Writer’s cafe 3

Please read writer’s cafe and writer’s cafe 2, just previous posts, before reading this one.

Aimee held a pink sheaf of papers in one hand, a blue sheaf in the other. Tall, dark and willowy, she rose above us. Our group had reduced to eight.

“O.K” she stated loudly to capture our attention. “Tonight we are going to write for ten minutes and then share what we have written. It doesn’t matter what you write, but it has to contain these five words. Has everyone got a sheet like this?” and she held up her photocopied sheet with five lines for five words yet to be revealed.

“Here are the five words. By the way, does anyone need paper? A pen? I’ve got some here.” There were heads shaking from side to side. Everyone had come prepared for this event.

“O.K.” she resume. “Here they are. Cat. Hammer. Cell phone . Planet. And fork.”

She waited between each word to let each person write these words at the bottom of their pink photocopies. “You’ve got ten minutes, starting now and then we will read them out to each other.”

Here is what Kay wrote:

The cat was hammering a nail into her cat house (no – not that kind, I mean the kind a cat lives in).

She had decided upon a Victorian scroll over the front door. She was going to ask Mistress to paint it orange in hopes that some mice might think it was cheese and come sauntering by. But the phone rang.

“Damned cell phones!” grumbled the cat. “You can’t go anywhere without the blankety blank things catching up with you.”

“Planet Mouse Café calling,” said the voice squeaking at the other end of the line. “Is that Harriet the Cat?”
“Yes,” said Harriet the Cat, wondering how on earth the Planet Mouse Café had found her telephone number. Only land lines were listed on the Internet.

“You left your silver fork last time you were here. It’s got you name engraved on it.”

“I don’t own a fork!” Harriet the Cat retorted hotly. “Where did you get my telephone number?”

“It was on the washroom wall, Miss,” said the Planet Mouse Café owner.

“Well, it’s not mine. I don’t even eat with a fork. Is this some kind of trick>”

“Squeak, Squeak, Squeak” tittered the Maitre de mouse and hung up.

“Got her that time!” he exulted.

Damn Cat. Damn Cat house. He’d have to find another way to trap that cat!

More next time….

At the end of ten minutes, Aimee offered to start by reading her creation. It was wacky and wonderful. Then each read out their story. Each was kooky and inventive. It was marvelous to hear how each person had brought their own experiences to craft a tale in so short a time. There was experience in the gathering.

It was going to be a good group to join, Kay reflected, as she joined in the after-chat that ensued the telling of tales.


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