Ah, Club McGuffin. Such a great name. But superfluous. I don’t need to separate my writing into an entirely different blog site that requires its own upkeep. I can just create a “writing journal” on The Space Bar. I’ve already lost the posts from Club McGuffin once, and I think that dampened my spirit for the site. Here are the three posts from the new iteration, just so they aren’t lost as well.
Well, take two on my writing site. I’d set up Club MacGuffin for recording writing practice, responds to story prompts, reviews, and all other things literary. Sadly, when relocating it to a new ISP account, I neglected to backup my database. WordPress blog info like themes and setup, I saved that. But I didn’t realize until too late that those backup files didn’t include the all important content.
It was pretty disappointing. It was like pages had been ripped from my writing journal while I was at work, and I couldn’t find them anywhere when I returned home.
So, after an appropriate period of mourning (panic, depression, bargaining, more depression, acceptance), I’m restarting on a fresh page in my slightly diminished journal. I can’t recreate what was lost, but I can create more. Forward!
Tamzin didn’t glance up, even when I stood next to her workbench and stared at the crown of her head. She was sanding a vase-shaped piece of wood. I wasn’t quite certain what it would end up as, so it probably wasn’t part of a bot body. I could still appreciate the grain in the wood, how she’d chosen a piece that would show natural curls once varnished. I hoped she didn’t plan on lacquering it. It would be a shame to cover its natural beauty. Still, I wasn’t here to admire her skill. I tapped the toe of my boot against the hard floor. The brass plate made a solid ringing noise against the steel surface.
“I know you’re there,” Tamzin said, sounding both amused and long-suffering. She had a way of sounding both patient and put upon at the same time.
It managed to come out as playfully patronizing. I knew some people preferred to only deal with her agent, shying away from her blunt superiority. But I’d known Tamzin for a long time, long enough to know that she was every bit as talented as she thought she was. Every bit as knowledgeable. Long enough to realize that she hid away in her workshop not just because she enjoyed her work but because she didn’t enjoy being pressured to either dumb down her discussions of clients’ requests or to feel bad about talking to them as the incompetents they appeared to be. I think she put up with me because I accepted her as a master in her craft and didn’t try to dictate the details of any new project. I just gave her the required results and let her design the best wooden parts for the job. I think I put up with her because I couldn’t find better results with a better customer experience. I’d looked. Eventually, I just learned which battles were worth fighting.
“Okay,” she tossed down her sanding paper and laid down the piece on a waiting piece of cloth. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Your last commission is in stress testing right now. If you want to know how it’s going, you can either wait until I call you or go bother someone else.”
Write a scene that involves carving something out of wood.
~ Sarah Selecky’s Daily Prompts
“Ted, you have to jump!” His friends waved from below, motioning toward them and the floor.
Teddy clung to the support pillar and shook his head. His furry paws slipped on the glossy paint and he fell back onto the shelf. “I… I’m too scared,” he wailed. His shiny black eyes peered over the edge of the metal shelf.
“It’s okay!” shouted Bob in his squeaky voice. “You’re soft! You won’t get hurt in the fall. Look.” He hopped up and down, little plastic legs tapping a sharp rhythm on the linoleum. “I’m a lot harder than you and I made it okay.”
Teddy wiped his pumpkin curls out of his eyes, staring at the cluster of toys without saying another word. His head slowly withdrew until only a pair of fuzzy ears could be seen poking over the top shelf.
Whirl sighed and unstrapped her rope from over her shoulder. She began winding it around her waist, making sure the cord was smooth and would unwind easily. “It’s no use. He’s too scared to jump on his own.” She held out the end of her pullcord. “Buddy, give me a good strong pull, will ya? I’ll come down with him.”
Write about a character named Whirl.
~ Sarah Selecky’s Daily Prompts