Try Honking Again

Prompt: Honk

cartoon cars honking


Dear Wednesday,

Here it is, Day 15 of National Novel Writing Month, when half of the novel in the challenge– 25,000 words– should be written by midnight tonight. I currently have just over 20,000 words counted, and this includes a narrative poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge that I put into a letter from one of my characters to his love interest, even though the poem had little to do with their relationship, which had not yet been established anyway.

Such are the twists and turns of Nanowrimo.

At the moment I have two of my characters in modern day Austria, looking for Nazi treasures, and by that I mean statues or busts of Hitler, adoring portraits, icons, mementos, alleged bits of his hair or a ring he wore or a letter he wrote. These are all to be secured and permanently locked away or destroyed, so that they never fall into the hands of the European alt-right or neo-Nazis. They are attempting this task for the money– even immortal storybook characters need cash to indulge their adventures.

How do I make break and enter exciting? For some reason, possibly the plethora of such scenes already saturating fiction and television and film, I am at a loss as to how to make it fresh. So here I sit, stumped at 20k words, while thinking about honking.

In tribute to today’s Daily Prompt, honk, and its success in distracting me from the blank page of my Scrivener program, may I present two more of my tangentially related favourite cartoons?

cartoon geese honking


csrtoon ducks paddling


What ever you are attempting this rainy Wednesday, may you find every success!

~~FP

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Perfume

Prompt: Perfume

geese flying

The geese in the park are protected, so the grass and sidewalks are covered in goose shit pellets.

Sometimes they get aggressive.

Sometimes they talk in human voices.

Sometimes when I walk into my house, there is an odor, but only for one breath. A perfume that is gone once it enters my lungs. Someone was there before me, and left no other messages.

Sometimes, when I walk the bike path, the trees bend inward towards me.

The trees are silent; unable to speak except through their leanings and the musical rustle of their leaves.

Sometimes, I hear the geese flying overhead at twilight. They talk in human voices.

The sky turns dark without warning.