Write the start of a novel...

hawk
cosmology
tepid
ruminate
vanilla

The hawk circled languidly, riding the thermals, living in the moment, being a hawk. The hawk didn't ruminate about the sun growing tepid, about the universe slowly expanding until its lonely stars no longer shared their warmth with orbiting worlds, about any of the other--mostly dire--laws of cosmology. He wanted to be like the hawk. He wanted to lie in the grass and think of nothing but the deliciousness of his vanilla ice cream cone.

carrion
brackish
bold
certain
puls

carrion
brackish
bold
certain
puls

Looking out over the brackish water, Slim wasn’t sure if the scheme was going to work. It was ingenious. It was bold. But there was nothing certain about it. A surge of ripples disturbed the water. What? A dead fish, or maybe a badger or a fox? Carrion? How had he gotten himself into this situation in the first place? Being a spy wasn’t easy. He put a foot into the water and felt his pulse begin to race.

celluloid
rampant
drudge
fanfare
knob

celluloid
rampant
drudge
fanfare
knob


Jill was filled with giddy anticipation as she surveyed the cards laid facedown on the table in front of her. With much fanfare, she reached for the first card and hesitated a moment before turning it over to reveal the image of a red-haired man riding a galloping horse: the spear knight. An adventure! Jill surmised, elated, and turned over the next card.

The king of swords, rigid on his celluloid throne, glared coldly up at her. Ugh, she thought, giving the card a sharp flick that sent it skittering across the table. Won't be much fun with that drudge along. Sulking, she turned over the third card.

As the ace of swords came into view, her mood improved. Well, at least there'll be swordplay. But the fourth card—the ten of swords—clarified: the swords would end up in Jill's back. With a frown, she picked up the offending card and methodically tore it into strips, letting the pieces fall to the floor. "Now what, punk?" she taunted the shredded paper at her feet.

After informing Jill of the many swords hanging over her head, the nine of swords met a similar fate. As did the three of swords which depicted her pierced heart.

Universe in a funk today, Jill observed, aggrieved by the rampant doom. Her hand hovered over the final card, reluctant. Flipping it, however, she phewed upon seeing the eight of spears—an array of knobby clubs which assured her: it'll be quick.


broadcast
infamous
probable
heavily
tinge

broadcast
infamous
probable
heavily
tinge

She had lowered herself halfway to the sofa when her trembling knees gave out, depositing her heavily on the wheezing leather cushion. She breathed deeply, concentrating on slowing her runaway heart. At this rate she was heading for probable cardiac arrest. According to the news broadcast, she was now infamous. Luckily, she reminded herself, no one knew yet who she was. They only knew what she had done--and for that she had not one tinge of regret.

cradle
leprous
singular
toad
fray

cradle
leprous
singular
toad
fray

This was it. Possibly the final battle leading to total extermination or—he hoped—to the cradle of a new civilization beyond the fray. In his singular situation, hidden in this cramped, dank bunker beneath the Presidential Palace, he felt like a snake or a toad or even a leprous traitor, but he was none of these. He was a patriot—maybe one of the few who were left.

dune
nonsensical
scarify
rebut
jack-in-the-box

dune
nonsensical
scarify
rebut
jack-in-the-box


"You can't expect a person to—"
"—provide a sane rebuttal—"
"—completely by accident—"
"—from multiple locations—"
"—like a jack-in-the-box—"
"—elected to scarify—"
"—forever and ever."

Jack listened with amusement to the conversation in progress. It wasn't exactly a conversation—there was certainly no exchange—however, since the speakers were oblivious to this fact, Jack felt it qualified as one. Besides, there was a clear attempt on the part of each person to communicate, and, if he let the jumble of words melt into mere tone, it did indeed bear a distinct resemblance to proper dialogue. In any case, it made no difference.

The babblers couldn't be faulted for their apparent lack of social graces. They weren't ignoring one another; they couldn't hear, having long ago lost that ability. Nor could their eyes notify them of the futility of their vocalizations, that their words were falling on deaf ears, for they had no sight.

They didn't have much, really, Jack discovered when he first stepped into the world and was surprised to find the area barren, all dunes and gloom. No buildings, no roadways, no traces of habitation at all. But there were people. Lots of them, existing as a nonsensical chorus of chattering voices. Earth in AD 7777 was a noisy wasteland.


ninth
hyperbole
phantom
detour
carousing

ninth
hyperbole
phantom
detour
carousing


They were on the ninth green, and already the hyperbole was flowing. At this rate, they'd hit the carousing stage before they even reached the "nineteenth" hole and the inevitable after game rounds of drinks.

Jack lined up his putt and tapped the ball. It made a graceful detour around the hole, slowed, and, like a satellite with a deteriorating orbit, spiraled gently toward the cup--where it hovered. Half above ground, half below. As though suspended by a phantom.

Al was the first to reach it. "There's another ball in there," he called. He bent over and picked up Jack's ball. Pitched it like it was on fire, fell on his ass and started to scream.

The others ran over to him. While Gerry tried to get Al to his feet, Jack looked in the cup. Staring back at him--literally--and trailing strands of gore was a human eyeball.

Placid
verve
seawater
bland
tail

Placid
verve
seawater
bland
tail

At least the seawater, with its salt content, made it a little easier to float than the swimming pools where he had swum as a boy. And just now, the water looked fairly placid. But that gave him little comfort, since the boat had quickly disappeared after he leaned too far over the rail and fell off the stern. He had shouted as loud as he could, but apparently nobody heard him. He kept kicking, treading water. To his right, something poked above the surface. The tail of a large fish? Or could it be a sea monster? How could this have happened? A bland day in a tour boat had turned into a life-threatening ordeal. His stomach hurt, his heart was beating faster and he was starting to feel panicky. He was a man who lived for things of the mind—a professor of medieval philosophy—and he wasn’t at all sure he had the strength, the stamina or the verve to cope with a nightmarish situation that--he had to face it--might soon end in a watery death.

sextuple
tumbril
flamenco
squirt
rationalize

sextuple
tumbril
flamenco
squirt
rationalize

The mid-morning sun shone through the window, assaulting Jill's eyes as she lay dozing. Or trying to doze, anyway. It was impossible. With a melodramatic sigh, she sat up and, when the tangle of sheets refused to loosen their grip on her body, rolled inelegantly off the bed onto the floor.

As luck would have it, while wrestling with the bedsheets, Jill had knocked a tube of *girl stuff* off the bedside table and it was on this tube she landed. Its contents were released in an explosive squirt, leaving Jill wriggling, prostrate in a slimy mess. "Dammit," she muttered, throwing the sheet aside and stumbling into the washroom to shower.

With a careless brush, she flicked the light switch and was immersed in a gentle light. For a moment. Before the final bulb blew. "Frig!" Jill cried, stamping her feet in frustration. She had no replacement, having rationalized the seventeen bulbs she'd installed in as many fixtures would last, well, forever.

Exiting the washroom, Jill stormed down the hallway into the kitchen. She needed coffee if she was going to make it through the day. Hell, she'd need a sextuple dose of caffeine. And that's just what she found: the cold remains of the coffee she had neglected to dispose of the day before.

Thoroughly vexed, Jill flung the carafe across the room, where it hit the wall and shattered. As she stood fuming, the phone rang. "What?!" Jill greeted her flamenco instructor.

"Jill, I—I'm sorry. I..." the woman broke off, sobbing.

"What's the f-ing problem?" Jill asked.

"I hate to do this—and with such short notice—but I have to—to cancel your lesson today. I'm sorry. My son was run over by a tumbril this morning. It smushed him. He was... Jill, he was killed."

"WELL, THAT'S JUST GREAT!" Jill shouted and hung up. "This is absolutely the WORST day of my life!"

crossing
electricity
junior
north
satiate

crossing
electricity
junior
north
satiate

Jack felt the electricity in the courtroom. As a junior partner in his law firm, the verdict in this case could make or break him. He was north of thirty and crossing into the "out" stage of the firm's unspoken "up or out" policy. He needed this win to satiate the beasts in the boardroom.

"All rise."

Jack smoothed his tie and stood on shaky knees as the jury filed in.

practice
pulse
mooring
benevolent
corpse

practice
pulse
mooring
benevolent
corpse

As a beginning mystery writer, Jack knew he needed a corpse—probably several—and, of course, a crime-solver. Let’s see, he thought, should my sleuth be a hard-boiled detective, or a quirky, benevolent old lady? But Agatha Christie had done the old-lady thing, and so had many others. Somehow, he had to find his own moorings. If he had more experience, he could take the pulse of his readers in advance, but how can a beginner do that? The answer seemed obvious: Practice.

stipple
manhandle
cartwheel
wrench
artifice

stipple
manhandle
cartwheel
wrench
artifice


"So, what do you think?"

"Total cartwheel."

"Wrench or stipple?"

"Manhandle."

Jack listened with amusement to the conversation of the two young men standing in front of him, in line at the coffee shop. It wasn't exactly sensible conversation, however the men appeared to understand each other perfectly. As did Jack, who, along with millions of others, had read Everyday Artifice, a handbook which instructed readers in the use of code words when discussing plans or activities best kept on the down low. The book even provided an extensive list of examples, a list which happened to include the very words the men had used. Thus, Jack was able to translate: these men intended to steal a baby's candy.


garment
mishap
morning
sculpt
driven

garment
mishap
morning
sculpt
driven


A broken egg on the floor. It was a minor mishap, but Rex was in such a state that he felt like rending his garments. The morning was falling apart before it started. What next? He strode into his studio and looked at his masterpiece—the head he had sculpted of Ivanka Trump. As he walked over to admire it, he tripped on the rug and fell, and the head crashed to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. It was a disaster! Alexis van Twiddle, the famed collector, had driven all the way up here from Florida and was going to pay him $2,000,000 for the head. What could Rex do? His thoughts were racing. If he worked fast, he could create another head of Ivanka with Silly Putty, paint it bronze, and Van Twiddle wouldn’t know the difference.

Maybe.


scintillating
ogre
Acapulco
fabricate
renounce

scintillating
ogre
Acapulco
fabricate
renounce

The scintillating Acapulco sun winked off the Pacific. Lying in the warm sand's seductive embrace, he felt he could happily renounce his nerve-wracking New York life forever and become a beach bum. He began to fabricate artful resignations to deliver to his ogre of a boss. Then a shadow passed over his closed eyelids, and his three-year-old sun dumped a bucket of sand on his face. "Daddy, wake up!." Reality beckoned.

particulate
fragile
monstrous
dedicated
bloom

particulate
fragile
monstrous
dedicated
bloom

Jeffery held the fragile tube of mercury particulate up to the light. The monstrous bloom of a shark lily, directly behind him, decided at that moment to sneeze out a cloud of pollen. He was dedicated to his job, but this was over the line. Jeffery ran like he was being laser pinged in the ass.

Liver
hemorrhage
dray
copulation
dispossessed

Liver
hemorrhage
dray
copulation
dispossessed

Dispossessed of a wheel, the dray sat at a precarious angle. Several barrels had toppled from its load and were now hemorrhaging liver colored stout across the cobblestones. Two dogs finished copulation and lapped hungrily at the growing puddles. The team of horses, their harnessing pulled out of alignment by the unnatural cant of the wagon's shaft and tree, fought each other for footing. With all eyes of the bystanders focused on the melee, Jack slipped unnoticed into the shadow of the alley.

festering
poleaxed
brunch
lever
stem

festering
poleaxed
brunch
lever
stem

Having invited Bruno to brunch, Millie didn’t want to offend this representative of the opposing party who, after all, had his hand on an essential lever of the country’s economy. She hoped that, with reasoned argument, she might stem the leadership’s reckless actions that had turned the nation’s ills into a festering wound that might—if it didn’t lead to outright revolution—at least be bound to cause societal disaster. If she had her druthers, she would have poleaxed the nation’s strutting but ignorant leader by now, but that would have been against the law.

schizoid
ergot
refine
debit
jackrabbit

Dude, really...

schizoid
ergot
refine
debit
jackrabbit

Albert Hoffman was born to irony. Beginning with his name, which he actually received (under the assumption he would be a boy) before he was born.

Albert Hoffman had been the name of a Jewish American artist, whose religious themed woodcarvings enhanced synagogues. It was concurrently also the name of a Nazi political leader and member of the SS.

And it was the name of the Swiss scientist who refined LSD from squill and ergot extracts. On which Abbie Hoffman (Abbie for Abbot, not Albert) was high when he got beaten off the stage by Pete Townshend at that celebration of peace and love, Woodstock. But that's neither here nor there. Unless our current Albert Hoffman's being born on the day Abbie Hoffman died counts.

Our current Albert Hoffman--nicknamed Jackrabbit (in the making-fun-of way, not the warm-fuzzy-friendly way) because he was so unlike one (more irony)--was schizoid. A quiet, passive loner, with social skills in the debit column--not that he seemed to care. Someone who didn't need LSD to experience a rich fantasy life.

weltschmerz
kibble
nuance
crest
safe-house

weltschmerz
kibble
nuance
crest
safe-house

The Weltshmerz Safe-house on the upper east side was a refuge for those in a deep melancholy at the state of the world, and it was filling up—fast. Two weeks after opening they were packing them in like sardines; four weeks in and they were literally cheek to cheek, struggling to converse through squished-together puckered mouths.

"What's hor wreak'ast, John?" asked Jim, his mouth distorted to such an extent he could no longer form his B's or F's.

"I think it's kiggle. Crest Kiggle, new cereal. Only t'ing 'hey could geh in here."

"It is a wit tight in here, hor sure."

"..."

"Did you jus' hart, John?"

A guilty look crossed John's compressed face just as a nuanced shift in the tightly packed mass of bodies suggested another arrival into the house...


---

Collywobbles
Pluck
Bodice
Grenade
Geodesic

Collywobbles
Pluck
Bodice
Grenade
Geodesic


The geodesic lines on her face did nothing to show the real age of the granny, who with collywobbles in her stomach, placed the six pound grenade in her bodice with all the pluck of an eighteen year old.


Permeable
Acquisitive
Spermicidal
banana
creosote

permeable
acquisitive
spermicidal
banana
creosote

Billy was close to perfecting it. After so many trials and failures, he had at last managed to create a condom that would be totally spermicidal and not permeable under any conditions. For now, he planned to keep his methods secret. Who would suspect that he had used a combination of banana oil and creosote in his formula? All his rivals--all those self-centered, acquisitive dummies in chemistry class--would have to acknowledge his genius.

Of course, before he put his condom on the market, he needed to try it out, didn’t he? But not having a girlfriend--in fact, still being a virgin--he didn’t quite know what to do.

Oh, well, he could figure that out later. He went back to his video game.

gamble
spelunker
cinnamon
flare
t'ai-chi

gamble
spelunker
cinnamon
flare
t'ai-chi

It was a gamble when the spelunker dropped his cinnamon flavored flare because it was time to do t'ai-chi.

Sequester
ribald
enigmatic
juxtaposed
polyster

hemorrhaging
Aren't we supposed to use the word as is?

You're probably right, and I usually take pains to do so. I've seen a few other examples of this sort of liberty taken, though, so on I occasion I admit to having been..."flexible", shall we say?

Although, now that I think harder about it, I could have said, "had begun to hemorrhage".

Sequester
ribald
enigmatic
juxtaposed
polyster

The enigmatic AWF moderators then began to sequester the authors of off-topic discussion in the Write The Start of a Novel thread. With ribald words they would admonish the offenders for polluting the thread then wrap them in polyester and deposit them unceremoniously in the Sin Bin of Shame.

Juxtaposed with this sad intervention were the plaudits heaped on the participants of the thread who wove their imaginative tales around just the five words given, without altering those words in any way. Soon after posting said authors would receive a visit from the AWF Mariachi Band and be serenaded, wherever they happened to be in the world. Exactly how AWF could know where these people were was a mystery.

It was rumoured that any thread participants who diluted the five words but still wove a coherent tale would receive a visit of a different kind: a well dressed English gentleman would appear, applaud their effort and then slap them across the face with a white leather glove—one slap for each diluted word. This was unconfirmed, however.

---

Dawdle
Lipstick
Bazaar
Conch Shell
Raiment