YOUR PART: Throw out names, themes, random words or situations using the letter of the day and I'll pick some of them to include in the opening paragraphs of a short story.
WHY: I'm most inspired when there's a challenge involved. Usually that means an opening line or a theme. This month: your words.
My creative blender awaits your P word suggestions in the comments section. Stop by tomorrow's post to read the story you inspired.
Looking for more great blogs? Check out the massive list of A to Z Challenge participants.
O story:
O story:
The oblong shadows
stretched far out ahead of Olive as
she left the parking lot filled with immaculately clean minivans and approached
the school. Presenting her idea to the oligarchy
that was the PTO, said with nose high in the air and a perfectly manicured
brows raised on botoxed foreheads, was not how she wanted to spend her Tuesday
evening. But someone had to make a stand about the excessive fundraisers that
further alienated the students whose parents didn't have rich relatives or
parents willing to lay down a couple hundred dollars every time a flyer came
home for twelve dollar single sheets of seed-embedded 100% recycled wrapping
paper or two ounces of rosemary-infused extra virgin olive oil in some hand blown bottle made by monks in some old monastery in some remote corner of
the world.
She walked into the school, already able to hear the chattering
pouring out of the library. She walked through the open door and immediately felt out of place. Her blouse hadn't been
seen on a mannequin in at least a decade and white dog hairs stuck to her
slacks. The comfortable flats that got her through the day in the office that
was her kitchen table didn't exude the fashion and power that the women had who
were now staring at her.
Olive took a deep breath and did her best to be oblivious to their obvious disdain. She
took a seat at an empty table, her knees rubbing the top of the surface suited
the height of elementary-aged children. Even the allure of freshly brewed
coffee that she was sure was better than the gas station variety she allowed
herself as a treat, wasn't enough to coax her out of the safety of her seat.
She whipped out her three year old phone and pretended to check messages while
the others slowly turned back around and resumed their conversations.