Elizabeth: Friday Writing Sprints – Happy Cinco de Mayo!

cincodemayoAnother week, another Friday; hope yours is a good one.

I spent the last two days trapped in all day meetings, so my brain cells are in desperate need of a little recharge. Sounds like a job for a little Random Word Improv.

Care to join me?

Whether you wrote a lot, a little, or none at all this week, a few minutes of Improv are a great way to have a little fun and get some words on the page., whether you’re suffering from tired-brain or not.

All right, let’s get started.  Here are today’s Cinco de Mayo inspired words.  Do with them what you will.

Today’s bonus word is:                  Napoleon

Today’s bonus phrase is:              “let the festivities begin”

Here are the rest of today’s randomly selected random words:

battle                    margarita            fireworks            salsa

fiesta                    mariachi              celebrate            parade

streamers           guacamole          sombrero            beer

For any of you new to Random Word Improv, here’s how to play:

  1. Pick as many words from the list as you want
  2. Write the first line(s) of a story incorporating your words
  3. Post your results in the comments section.

Okay.  Are you ready?  Go tell us a story!

*whistling aimlessly while you are off being creative*

You’re back.  Kind of fun, right?  Can’t wait to see what you have come up with.

10 thoughts on “Elizabeth: Friday Writing Sprints – Happy Cinco de Mayo!

  1. “Let the festivities begin!” intoned Napoleon Mallus, the hammer of the Gods of the Feathered Serpent. He might as well have called for the battle to begin. The brothers of the fraternal organization whooped over their beers, and the designated pyrotechnician lit the fireworks to start the party. The wives sipped their margaritas and ogled the mariachi band as they played from table to table, tucking tips into the bands of their broad somberos. The daughters and sons salsa-ed into dark corners of the dance floor, or even paraded out onto the patio and through the gardens. Maria watched in dismay, trying to fight her way through streamers and pinatas to the cloakroom, where Jeremy was helping Vanessa put on her trench coat.

    “Jeremy, I thought you were going to give me a ride home,” Maria said, trying to keep the reproach from her voice.

    Jeremy shrugged on his own jacket. “Sorry, Mare. Vanessa showed up! We’re going out to celebrate her being sprung from jail.”

    “You could celebrate here,” Maria said, waving her hand at the raucous party in the Great Hall.

    Vanessa smiled archly. “It’s not that kind of celebration, dear.”

    Jeremy smiled more kindly. “Talk to John. I gave him my keys. Vanessa is going to let me drive her Corvette!” Then Vanessa dragged him out the door, into the cool night.

    John, Maria thought. John hates me. But anything would be better than riding home with her parents, bickering the same dual monologues that had been the soundtrack to every car ride of her adolescence. John would be in the kitchen; the fiesta guacamole had his culinary fingerprints all over it.

    (-: That was fun. I really have to get back to writing my novella. These sprints do inspire me.

    Oh, and by the way, here’s an article about the history of guacamole. It says the Aztecs considered it an aphrodisiac! Wish I’d known that BEFORE I wrote my sprint, LOL. http://iml.jou.ufl.edu/projects/fall11/gordon_e/history.html

    • Great way to start off this week’s improv, Michaeline. Glad the sprints are inspiring and motivating you to work on your novella. I love that the Aztecs considered guacamole an aphrodisiac. I’ll have to see how I can work that into my own sprint.

    • Poor Maria. But perhaps John will turn out to be a nice guy after all??

      Love the snippet about guacamole. Those Aztecs knew a thing or two 😉 . My favorite treat at RWA in San Antonio was the restaurant that made fresh guacamole by hand at the table. It was Yum.

      • Jeremy’s a bit of a jerk, so I think John will totally be ‘the guy’. Not that we’re romance writers, or anything…;-).

        • LOL, we all know our romance tropes. Of course John is going to be a total sweetheart.

          Also, I think I saw it on QI, but I believe avocado in the original means bollocks . . . because, well, you know. The fruit does not look like any other body part. So, maybe that’s where the aphrodisiac part comes in from. (-: Reminds me suddenly of Nanny Ogg’s jelly desserts. What was it? The pink Wobbler?

  2. “Let the festivities begin.”

    The Lord Mayor of the ancient port of Contraband, looking suitably magnificent in his black-and-gold velvet coat and hat, frothy lace jabot and chunky gold chain, cut the ribbon with a flourish. The party to celebrate Her Majesty’s 90th birthday was officially under way.

    A century or more before the present queen’s accession, Old Contraband had been the hub of a spy network that had helped win the Battle of Waterloo, finally finishing off the Emperor Napoleon. Margarita wasn’t exactly superstitious, but she’d taken that as a favorable omen.

    In the Duke of Wellington’s days the city had been all narrow cobbled streets, waterfront taverns, hidden passages, secret codes and salty derring-do. Now the ale on offer came from a microbrewery that sold honey-glazed organic Gloucester Old Spot sausage rolls at £10 a time, and while there were antique shops and cream teas galore, the hungry tourist could also dine on Indian, Chinese (Cantonese or Szechuan), Vietnamese, Thai, Italian, or French cuisine. The only thing missing was Mexican street food, and Margarita was about to gamble her life savings on that omission.

    She jammed her sombrero firmly on her head, pasted on her widest smile, and nodded to her brother Alejandro’s Mariachi players, who struck up with gusto. Their songs were loud and upbeat, perfect for a fiesta. The sun shone and the streamers atop her stall – red, white and blue alternating with red, white and green – flapped in the breeze.

    Alejandro and his friends went for a tour of the other vendors, playing as they went, and returned leading a parade of hungry party animals. Margarita gave away platters of home-made tortilla chips, creamy guacamole, spicy salsa and her signature twice-cooked black beans for what seemed like hours, until finally the crush died down.

    “Merci.” The last plate went to a bright-eyed, dark-haired Frenchman who devoured the contents in record time. “Exactly what this town needs,” he added, eyeing her with the same appreciation he’d shown her simple snack.

    “It’s hardly haute cuisine,” she said, noting the embroidery on the chest of his chef’s jacket. Paul. The owner of Chez Paul, the ultra-fashionable and always-busy bistro two doors along from her new cantina.

    “Man cannot live on foie gras alone,” he said, using his fingers to collect the last crumbs of tortilla and a smear of salsa, and licking them clean with honest enthusiasm.

    Later, there were fireworks.

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