So Hurricane Ike visited the Tri-State this weekend. According to Willie on 700WLW last night, so of you may not even have the electricity to read this entry until Saturday. Lucky, lucky you.
Mark's entry is our blog of the week. It's funny and very descriptive. It's not just a chair - it's an oversized chair. It's not just a mug - they're heavy and empty. No one wears ties. I can visualize what this office looks like, how the office staff is dressed. When you can almost include your audience in with the story, you've got a great story. You shouldn't just tell a story, you should involve the audience. They should never be confused on where the story is taking place or who the main characters are. Great job this week, Mark.
Worse Than Fees
By Mark H.
It was long after “banker’s hours” had ended for the day. The officers of First Boar Bank sat around the large mahogany table in President Ty Twaddy’s personal conference room. Suit jackets adorned the backs of the oversize chairs, ties were long ago discarded, heavy coffee mugs emptied as they stared at the photo of the unidentified man straining to take his cash from one of the bank’s ATMs. “But sir,” pleaded the vice-president again, “our customers are SUPPOSED to withdraw their money. They use it to, you know… buy things.”
“No! I won’t have it!” Twaddy railed over and over. “This meeting is finished! Raise the ATMs another foot!”
Magic Potion
Mary F.
Some predicament, trying to manage when you’re 3 feet tall. It’s all your fault, Bertie – you and your old buddy, Dr Fink.
“Honey,” you said, “we’re having a little clinical trial. Dr. Fink has developed a new drug that could help you lose your little tummy.”
“You mean my big belly. What did this discovery do for the other people who tried it?”
“It’s new, Sweetie. We need to try it on humans – but it’s safe.”
Ha, safe. They should use it to cure overcrowding in prisons since it shrinks people to half their size. Hope I can deposit this before someone sees me.
Bad Day
Randy H.
After explaining to the executive editor that he had been writing such anonymous columns for two years, Tom still didn't understand why as an AP writer his name wasn't published, identifying his authorship.
Feeling slighted and misunderstood, Tom thanked his boss for listening and exited. Tom stepped outside, looked at his watch, and with the rest of his day open decided to self soothe with a bite to eat. First he needed cash. Seeing an ATM, Tom angrily wondered how a machine he couldn't even reach could be credited to "Jeanie" while his writing read around the world would remain with no name. Tom's appetitequickly vanished.
The Dowry
Tres K.
Jack was getting desperate. This should have been easy; plant the seeds, climb the stalk – just like his family had done for generations. But things, apparently, had changed. He located the giant easily enough, living off Vine Street. There wasn’t any goose but Jack did find an ATM card in the big guy’s wallet. In spite of the changes, giants hadn’t gotten any smarter; his PIN was on a Post-it note stuck to the back of the card. Now all Jack had to do was reach the machine, punch the buttons and withdraw the gold. Yeah, right… Still, Mr. Peep had promised his daughter’s hand, if he made it back.
Mark's entry is our blog of the week. It's funny and very descriptive. It's not just a chair - it's an oversized chair. It's not just a mug - they're heavy and empty. No one wears ties. I can visualize what this office looks like, how the office staff is dressed. When you can almost include your audience in with the story, you've got a great story. You shouldn't just tell a story, you should involve the audience. They should never be confused on where the story is taking place or who the main characters are. Great job this week, Mark.
Worse Than Fees
By Mark H.
It was long after “banker’s hours” had ended for the day. The officers of First Boar Bank sat around the large mahogany table in President Ty Twaddy’s personal conference room. Suit jackets adorned the backs of the oversize chairs, ties were long ago discarded, heavy coffee mugs emptied as they stared at the photo of the unidentified man straining to take his cash from one of the bank’s ATMs. “But sir,” pleaded the vice-president again, “our customers are SUPPOSED to withdraw their money. They use it to, you know… buy things.”
“No! I won’t have it!” Twaddy railed over and over. “This meeting is finished! Raise the ATMs another foot!”
Magic Potion
Mary F.
Some predicament, trying to manage when you’re 3 feet tall. It’s all your fault, Bertie – you and your old buddy, Dr Fink.
“Honey,” you said, “we’re having a little clinical trial. Dr. Fink has developed a new drug that could help you lose your little tummy.”
“You mean my big belly. What did this discovery do for the other people who tried it?”
“It’s new, Sweetie. We need to try it on humans – but it’s safe.”
Ha, safe. They should use it to cure overcrowding in prisons since it shrinks people to half their size. Hope I can deposit this before someone sees me.
Bad Day
Randy H.
After explaining to the executive editor that he had been writing such anonymous columns for two years, Tom still didn't understand why as an AP writer his name wasn't published, identifying his authorship.
Feeling slighted and misunderstood, Tom thanked his boss for listening and exited. Tom stepped outside, looked at his watch, and with the rest of his day open decided to self soothe with a bite to eat. First he needed cash. Seeing an ATM, Tom angrily wondered how a machine he couldn't even reach could be credited to "Jeanie" while his writing read around the world would remain with no name. Tom's appetitequickly vanished.
The Dowry
Tres K.
Jack was getting desperate. This should have been easy; plant the seeds, climb the stalk – just like his family had done for generations. But things, apparently, had changed. He located the giant easily enough, living off Vine Street. There wasn’t any goose but Jack did find an ATM card in the big guy’s wallet. In spite of the changes, giants hadn’t gotten any smarter; his PIN was on a Post-it note stuck to the back of the card. Now all Jack had to do was reach the machine, punch the buttons and withdraw the gold. Yeah, right… Still, Mr. Peep had promised his daughter’s hand, if he made it back.
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1 comment:
Tres, what a clever take on the photo. Never in a million years would i have gone there. Love the giant living off Vine Street. I can almost see his humble abode. nice work.
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