The writer’s group was on a roll this week. Every word ended in ch. The hardest word for me was wench. Twenty minutes isn’t enough time for me to really think about how to spin the word into something that doesn’t make me want to scream. I’m not a writer of dragon elf dwarf fantasy stuff. There’s a name for it. High fantasy, I think. It’s not my genre, so I had a hard time. Not one of my better contributions.
One the bright side, I guess, if you can call it that, is I got all five words into the first sentence. I probably should have stopped there.
Watch
Drench
Flinch
Wench
Quench
I watched the drenched wench flinch from the thunder as I was quenching my thirst with a Gatorade under a creosote tree. Thunderclouds had boiled up out of nowhere. Neither one of us made it under cover in time. That’s what happens during monsoon. If you don’t get hit by lightning, you can expect to be washed away in a flash flood. If you happen to make it out of the rushing flood, you can expect to be blown sideways by a 60-mph wind gust. If you are out walking near utility poles or trees when all this happens, you can pretty much kiss your ass goodbye. If you survive, wait ten minutes. The skies will magically clear. The wind will die back. The river will soak back into the sand, taking the armies of tiny frogs with it. If you can wait ten more minutes, the puddles on the asphalt will evaporate. The air will simmer until it’s back up to 100 degrees where it started, more if you count the humidity. In about twenty minutes, it will all be as if it had never happened. Until tomorrow afternoon when you can do the whole thing over again. The wench waved and rode away on her bike. I’ll be out on the path tomorrow, just in case the wench rides by.
See what I mean. Wench. Ugh. Maybe I should have made Wench her last name. Judy Wench. Ha.
One of the writers in the group has a connection to Arizona. He said, “Tucson!” after I read my thing. I said, “Right!”
Monsoon is happening in Scottsdale. I don’t miss the heat of desert summers. I do miss the energy . There’s nothing soft about that climate. The desert is harsh, but harshness has its own beauty.