At the last Ink Slingers Guild meeting, all of us slingers of ink were on fire with the writing exercises. There were at least three continuation stories, and Jen’s final exercise actually elicited a round of applause (and will probably stand for a long time as the best ISG writing exercise). For me, that is truly what a writers group should be – a fun group who love, support, and encourage each other to do their best, while drinking tea, eating cookies, and making jokes 😉
So, with no further ado, I give you my exercises – one of the continuations. Enjoy!
catastrophe, revolver, brandy
“No! Wait! Don’t do that!”
Her panicked cry startled Nevin, and he dropped the strange object. His newfound
companion flinched as it bounced, and relaxed as it settled quietly in place.
She stalked over and scooped it up, waving it under his nose.
“This is a revolver.” She pointed held it out, and though she did not seem to do
anything, a deafening bang sounded, thundering in his sensitive ears, and now he
flinched. “I’m sorry,” Nevin said. “Just don’t touch anything,” she snapped.
“Give me two minutes to finish up here, and then we can be on our way.”
Nevin looked around at the catastrophe that surrounded them, and thought it may
be prudent to listen to her. Six bodies were sprawled about in undignified
heaps, most of them covered in copious quantities of blood, their condition
caused by an object similar to the one she called a revolver. He watched her
rifle dispassionately through the effects of the dead men, collecting gods knew
what, but as she was the expert here, he did as she ordered, and waited without
speaking for her to finish. Within a handful of minutes, she came over to him,
her arms loaded with a variety of things he felt he wouldn’t be allowed to
touch, which she dumped in front of the horses and began to stuff in the
“May I at least know your name?” he asked.
“Brandy,” she said curtly, pushed past him, and proceeded to set fire to the
Spectacle, spark, nude
Nevin was glad he at least knew what a horse was – he was not a proud man, but a
complete lack of dignity did not appeal to him. He rode easily beside the woman
called Brandy, trying to wrap his mind around this new world, feeling like a
nude babe, before the midwife had even wrapped him in swaddling, so little did
he know. Knowing he was most likely going to be put under the lashing of her
sharp tongue, but also knowing he had little other choice, he urged his horse up
“Lady Brandy,” he began.
“It’s just Brandy, Lancelot,” she said.
“Very well, Brandy Lancelot, may I…”
“No, just Brandy, no…never mind. Where are you from?”
That was a difficult question to answer, and he really didn’t want to go into
the disgraceful spectacle of his past and the exploits thereof. Best to keep
that unknown for now. “A land far away from here,” he said waving vaguely.
“Which brings me to my next question. What is this place?”
She sighed. “You know, you might as well call it Camelot. That’s a good enough
“Very well,” he said. “And why did you do that to those men back there?”
A strange spark entered her eye, and flickered out again. “You don’t want those
kind do be following us, do you?” she said, and as she nudged her horse to a
canter to pull ahead of him, he wondered if she didn’t have her own secrets.
predictable (my word), twinkle, dragon,
Nevin lay on the hard, uncomfortable ground, trying to shift very quietly to a
comfortable position in order to avoid drawing Brady’s attention. On seventeen
separate occasions he had done something to raise her ire, and in the quiet of
the night, with the stars – albeit strange stars – twinkling overhead, he didn’t
want to ruin the first true peace he’d had in days.
As always, just before he drifted to sleep, his thoughts took the predictable
path to his home, the terrible final minutes there, and his eternal banishment
to this place with no name but which he now thought of as Camelot. He’d tried to
ask more questions of Camelot, but each time he said the word, Brandy would
snort and look at him like some dung on the bottom of her boot, so he quickly
desisted and they rode in silence.
He hadn’t discovered if there were ogres or dragons here, or what to do to
appease a wizard if he happened to come upon him, though he wasn’t sure he would
be able to recognize a wizard. What did they wear? he wondered. What greeting
should I give them? His punishment was unjust, but he wasn’t going to wallow in
self-pity, he was going to make the best of the situation. It would help if he
had a more informative companion, he thought grumpily, still unable to find a
comfortable way to lie without something prodding him.
Very slowly, he rolled over onto his side, so he was facing the fire, and looked
over to the other side where Brandy lay in her own bedroll. Except she wasn’t