My New Chimerical Kit

My good friend Christina and I have been participating in NaNoWriMo together for two years now.  Next year, we were contemplating choosing a storyline and characters and each writing our novel using the agreed upon plot and setting.  For the past five months we have been “individually collectively” blogging on topics relating to our own lives. However, we have reached a critical point in the year. We are literally halfway to NaNoWriMo season. In order to ramp up and prepare for our Individual Collective NaNovel, Christina and I decided we needed to up the ante in regards to our blog posts. We needed to “get in the mood.”

In order to do so we have selected for your reading pleasure a writing prompt which we will be expounding upon. We have chosen some basic background information that we will both use to see this writing prompt to fruition. And without further ado:

This week’s writing prompt: The captain of a charter boat is hired to sail through the the Bermuda Triangle.
use the line: “Why do you have 10 cans of Easy Cheese in your cart?”

Main Character: Cliff Alberts

Cliff’s Background Story: A 27-year-old who has never really been able to hold down a steady job gets laid off due to “company downsizing.” In a streak of bad, or possibly good, luck, Cliff finds out that his Bahamian grandfather has died and left him a boat. Knowing nothing of boating, but knowing that he’s jobless and needs to change his life, Cliff heads to the Bahamas to pick up said inherited boat. Jobless and trying to prove something to the world, Cliff ends up agreeing to sail through the Bermuda Triangle.

We also decided that it was important to limit this to a character sketch and we will be concluding our sketch before he actually ever leaves for the Bermuda Triangle. Anything up until the actual voyage is fair game for this prompt.

Visit Christina’s blog to read about her Cliff Alberts here.

Some notes about my journey

I realized after the fact that this writing prompt could easily turn into our NaNovel.  This has troubled me greatly.  I don’t want to get particularly attached to Cliff Alberts or his Cheese Whiz so I probably haven’t put too much effort into this little writing prompt.  It’s rough, it’s ugly, and it ends abruptly.  All these things I know.  In fact, comments discussing how ugly, dirty, or how there is literally no plot arch will most likely not be approved.  I want to remind readers that this exercise is to see how well Christina and I are able to write on the same fictional topic, how different our story lines are, and how this might work out for us during NaNoWriMo.

I’m also using as an exercise for me to get back into writing some fiction.  My writing is pretty rusty since last November and with NaNo approaching more rapidly every day I want to make sure that I’m ready for the adventure!  Last year was a little dicey and I don’t think I have any room for error this year, especially with our collective novel on the line!!  I’m hoping to participate in the Night of Writing Dangerously in San Francisco this year too, so there might be some travel involved that could throw a little wrench into the writing chain.

Please be gentle.  I don’t know if Cliff can take it.

The Mystery Behind Cliff Albert’s Cheese Whiz

Cliff Albert stared down into his shopping cart and surveyed the damage so far. He had a case of Twinkies, a couple of flats of bottled water, and so far he had 10 cans of Easy Cheese as well. Cliff was debating on whether or not he should add a few more cans when a voice from behind him said,

“Dude… why do you have 10 cans of Easy Cheese in your cart? I mean… man… I get the munchies and all, but 10 cans of Easy Cheese?? You and me gotta hang out!”

Cliff wasn’t surprised that the only other person inside the Qwik Mart at 1:37 a.m. was a stoner. In fact, Cliff had been hoping that he could avoid even the stoners at this hour. Remembering back to his college experience, he figured that they would all still be in their cannabis haze at this hour and that he had at least another hour, or possibly two, before they emerged from their black-lit dens of iniquity to seek out munchie food. Looks like time have changed a bit in the five years since he graduated college.

“I’m going to the Bermuda Triangle. Just stocking up,” Cliff answered. As completely wasted as this guy was, Cliff wasn’t in the least bit worried about telling him the truth. Worst thing that could happen was this guy would go around telling everyone he could find that he’d just met someone who was going to the Bermuda Triangle. One look at him and his blood-shot eyes, powered-sugar streaked across his face where he’d been shoving donuts in at mach speed, and the lingering sweet-smelling aroma of pot would tell any possible by-standers that this guy that was still experiencing some Hunter Thompson-esque delusions.

“Coooollll! The Bermuda Triangle!!! That’s sweet, dude! Good luck!” the stoner said as he gave Cliff the double thumbs up.

He left Cliff staring into his cart. Cliff’s objective at this point was stocking up on provisions. He had decided that he needed to only purchase stuff that wouldn’t go bad in the event that the Bermuda Triangle really was real. He’d heard enough stories throughout the whole duration of his childhood about people who had disappeared into the ether by traveling through the Bermuda Triangle. In fact, at the formative age of 10, Cliff had become completely obsessed with the disappearance of Amelia Erheart. He was completely convinced that she was one of those lost souls that got sucked into that mysterious sector. It had been a dream of his to travel there one day. However, time and adult-hood hardly leaves room for such outrageous wishes. The mystery of such things gets beaten out of you when you have to make room for Calculus, Philosophy, diagraming sentences, and other various mundane subjects that the establishments of higher education say that people like Cliff are required to master before being sent out into the world as a productive member of society.

“Hrump… productive member of society…” Cliff grumbled to himself, not realizing that he was actually speaking aloud. It was hard to believe that just two short months ago Cliff had received that faithful call to meet his boss in the board room. Mr. Binder had a very sympathetic look on his face when Cliff arrived. Cliff had already suspected what he was about to say but when Mr. Binder had begun to talk Cliff was surprised to find that his throat began to lock up and the room began to get fuzzy. He was being let go… fired… laid off… being made redundant. Four of Cliff’s other co-workers had gotten the axe earlier in the week, and since they had all been senior to Cliff, he knew that his time was limited. Cliff had done nothing outstanding, nothing to make himself indispensable above those other co-workers, and he had known it was only a matter of time until he was called into the board room too for “the chat.” But when it came he was shocked to find out how horrible he reacted to it. He didn’t hear a single word Mr. Binder said. He completely blocked out the entire meeting. Cliff only had his severance letter as proof that it actually happened. He had sat alone in his cube staring at it for the remainder of the day, reading it over and over. They were giving him 1 week for every year that he had worked with TeleComm. Two whole weeks pay. That meant Cliff had two weeks to wrap up his life.

The night that Cliff got laid off, he considered ending it all. Going out in a blaze of glory. He knew that there was no way he could continue to pay his bills, make his rent payments, or afford food with only two weeks pay coming to him. He had gone to sleep that night thinking only of the swiftest, most painless way of going out of this world. But it was then next morning that the unexpected happened and changed Cliff’s life forever.

In the mail that next morning was a very thin letter addressed to Mr. Clifford Franklin Alberts, III. Odd, Cliff couldn’t think of who on Earth knew his full name, let alone would actually use it to address a letter. The postmark looked odd to him, and then he realized that the return address was from the Law Offices of Alberts, Gilldrake & Sanchez in the Bahamas. What could an attorney in Bermuda want with Cliff? Without wasting any time, Cliff ripped open the letter and sat down on the steps leading back up to his apartment.

Dear Mr. Alberts:

It is with my deepest sympathy that I am tasked to inform you of the passing of your grandfather, Clifford Franklin Alberts, Sr., Esq. Clifford was a dear friend of mine for many years and his passing has touched our firm in a most personal way. I have been appointed as the executor of his last will and testament. Your presence is requested at your earliest convenience at our office in order for us to proceed with the settlement of his estate.

Your grandfather left explicit directions in his estate to cover the cost of your travel arrangements to our island in case you were not prepared to bear such a financial burden of leaving for several weeks while his estate was settled. Please contact me at your convenience so that we may make your travel arrangements for you.

I look forward to meeting the grandson of such a trusted friend and colleague.

Sincerely yours,

Lester Gilldrake

Yes, it was that letter that brought him here to the Bahamas in the first place. What happened after was a complete blurr. He had arrived, the estate settlement had begun and before he knew it he was the proud owner of a gorgeous Bermuda sloop. Cliff, of course, had no knowledge of sailing what-so-ever. In fact, the extent of Cliff’s boating experience amassed to a biology class that he took freshman year where they took canoes out on the lake and took samples of the pond scum. His lab partner spent more time keeping Cliff from passing out from a panic attack or falling over the side while getting sea-sick (or pond-sick) than he did paddling. After that terrific experience Cliff steered clear of water sports in general. But this boat, his grandfather’s boat, was different. This was a sign. A sign of the changing times, and Cliff wasn’t about to turn that down.

That’s why Cliff wasn’t the least bit surprised when a sailing instructor just happened to come strolling by the docks just as Cliff was about to find out the hard way the difference between a jib and a jive. Cliff welcomed the sea-hardy Bahamian into his life and learned what he could about sailing. They had taken the boat out a total of five times when Cliff was sure that he’d gotten hang of it. The sailing instructor would most likely have something different to say about Cliff’s abilities, but Cliff thought he was a pro! He was ready to take on the open seas and go for some fantastic buccaneering adventure! After all, if you had a boat and didn’t get to be a pirate, what good was it all?

It was even less surprising to Cliff that an elderly gentleman in a seersucker suit approached him one night while he was drinking at a pub off the the docks offering Cliff $10,000.00 to sail into the Bermuda Triangle.  Cliff saw his sloop as a sign of the beginning of the winds of change blowing luck in his direction.  The man, who politely refused to give his name, gave Cliff $5,000 up front to purchase supplies and get himself in order for the journey.  The man requested that the voyage be made solo, if Cliff felt up to the task, but that he would agree for Cliff to bring along one additional hand if he felt he couldn’t handle the boat alone.  Initially, Cliff wanted to make the journey alone.  A right of passage of sorts, but now that he was standing in the middle of the grocery store pondering about the shelf-life of Cheese Whiz and now becoming all to familiar with why those guys back in the old days ate hard tack, he was beginning to feel like he might need an accomplice in this little jaunt.

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