The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over by a moveable feast of participants when Delores had computer troubles.
The aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to mind.
If you are posting on your own blog, please let us know so we can come along and read it.
This month the words are supplied by Elephant's Child, in lieu of Vest who is unable to participate this time.
This week's words are:
Here is my story: (I haven't managed to include all the words)
Jim, Becca and Glen set the cans of paint down in the corner, while Steph and Isabel shook out large calico drop cloths in the middle of the room. Tran busied himself brushing loose bristles out of the new brushes, asking us all how we were going to do this.
"One table each? Or group project per table, one table at a time?"
"One table each would get a more individual style result," said Becca, "but would that take too long? Is there a time limit on the project?"
"No time limit, we have all year," said Steph. "The Art Festival isn't until January and it's only March first; we have plenty of time to to discuss designs and colours while we prepare the tables."
"What do you mean by prepare the tables?" asked Jim. "I'm ready for action! I can start slapping on paint right now!"
Isabel was shocked at his ignorance. "You can't just slap paint on something without first preparing the surface!"
"Do we really have all year?" asked Glen. "What about the grading and progress reports? and the final grade? When will all that happen if we keep at this for a whole year?"
Steph said, "I spoke to Mr Rugowski and he said he'd drop in fortnightly to see how things were coming along and fill in the progress reports. Our final grade will include whether or not we worked well as a team too."
A groan from Mae had us all looking at her. "We've forgotten to buy sandpaper, we can't even start sanding surfaces until we get some!"
A quick discussion brought agreement and the old art room was locked up and they headed for the main road into town where the hardware store was adjacent to the roller skate park.
On the way Jim told me all about the latest episode of Amateur Boxing he'd watched with his dad the night before. "There was this little weedy guy, called himself Truffles, couldn't possibly be more than featherweight, and he went up against that huge Bubba Jett that won last week; anyway, Truffles reaches up, taps Bubba on the nose and just like that, Bubba Jett is horizontal! Out cold! Can ya believe it? Dad was real disappointed, he likes watching them sparring and trying to avoid the punches."
"I keep forgetting your Dad used to be a boxer," I said.
"Everyone forgets," Jim said. "Even when he did that guest spot on that talk show, nobody really remembered him. He wasn't in the championship leagues, just a real good amateur."
Walking into the hardware store, Jim and Glen straight away headed for the power tools. "Typical males," said Mae and Isabel together. "Show them a blowtorch and they get all excited," said Becca.
"I don't think a blowtorch is a power tool," said Steph. "Let's find the sandpaper and look for stencils too while we're here."
"We'll need fine brushes too, for the detail work," said Tran.
I Don't Get It
15 minutes ago