Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here. Every Friday we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!
Write whatever you want in the comments section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.
Petulant chainsaw grumbles blend with the odd glottal rumbling from beneath the old man's beard. He is old in body and spirit; his dreams are haunted by vague memory, aided by a whiskey lens - his dreams are old movies, missing frames snipped by clumsy popcorn pushers.
The old man gives two shits about the chainsaw and the chainsaw cares for nothing. Not the trees, not the deep, thick thigh tissue it seeks out in careless moments. The man and the chainsaw have little in common. The saw does not run on blood. It does not wake with fevered eyes. The chainsaw has never lost someone. The man has never cut down a tree. He has bitten deep into thigh flesh, but that was years ago - in a a dust mote tavern in Alaska, and even Jack London couldn't tell that story right.
Thanks for stopping by! I will be in and out all day but, rest assured, I'll be reading everything and commenting as I have time, so check back.