Well-versed Appetite

What is your favorite dish? Describe why you like it so much without using adjectives that are traditionally associated with food such as tasty, appetizing, mouth-watering, luscious, etc. The challenge is to come up with a creative way of describing food. Minimum of 300 words. Here's what I did:

Repast
(305 words)

Four pieces drop into my plate with nary a sound.
I tilt the now-empty container sideways —
Until it’s upside down.

I study the scarlet residue with reserved admiration.
While the last drop trickles slowly,
My hunger nears cessation.

I bend my head closer, closer to this solitary plate.
The smell seems to greet me “hello” —
Vampiric urges I must sate.

The sight of this foursome infuses me with ardent desire.
My proclivity for seafood dining
Increases by the hour.

I take the first one with my silver spoon and bit.
Roll and roll in my tongue it goes —
Sauce merging with spit.

The initial thought registers pleasure, and then awe.
The tender attribute of this Piscean flesh
Conveys no flaw.

It bleeds beautifully in my lips, a feisty flood of feasting.
Engulfing me in pure sublimity,
Taste buds near-bursting.

I wait for the expectant crack when teeth meets fillet.
But my chewing remains unopposed,
Unhindered in every way.

With unexpected glee, its lithe filaments they quaver,
Brushing inside my guileless cheeks,
Seducing me with flavor.

My spirit declares gluttony but my tongue screams delight!
Something that tastes this good can’t be wrong!
Ergo, it must right!

Now the bits are ground, I prepare myself to swallow
This crimson victual of incessant charm
Down my neck’s hollow.

And there it is, it lingers still, the faintest remnant
Of something resembling Beatlesque bliss
In my throat, for an instant.

The moment subsides, now I’m left with a mercurial smile.
My restless tongue pleads repetition —
I’ll concede in a while.

I utter pearls of gratitude for this marvelous mastery.
Praise to him whose dexterity created
This gastronomic poetry.

I sit without a word, except for one contented sigh.
I stare at the remaining three pieces
Then I let out a cry …

… God, I just love sardines!

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Two Heads Are Better Than One

Instructions: Pick a writing partner and write two halves of a short story about three friends marooned on a desert island: Frank, and lovers Fred and Jenny. Writing perspective is in first person, and Fred is telling the story.

In the first part, bring the story elements to a crisis. The crisis reaches its climax when Fred finds out that Frank -- because of desperation, hunger, and growing insanity -- has killed and cooked his girlfriend Jenny for food. One of the writing partners will write the events leading to the crisis, e.g. how they were marooned on the island, why the food supply has run out, the tension growing among the three friends etc. It is your task to write a compelling starting point and run up to the climax.

In the second part, bring the story elements to a resolution. After Fred finds out about the grisly act committed by his friend toward Jenny, one of the writing partners will write the events leading to a resolution. E.g. how will Fred react? Will he seek revenge and kill Frank? Will he flee the island for fear of getting murdered and eaten next? Or will he join Frank and partake of the gruesome repast? Or do you have something more sinister in mind? It is your task to write an interesting ending for the story.

Here's what Jam Jovir (my writing partner) and I did:


Survivor
(629 words)
By Jam Jovir

Our trip started smoothly — or so we thought … I remembered the last moment of that gruesome flight — the blinding white light and the deafening sonic boom that followed and then darkness …

It’s been three days since I was awakened by faint murmurs and Jenny’s painful slap on my face. It seems the three of us survived a dance with death just to wake up marooned in a small island which only God knows where.

Why did I drag myself and my Jenny into this mess? The picture of Macau and paradise just looks so vivid and promising that I did not hesitate to accept stupid Frank’s offer for free tickets and accommodation to Sinampeng. My God what have I done? If only I had cancelled this trip, we would have been better off at home with delicious food and a warm and cozy bed.

Food … that’s all there is to it. I can feel my body tremble just at the thought of it, but Frank ate up the last coconut two days ago. I cannot go fishing as the inlet is now lined up with hungry Tiger sharks spying for their next meal.

All that I can see on the horizon is just an endless sea and not even a speck of anything that can rescue us from this torture.

I think I’m hearing voices now, weird … they sound like voices off from a hotel commercial urging me to eat Frank to survive, but I think I’d rather die of hunger than to live with the thought that I ate my friend or my girlfriend just to survive.

Just then, I heard Jenny cursing Frank for eating up all the coconuts instead of sharing a ration for us to pull through until we get rescued, and Frank was aiming to hit my girl! Luckily, I managed to get in between the two and managed to jab Frank right in the face for him to realize what he has done.

I saw him walk away to the water’s edge and Jenny teary-eyed took a hard look at me and went away. I figured I’d doze off and erase the day’s tension away…

Is this a dream? Strange … I think I heard Jenny screamed or was it just the wind, but I can smell something cooking and man I woke up drooling.

I sat up to Frank’s calls for me to eat, but mindful as ever took it a notion to find Jenny and have her eat with us. I looked around the water’s edge but to no avail. I ran straight up to Frank and asked him but he only shrugged off and said that she’s maybe off swimming as the sharks have already left. He handed me a bowl which I think he got from the plane’s wreckage. I helped myself to that really wonderful stew, which tasted strangely but nevertheless wonderful. Somehow I can feel an eerie stillness in Frank which makes me uneasy. He took a few moments off to walk to and fro in my back and then he suddenly leaned to me and said in my ear, “Fred, I have a confession to make, I killed Jenny. She was a nuisance and I could not help my hunger so I thought it best to kill her for the two of us to survive. That delicious stew is her.”

I dropped my bowl, gave a deep sigh. With a sudden grasp, I grabbed Frank’s neck and muttered my last words, “You’ve really done it this time Frank, you’ll pay with your life! You’re wrong for only one of us will walk away and it is only me … me I tell you! Ha ha ha!”

Strange…I can feel cold tears falling.


The Hunger
(352 words)
By Monster Paperbag

I stood numb on the sand. I stared hard at Frank, probing his beautiful and tantalizing eyes for some trace of sense.

But he didn’t stare back for long but took a step back, turned around and collapsed slowly on the ground, facing the other way.

“Why?” I asked loudly, almost shouting. He made no reply and no movement. His back, deliciously tanned and bronzed and gracefully adorned with sensual and fully-developed trapezius and latissimus dorsi muscles, seemed to taunt me with a mysterious and seductive ambivalence.

“Why, Frank?” I shouted this time.

He turned his head sideways while his slender neck glinted as the sun slowly caressed its surface, reflecting fervent beads of sweat trickling down his smooth and elegant spine. His hair swayed with the ocean breeze, partially obscuring his delicate forehead where amorous strands of hair met and slapped his dainty brow.

“I was hungry,” he whispered, his voice trailing away. His lips danced when they moved and for a second, I caught a glimpse of his long and lovely tongue as he momentarily opened his mouth.

For a moment there, I wanted to refuse his explanation. I have lost the love of my life but the fleeting mourning gave in to fancy yearning. It has been so long since I’ve changed my old ways but Frank, that bastard Frank, that vile Frank, my buddy Frank, challenged all things that I have led myself to believe in.

I took one long stare at the murderer of my mate. This time he stood, faced towards me and stared back. “I need a dip,” he whispered as he took off everything.

It has been so long since I’ve changed my ways. But it was all coming back to me, now. It has been so long since the last time. I felt feverish as I continued to gaze at his bare torso, at his flawlessly defined six pack and navel, at his exposed thighs, at his curvy backside, at the way he carried his huge, and lusciously long … stride.

At that moment, I realized I was hungry, too. Forgive me, Jenny.

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A Connection Is Made

This week's exercise is about connecting an idea with another different idea. Below is a list of sentences.

1. It was inevitable.
2. I couldn't believe it.
3. It wasn't what I expected.
4. She came like she said she would.
5. He nodded and quietly walked away.
6. Does he suspect something?
7. She wanted to see me.
8. It's not over yet.
9. I'll never know.
10. Not really.

Instructions: Pick any two sentences from the list and connect them together by writing prose in between the two sentences (250-300 words). Here's what I did:


The End
(298 words)

It wasn’t what I expected.

The end came like a thief in the night. It bore through our mountain of trust and carved a valley of uncertainty amidst our seven-year-long union.

I couldn’t believe it. When I opened the discovered letters, my mind searched for substantiation even as it desperately issued denial at the merciless betrayal. Still, the words from the pages, they clawed at my mind: Does he suspect something? Are you sure you’ve kept my letters hidden from him? We’ve got to keep it secret from him for now. He mustn’t know.

The search for my lover ended in failure. Cold reality seeped in, haplessly aided by the sight of her empty closet and cabinet.

In subsequent nights, I howled to the winds at this tribulation. As the last speck of my dwindling hope trickled down the hourglass of nothingness, a new seed of optimism sprouted in my desert in the form of a message delivered frigidly to my lost world. She wanted to see me.

It’s not over yet. I gathered myself, mustered my remaining strength.

She came like she said she would. And so did her new consort. I stared daggers at him, murderous intent restrained only by confusion and what little sanity left. He nodded and quietly walked away.

I stared at her and the question leaped from my tongue even before I thought of it. It burst through — angry, demanding, pleading — “Why?”

She just stood — a ghost of my waking — silent, unmoving, unreal. “I’m sorry,” was all she said. And she, too, walked away.

For a moment, it seemed my heart had grasped everything. It seemed my heart knew what to do in order to survive. Not really.

Can I bear the sight of them grieving at my wake? I’ll never know.

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Disabled Circumstances

This week's exercise is to put oneself in the persona of either a deaf, deaf-mute, crippled or blind person, then write a poem or prose piece at least 200 words long. I did my piece a la Beastie Boys, here it is:


The Blind Barber of Junquera

Attention! Yo ladies, yo gents, come out!
The Barber of Junquera is in the house.
Come on now everybody, lend me your ears.
I got a nifty story that will live on for years.

My name is Kevin and you heard me right.
I run a pretty parlor that opens at night.
I’m good for nothing, except with scissors.
I’ll shave your bony head with nothing but razors.

Why open at night? You ask me now.
I got no time for questions, leave them for now.
Just sit on my chair and don’t you worry.
We got a lot of time, there’s no need to hurry.

I once had a customer you’ve never even heard of.
His curls, like a girl’s, he wanted to get rid of!
He told me to look. He’s out of his mind!
I would if I could but I’m friggin’ blind!

Well what could I do? It’s what he wanted!
This freakin' wicked dude’s wish must be granted.
So I told the guy, “Be bold and be brave.”
I did away with all his hair in one swift shave!

Next was a Mom, she’s 30 years old.
She wants her black hair to shimmy-shine like gold!
I said, “Say what?” “Like gold”, she replied,
“Shimmy-shine, anytime, a source of pride!”

Oh heaven forbid! I’m stuck in a dilemma.
“What color did you holler? You tell me now, Mama.”
The color of blonde was what she yearned.
But all I see is black, as far as I’m concerned.

I thought for a minute, maybe for three.
I looked up to the ceiling even though I can’t see.
And then — whapack! The perfect idea!
I dowsed the lady’s head with Agua Oxinada!

And now you’re here, a word to the wise.
You look pretty dandy to my useless eyes.
I’ll trim your hair, and your goatee!
I’ll even shave your eye brows, I’ll do it for free!

‘Coz here I am, the one and only!
The Barber of Junquera, that’s right you heard me!
Thanks y’all, for hearing my fable.
I’ll see you later, though that’s impossible!

Word! Break it down!


This piece was partly inspired by another Beastie Boys rip-off creative writing exercise in Paperbag Writes.

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As Observed By Another

This week's exercise is to write a scene from your own life but do it from the point of view of another person. The write-up must be more than 200 words. Here's what I did:


Sunday
(210 words)

It was seven minutes past three when he walked in. I greeted him with a quick “good afternoon”, making an effort not to sound spurious. He showed no sign of ever hearing my spiel. He glanced upward and scanned the items overhead, slowly turning his head left to right and back again. Unconsciously, he stroked his goatee while he considered his options. I couldn’t see his eyes — his wire-rimmed glasses reflected the fluorescent lamp from the ceiling. Occasionally, the light draft from the air conditioner ruffled his bangs, obscuring his view.

He was wearing a plain black shirt over black jeans. Over his shoulder, he slung a small dark blue backpack. He stood, still undecided, and let out a visible sigh at the same time slid both his thin, pale hands in his front pockets. In a quick moment, his right hand rose to adjust his spectacles while his left hand unceremoniously unfolded a crumpled mauve hundred bill into view. He bit his lower lip and stared at the piece of paper. His left hand went back to his pocket and he muttered something I couldn’t hear over the Sunset Daze song playing on the radio.

He took a step towards me and cleared his throat, “One tall cappuccino please.”

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Super Thoughts

This week's exercise to write a superhero's interior monologue. Through this monologue, the writer should be able to convey the superhero's thoughts, powers or adventures. Here's what I did:


That was close.

Blondie Moño had been up to his usual tricks. I’ve always known that his sudden resignation as a graphic artist from that TriRise outsourcing firm wasn’t just a simple career move. Sure, he had been an anti-GMA advocate but I know a clever cover when I see one. He was always more than what he appeared to be. But I got my sights on him. That’s why Agent Donita assigned me to work undercover in that same firm. So that I could keep an eye on him.

He thought I wouldn’t anticipate his terrorist deeds. I was there to foil his Operation Lason, a devious plan to intoxicate all burger stands in Cebu. But my investigative skills and cunning stealth had allowed me to infiltrate Burger Machine without detection just in time to thwart his evil plan. With my green jacket of invisibility, I tricked his guards into thinking I was just a gust of wind. But alas! Kevin seemed to have spotted me but that can’t be — my powers were infallible! It was just my mind playing tricks on me. There’s no way he could have spotted me when I was that good. Besides, my green jacket of invisibility has never failed me yet.

But I needed to be sure! That was why I decided to become invisible for the remainder of my days in the office! They don’t know I’ve been watching them all this time.

But the scheming Blondie Moño had set his plans to blow up E-Mall! I had to be quick and clever this time. I managed to reach the whistle bomb just in time. I disabled it with just 3 seconds remaining in its timer. Another close call. I should have been more vigilant. Wait! Was that Nina? What was she doing there? Was she in league with Blondie Moño? So many questions, no easy answers. But I need to know. I need to be sure.

I have decided on a plan. I need to impersonate Emmanuel to get close to Nina. It’s the only way.

It could be dangerous. Hell, it could be fatal. But nobody can do this except me. I am not afraid. I am ready.

For I am … Nowhere Man.

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We Got Back

This week’s exercise is writing copy for a novel’s back cover in less than 200 words. Titles to choose from include:

- The Last Outrage
- Strangers in Paradise
- The Year of Yes
- The Devil in the White City
- A Life in Two Genders
- Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café
- Sleeping with the Fishes

I chose the last option. Here’s what I did:

THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
____________________________


“A masterpiece of contemporary fiction.”
- Village Voice

Fleeing from a messy breakup, struggling songwriter Amber Jones decides to take an extended vacation in London, particularly in the town of Bromley. In a local pub, she develops a fast friendship with a young Irish immigrant named Akron Fish and his teenage sister, Zadie. This friendship would soon blossom into something else as she finds herself drawn into the sensual and colorful world of the mysterious Akron while trying to deal with the ambiguous advances of Zadie whose conflicted sexuality might possibly mirror her own.

“In Sleeping with the Fishes, author Lee Stailey brings a new maturity to her spare but unusually beautiful prose and delivers a work that truly astounds.”
- Time Magazine

“A new voice in modern literature has emerged. Stailey deftly reveals the distinct nuances and flaws of her characters whilst never neglecting to provide subtle but contemplative explorations on sexuality and human nature in general.”
- Los Angeles Times

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