Ever heard of NaBloPoMo? The community effort to post every day for one month?
I tried it back in November of 2009, and I came darn close to posting every day. Close, but no cigar. I'm giving it another go for August 2011, in which the theme is Fiction. (From what I can tell, you can choose to write on the theme or not. The daily posting is really the thing; the theme is a structure you can use if you wish.)
Anyway, I think a little blog posting muscle flexing is in order, as I've not been the most disciplined writer of late. So I'll use the writing prompt provided by NaBloPoMo for today, for their July 2011 daily bloggers, to get me started. Here's the prompt:
"What was the last thing you bought?"
The last thing I bought was a stick of Right Guard Sport deodorant.
Because someone in my family was leaving the house for a music lesson, and someone else in my family suggested to the young prodigy that he apply a health dose of deodorant to himself, since after his lesson he would be going straight out for the entire evening with other people, and because when the suggest-or picked up the suggest-ee from the music lesson, it was entirely clear that this sage advice had not been followed, and because there was no time to go home and remedy the problem properly, and because the inside of the van, which was en route to drop off the young prodigy at the home of a third and innocent party, was beginning to have the air of a torture chamber...
For all of these reasons, I dashed into a drugstore and purchased a stick of Right Guard Sport, not the healthy kind, not just deodorant but actual antiperspirant, the stuff that traps everything in, clogs pores and bestows sweet relief on family and friends. Pressed for time as I was, I did the drugstore dash, turned in a C+ effort of holding my tongue with respect to the unfollowed advice, and managed to get him to his destination on time and smelling Sporty Fresh.
Because I want him to be invited back.
And because it's my job to teach him things about sweat.
And because I love him.
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