I7 is not for Vacation

Hi folks:
Forgot to post this last week - I'm on holiday (yes, I have to say it that way, I'm off to the U.K.!) until January 5th!!!
We'll have to see how Danny reacts to Roddy's death after that.
Happy Holidays,
Alex

H7: Hemorrhage, or "Bad News Arrives"

From G7:
"Ugh. Never. It's like he's gotten a boring-graft to his brain." Danny turned, finally, to the morning's work. "No thanks. I'm done with him," he winked at her, despite a twinge of ugliness in his throat. "He just doesn't know it yet."

***

Becca's voicemail hit him like a brain hemorrhage. Roddy's sister. Not the parents, of course.

"Danny? Roddy's - Roddy didn't - Roddy died, Danny. He got in a car accident on the way home."

That was all he heard the first time. It took him two full replays to get through the rest of the details, zombie out of his office and down to the street outside, and dial Becca's number on his phone.

G7: Graft

...from F7... Marina had gone back to the erasable wipe-board sheeting she'd used to cover her half of the desk. "Boring. Call me when it's over, why don't you. Or to tell me you've gotten engaged."

"Ugh. Never. It's like he's gotten a boring-graft to his brain." Danny turned, finally, to the morning's work. "No thanks. I'm done with him," he winked at her, despite a twinge of ugliness in his throat. "He just doesn't know it yet."

F7: Federal

"Really? A fight? But you guys never--"

"No it was a fight," he confirmed as he jabbed the power button on his computer. "'Where is this all going'? and all that. The old elephant in the room."

Marina frowned at Danny.

"Come on... you two have been doing so well this past year."

"I don't know..." Danny slumped in his ergonomic chair. The palette wheels and mock-ups were shreiking his name. "You know how it is. He's so proper and quiet and ... safe?"

Marina stuck out her tongue. "He's been 'safe,'" she injected, "for the last two years. What happened now?"

"So Friday I called him - you know this - to see if he could ditch early. I figured, Sasha's working in London, we might as well have a little fun too. But instead, he's like, it's not a federal holiday," Danny dumped the word like Eeyore, "so he won't leave early, not even an hour.

"Anyway, it's nothing. It just sort of set us off, and we fought all weekend. I just want to do something interesting with my life."

Marina had gone back to the erasable wipe-board sheeting she'd used to cover her half of the desk. "Boring. Call me when it's over, why don't you. Or to tell me you've gotten engaged."

E7: Elephant

Danny stopped arranging his desk in order to formally raise an eyebrow. "Decried, have you?" He laughed. "Well, I do declayah." When she passed him the marked up mock-up, his humor failed. "Seriously?" Whatever mood he'd tried to carry in with him deflated. After the weekend he'd had, he couldn't deal with Sasha's crazy demands right now. "I'm getting another coffee. Roddy and I had a fight."

"Really? A fight? But you guys never--"

"No it was a fight," he confirmed as he jabbed the power button on his computer. "'Where is this all going'? and all that. The old elephant in the room."

Marina frowned at Danny.

"Come on... you two have been doing so well this past year."

D7: Decry

"Pudding!" Marina cried, coming around the plateau of their massive, shared desk. Eyes on the collateral, she added, "We do good work, don't we?" and gave Danny a peck on the cheek.

"We do," Danny smiled. Marina was wearing a fitted purple sweater over a tight, pocked-leather skirt and striped stockings. Her hair was pulled back in tight braids that reminded him of antelope horns. She was ready to fight. "I want you to know, the bosswoman has requested a raft of changes, but I've already decried half of them."

Danny stopped arranging his desk in order to formally raise an eyebrow. "Decried, have you?" He laughed. "Well, I do declayah." When she passed him the marked up mock-up, his humor failed. "Seriously?" Whatever mood he'd tried to carry in with him deflated. After the weekend he'd had, he couldn't deal with Sasha's crazy demands right now. "I'm getting another coffee. Roddy and I had a fight."

C7: Courting

...."Sorry, Europe," Danny sometimes joked with Marina, his office-mate, copy writer, and best friend. Mitch was one of the handsome economists; after recoiling from the "artistic" comment, Danny hurried a bit to his office and Marina's warm, frizzy blonde embrace. All up and down the hall, Barter's color palette repeated a brick red and mustard theme.

He entered their office like they were courting, swaying a bit with his hands clasped behind his back. When she looked up, he proffered a handful of their newest brochures like a bouquet.

"Pudding!" Marina cried, coming around the plateau of their massive, shared desk. Eyes on the collateral, she added, "We do good work, don't we?" and gave Danny a peck on the cheek.

B7: Barter

....(from A7)... "I do the posters." He closed, pointing to the line of blown up advertisements on the wall. They parted at the reception desk.

Danny and Mitch worked in different departments at Barter, a non-profit focused on developing a variety of income sources for the rural poor in Africa, Asia, South America and the U.S. "Sorry, Europe," Danny sometimes joked with Marina, his office-mate, copy writer, and best friend. Mitch was one of the handsome economists; after recoiling from the "artistic" comment, Danny hurried a bit to his office and Marina's warm, frizzy blonde embrace. All up and down the hall, Barter's color palette repeated a brick red and mustard theme.

A7: Artistic

"So you're artistic?" Mitch asked, brushing some droplets from the shoulder of his Patagonia vest. Danny flushed as if he was last-picked boy for the playground kickball team, and busied himself with his phone. The elevator doors finally opened at their shared floor.

"Graphic designer," he shrugged, pointing to his ears with what he hoped was an apologetic, slightly dismissive smile. Danny was the graphic designer; he was short and chubby, wearing a purple bow tie, with jean cuffs rolled up to his knees. Was Danny "artistic"? What did Mitch think? "I do the posters." He closed, pointing to the line of blown up advertisements on the wall.

the Sevens

Rather than dive into A7, I want to be sure I'm making the right commitment for the entire 26-word run of "sevens." If I'm going to continue doing this hundreds of times, I need to keep shaking things up.

So - the plan for the sevens is to write the first 26 sentences (or so... going over is allowed) of a new project. Tomorrow, whatever sentence incorporates A7 must serve as the first sentence of the paragraph, chapter or story that follows with B7. Friday will be C7, and so on, until this particular exploration runs at least 26 sentences long.

A new challenge, then! See you tomorrow morning, ready to write.

Z6: Zygote

(I can't believe I need to look this one up: the cell produced by the union of two gametes, before it undergoes cleavage according to dictionary.com)

Sometimes, Raina felt as if she and Zev were designed like a zygote - recently unioned from disparate sources, and destined to split down the center, and part.

Y6: Yard

In the small patch of thin grass between the stoop and the curb - what my mother dismissively called "that yard" - the dog snuffed at the dried remains of other dogs, and barked, once, at the empty street.

X6: There is no X6

Perhaps my vision will falter a bit here, as we clamber up our alphabet, and the more challenging letters begin to fall away.

She is exotically disfigured, her features almost fish-like, the angles of her face stretching up and away.

At least exotic has an "x".....

W6: There is no W6

Last night I reclaimed some writing time - real writing time - for me. Starting last night, I'm spending 3 hours every Tuesday evening writing across from a former professor at a local coffee shop. No rules other than silence, 3 hours, and talk breaks allowable only every 45 minutes or so.

Our inaugural event was marked by nerves and excitement, and the near-full revision of a story I'd lost touch with years ago. Next week's 3 hours hopefully won't seem as scary.

So "W6" is a win.

V6: Vociferous

"I am not vociferous!" Reston bellowed, which would have made me laugh if not for his size, anger and disorder. I eyed the one older couple sitting in the corner and chucked my chin, granting them permission to go.