Creativity Boost #3 – Dictionary Excursion

November 16, 2011 on 2:25 pm | In Creative, Creativity | 83 Comments
 

Photo Courtesy of Morguefile

Today, we’re heading to the dictionary for a creativity boost. Here’s what I want you to do:

You’re going to select six words and use them to write a story of less than 250 words. You will select your six words from:

  • page 52, 11th word down
  • page 111, 2nd word down
  • page 144, 1st word down
  • page 199, 9th word down
  • page 225, 12th word down
  • page 243, 6th word down

Now, that you have your six words, open the dictionary at random, close your eyes and select a word. That word will provide the subject of your story.

Use the first three words in your opening paragraph. The last three words may be sprinkled throughout the story. Bold face the selected words, then share your completed story with us in the comment field below.

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Harry Hoover

Partner ♦ Brand Strategist ♦ Creativity Facilitator at My Creative Team
Harry Hoover is a partner in My Creative Team, the agency that makes Fortune 1000 clients look good. His communications career spans 35 years and runs the gamut from print and broadcast journalism, government and corporate communications to advertising and public relations agencies. He is the author of Moving to Charlotte: The Un-Tourist Guide.

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  1. Hugs

    Hugs are a basilic and expressive way of showing many kinds of emotion. Without
    hugs, our society would simply be in ruin. “How does one hug?” you may ask. Will
    it hurt? No, unless, of course, the recipient of this hug has a particularly angulated structure. But you needn’t worry about that very often. To better illustrate the importance of hugs, I shall tell you a tale about a singer named Susie and a very lonely leaf blower named Harold.

    Harold the leaf blower had a  lonely life. He just sat in the shed, longing
    for someone to at least take him out for a while. When, on occasion, this did
    happen, it was only to be harshly plugged in and beaten around for a while, and
    then always back to the cold and dark. Harold often wondered about life outside
    of the shed.

    Susie was an unsuccessful chanteuse who needed work badly, so she
    decided to start a lawn care business. One day she was trimming hedges when the
    capacitor suddenly quit working. Being quite resourceful, Susie went to the shed to fix it. What she found was Harold. Susie, being a night club singer, knew all about emotions and quickly spotted that Harold was deeply unhappy. She knew all he needed was some love and fun, so she did what first popped into her head. She hugged him. He turned into a handsome and rich prince, and they enjoyed a lovely date at the cinema.

    THE END

    Comment by Anonymous — November 21, 2011 #

  2. sorry, wouldn’t let me bold anything. the words were the following: basilic, angulated, blower, chanteuse, capacitor, and cinema. hope you like the story! =)

    Comment by Anonymous — November 21, 2011 #

  3. We had just finished our appetizers, when the waitress slowly strode past us, letting me enjoy every little bounce of her tits as she swayed. Distractions. No. Back to the chief part of the meal. What to order? This is critical. I’m going to demolish this shit. Now, time to solve this dilemma.

    Comment by Laney Santana — November 22, 2011 #

  4. Thanks for taking the excursion. I enjoyed your tale. 

    Comment by Harry Hoover — November 22, 2011 #

  5. I liked this one! English isn’t my first language, but I tried :3

    The child wasn’t equal to the other children. The child expressed something else.
    It reminded me of something furious. Something unique. It was something the
    other children didn’t have. We learned them that everyone was equal. That they
    all meant everything and nothing. We knew that wasn’t the truth. We knew that
    when the children grew up they would realize just what we did. We learned them
    brainwashing facts that didn’t last forever. There was always someone who could
    think for themselves. That child. I admired that child.

    The child fell, and I caught him. “Thank you”, he said quiet, without an
    expression. I noticed a scar on his collarbone; his shirt had wrinkled when he
    fell. I saw the child walk away from me to his class. I felt guilt. How could I
    become what I hated? How could I, the one who was different than the others do
    this? I don’t know how I could do this to the children. They weren’t equal.
    They were different. All of them. They just didn’t know it yet, they didn’t
    understand. Cause we filled them with ideas, ideas of a perfect world. Where we
    knew what we expected, because we all were the same. It was nothing to be afraid
    of in a perfect world. In that moment I made up my mind. I went to the class
    room, to stop the children blending in to this world.

    Comment by Ina Cecilie Ephemera — November 23, 2011 #

  6. “Five letters down; a small bulb such as garlic. What could that be?” I sighed in frustration, struggling to finish my crossword puzzle as Jared; the farmhand of my parent’s ranch walked in. “Cloves.” He said dismissively, he then chuckled at my mystified expression. “I did the puzzle this morning.” He explained. It took all I had not to blush with embarrassment as I studied his vibrant green eyes and luscious dark brown hair. “Is something wrong Rosalie? You’re all spaced out; here, let’s take a walk, that’ll clear your mind.”
              “That would be nice.” I told him, pushing a few loose strands of red hair behind my ear. Jared took my arm and practically dragged me out of the kitchen door into the cobblestone courtyard.  “Where are we going, Jared?” I laughed as he spun me around in an impromptu dance. This was one of my favorite things about Jared; about my best friend. He could always make me smile. He twirled me around once more before pulling me in close. First and foremost, I didn’t expect that, and my eyes widened slightly. Let me elucidate, we were friends, nothing more. We always have been and always will be. I would never risk his friendship.
              “You should probably get to work again before dad gets back Jared.” I sigh pulling away from him, my smile faltering. As I turned away he caught my arm, taking me by surprise. “I don’t want to go back to work Rose,” he said, pulling me close once more. “I want to stay here with you.” Then he kissed me in the most magical moment of my life.   

    Comment by Anonymous — November 23, 2011 #

  7. My words were Cloves, crossword puzzles, elucidate, farmhand, foremost, and faltering. Key topic was Luscious…. sorry if its a little over the limt… :)

    Comment by Anonymous — November 23, 2011 #

  8.             The heat was broken. Everywhere.
    Anthony hadn’t gotten more than a few hours’ sleep for the entire week in his sauna
    of an apartment. The seats of his car seared the skin on the backs of his legs,
    and the vehicle groaned and choked when he attempted to turn on the air. There was
    no air. Anywhere. But Anthony still had things to do. So he rolled down the
    windows, wiped the sweat from his
    brow, avoided eye contact with the chatty
    neighbor lady doing her gardening next door, and drove off to the bank to see The Controller.

                The Controller was the woman in
    charge, a rather evangelical and
    misguided mother-figure. Every other week, when he brought his paycheck and
    requested cash back, she demanded to know why. His answer was usually
    groceries. And she always told him he should buy a dresser. He couldn’t figure out why, as he already had one and had
    mentioned as much to her. Besides, more sharp-cornered furniture would be a
    health hazard to anyone as accident-prone as he. But all the same, she said it
    was a sin. Said it would be better that he cover himself with pillows – the fiberfill kind, even. He thought she
    meant to avoid hurting himself on the dressers. But she was referring to the
    sweat. If someone didn’t step up and dress that man, The Controller feared all her
    customers would leave due to the intolerable smell of his sweat-stained
    wardrobe. Some already had.

    (My words were bank, chatty, controller, dresser, evangelical, fiberfill, and sweat. phew!)

    Comment by Anonymous — November 23, 2011 #

  9. I’m glad you all posted your stories. I’m really enjoying them. 

    Comment by Harry Hoover — November 23, 2011 #

  10. Kyle turned the steak, noting with
    satisfaction the delicious aroma that wavered to his nostrils as the
    meat sizzled on the grill.  The Charbroil King grilling
    contest was in full swing, and he intended to climb the ranks
    as a consummate chef.  He noted some of the fellow
    contestants, who seemed intent on trying to barbarize their
    meat…some pounding it savagely thin, others marinating in complex
    mixtures.  He himself relied on a tried and true method of a
    blend of wood chips, his own special seasoning, and a watchful eye. 
    The contest was cathartic for Kyle.  He had to euthanize
    his dog, Cassie, a week ago, and the pain was still fresh in his
    mind.  He recalled with a smile how Cassie liked to run into the
    drainpipe near their house, only to come out barking and at
    full speed when he called her.  It was a game to her, and to
    have to put her to sleep due to cancer had been a hard blow. 
    Focusing on the contest was just what he needed. The steak
    finished, he turned to file into line with fellow
    contestants.  The sun shone brightly, and a gentle breeze made
    it a perfect summer’s day.  Suddenly he was happy…life wasn’t
    always easy, but he was grateful for moments like these.  Cassie
    wasn’t suffering any longer, and he knew that whether he won the
    contest or not, he’d be okay.  Cassie’s spirit lived on, and he
    knew he was a winner.

    Comment by tlgodderz — November 23, 2011 #

  11. Had the correct words boldfaced, but now that it’s posted, they’re not bold anymore!  The words were:  barbarize, charbroil, consummate, drainpipe, euthanize, file, and the subject was rank.

    Comment by tlgodderz — November 23, 2011 #

  12. I stumbled on this page, and gave it a shot, I’ve never really written but I read a lot.Receptionist:The carpenter’s receptionist was tired, tired of her boss and his dreadful enterprise; the scheme he was carrying out with increasing success to destroy the fragile walls protecting her heart, to bludgeon down the fatigued spirit standing guard over her soul.He could have carried off this plan, but like all cruel men, he interpreted the receptionist’s goodness as weakness. He was wrong. She was tired, and sad, but she was never weak. She was good. All truly good people have a mechanism to protect themselves without stooping to such lows as their evil rivals. Hers was simple, she quit. She went home and started over, and, finding things here and there that would bring the carpenter’s dreary shadow back over her, she would throw the thing away. A smell of cut wood, an onionskin paper bearing his crude scrawl; corporeal or ethereal, in the trash it went. It worked, slowly but surely the bin filled, and as the remains of that old terror grew heavier, her heart grew lighter, and her soul, piercing the old darkness; lit her way from there.

    Comment by Kyle Schrader — November 24, 2011 #

  13. Words: critical, intern, picayune, tricky, beneath, and compliment
    Subject: flabbergast

    I stood, mouth literally about to hit the floor, “But,” I began to stutter, “you’re just an intern!”
     Same Withern stood before me, head slightly turn away and definitely not making eye contact with me. He had been at this hospital for two months and had been doing really well in the field. His charming smile and angelic eyes swooned the patients, and his voice- oh his voice- was the real catch!
    But in Lehman’s terms, as a doctor to intern relationship, he was beneath me. Why was he getting to take on Mr. McGetty’s medical case on his own? That was the tricky thing about this place. Mr. McGetty’s condition was classified as critical but someone like Sam Withern got to handle it all on his own: an intern that had been here a whopping two months!
    Sure I was very confused and I’ll admit a little furious, but it was orders and I wasn’t going to let this picayune detail get me down. I shook my head dejectedly and handed him the clipboard of Mr. McGetty’s medical information, “Treat him well, Withern.”
    Same smiled, “I will Ms. Tate. After all, I learned from the best.”
    What a compliment! As Sam’s mentor, I guess aside from being completely flabbergasted, I was secretly proud of him.

    That was a lot of fun!!

    Comment by Sarah Couchman — November 24, 2011 #

  14. Ack! It’s over the word limit, sorry. I just had to try it. 

    Long, spindly fingers danced across
    the piano, only stopping the flow for a breve,
    before they danced right along. The man that the fingers belonged to wasn’t a
    musical genius at all, instead, he liked to think that he only dabbled in the art, playing on occasions
    when he the silence got to him. However, this particular day he was performing
    for a different reason than to fill his quiet nights. This particular
    performance was for the doctors, wanting to see how playing the keys affected a
    blind man’s brain impulses. The doctors were hoping for some spike in brain
    impulses, hopefully to the occipital lobe, when they looked at the electroencephalogram. As if by some
    chance the mixture of the touch of the cool, porcelain keys on his fingertips
    and the notes flowing into his ears would affect the sense he had lost years
    ago.

    A groan escaped the man’s mouth as he stumbled over a few keys,
    annoyed at his lack of skill and sight, annoyed at the doctors for using him as
    a test subject, annoyed at the world for dealing him this deck of cards known
    as his life. There wasn’t even a tragic tale of how he lost his sight. He hadn’t
    been impaled through the brain;
    there was no virus that ate away his eyes. Instead, it was genetics. Early
    onset Vitelliform macular dystrophy. It was rare, hadn’t affected anybody in
    his gene pool for five generations, even rarer it onset at the age of twenty-four.
    For the umpteenth time not only that night, but for the last year, Dallan cursed
    his luck, looking around only to find the whole world was completely darkness— absolutely
    invisible.

    Comment by Kaz Lango — November 24, 2011 #

  15. Oh, and my words: 
    Breve- A long note in music

    Dabble- A little

    Electroencephalogram- Chart made by an electrograph [Records
    brain impulses]

    Groan- A deep sound made in the back of the throat

    Impale- To jab a sharp object through

    Invisible- Which cannot be seen

    Subject: Sight

    Comment by Kaz Lango — November 24, 2011 #

  16. Exactly 250 words! My subject was naivety. I’m not sure if I used the words right but oh well.

    There was a lack of understanding amongst the town that I
    resided in. My whole family lived here, on this town on a hill. I was the only
    person to ever venture outside of the town. I went to college and got a major
    in behavioral science and no matter
    how nerdy or stupid it sounded, I became the smartest person in the town by a
    landslide. Everyone else in the town was very naïve to everything else in the
    world, it caused them to become borderline
    mentally retarded, which is something I know because of my degree. I know
    too that everyone must antecede at
    their own pace, mine was substantially faster than everyone else.

     

    My town is not old, it is fairly new really, and the people
    in here are very scared of the outside world. I say the outside world because
    we have built a circumvallate around
    the town. There is a sort of government that runs us and they provide us with
    everything we need and for food, we understand it doesn’t come out of nowhere,
    there is a cellarer who brings us
    food.

     

    I was not supposed to go to college, in fact, no one in the
    town knows I went to college, I had to sneak out to do so. People know I’m
    smart because I prove to be this way. One night each week I collaborate with a bunch of people to
    plan an escape. My people are naïve. It’s how I live.

    Comment by Robby O'Neill — November 24, 2011 #

  17. bakery, dignity, egoism, euphoria, compound, categorize.
    subject – noncomformist

    I had always felt like i didn’t belong . . . i felt different, but isn’t everybody different? what’s different? everyone asked me, where’s your dignity? i just felt indifferent, even a bit euphoric, when i heard this question. i’m just a noncomformist; proud to be an outsider. when someone asks me where my dignity is, my answer to that question is: wherever i can see it, that’s what matters. where is yours? what are you doing for your life noticing what people do or don’t, are or aren’t, categorizing others as if they were chemical compounds, as if they were chocolate or vanilla muffins in a bakery. 

    Comment by Marianne Langrand — November 24, 2011 #

  18. the creature was quite a find, he decided to work late the excitement bubbling in him. Rubbing his eye he looked at the print out the tests showed the subject was positive for androsterone along with other ‘human’ markers, it was also bimanous and seemed to be wearing a crude bangle. It’s skin was burnt sienna and not like anything he had seen before. He wondered if he was dreaming or if this really could be the find of his career, it was too bad no-one out side of the compound would ever hear of this except maybe the president. He continued reading the print out, his blood was pounding in his ears and he felt like his heart was pulled from his chest in a centrifugal force, his world spun and he sank to his knees, head in his hands and sobbed, this piece of paper could change the world.  

    Comment by Anonymous — November 25, 2011 #

  19. Ever since he was young, things had been difficult for him. He’d suffered from croup,
    a condition which still hadn’t quite cleared up, and sometimes caused problems for him even now. No acting company he had gone to at first had been interested in such a
    cadaverous young man joining their ranks, and those that would accept him, he couldn’t
    afford to attend. He needed a backer, but who would be interested in giving money to him? It wasn’t until his twenty-eighth birthday, sitting in the club listening to his twin brother – a doctor – explaining to him the purposes of chyle in
    digestion that his life finally took a good turn.

    It was the DJ who overheard him talking about his dreams to his brother, and how he was quickly approaching ‘far too old’ to even have a chance of reaching them. She approached, asking him whether or not he was interested in helping her with a project, and, if so, would he meet up with her the next day at the coffee house? Wary, but slightly tipsy, he agreed.

    Meeting her the next day, he was shown her plans: she was in charge of casting, music and design for a television short, advertising an acting group for underprivileged children. He agreed, it was filmed, and a couple of months later, aired. They watched it together, and as she hugged him he realised: it wouldn’t win him an Oscar, but this was the best thing he’d ever done.

    (Words: Backer, Cadaverous, Chyle, Croup, Design, DJ, Oscar)

    Comment by Shannon Mooney — November 25, 2011 #

  20. Subject word: Harlot
    Beneficiary, commiserate, Dassie, Esparto, flighty, galley

    “I’m afraid I’ve some bad news. You’re Aunt Rita is dead.
    But on the plus side, as she’d no children, you’ll be the sole beneficiary. Turns out while she was in
    Africa, she got a bit too close to the wildlife out there and got attacked by a
    Dassie. Some rodent creature or
    other. Anyway, if you want to commiserate,
    or celebrate, depending on how much money she left you, I’ll be at the pub.” My
    father’s answering machine message cut out, leaving me feeling rather perplexed
    at the amount of information I’d received, and the casual way he had announced
    it.

    Wow, Aunt Rita, dead. A flighty
    woman, with a bit of a reputation, the stories she used to tell both fascinated
    and slightly scared me. Whether it was getting a bit too friendly with a young
    sailor in the galley of a navy ship,
    or collecting samples of Esparto grass
    in Northern Africa, Rita had done it all. It wasn’t all particularly good
    though. Family rumour had it that she was a bit of a harlot, and had managed to
    amass quite a fortune with a series of short-lived marriages to older,
    wealthier men in her twenties and thirties. I guess I’d soon find out.

    After the message from my father I was ready for a pint.
    When I arrived, he was in his usual corner. Neither of us knew quite what to
    say. He had, after all, been close to his only sibling. In the end, he raised a
    glass and said simply, “to Rita, thanks for the memories.”  

    Comment by Catherine Brook — November 25, 2011 #

  21. Jonathon was a malpractice lawyer. The best malpractice lawyer in London, a title he went to great lengths to keep, and the reason he was at the damned funeral at all. It was one of those ethnic affairs, a gospel choir and tambourines. The men shouting “Hallelujah” and “praise the lord”, the women shaking their heads and saying “mmmhmm, that’s right” under their breath as they fanned themselves with their programmes, failing to stir the turgid air.
                   The deceased’s next of kin, however, was the Deacon of the church where the funeral was taking place and Jonathon’s presence would put him in good stead for gaining the case. A very lucrative case it was too; old man Raynor had owned the biggest car showroom chain in Britain, and the private hospital which had misdiagnosed his prostate cancer as erectile dysfunction were ripe for a kicking. A kicking he was eager to provide and charge them for the pleasure.
                   Jonathon was brought out of his daydream when a fat old woman in a too large hat let her fan flop onto his arm, realising a smile had crept onto his face at his musings. The congregation were filing up to see the body; he couldn’t get out of it without causing a commotion.  “Well I guess I could go take a gander at the old codger” he mused. Jonathon gazed into the coffin and saw a man much shrunken from the flabby arrogant man on the adverts. He looked around and saw, really saw for the first time the people sobbing over their loss and realised he shouldn’t have come.

    My word were, Best, Commotion, Deacon,Deacon, Ethnic, Flop, Gander and the subject was Malpractice. 

    Comment by Terrance Trent D'arby — November 25, 2011 #

  22. I’ve been writing a book and this really helped me move past a writer’s block.

    Brindel
    is here.  She is the arresting gear that
    brings what light left in my morning crashing to the tarmac.  She talks about herself..her hair..her
    friends, her job, her enemies…She is the booster shot for the music I am known
    for. Her comosed hair, pulled tight against her scalp only enhances the major
    differences between her and I. My hair is dark and long and colorful. I hide my
    eyes under it like a marine in a gillisuit. Her arrogance hides her cowardice.
    My silence hides my cunning.  I return
    back to my plate hoping to rectify the wrong of it all but the jelly is stuck
    in the plastic and will not budge. I think my grandmother referred to this as
    damson cheese….no wonder know one eats it anymore. They just put it in a little
    plastic container and mass market it to institutions like this one where the captives
    are not worthy of real jelly. I throw my spork down and give up.

    I
    wait til the guard allows us to leave and head back toward my cell. A second
    guard is handing out mail as we pass. To my surprise she hands me two pieces.
    One is a large manila envelope, the other a small postcard. The postcard
    intrigues me. It isn’t fancy like the “Welcome to Wyoming “ jackelope or the scenic
    highways with comic sayings. Simple..white..with a little logo about using some
    product. It is from my Dad,

                Sunny,

    I’ve decided to bury Shannon next to your
    mother and West Grove Cemetary. It was to be my resting spot but I will try to
    find another. We will bury her on Tuesday after next. Jason and his wife and
    kids will come and a few from the club. Thought you should know.

    Dad

     

                That ‘s my Dad, only the facts..no
    emotion, no concern, nothing but the critical details. I’m almost jealous.
    Shannon gets to be buried with Mom for eternity. I would love to crawl inside
    her arms and cry. She would stroke my hair behind my ear and tell me it will be
    o.k.

    Comment by Dawn Brown — November 26, 2011 #

  23. Subject: 
    Robot BombWords:

    Apex

    Biotron

    Building

    Cinderella

    Common fraction

    ContentStory: 

    After Cinderella
    married the prince she was at the apex
    of her career. She was going to be the first women to successfully design a
    robot bomb. She had been working on this bomb for years trying to the perfect
    one; it was actually quite simple all you had to do was play around with some common fraction.

    Today was the day she would perfect the bomb. She was
    feeling quite content with herself
    as she walked into the biotron building
    in which she worked. As soon she walked into the building her robot bomb
    exploded killing the entire city. “Well” she thought as she felt herself dying “at
    least my bomb worked.”

    Comment by mae lavacek — November 26, 2011 #

  24. This was so much fun, I’ll have to try your other creativity boosts :)

    Subject: Remanning
    Charlie rose
    unsteadily, creaking his skinny little legs into motion. Much to the
    self-proclaimed coward’s astonishment, he hadn’t, in fact,
    been subjected to a horrific demise while on the plane. Against all
    odds, the slack trousered, floppy eared twelve year old had arrived
    (relatively) untainted and untraumatized into the enveloping arms of
    Como, Italy.

    He kicked his toe
    against the yellow curb, squinting into the crisp August sun,
    scanning the crowd for his great aunt. The woman – like many things
    - scared the living daylights out of the boy. She spent her days
    brewing damson plum wine, exercising her lungs with hearty
    vocabulary that often had Charlie both fascinated and mystified, and
    composing provocative poetry on the shore of the great glittering
    lake.

    Charlie was unaware
    that he would come to adore the city and his aunt; that he
    would grow into his absurd ears, shed his myriad of phobias, acquire
    a tan and even kiss a girl named Jenna amidst the stacks of his
    aunt’s canning on a cool spring afternoon. He had no idea that
    he would one day play beer pong and get arrested for
    shoplifting by a cop who called him a “lowlife booster”,
    even though, as Charlie had patiently explained, he was under the
    influence of psychedelics and had honestly believed he was roving the
    plains of Mars in search of his missing bubblebum machine, not
    swiping a lacy lingerie set from the local boutique.

    No, at that moment
    Charlie was nothing but a scrawny prepubescent orphan, terrified
    of his own shadow, very alone in what he had recently discovered to
    be a very, very large world.

    Comment by Cayenne Bradley — November 26, 2011 #

  25. How can I do this?  I have the OED and it has 21 volumes!!!  This is not the latest edition but I find it still works well under most circumstances.

    Comment by Anonymous — November 26, 2011 #

  26. barbarity, charbroil, consummate, drainpipe, euthanize, file; my subject is morphine (and i now believe that i have the worst dictionary in the world)
     
     
    As soon as I set foot on
    this new land I had a feeling that I wouldn’t like it. I was used to a world
    with manners and streets and cleanliness–not a world with such barbarity as
    this; I believe one man even tried to sell me a charbroiled flower at one
    point. However, to consummate the deal we had made, knew that I must live here
    for three months. Oh, I just know I’m going to die trying. I never thought one
    drunken game of poker could land me in a place like this. My dignity is
    officially down the drainpipe. I began my journey across
    a small town to begin the day. I had to find a place to stay so I began to speak
    with one meager looking man standing next to a small building.“Excuse
    me, sir, have you possibly—”The small man pulled out a spear and pointed it
    directly at me, mumbling something in what seemed to be another language. “Oh!
    My, now there is no need for that!” A few other people came over to me and
    circled around me, angrily yelling things I couldn’t understand. I scoured my
    pockets for something to defend myself with—a file. I drew the file out and
    held it as if it were a worthy weapon for their spears.  “Please, I mean no harm,” I tried to explain;
    obviously it sounded more like a threat to them. They all began to pull me down
    the street; it was as if they were going to euthanize me like the police do
    back home.  Oh, if only I’d just stayed
    home from that poker game like I’d intended.

     

    Comment by Anonymous — November 26, 2011 #

  27. completely forgot to focus on morphine; didn’t even mention it! my bad!

    Comment by Anonymous — November 26, 2011 #

  28. Subject word: Mine

    I was
    sitting at my desk with my laptop running in front of me as I heard a boom from outside the window, a
    thunderstorm something I gave my countenance to as it managed to set the mood
    without disrupting.

    The phone
    call previously had set me of my path, my publisher had asked me to forgo the one thing that I always said
    that I wouldn’t and now I didn’t know how to move forward. I was just sitting
    there staring at the screen that gave of the only light in the room until the
    thunder was followed by a flash.

    As the time
    moved on the storm came closer and closer and the flashes started to appear in groups rather than one by one. Still
    with the clock tick-tocking on the wall the words appeared as in a rhythm with
    the tick, the tock and the thunder. They made it on to the electronic paper
    that lately had replaced my notebooks and pens, as the race of Homo sapiens developed and matured into
    a different era, so did I.

    The words
    were flowing freely now, my publisher long from my mind as the formation that
    the words took was a mirror of me rather than her. Not matter what; the story
    was mine not hers.

    Comment by Carolina Lundin — November 26, 2011 #

  29. [...] was sitting stumbling around on the internet again, and stumbled on this page. The idea is to find random words in a dictionary and write a story with less than 250 [...]

    Pingback by A story about Mine | What Should I Call My Blog — November 26, 2011 #

  30. My words are: boom – disrupt – forgo – group – Homo sapiens

    Comment by Carolina Lundin — November 26, 2011 #

  31. Sisters in Name Only
    “Don’t you look lovely today?” Only Wyn could acidify a compliment as though I would believe her. Wyn: the epitome of beneficence.I was in my favorite chambray button down with a pair of jeans. I loved how I looked up until I met up with Wyn. Wyn was in a white chiffon blouse that clung to her like ‘drapings’ on a Greek goddess. She wore a pair of black cire pants. All together, she looked like a fashionable business woman.“Why thank you Wyn. As usual, you are overdressed.” We were going to the fucking movies. Who else would see her in the dark?“Dress to impress! That’s what I always say. You never know who you might meet and first impressions mean everything.”  “To you” I thought to myself.“I’d rather be comfortable, thank-you-very-much. And besides, who the fuck am I going to meet at a theater?”“No one that’s going to be impressed, that’s for sure.” “Whatever.” I noticed Wyn rolling her eyes at that. God she annoys me. How did we even come from the same womb? I swear, one of us was switched at birth and ended up in the wrong family.And yet, I oblige my sister and accompany her to the movies.And what do you know? She actually meets someone that’s impressed with her. Some dimwit beefcake that was in the popcorn line, leaving me to sit alone, at this stupid ass movie that I didn’t even want to see.Bitch.

    [My words: acidify, as though, beneficence, chambray, cire. Subject: nominal]

    Comment by Anonymous — November 26, 2011 #

  32. Our house sits encircles by the ocean. Every morning the brine sprays my face. Tomorrow this will be no more. Tomorrow I will have the courage to leave and go far away from here. Far from my abusive father, far from my cowardice mother, who is always making dastardly plans to kick me out of the house.
            I might go so far as to leave this hemisphere, though I doubt it. As I stood on my balcony contemplating this, a seagull landed beside me, not knowing he is an interruption to my train of thought. He could fly far away from here.
           “Take me with you, Mr. Seagull. Won’t you?” The bird just tilted his head and flew away, realizing I have no food to give him.
           My parents need to learn that they can’t go around ruining other people’s lives. It’s not fair.  
          Here I am, 17 years old, and am already going to be living on my own, far, far away from here…

    Words: brine, dastardly, encircle, hemisphere, interruption, learn
    Subject: far

    Comment by McKena Anderson — November 26, 2011 #

  33. Apple Blockhouse Calm Chiliad Colorimeter Coquetry

    “How do you feel about Apple Red?” I tried, glancing up from
    my crinkled notepad for the last time. From the look of my clients face as she
    rubbed her temples, I simply crossed off yet another possible color
    combination. I’d always assumed that cozy houses were calm, but her modern-day
    blockhouse was turning out to be a pain in my undereducated ass.

                    “You’re
    supposed to be my interior designer, you tell me,” she sighed melodramatically
    as she clicked her French fingernails on her iPhone screen and held it up to
    her gold-studded ear. With my client distracted, I rolled my eyes and stared at
    the Hampton sunlight sinking into the fresh carpet. I’d have to get a
    colorimeter in here to measure the light coming in before I even thought about
    furnishing the lamps.

    Maybe a soft Hermosa pink-a shade
    with enough coquetry to balance out the rest of the house. Or possibly a Yale
    blue, or a Pine green, or Papaya whip yellow. There were chiliads of possibilities
    to choose from, but I’m starting to doubt that any of them would please this
    snotty witch.

    Comment by Susan Dirks — November 26, 2011 #

  34. Subject: Reel
    Words – baccy, caravan, cock of the walk, degree, doormat, element.

    Jammy Jim us kids called him. Old Jim the scary old man  who spent his days in his pyjamas, with his arse parked in a tatty armchair outside his old caravan smoking his smelly baccy and swearing at anyone who dared come within hollering distance.
    “Thinks he’s cock of the walk he does” muttered my Nan from across the kitchen table “but he nothing more than stupid old codger without a degree of sanity left” She scraped her chair back and hoisted herself up to the kitchen window, lifted the lace curtain by its corner and stared across the field, chin up and eyes squinting like she always does when trying to spy on the neighbours or see what us kids were up to at the playground down the street.

    “His poor old wife Edie, she was nothing but his doormat. Best thing she did was pack her suitcases. She is in Las Vegas now they said, right in her element, she always did love those pokies did Edie”
    You would have thought I was thinking of Edie in Vegas, but no all I got was the image of her as an actual doormat outside the Jammy Jim’s caravan. Jammy Jim’s boots trampling her day after day.

    “Was he always  mean like that Nan? ” I asked. “Like what, a silly old fool? ” she replied as she sat back down at the table. “Nah, he was once a decent bloke. He built houses, good at it too. He even built this one”
    “This one?” I queried looking around the familar room full of Nan’s things.

    I did not like what I was feeling right now. I  had always felt safe inside Nan’s house, I was away from JIm’s prying eyes and his horrible words. Once inside the door I  had gone from his world and was in my own little cocoon of which he had knowledge. But he did know! He knew where the bedroom was and where we ate our dinner. My safe little world was crumbling around me!

    Comment by Maureen Bremner — November 27, 2011 #

  35. I’m a little late, but this was fun! This was a great idea and helped me start to write again!

    My words: Arachnid, bloodletting, Calcium Sulfate,
    Collodion, corroborate, curculio

    Subject: Deathwatch

     

     

     

    Leaning on the closed door, he inhaled and stared at the
    intricacy before him. A brilliant web, about the size of a dinner plate, had
    appeared during the course of one afternoon. 
    Constructed snugly between the porch light and the banister, the web
    seemed perfectly symmetrical, including the striped arachnid in the center. It waited in the center, patiently waiting
    for its chance to perform some
    bloodletting.  He stared for an
    indeterminate amount of time, collecting himself. As he reopened the door, his
    vision shifted from the spiderweb to the gypsum crystal decorating the table
    inside. Calcium Sulfate, he muttered
    to himself, absentmindedly. Strange what useless information comes to the
    surface during macabre times, another part of him noted.

     

    He had taken a geology class during his brief stint at
    University. Uninterested in the core required classes, he had taken exactly one
    class in each subject that seemed interesting: Geology, Philosophy, Psychology,
    Biology, and Entomology to name a few. For each subject, acquiring a basic knowledge
    was satisfying enough; no subject was intriguing enough to delve deeper than an
    introductory level.  Acquiring such a
    broad yet cursory knowledge made it easy for him to carry on those pseudointellectual
    conversations that tend to last ten minutes, at most. His last one was about
    the collodion process, which he had learned during photography in his second semester.

    Shaking off
    splinters of memory, he entered into the dimly lit room. His family was
    gathered around the bed, corroborating her death.

    “Looks like
    she was waiting for you to leave before…” His Aunt trailed off. 

    He
    sighed.  Finally, her suffering was over.
    She was not afraid of death, and had quietly slipped away, much like he had
    when he decided to have a quick smoke outside.

     

    Unsure of
    himself, he exited once again to the solitude of the porch.  He reached for his lighter, wishing he could
    clear his fragmented mind.  Exhaling, he
    disturbed a beetle that had hoped to use the porch as shelter for the night.
    Perturbed, it buzzed around in circles before deciding on an escape route.  It flew over the banister, passing through
    the spiderweb with surprising ease and disappeared into the evening air. He stared
    at the section of web that was destroyed in the process and the spider that
    immediately began reconstruction.

    “Curculio” he
    whispered, to no one in particular.

    Comment by christin — November 27, 2011 #

  36. Subject: Field Event
    Words: conjure, fundamentals, infidel, piety, smock, twinkle

    I had
    failed to conjure up the thought of
    how my husband and I met.  It had
    perplexed me that I could not remember this. 
    The fundamentals couldn’t
    come back to me, I… couldn’t remember! 
    All I could remember were the small insignificant details he was an infidel and I was a piety in the religion of Catholicism
    and he converted for me (mostly my parents.) 
    I was painting landscapes that day with my green and purple smock and then… ugh I still can’t
    remember!   All I remember is that
    amazing twinkle in his eyes as he
    was – running!!  Oh my god!  That’s it – he was running because the
    landscape I painted was next to a foot ball field!  We met at the Connaway High senior’s only
    football game! 

    **I’m only in middle school sorry if it’s not good enough

    Comment by Kasey Lynn — November 27, 2011 #

  37. [...] THINKing » Creativity Boost #3 – Dictionary Excursion Source: http://www.my-creativeteam.com [...]

    Pingback by THINKing » Creativity Boost #3 – Dictionary Excursion | Daily Musings From Around About | Scoop.it — November 28, 2011 #

  38.  

     TABULA RASA

     

    Autocephalous, Celsius, Contemporaneous, Ducat, Faceless,
    Foodie

     

                I awoke in a strange place, my head hammering in perfect
    sync to a contemporaneous disco beat
    coming from somewhere in the distance. As I groped around the floor in the semi
    darkness, I came upon a TV remote and started punching buttons.  After several failed attempts, a 42-inch flat
    screen finally came to life, illuminating what I soon discovered was a run down
    motel room. An all-news station announced that it was November 1st
    and temperature steady at 10 degrees Celsius.
    My last memory was leaving my dad’s Halloween party and hauling my autocephalous ass into a cab.

               As I stumbled around the room, I tripped over a male body
    lying on the DNA infested shag carpeting. I jumped back then cautiously tried
    to nudge him awake. He lay there motionless, and with a pounding head and
    heart, I searched for a pulse but failed. Panicked, I arose and began pacing.
    My stomach was growling and being the foodie
    that I am, I spied an open bag of Cheezies and polished off the rest. I didn’t
    care to know his identity but a leather satchel beckoned me. I carefully opened
    it and pulled out several passports, rolls of different foreign currency and a
    pre WW1 gold ducat.  Hugging the bag closely, I left the room and gratefully
    looked up to the heavens. My faceless
    days behind me, I was ready to make my mark, prepared for my tabula rasa.

    Comment by Anonymous — November 28, 2011 #

  39. We’re glad we could give you a little creativity boost, Christin.

    Comment by Harry Hoover — November 28, 2011 #

  40. Subject: Loose ends
    Words: barbarize, charbroil, consummate, drainpipe, euthanize, file

                    I wish
    it could have been over then, but even after I had lost my humanity and barbarized, there were still a few
    loose ends to tie up.  It was true that
    he was dead; I had made sure of that.   Yes, the flames were still fresh in my memory,
    red and gold as they devoured his flesh, consummate
    in their indiscriminate destruction.  Oh,
    how delicious his charbroiled skin
    had smelled… Still, there were things left undone.  These things I could not ignore.

                    First
    was the matter of the gardener.  He would
    find the ashes in the morning; at the very least, there was now a bald patch in
    the impeccably manicured lawn.    I could not
    bear the thought of him reaping the benefits of my sacrifice.  The drainpipe
    would be my solution.  I used a file from the shed and rigged said
    drainpipe so that if he walked towards the back of the house, it would fall,
    striking him dead.

                    The
    other, slightly less pressing matter was the dog.  It was inside, sound asleep for now, but
    eventually would notice its master’s absence. 
    If it went outside, it could easily dig up his bones.  This would ruin everything.  I finally decided upon taking it with me, to
    have it euthanized later.

    Comment by Sachiko Hayashi — November 28, 2011 #

  41. I know this is way longer than 250 words, which probably defeats the point of this exercise, but I’m very proud of it.

    Subject word: Estrogen
    View, Colossal, Soppy, Iodizing, Burgle, Earshot
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                She
    pulled the curtain back nervously with two fingers, her other arm almost
    clenching, rather than cradling her waist.  She would have preferred the movement to appear careless,
    but to Jack and his mother it seemed fidgety and distracted.  Her desire to nonchalantly take in the
    view of Lower Mount Street in Dublin completely betrayed her to the two people she wanted
    to relieve most.  It was hard for
    her to remain calm in the cramped, yellowish-grey room, surrounded by beeping
    machines whose functions she was far from understanding, while feeling the
    scrutiny of impatient stares from her husband and mother-in-law.  She thought of returning to the
    colossal dish of green gelatin that an orderly had left on the bedside table for her,
    hoping that an exhibition of an appetite might throw them off.  However, the sight of the soppy,
    partially congealed dessert turned her stomach more than the medication that
    the doctors had put her on.

                The
    doctor broke the tension as she pushed open the door of the hospital room,
    gently rapping her knuckles on the light, inexpensive wood.  “Pardon me, I wasn’t sure if I’d be
    interrupting anything.”

                “No,
    not at all,” said the elder Mrs. Moran. 
    “I hope you have some news,” she inquired, making sure to direct a
    slanting gaze at her daughter-in-law, who had not let her or Jack in on the
    cause for all the secrecy and worry.

                “Actually,
    if I could speak alone with Miriam for a moment,” the doctor suggested,
    alleviating Miriam’s stress momentarily.  She would rather tell Jack what the doctor had to say later
    in private, away from the judgmental glances and offhanded comments of his
    mother. 

                Mrs.
    Moran briefly looked as if she was offended, but quickly lifted her eyebrows in
    disinterest and stood up from the mauve, polyester chair she had been
    occupying.  “Excuse us,” she said,
    as she searched for the spot she had laid her pocketbook and purifying water
    bottle, which had continuously been drip-drip-dripping, iodizing the National
    Maternity Hospital’s fountain water for the past twenty minutes.

                For
    a moment, it appeared as if Jack was going to protest, but the pleading look he
    was receiving from Miriam dissuaded him from any confrontation, and he silently
    assisted his mother out of the room.

                “I’m
    afraid I have to be the barer of bad news,” the doctor began, after they were
    out of earshot.  The gnawing in
    Miriam’s stomach instantly became a black hole, consuming all feeling, the
    numbness quickly working its way outwards toward her limbs.  “It appears that your body isn’t
    capable of producing the amount of estrogen your womb needs in order to produce
    a pregnancy,” she continued.  “The
    late periods you’ve been experiencing are a symptom of estrogen deficiency.  Ordinarily, with younger women, this is a
    treatable condition, but I’m afraid in your case, you may be experiencing the
    early signs of premature menopause.” 
    Miriam could do nothing but stare past the left side of the doctor’s
    face, her lips pinching as her mouth went dry, unable to control her arms now
    as they wrapped tighter and tighter around her mid-section, desperately trying
    to hold on to the womanhood that was spontaneously being burgled.

                “I’m
    sorry to have to tell you this,” she faintly heard the doctor carry on. “It
    would seem that you are infertile.”

                The
    world fell out from under Miriam’s feet, and right before blackness devoured
    her, Jack’s disheartened face flickered in and out of her vision

    Comment by Stacey Hash — November 28, 2011 #

  42. Soutar

    The ambitious apprentice
    read the Professor’s autocue so that
    he could predict when to switch the electrode
    on or off.

    Although an inexact
    procedure it was at least reasonable.
    The apprentice felt that it entitled
    him to rise up the list of soutars for the post of senior laboratory
    technician.

    (51 words) 28 November 2011

    Comment by George Clark — November 28, 2011 #

  43. Gimcrack

    Although mild in winter it is savage in summer when vigorous storms unleash terrestrial
    winds that rip up trees and reap havoc with the villagers neatly refurbished
    gardens. Many people are ground down by the endless struggle and are less than
    fastidious in effecting repairs.

    Just as well then that the league of galvanized gardeners
    with their spades and secateurs are
    unaware of the havoc caused by solar
    winds. The burgeoning gimcrackery
    would then surely and rapidly escalate to total neglect.

    (82 words) 28 November 2011

    Comment by George Clark — November 28, 2011 #

  44. [...] for tomorrow’s blog, that I was going to write today but didn’t – it came from this site.) I even posted on twitter for someone to tell me what to write about – these things were [...]

    Pingback by I Hate Writing | I Live Among Lions — November 29, 2011 #

  45. Funny. I forgot Cambrian, one of my six words. I had it in my ‘first’ draft of this exercise. I don’t know how I completely missed it!

    Comment by Anonymous — November 29, 2011 #

  46. How about one per volume ;)

    Comment by Anonymous — November 29, 2011 #

  47. I used my PONS Basiswörterbuch – Deutsch als Fremdsprache to do the list. I then translated the words in German to english (selecting always the first word from the queue obtained from Google Translate).German: Title: LöschenWords: bestrafen, existieren, Genie, Kamerad, Kutter, LuftlinieEnglish:Deleteexist, punish, genius, mate, cutter, air lineI punish, ergo I exist. I have never considered myself a genius, nor someone important. However, the plan was carefully laid out, and now the exit route is clear, certain. The banker lies on the floor, like Dostoyevsky’s decrepit and female shylock. My motives are purer. My hand was swifter. It was a work of years, of slowly befriending a man who wanted nothing less than to control everything. He told me so, years ago. “We will place our pipelines on the Caspian and rule the world”. It made me sick. I could have stopped seeing him, I could have stopped answering my cell phone, but I did not. I was a mate. He started seeing me as a friend far to easily, perhaps because he did not know many other people who were not blatantly after his family’s money and status (lonely guy, poor thing). I did not care about that. His throat has stopped launching a jet of blood, now it oozes quietly. The floor is red. Will it make a difference? I doubt it. My project was something that did not require a material reason, that had no objectives. Perhaps I could just take away my life with this cutter that I had seen on his desk this morning. It is Sunday; the office is deserted; bankers are always taking their own lives. I went outside and called the airline on my cell phone.

    Comment by Manuel Yglesias — November 29, 2011 #

  48. I used my PONS Basiswörterbuch – Deutsch als Fremdsprache to do the list. I then translated the words in German to english (selecting always the first word from the queue obtained from Google Translate).

    German: Title: Löschen

    Words: bestrafen, existieren, Genie, Kamerad, Kutter, Luftlinie

    English:

    Delete

    exist, punish, genius, mate, cutter, air line

    I punish, ergo I exist. I have never considered myself a genius, nor someone important. However, the plan was carefully laid out, but it has no clear exit route. The banker lies on the floor, like Dostoyevsky’s decrepit and female shylock. 

    My motives are purer. My hand was swifter.

    It was a work of years, of slowly befriending a man who wanted nothing less than to control everything. He told me so, years ago. “We will place our pipelines on the Caspian and rule the world”. It made me sick. I could have stopped seeing him, I could have stopped answering my cell phone, but I did not. I was a mate. He started seeing me as a friend far to easily, perhaps because he did not know many other people who were not blatantly after his family’s money and status (lonely guy, poor thing). I do not care about money. His throat has stopped launching a jet of blood, now it oozes quietly. The floor is red.

    Will it make a difference? I doubt it. My project was something that did not require a material reason, that had no objectives. Perhaps I could just take away my life with this cutter that I had seen on his desk this morning.

    It is Sunday; the office is deserted; bankers are always taking their own lives.

    I will go outside and call the airline on my cell phone, get a ticket to somewhere.

    (243 words, including title)

    Comment by Manuel Yglesias — November 29, 2011 #

  49. I used my PONS Basiswörterbuch – Deutsch als Fremdsprache to do the list. I then translated the words in German to english (selecting always the first word from the queue obtained from Google Translate).

    German: Title: Löschen

    Words: bestrafen, existieren, Genie, Kamerad, Kutter, Luftlinie

    English:

    Delete

    exist, punish, genius, mate, cutter, air line

    I punish, ergo I exist. I have never considered myself a genius, nor someone important. However, the plan was carefully laid out, but it has no clear exit route. The banker lies on the floor, like Dostoyevsky’s decrepit and female shylock. 

    My motives are purer. My hand was swifter.

    It was a work of years, of slowly befriending a man who wanted nothing less than to control everything. He told me so, years ago. “We will place our pipelines on the Caspian and rule the world”. It made me sick. I could have stopped seeing him, I could have stopped answering my cell phone, but I did not. I was a mate. He started seeing me as a friend far to easily, perhaps because he did not know many other people who were not blatantly after his family’s money and status (lonely guy, poor thing). I do not care about money. His throat has stopped launching a jet of blood, now it oozes quietly. The floor is red.

    Will it make a difference? I doubt it. My project was something that did not require a material reason, that had no objectives. Perhaps I could just take away my life with this cutter that I had seen on his desk this morning.

    It is Sunday; the office is deserted; bankers are always taking their own lives.

    I will go outside and call the airline on my cell phone, get a ticket to somewhere.

    (243 words, including title)

    Comment by Manuel Yglesias — November 29, 2011 #

  50. Subject word: reprint. Words: blunder, cupola, dupe, gone, hurricane, interview.

    “So, how’s your book going? Any improvement? I’ve heard of John’s blunder, man, he’s such a dupe! I’ve seen him standing under the cupola still waiting after three days without any rest. I really cannot imagine what the poor guy is thinking waiting hopelessly like that.”
    “Oh, book’s going just fine, thank you. Yes, John’s attitude is rather peculiar, but what could we expect from an unemployed fellow living with his grandmother who gets the chance of a lifetime working as a full-time insurance agent and misses the interview?”
    “Yes, poor guy’s gone with the wind. Or with the hurricane if you ask me. Hope you won’t think bad of me, but it’s sheer reality.”
    “I don’t think bad of you, my friend, your concern rather amuses me. So much concern for a fictional character, it seems that my book is going to be a breakthrough. I am going to reprint it as soon as I print it.”

    Comment by Oana Hristea — December 1, 2011 #

  51. askew, bullyrag, chicken snake, crosse, despot, distention

    subject word – moleskin

    Jamie picked up his moleskin cap from the hook in the mudroom as he headed out the back door.  It was early, but he had to collect the eggs and milk the cow before he met his friends for practice.  He trudged through the wet grass to the coop, grabbing his crosse from the dooryard where he’d left it the day before.  As he neared the gate of chicken wire he head the hens clucking uneasily.  Where was the rooster?  He was usually strutting around by now, pecking at the weeds for his breakfast.  Jamie unhooked the latch and made his way across the pen and into the coop.  The clucking was louder and more frantic now.  Stepping in, he saw the cause of the fuss.  A large, black chicken snake was bullyragging the hens, even though his belly was already distended, Jamie guessed, with the rooster.

    The snake had curled up in a corner when he came in, so Jamie decided to ignore it and collect the eggs, trying to calm the hens as he went.  He placed the eggs carefully in the head of his crosse.  As he neared the end of the coop where the snake lay, he gave it a kick.  It reared up and hissed at him like a threatened despot, his gut too full with the rooster to allow his swift escape.  Jamie, not willing to leave the snake in the house with the hens, prodded him again, this time with the stick end of his crosse, careful not to dislodge any eggs.  The snake struck, and Jamie jumped back.  In the space he had left the snake slithered slowly out the door.  Jamie straightened his moleskin cap, knocked askew in the skirmish, and hurried to the house, one chore finished.

    Comment by Anonymous — December 3, 2011 #

  52. (This is SO hard to do!! None of my words have anything to do with eachother, giving them cohesion is impossible!)
    Subject word: Mosquito
    angler, bartend, blind alley, canned, Chanukah, cincture
    The Mosquito
    Mike’s bar was down a blind alley that people usually associate with muggers and prostitutes.  But anyone who stumbled across it, would be surprised.  It’s an Irish Pub with hunting and fishing themes.  Mike was an angler and fisherman on his weekends off.  The bar was called The Mosquito, and Mke was not just the owner, but a bartenders too.
    Mikes dad had started the bar when he was three, he loved fishing, drinking, and being married to Mikes mom.  She was Jewish, and he called her his Jewish Princess.  She delighted in all things Jewish, the holidays, the Torah, even the diet.
    Usually on the very first day of Chanukah, Mike closed the bar and went fishing, while he hired a company to kosher clean the bar.
    He got to the bar early that first morning, waiting for the cleaning company, finding his ex girlfriend waiting for him.
    “Ihis is a surprise, didn’t expected to see  you.”
    “I know, I messed things up, I came to ask you a question.”
    Mike lifted his eyebrows in question.
    “I got fired from my job, and I am needing another job.”
    “You? Canned? You are an accountant, what did you do, extortion?”
    Miranda got a pained look on her face.  “Do you really think that badly of me? No, its simply was last hired, first fired.”
    “I’m sorry, I think I can let you do something.”
    Mike smiled and opened his arms so he could cincture her  in his arms.

    250 words

    Comment by Stacie Heyen — December 4, 2011 #

  53. The Maturation of Amazon Dolphins

     

    The community of Amazon Dolphins off the coast of
    Argentina was astir. They swam
    gracefully through the water, playing and calling to each other, full of life.
    They were not predated upon; they were undisturbed, safe, and happy. The Amazon
    Dolphins were beloved to the human residing on the beautiful Argentinean coast.
    The Amazon Dolphins were important to the tourism industry, for cruises were
    run hourly into the places where the most active dolphins could be seen. And
    all was well. However, in Brazil, there was a chemical plant that manufactured
    products for science laboratories. In this plant, barbituric acid was made. Barbituric acid is a white, odorless
    powder that is soluble in water and highly dangerous to dolphins. This chemical
    plant had produced too much of the acid and they were not aware of the dangers
    it posed to dolphins. Rashly, they poured two tons of barbituric acid into the
    Atlantic Ocean, directly into the area most densely populated by dolphins.

                The
    barbituric acid was not dangerous in a typical way. It was not life
    threatening; it didn’t seem to physically affect the dolphins at all. However,
    when they ingested the powder, the normally happy and playful dolphins became bloodthirsty brats. They fought,
    refused to perform their tricks in front of humans, and, as they matured, they
    became downright barbaric, slaughtering their young or refusing to nurse and
    protect the vulnerable youth. The tourism industry that had been built upon the
    existence of the dolphins was wrecked, for the dolphins’ erratic behavior was traumatizing
    to young children. An industry that had been building and growing rapidly was
    no longer buildable, due to
    unhealthy levels of barbituric acid and an irresponsible chemical plant

    Comment by Anonymous — December 6, 2011 #

  54. An individual amongst the crowd. No more visible than a
    balmony amongst the weeds. Yearning, searching for an aspirator, an infusion of
    oxygen into the putrefying recesses of the soul. Elusive and unattainable. Must
    not give into temptation. Must not grant control of my destiny to a burghmaster
    intent on directing my existence, fencing me in. Must not submit my body to the
    first blowfly to drop his breeches, intent on finding a place to plant his offspring.
    Must not submit to the longings of an Alpheus, an honest pursuer, not of you,
    but of an ideal of you. His need so powerful that you transform into his
    desire, abandonment of your former self. But to give in, to become another, is
    it not better than the pangs of loneliness?
    1. Alpheus
    2. Aspirator
    3. Balmony
    4. Blowfly
    5. Breeches
    6. Burghmaster

    Comment by Jessica DeWitt — December 10, 2011 #

  55. Oh yes, subject was longing.

    Comment by Jessica DeWitt — December 10, 2011 #

  56. Subject: Brass
    Snow, shifting, parity, justification, scatter, loan

    “You gamblers hate snow,”
    Publius said. He rocked forward, shifting
    his weight to pull a bearskin tighter around his shoulders. “It creates parity in otherwise lopsided battles. A nimble runt can pick a
    hulking warrior like Decimus here apart.”

    “Then Decimus hates the snow even more than we gamblers,” Quintus
    chortled. Decimus stood in the corner of the room. His bare chest and arms
    rippled and shined, glazed with drying blood – some his, mostly others’.

    “Indeed, Decimus hates,” Publius said, his black crow-footed eyes fixed
    into Quintus’. “His hate is justification
    for his existence; the foundation of all of his proficiencies.” Quintus’ breath
    cracked into a cough, causing spittle and steam to scatter.

    Publius wiped his cheek, “Today, Quintus, being both a gambler and a
    fool, you bet on the snow.”

    “As you said, a quick man – “

    “But all the quick men in your town’s stable lie in a smoldering, dismembered
    heap.”

    Quintus swallowed deeply, composing himself. “I have two daughters. One is
    a child, but they will both serve you. Their value is beyond my debt.”

    “I have a beautiful young bride in Rome who shames both of those pigs.
    Why do you think I’m so anxious to get home? There will be no barter, no loan. You will give me your brass, or
    Decimus will push his through your heart.”

    Decimus grinned and Quintus shuddered. He had spent all of his coin buying
    the gladiators now burning on a pyre.

    “The daughters are yours,” Publius told Decimus.

    Comment by Nik — December 10, 2011 #

  57. Subject: Brass

    Snow, shifting, parity, justification, scatter, loan

    “You gamblers hate snow,”
    Publius said. He rocked forward, shifting
    his weight to pull a bearskin tighter around his shoulders. “It creates parity in otherwise lopsided battles. A nimble runt can pick a
    hulking warrior like Decimus here apart.”

    “Then Decimus hates the snow even more than we gamblers,” Quintus
    chortled. Decimus stood in the corner of the room. His bare chest and arms
    rippled and shined, glazed with drying blood – some his, mostly others’.

    “Indeed, Decimus hates,” Publius said, his black crow-footed eyes fixed
    into Quintus’. “His hate is justification
    for his existence; the foundation of all of his proficiencies.” Quintus’ breath
    cracked into a cough, causing spittle and steam to scatter.

    Publius wiped his cheek, “Today, Quintus, being both a gambler and a
    fool, you bet on the snow.”

    “As you said, a quick man – “

    “But all the quick men in your town’s stable lie in a smoldering, dismembered
    heap.”

    Quintus swallowed deeply, composing himself. “I have two daughters. One is
    a child, but they will both serve you. Their value is beyond my debt.”

    “I have a beautiful young bride in Rome who shames both of those pigs.
    Why do you think I’m so anxious to get home? There will be no barter, no loan. You will give me your brass, or
    Decimus will push his through your heart.”

    Decimus grinned and Quintus shuddered. He had spent all of his coin buying
    the gladiators now burning on a pyre.

    “The daughters are yours,” Publius told Decimus.

     

     

     

    Comment by Nik — December 10, 2011 #

  58. Subject: Brass

    Snow, shifting, parity, justification, scatter, loan

    “You gamblers hate snow,”
    Publius said. He rocked forward, shifting
    his weight to pull a bearskin tighter around his shoulders. “It creates parity in otherwise lopsided battles. A nimble runt can pick a
    hulking warrior like Decimus here apart.”

    “Then Decimus hates the snow even more than we gamblers,” Quintus
    chortled. Decimus stood in the corner of the room. His bare chest and arms
    rippled and shined, glazed with drying blood – some his, mostly others’.

    “Indeed, Decimus hates,” Publius said, his black crow-footed eyes fixed
    into Quintus’. “His hate is justification
    for his existence; the foundation of all of his proficiencies.” Quintus’ breath
    cracked into a cough, causing spittle and steam to scatter.

    Publius wiped his cheek, “Today, Quintus, being both a gambler and a
    fool, you bet on the snow.”

    “As you said, a quick man – “

    “But all the quick men in your town’s stable lie in a smoldering, dismembered
    heap.”

    Quintus swallowed deeply, composing himself. “I have two daughters. One is
    a child, but they will both serve you. Their value is beyond my debt.”

    “I have a beautiful young bride in Rome who shames both of those pigs.
    Why do you think I’m so anxious to get home? There will be no barter, no loan. You will give me your brass, or
    Decimus will push his through your heart.”

    Decimus grinned and Quintus shuddered. He had spent all of his coin buying
    the gladiators now burning on a pyre.

    “The daughters are yours,” Publius told Decimus.

     

     

     

    Comment by Nik — December 10, 2011 #

  59. [...] We’ve promoted some of those techniques here, like the use of random words in our Creativity Boost #3 post.  There’s the Random Picture method, as well as the SCAMPER Method.  This is just [...]

    Pingback by THINKing » Thinking About Thinking — December 22, 2011 #

  60.           Most curious thing about antiquary was that it wasn’t cheap.
    Alice didn’t know why she went into the store if all she had was a few pennies
    in her pocket. The store looked awfully blockish
    and not very antique-like from the outside, but as she took steps into it she
    found the fragrant smell of old wood comfortable. She passed by a picture of a
    a few men playing baseball. The batter was obviously getting a bean-ball, an intentional pitch to the
    head. Alice found the pitcher, who was not included in the picture, quite rude.

              Many antiques stood on the old wooden
    tables, none of which Alice could afford. Alice began to call up the pennies from her left pocket again; only six pennies.
    Beautiful old Chinese vases stood on
    the shelves by the window, and old sketches using centavos littered the ground
    by the shelves. Centavo, a momentary
    unit in Brazil, Mexico, and Portugal equal to one hundredth of the basic unit.
    Alice got a dictionary for Christmas last year and was reading up. Centavos
    weren’t very interesting.

              “Excuse me, can I help you?” a voice
    boomed from behind Alice startling her.

              “Oh no sir, I don’t have any money
    except these few pennies,” Alice said holding out the six pennies in her hand
    to show the old man.

              “Dear child, this is a store for pennyworth
    antiques,” the old main said smiling. “Each of those pennies can get you an
    antique.” Alice’s face lit up.

              “Thank you!”

    Comment by Jacek Grzeda — December 23, 2011 #

  61. chameleon, fiance, humanly, october, president, responsible
    subject: engrave

    To engrave means to lodge deeply, to cut away at a surface. It’s my wedding day, and right now, I’m being engraved by a love so deep, I don’t know if it’ll last. Dylan, my fiance, is no where around. He’s been acting like a chameleon for the past month. Hiding from me, in and out of rooms, running around trying to surprise me with something. I don’t know what, and I don’t know if it’ll be humanly possible. He’s been extremely tired, to tired for our weekly outing to La Paris, the finest restaurant in New York. I guess I’ll just have to wait out the day to find out what the surprise is. 

    It’s mid-October and a perfect day to get married. The weather is beautiful, in the sixties with no rain. Pure sun and glorious clouds. We just got a call that the president is coming. I wonder why he’s coming to our wedding? We don’t know the president very personally. I mean, sure, I have his cell phone number on my phone, but I’m a reporter. I just got it because I needed it in case I had to call him for a special assignment. I told him I’d be responsible with it, and so far I have. I guess I’ve been responsible enough that he’d let me keep it, and come to my wedding. How strange. I wonder if there is something more ominous in the future than what I had predicted. I wonder if the love that has been engraved in our hearts will stand up to the challenge.

    Comment by Hannah Bauer — December 26, 2011 #

  62. [...] Creativity Boost #3 - Today, we’re heading to the dictionary for a creativity boost. Share this:FacebookStumbleUponEmailOther Posts You Might LikeCreativity 2011 – Week #52Thinking About ThinkingCreativity 2011 – Week #51Creativity 2011 – Week #50Creativity 2011 – Week #48 [...]

    Pingback by THINKing » Creativity Boost — December 28, 2011 #

  63. Little over 250 words and not sure if everythings completly right but oh well  I tried.

    Subject:Juvenile Delinquent
    words: Behold, Innocent, Appointment, Collective, Game, Swap.

    The door clicks open. Announcing that
    my appointment is here. Behold her long blonde curls as she enters
    the room. As she slips into her seat I take her in. Her porcelain
    skin, fragile frame and big blue eyes all translate to one thing,
    innocent. But I know she is anything but.

    Her delicate hands twirl a ring through
    her fingers. The same hands used to take a life. To draw the last
    heart beat from someone’s body. Without remorse. She glides through
    my questions with polite smiles and detailed answers. The door clicks
    open. Summoning her to leave. As I watch the last glimpse of blonde
    curls, I am speechless.

    This girl, this innocent girl. Now
    crowds my fears. Everything about her sits in my collective of notes
    untouched on my desk. Unneeded to be re-read as every detail is
    already etched in my brain. Because to this girl murder is not a
    vicious act. But a mere game. A game in which a life is swapped for
    the thrill of watching someone’s last breath escape. A game this girl
    invented to win.

    “The punishment best suited for this
    offender is death by lethal injection, when she is of age.” My
    voice falters. Her blue eyes staring up at mine as I sign away her
    life. Piercing my thoughts. As we watch each other a slight smile
    creeps across her face. A smile I do not understand. A smile of
    pride.

    As I leave the room she grabs my arm.
    Locking me. Her soft lips grace my ears as she gently whispers in my
    ear. I only just catch her words as she is whisked away. Only I wish
    I hadn’t, as now I can never let them go.

    “You won the game.”
     

    Comment by Meghan Evans — December 29, 2011 #

  64. Nicely done, Meghan. Thanks for sharing your effort with THINKing.

    Comment by Harry Hoover — December 29, 2011 #

  65. [...] Creativity Boost #3 – Dictionary Excursion – This was far and away our most read – and commented upon – post. It’s an exercise to boost your creative writing skills. [...]

    Pingback by THINKing » Top 10 2011 Posts — December 29, 2011 #

  66. Subject word: Medalist
    application, bumptious, chip in, darn, disquiet, east

    It seemed like only yesterday I was filling out the
    application to try out for the team, and today I was standing on the podium, a
    medalist in my first meet of the season. My coach seemed surprised, since I
    never really tried at practices. He had made a deal that if I placed, he’d chip
    in for the fees of the next meet, which I gladly took him up on. Of course,
    there was the bumptious boy whose name I could never remember that was in my
    division as well, and he was poised to win. His overaggressive attitude could
    disquiet anyone, and in all honesty I was scared to beat him for fear of his
    reaction. But things worked out in my favor; he tore his uniform just before
    the race, and his mother offered to darn it, but that left him without a
    uniform and out of the race. So he was forced to sit in the stands east of the
    track and watch as I sprinted circles around the competition, breaking his
    record for fastest time and earning a gold medal and however much Coach was
    willing to pay for my first semester’s college tuition in the fall. It was a
    victory that I wouldn’t soon forget. And I definitely wasn’t going to let that
    boy live it down until the day we graduated.

    Comment by David Ardis — January 6, 2012 #

  67. Subject: Stewardess

    Words- barbarize, charbroil, consummate, drainpipe,
    euthanize, filet

     

        I grabbed
    the toddler and wrestled him to the ground. He giggled and let out a Tarzan
    (his latest obsession) roar. Barbarized by his adorable activities, I let out a
    roar of my own. Passerby in the airport stared as I hastily put my son in his
    seat and gave him a piece of charbroiled steak that I made the night before. As
    the boy gnawed hungrily, I was reminded of the way his father used to eat when
    hungry. He was killed in a motorcycle accident before our marriage could be
    consummated, leaving me with none of his money to support our son.

       So, I was
    forced to resume my old duties as a stewardess, giving filets to ungrateful
    first-class passengers and apple juice to screaming babies. I pushed my hair
    back and grabbed our bags. We’d get on first since I was working on the plane.

        After a
    frozen drainpipe had somehow burst and flooded our entire house, we had to
    literally move as the plane traveled. However, a new opportunity sprang up in
    Georgia, our next destination: My ex-fiance’s grandmother had to be—to put it
    nicely—euthanized after being irreparably maimed in a boating accident. But,
    she left me her humongous house, and I decided to take my son to live there and
    become a receptionist. I’d already left my two-week notice.

         “Stephanie,”
    My friend Denise called, “we’re leaving.” I grabbed my son’s hand and we
    boarded.  

    Comment by noni.8558 — January 7, 2012 #

  68. Wow, finally a use for our paper dictionary (rather than just using Google).

    Comment by Lucb1e — January 20, 2012 #

  69. There was a young woman, as myth tells, who wanted nothing more than to have a child to call her own. She called upon the Gods for help as she was of a great calling and was allowed to lay with no man. Mercifully, they sent to her a capsule containing an emryo which they placed beneath her pillow as she slept and within her dreams she was given instruction.
    The woman woke from her slumber with a vague memory of her dream. In half disbelief she ran her hand under her pillow and found the gift of the Gods. She took the capsule and having no water, chewed it.
    Immediately the sky parted and the angry voices of the Gods came forth from the sky, with such thunderous reverb that the young women’s tower, which stood upon a plateau, shook and began to crumble. In fear, and with newfound insight that she had destroyed the God child, she leapt from her tower.
    As Gods have great wrath, all of the crops withered immediately, wells dried up and women began to beat their breasts in mourning. All knew who was to blame and unwilling to give her soul to the afterlife properly, no ordained Holy Men would bless her body nor put her in a mausoleum. No man or women would ever be called to greatness again as the Gods are vengeful and do not forgive.
    She would have had a virgin birth of a great Savior. All were doomed.

    Comment by Anonymous — January 21, 2012 #

  70. “Man, this sun is brutal, but it still is a very wonderful
    day. Don’t ya think Dave?” she questioned lightly as the waves rolled onto the beach behind us. It had been a full day
    of work building this dream beach house for some rich banker or something. The rest
    of the crew had this crestfallen air
    about them, but not her. Even after the endless tiling and placing of Clapboards she was still chipper and
    rearing to go.

    “Oh yes, beautiful. That ocean breeze is helping keep me
    cool though.” I replied only after being entranced by the perfection with which
    she ensconced the siding on the
    house. Even though her scars were catching the light I could see the beauty
    beneath. The beauty was spellbinding and I knew that despite all the other guys
    whispering and gabbing away at how
    she was so ugly and unfortunate due to the scars, that she was the one I
    wanted.

    “Yes it’s rather refreshing.” She said as she brushed her
    hair behind her ear and wiped the sweat from her brow. I could see the stains
    forming on her tight fitting
    t-shirt, showing me just how hard working this woman was. Sure she swore like
    an angry biker and drank more beer then a wealthy redneck, but the scars and
    the swearing and the drinking only made her more perfect to me.

    Comment by Eric Jensen — January 22, 2012 #

  71. i thought this was fantastic. i made an account just to tell you :)

    Comment by Anonymous — February 9, 2012 #

  72. Taylor, thanks so much for your kind words. The continued response to this post has floored me.  

    Comment by Harry Hoover — February 9, 2012 #

  73. Subject: Milk-and-water
    Words:  Barbecue, Cashmere, Colour Blind, Desirous, DSO (Distinguished Service Order), Entertainment

    In the heat of the summer, John Doe thought it was a good
    idea to start a barbecue, though it
    wasn’t a good idea to wear a cashmere
    jumper, and if that wasn’t enough he was colour
    blind too; the jumper was the bright yellow.

    Now, John Doe was the type of person who, once an idea got
    into his head, he becomes desirous,
    that is to say, he will pursue it with every fibre of his being.

    Little did he know he would get an idea in
    his head at the barbecue – whilst talking to his WWII veteran grandfather – to receive
    a DSO (Distinguished Service Order),
    although this would take many years to achieve and John Doe isn’t the type of courageous
    man that his grandfather is; he’s more of the feeble type.

    This gave John Doe an idea; “i’m too weak and feeble to receive
    a DSO, so i’ll just pretend I have one in tonight’s planned entertainment”.

    Comment by gavinbarsby33 — February 13, 2012 #

  74. [...] other day, I StumbledUpon a writing exercise, and decided to do it. I haven’t written a short story in years. Once I skipped from short [...]

    Pingback by exercise – short story – blinders « another hopeless case — April 14, 2012 #

  75. [...] Creativity Boost #3 – Dictionary Excursion – Far and away this is our most popular post ever. It’s a writing exercise guaranteed to stimulate your little gray cells. [...]

    Pingback by THINKing » Top 5 Posts Of 2012 — May 4, 2012 #

  76. to rob, overload, schedule of repayment, gaelic, maladjusted, precisely (from French dictionary)

    semantic

    “never heard of overload in meaning?” the guy in the audience seemed angry. roxy was unsure of how to interpret this response to her poem. she had put her entire power of words into these two paragraphs she just read out. maybe she had wanted too much. now it seemed like a retarded idea to set up a whole fictitious image of a new shooting star of literature on facebook and make a stand-up performance here instead of just robbing one old lady and finally get back with her schedule of repayment for her mother’s loans.

    fuck, she hated meaning. even as a kid she was entirely maladjusted to the demands of her parents and teachers to learn english, not to mention gaelic. she liked to eat, drink, walk, live, dance. screw the grammar police that precisely got her into this dilemma in the first place. all she needed to do was turn off the computer, get up and run away.

    Comment by MarkusP — July 7, 2012 #

  77. [...] Creativity Boost #3 - Today, we’re heading to the dictionary for a creativity boost. [...]

    Pingback by THINKing » Top 50 Creativity Posts — August 1, 2012 #

  78. [...] – Creativity Boost #3 – Dictionary Excursion - Let’s take a trip to the dictionary for some writing prompts. Share this:Other Posts You [...]

    Pingback by THINKing » Batting 1000 — October 6, 2012 #

  79. My words: autobiography, car, Colophon, Diagram, dun, entourage

    Subject: R.E.M.

    The day was fading quickly, and the night was approaching faster than wanted. She drove home in her mothers’ hand me down car. She bought a new book at the store and it happened to be an autobiography of her favorite psychologist who studied R.E.M. sleep. She always found the topic so interesting. When she arrived home, she opened the book and noticed right away, the colophon. It was very rich with information on the publishing of the book, and she seemed to be very interested in that, seeing as it held precious information on her beloved hero. The dun colored book had a place of its own, next to her bed. She couldn’t stop reading the book. It was full of tricks and quotes of the doctor who spent his life studying R.E.M. The psychologist was very famous, and so, near the end of the book, she discovered a touring date for his speeches. She registered for the closet one in the state, which happened to be two hours out of her way, but she still wanted to go. She arrived to see a huge crowd of people who were interested in the same subject as her, she was thrilled. The doctor walked in with his entourage. They were all psychologists and shared many different perspectives on R.E.M. It was a satisfying experience for her.

    I just thought it up just now, I don’t think it was really good, but I wanted to do it anyway.

    Comment by Paige Powell — June 1, 2013 #

  80. Thanks for participating, Paige.

    Comment by Harry Hoover — June 1, 2013 #

  81. Wow, you chose the same words as me, we must have the exact same dictionary. How bizarre to see this as the very first comment!

    Comment by Holly Wilde — September 25, 2013 #

  82. My story…..not 250 words…but I completed something so am very pleased with myself.

    Subject: Tooth

    Words: Beneficiary, Commiserate, Dassie, Esparto, Flighty, Galley.

    And so I became beneficiary of the family estate. My father had himself claimed ownership of the house after the death of my grandfather. An esteemed naturalist, my grandfather was the very first in our line to have enjoyed such luxury, the inevitable result of his pioneering and indomitable spirit. He had filled and furnished the grand house with relics from his seafaring voyages- notably around Africa. I barely knew my grandfather but I do remember from fond early-childhood memories his intense wonder, his kind eyes, and his wild tales. Now threatened by
    extinction, the soulless faces of the animals gazing down from the
    walls of our house had fuelled my father’s love of wildlife and the
    desire to protect it from the greed and vanity of man. Refusing to
    stand idly by and commiserate their demise, perhaps sanctifying his
    feelings through prayer, he instead bore the legacy of my
    grandfather by returning to the great continent himself and applying
    himself wholeheartedly to the cause. I too, filled with a mixture of
    sadness and an intrigue of my own was now setting off on my own
    journey. Before leaving I took a last glance through some of the
    quirky items arranged behind glass in the hallway. A rather poorly
    taxidermied rat -like creature called a Dassie leered gruesomely back
    at me. Must remember to sort all that out on my return I thought to
    myself.

    I donned a beaded necklace, gifted to my father by a member of the Namibian Himba tribe to which he had added a drilled lions tooth, part of an aged collection of trinkets his father had given to him as a child.

    He had truly loved Africa and I knew he would want to return one final time, so I brought his ashes and let them drift freely into the dry African heat. Afterwards I flew northwards to Morocco for my own enjoyment. I picked up a few souvenirs including a beautiful woven basket made from Esparto grass.

    On a free afternoon I lay back in the sun imagining the intrepid
    adventures of my grandfather, his babbling speech and flighty
    curiosity… the tale of the escaped python commandeering the ship’s
    galley. The white tooth glinted brilliant in the sun, laying close to
    my small heart. Just as it once struck fiercely the lion’s prey I
    felt with conviction that justice too will strike a lethal blow to
    the enemies of Africa’s almighty heart, the roaming animals it’s
    lifeblood. Indeed the home of man, and I was grateful.

    Comment by Holly Wilde — September 25, 2013 #

  83. Holly, thanks for participating.

    Comment by Harry Hoover — September 25, 2013 #

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