Using all the senses - sight, sound, smell, taste, touch - and specific detail, describe a haunted house. 1,2,3, GO! This exercise is actually right up my alley at this point in my life. I've been watching a lot of supernatural television such as Ghost Whisperer (starring Jennifer Love Hewitt), Angel (starring David Boreanaz), and various other creep-tastic shows, so I'm figuring that I've learned to write fiction like this through osmosis... Or maybe that's just wishful thinking? I don't know what it is, though, but there is just something fascinating about ghosts and demons and so on. Maybe it's the fear of  the unknown . You know, whatever is just beyond that realm of human comprehension. Where do we end up when we die? Is it possible to get stuck in between life and afterlife, doomed to roam unnoticed until your "unfinished business" is, in fact, completed? It's a really interesting concept, and it's one that has haunted - pun totally i

He got horribly sunburned. How did this happen? Write the scene from the point of view of someone who expected this would happen, and had warned him.   1,2,3, GO!!! "I told you," I said, extending my index finger to poke my husband's reddened skin. When I made contact, he groaned and jerked away. "Mel, stop that! It hurts." "But I told you." "Yeah, I know," he said. "I heard you. No reason to poke me." He had been mowing the lawn earlier, shirtless, and I had stepped out to tell him to put on sunscreen. Of course, he declined, like always. And like always, he had ended up with pretty serious sunburn all over his shoulders and back. "Aloe?" I said, smiling. He was miserable enough; it was time to make him feel better. Maybe he'll pay attention next time. END Well, that was............ brief. haha But it was all I could come up with, I swear! In other news, I'm dying my hair with henna again next wee

It turns out there was a trap-door in the ceiling that had been disguised by the plaster. Once opened, the door revealed an attic. And in the attic, far in the back, behind a curtain of cobwebs, there was a suitcase. They brought the suitcase down into the house. How did they open the suitcase? What was in it? Write the scene. This reminds me of an old post I did a little while back. It was Exercise #124, and I actually ended up submitting it for #fridayflash. Feel free to go read "Rain of Rubber Chickens" if you have a moment. Continuing on with today's exercise, 1,2,3, GO!!!

To read about my first day of My American Idol Experience, click HERE . And now to begin my 2nd and final installment, entitled: The Big Wait So I had my wristband, my ticket with my seat number, my release forms, and my songs. I was totally ready to go. The sheets that the producers gave us requested that we show up on the day of the audition at 5am. ... ... ... Yeah, right.

I don't know if it was a Blogger issue or something, but the reason I've not posted or anything since last week is because everytime I went in to edit a post or create a new one, it went to this 404 Forbidden site. I was PISSED! But that's passed after much innefective troubleshooting and several heated e-mails. Tune in tomorrow for the 2nd part to my American Idol Experience, and then the following days will continue my lovely list of writing exercises. I hate that I've been gone for so long. :( I hope you'll forgive me, my dear readers! Did this happen to anyone else? Peace. Stef.

I didn't make it past the first round... Sighhhhh... Actually, I'm totally not bummed at all! I feel like I should be feeling some amount of rejection and/or upset, but... nothing. I had a fun time with my friend, met some new people, and sang some really great music. Like I said in my last post, I got my wristband, and my adventure really started that day instead of on Saturday, the actual day of the auditions. You see, it was hotter than Hades this past Thursday when the masses teemed outside the walls of the Gaylord Entertainment - wait... - The Sommet - wait... - No, the Bridgestone Arena (I swear, this arena has changed names more times in the past few years than Elizabeth Taylor has been married in her entire life). The information online said to show up at 7am, and show up at 7am we did. Mistake #1.

I am going to join over 10,000 hopefuls at the American Idol auditions tomorrow, and I'm so excited. I've decided to wear a purple cowl neck shirt with short sleeves and a green and brown underbust vest that my Mom made for me a couple of years ago. With that, I'll be wearing a pair of grey jeans and some heels. I haven't yet decided which shoes I want to perform in, but I think I'm leaning more towards the shorter heel in order to feel the most comfortable while singing. I don't want to throw my center of gravity off! The song I've picked to start my audition off with is "Ain't No Way" by Aretha Franklin. Love, love, love this song.  And yes, I do realize that I'm a cracker. haha I just figured I'd want to sing something that made me happy. In the odd event that one of the producers asks me for an additional song, I'll have 3 extras "prepared." I say "prepared" because I'm honestly just pulling them ou

Two salesmen are arguing about some yellow donuts. Write the scene using dialogue and incorporating the following: "this will set your hair on fire" yellow donuts he said, slowly stroking his chin he picked up the pen and pointed "oh, no, no, no, no, no" 1,2,3, GO!

Funny story: American Idol is auditioning in Nashville this weekend on Saturday, July 17th. Even funnier story: Guess who's auditioning?? Yours truly, Stefers the Great. I know, I know, I know. It's American Idol . It's essentially pre-cast and even if you do make it - which, coincidentally, is highly unlikely - you have to pander to the producers and sell them your soul in order to progress. Now for the shocking story: I've already auditioned before. Twice .

Sorry I've been MIA for the past week. I've taken time to really dig into my current Work-In-Progress, and I've emerged feeling a lot better about the idea. Of course, after all of this work, I've begun to see a light at the end of the tunnel. All I have to do is piece the scenes I've written together and fill in the missing areas. But here's the thing... I'm a little scared. What if, at the end of the day, after all of this work, I'm the only person who finds my novel interesting? I mean, I think it's a great idea. I'd read it if I came upon it in a bookstore or library. But what if someone reads it and says, "Stefers, leave now. You are ridiculous."? It could happen! Of course, I'm sure it's normal to go through this, but I feel silly because it's actually stopping me from continuing on my writing journey. I sit down to write, but then I'm overwhelmed with all of these doubts and fears and can't write a s

With this review, I'd like to introduce a new installment to 52 Weeks of Wordage: From here on out, I'm going to try and review something - anything - every Tuesday. We'll see how this pans out once school starts, but for the remaining summer weeks, I'll do my best to make this a weekly thing. Do you like this idea? Let me know what you think! And without further ado, Valentines Day - A Review

Last week, I blogged about my visit to Colonial Williamsburg in celebration of Grandfather T's 80th birthday, and I mentioned, in passing, that we ate at a place called The King's Arms Tavern. Well, it was more than just a place to eat. We learned , too! Our server, Dave (I think that was his name...), first entertained us by showing us that the majority of his ring finger on his right hand was missing. No, I don't know how this happened, but it began an extremely fruitful although brief relationship between us. For example, do you know the origin of the phrase "put your best foot forward?" Dave did.

Not only was he cute, but he was really nice. 2 thumbs way, way up (Thanks, Ebert)! So I was at the Logan's Roadhouse by my church this afternoon eating lunch with 2 friends of mine, and our server - let's call him GreenEyes - walks up to us and gives us the basic run-down. "Welcome to Logan's Roadhouse, guys. My name is GreenEyes, and I'll be taking care of you today." My first impression was - duh - his eyes. They were this seafoam green color, and I'm pretty sure I gawked absentmindedly for at least minute before shaking my head and burying my face bashfully into the menu. It's a color that I'd only seen in makeup commercials that have been extensively doctored to appeal to the masses or showcased in famous pictures like the one on the right. I love this picture. Gorgeous. I offered up a congenial "hello" along with my two friends, and continued to search the list of vittles available to me after we order our drinks. Of course

Exercise #158 : Top 10 Gift List If you won the lottery---say, the $40 million lottery--- who and what would you give money to? List your top 10. Then, if you have time, do the list for a fictional character. 1,2,3, GO! Oh, to be rich... If only, if only, if only... But anyways... on with the exercise...

"Carla, honey, can you come in here for a minute?" said Phil, leaning far enough backward in his recliner to see the swaying fabric of his wife's immaculately pressed circle skirt in the kitchen. From in front of the sink, Carla grunted a response, and Phil decided to let it drop. He knew how much she hated being bothered when she was cooking. Plus, she would come eventually. She always did. As Phil waited, he turned his attention to the television, where a news anchor was detailing ways to combat the new influenza strain. "Carry around a bottle of hand sanitizer with you at all times," the man said urgently, "just in case you happen to touch anything carrying the disease. We can't stress enough to you the importance wearing your government-issued face masks and gloves in public. The virus is extremely contagious, and you simply cannot risk getting infected."

Exercise #157 : The Squid, the Lampshade, and the Smell of Burning Tortillas Write something that incorporates a squid, a lampshade and the smell of burning tortillas. 1,2,3, GO!!! Maria flipped the flour tortilla in the skillet, it's surface barely blistering. This batch was going to be a good one. In approximately 30 seconds, she slid the fresh tortilla from the skillet onto a nearby plate which held a stack of the thin, white discs. "Maria!" said Erika, her little sister, as she ran into the kitchen, a lampshade atop her head. "Maria, he won't stop poking me!" She was soon followed by her brother, George, an impish grin creeping across his face.