’s WAG topic!)
Post the results on your blog, and read this post about the group for information on how to notify me (Nixy) so your post will be properly included in next week’s list. (Note, please include WAG #7 in the subject heading and tell me how you want your name to appear please!) Deadline: next Tuesday, April 14th.
Ok, here goes, Writing Adventure #7:
A man with dust blond hair probably in his late forties. Good looking in an unassuming way. Faint beard stubble, striking blue eyes. He sits alone at a table outside the Starbucks, smoking a cigarette, a grande sized cup with a paper holder in front of him. Wearing a gray sport coat over a T-shirt. Seems deep in though. He has a newspaper opened to a page several sections inside. A breeze flutters the corners but the paper is held down with an elbow. Chin rested on two fingers. Eyes narrowed, he watches the traffic coming in off the interstate.
I wonder what he's read to give him that intense look? The economy? Politics? Maybe an obituatary or - no. A missing person's case. Maybe he knows something, a secret about the person involved. Maybe he's a detective, sifting evidence in his thoughts. His cigarette has burned down, the ashes a long, gray-white cylinder. He hasn't thumped them away in quite a while. I watch the column, waiting for it to fall, a bent, irregular formation seemingly impervious to the wind until at last, it crumbles.
The man catches the movement, and glances at his hand - when he does so I notice how short his nails are. Ragged cuticles. A nail biter. Nervous looking hands: slender fingers, heavy-boned along the joints. He swipes the ashes off his newspaper and taps the cigarette against the tin ashtray before crushing it out. Then he rises. Rumpled, dark-wash jeans and black leather shoes. Slips on a pair of tortoise shell sunglasses from his coat pocket, and picks up his coffee. Tucks the paper under his arm.
I watch him cross the parking lot to a black SUV with dark window tinting. He unlocks the driver's side door, and tosses the paper on the opposite seat before climbing in. A minute later he backs out of the parking space and waits for a break in traffic. It comes, and he darts out, flowing into the right lane, sweeping around the curve to the interstate onramp.