Today’s Positive Adjective:
Jaunty: sprightly in manner or appearance: LIVELY

Jared stepped into the bright spring day. The breeze blew giant white clouds across a sparkling blue sky. It was a complete change from yesterday’s howling wind that drove ice pellets and freezing rain into his face as he went about his daily chores. Today’s gust playfully tried to snatch the hat from his head wanting to send it on a merry journey through the muddy field. Jared pulled the ten-gallon low and cinched the chin strap. He didn’t have time for that game.

He gave a short whistle. Ole Bob emerged from the lean-to attached to the barn and trotted to him.

“Hey there Buddy,” Jared greeted him with a scratch behind the ears and a heavy pat on his shoulder.

“You ready to work?”

Ole Bob barked twice and ran ahead.

Red whinnied as Jared slid the barn door open. Ole Bob raced inside barking at Red in his stall.

“Guess we are all looking forward to stretching our legs,” Jared said as he pushed Red’s nose away from his coat pocket.

“Hey, that’s for me,” he laughed. He popped an apple from its hiding spot holding it out of the reach of Red’s questing mouth.

“How ‘bout we share?” He took a huge bite then handed the remained to Red.

Ole Bob twisted his head to the right and stared at Jared.

“No, I didn’t forget you.” He tossed a biscuit towards him. Ole Bob caught it midair, swallowed it whole and gave his master a hopeful look.

Jared laughed and threw him a second one.

He whistled a jaunty tune as worked, taking care of the preparations for the day’s outing. He soon had Red saddled and led him from the barn.

“You boys ready to see what them cows have been getting into?” he asked his team.

Old Bob barked, circling Red as Jared mounted.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” He clicked to Red, nudging him with knees and the three of them ran with the wind.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Idiosyncratic: pertaining to the nature of idiosyncrasy, or something peculiar to an individual

My phone was blowing up, and I tried my best to ignore Sylvie’s texts. I checked the time and caught Professor Morton’s glare.  She had a strict “no phone” policy and I didn’t want to piss her off on the first day. The five minutes until class ended stretched to eternity. Sylvie’s texts pushed the vibrate feature from pleasure mode straight to frustration.

Professor Morton dismissed us, and I grabbed my bag. Bolting for the door, I headed towards the seating area at the end of the hall. As I walked if flipped to her messages.

“OMG No Prof K. He died or some shit.”

Professor Kennedy taught the required freshmen Composition 101 and 102 courses. I met Sylvie in his course last semester, and we became inseparable. Scheduling conflicts meant we couldn’t take Comp 2 together this term. She had Kennedy’s class now, and I was scheduled for his next session. I hoped they didn’t cancel it since it would cause havoc with my calendar.

“Check out his replacement.”

I swiped to the photo and gasped. Sylvie had surreptitiously snapped a pic as the new guy walked between the desks. Framed from the crotch to his forehead, he filled the image. Long golden curls covered broad shoulders and his bushy blond walrus mustache accentuated his full red lips. I noticed I was breathing harder as I stared at his piercing blue eyes. It was obvious he had known Sylvie was taking his picture as he looked right at me. I reluctantly scrolled to read the next message.

“Can you say NORSE FREAKING GOD????”

“No shit, Sylvie,” I said out loud.

“Crappy name. Ingmar Bergman.”

Another photo. This one featured his ass as did the four following ones which marked his progress as he walked to the front of the classroom.

“He’s Swedish.”

I hit play on the video. He spoke. His accent was a bizarre and idiosyncratic interpretation of English. I loved it and my heart pounded in my ears when I played it again.

“Oh yeah. Call him DR. Bergman,” her next text said.

“The DR. can examine me anytime.” Sylvie followed her comment with a line of heart emojis.

She sent a dozen photos of him standing in front of the classroom.

“Comp is my new favorite subject,” she texted.

I laughed at the last image. Sylvie had and captured him unknowingly photo-bombing her selfie. This one she tagged with “Don’t be late. HOTTEST Prof this semester.”

I typed my reply and hit send.

“I’m on my way. Do NOT disturb me. We’ll talk after.”

I slipped my phone into my pocket and headed to class. Sylvie was right, I didn’t want to miss a single minute with the good doctor.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Heuristic: involving or serving as an aid to learning, discovery, or problem-solving by experimental and especially trial-and-error methods

Jane loved studying her favorite primates in their natural habitat. The monkeys were leery of Jane at first, but after a while, they ignored her. As she became more familiar with the troop, she recognized individuals. Breaking a research taboo, she named her new subjects.

Harry was the dominant male, king of his domain he put any potential challenger in their proper place. The top female Jane called Hermione. Hermione was smart, and she carried a small twig with her wherever she went. She used the stick to correct the juveniles and sometimes even Harry.

Little Ginny lived at the bottom rung of the monkey hierarchy.  The best and sweetest fruits grew high in the trees and social status determined where the clan members could forage. They relegated Ginny to the forest floor, where she scavenged, hoping her family would drop unwanted tidbits. Ginny’s plight touched Jane’s heart, but the ruled bared Jane from intervening.  Jane’s observations led her to believe Ginny was perhaps smarter than the others.

Jane study focused on how they gained new skills. She created an experiment designed to illuminate how they learned and passed the latest technique to the rest of the troop. Jane devised a crate filled with the monkey’s favorite food. They could see it and smell it, but releasing the fruit required learning how to work the dispenser. First in line, Harry jumped on it, trying to crush it, he hit it with a rock before attempting to pry the box apart. When he gave up, it was Hermione’s turn. She waved her wand at the carton, then she tried poking her stick in the hole to wiggle the plastic door open. Failing she conceded and allowed the others to try.

Jane wondered if the puzzle was too difficult as one by one each monkey failed. Finally, Ginny got her shot. Slow and methodical used every heuristic device at her disposal. While she explored, no one bothered her. Ginny spent more time with the box than any of her family members had. She was determined to get her reward.

Ginny worked at the dispenser until a sprinkling of goodies spilled into her palm. She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, but they had returned to the treetops. With a fistful of food, Ginny waited, making sure the coast was clear before she stuffed every morsel in her mouth. Her hand covered her lips as she chewed.

Ginny watched her family before she manipulated the dispenser again for her second serving. Ginny operated in stealth mode, and Jane knew she would not share her hard-won knowledge with anyone else.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

 

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Germane: being at once relevant and appropriate: FITTING

Barb accepted the position expecting a week of work. It seemed easy enough. Assist Professor Heinzman. They said she would help him catalog organize, analyze his research data. Then compile the information to prepare for writing his conference paper.

She arrived at Professor Heinzman’s office and knocked at the door. No response. She checked her phone. She was a few minutes early, so she dropped her bag on the floor and reclined on the wall, figuring she would answer her email. Lost in her work she didn’t notice the thin man walking approaching her.

“You Barb?” he barked as he leaned toward her. Watery blue eyes blinked at her through chunky trifocal glasses.

“Yeah. Are you Professor Heinzman?” she countered. She plastered herself against the wall, sidestepping, to escape his invasion of her personal space.

He didn’t notice as he turned, fumbling to find the correct key on his keyring.

“Good, I hate when people are tardy,” he said as he unlocked the door.

Retrieving her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and glanced at her phone. She almost laughed. Twenty minutes late. Horror replaced her cynicism as the door opened and she looked inside.

From her experience, college professors commanded a generous-sized office, about twelve feet square, plenty of area for a desk or two and a few chairs for meetings. But she had seen nothing like this. Barb wondered how they would fit. Bookshelves lined the room, covering the window, Barb knew it must have. Books, binders, folders, and reams of paper filled each shelf. He had jammed them into any available space. Thick layers covered every chair, table, and counter and overflowed onto the floor.

Professor Heinzman picked his course along a small path and navigated to a spot behind one desk. When he sat, his head disappeared.

“This way dear, you can sit next to me.”

Barb proceeded gingerly afraid a wrong step might cause a landslide. Papers covered the seat he showed her.

“Just move those anywhere,” he said shaking his hand in the general direction of the chair.

Barb scooped the loose papers into her arms. After considering her limited options, she tucked them underneath the chair and sat.

“Where’s the data I need to compile?” she asked, her bag balanced on her lap.

“You’re looking at it,” he said waving his hands.

“Ah, which stack?”

“Why, all of it. It has taken me years of study and refinement to reach this point. I’m on the verge of the Nobel,” his voice rose, and he hopped up and down on his seat.

“Where are your computer files?”

“Computer files?” he scoffed. “I don’t trust those things. Touch the wrong key and everything disappears.” His fingers wiggled as he spoke. Stretching his arms wide he blinked and snapped his fingers. “Poof. Gone.” he finished.

This time Barb laughed when she wanted to cry.

“Okay. Well, can we start with the most germane parts?”

“Oh sure,” he said and flitted around the room pulling a binder form here, a folder there and depositing them onto her lap. The stack grew until she feared she wouldn’t be able to stand.

“Professor,” she called, “Professor.”

Startled he froze and a loose page fluttered to the floor.

“How about I start with this? When I’m done, I’ll come for more.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Flamboyant: marked by or given to strikingly elaborate or colorful display or behavior

Paco was a quiet, unassuming man. Curly black hair cascaded over his eyes, hiding his soul from the scrutiny of others. Walking into the bar, friendly patrons greeted him and shook his hand. He was polite, murmuring hello, or nodding his acknowledgment. The throng pressed on him, impeding his progress. He lifted his guitar case vertically in front of his chest, clutching it in in both hands he used it as a shield as he zigzagged through the crowd.

He reached the safety of the stage, his little corner of the world. With his instrument tuned, he signaled he was ready, and the dancer took her place. She stood alone, poised, unmoving while the house lights dimmed.

Their fans grew silent. This was why they waited. Anticipation thick in the air, Paco’s fingers strummed the strings. Softly, the melody flowed, and the performer tapped her toe.  The Canté swelled, the bailaora’s movements developed, gaining in intensity.

Paco’s music was flamboyant, emotional, moving. It pushed the bailaora, driving her expressions. She conveyed intense emotions with each swirl, every foot stomp, and arm gesture. Paco played, lost in his reverie. The performance mesmerized the audience. They pulsed, swaying with the beat, transfixed by the story’s passion.

Too soon the Canté ended. A momentary silence descended.  Ecstatic applause thundered through the room, and Paco smiled.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Didactic
a) designed or intended to teach
b) intended to convey instruction and information as well as pleasure and entertainment

Desi was younger than her classmates. She had never understood her “gifted” label and considered it a curse. Kids her age shunned her. They told her college would be different and the students would be more accepting. The undergraduates weren’t overt at excluding her because they knew better. They used more subtle tactics. Introduced as a brilliant young mind and they viewed her as competition.

Desi held her own in most of her classes. Solving math, statistics or programming problems only required the proper application of specific, known rules to derive the answer. Her grades followed another set of guidelines. It provided a nice, neat, logical package.

Drama class stressed her. Here, no laws applied, and the issues didn’t have easy solutions. Everything here was messy. Often there was no decisive correct response or the most popular one made no coherent sense. Desi considered Professor Tate a throwback to the hippies. She insisted her students “feel” and try to connect with their “deepest emotions.” The latest play proved no exception.

Desi had grown accustomed to her position. Her classmates cast her as the youngest child, the half-wit, and now a fool. While Desi understood the didactic nature of the assignment, the allocation seemed designed to humiliate her. She spoke with Professor Tate who told Desi it took intelligence to play the jester, and the two of them devised a plan. Desi read the script studying each part. When they performed this afternoon, a deeper plot would be revealed. Professor Tate assured her, the thespians would learn a valuable lesson.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Today’s Positive Adjective:
Benevolent:
a) marked by or disposed to doing good
b) organized for the purpose of doing good

 

“It isn’t like that. You’re mistaken.”

“You want me to believe scores of authors, spanning centuries wrote the wrong story? Sorry, I’m not buying it.”

“I had hoped you were seeking the truth. Did I misunderstand? Yet you are painting me with the same bad press Zeus has been slinging for eons.”

“So, this is your brother’s fault?”

Hades rubbed his hand across his face and wondered at the wisdom of granting the interview. Persephone thought it might be a good idea to clear the air, to give the mortals a glimpse of the real god, the true Hades. He sighed, aware Annabeth was watching his every move.

For a mortal, she was intelligent and rather pretty, except she smelled like a moist, living human. The sound of her beating heart was distracting, and her breathing… Hades tried not to shudder. It was obvious she had done her homework. He also realized she had formed an opinion and changing her mind wouldn’t be easy.

“How’s your cell reception?” he asked.

Startled, Annabeth dug the phone from her purse. She held it above her head, rotating it in one direction then another.

“Nothing. No bars.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty isolated. Always have been. If you hadn’t noticed, this is a busy place. You know people are dying to get in.” Hades smiled, hoping his lame joke would have an impact. When Annabeth didn’t respond, he shrugged and continued.

“I’m sure you have the statistics. Let me assure you it is a lot of work to process those souls daily, twenty-four seven as you say. No vacations. Ever.” Hades paused letting his words sink in.

“So, when my dear brother started his smear campaign, it was months before I heard about it. You know why he did it?”

“No. Why?” Annabeth tilted her head, wary of his motives.

“You realize Zeus has a little problem?”

“Problem?” Annabeth’s eyebrows knitted together as she searched his angular face.

“Everyone loves Zeus. Don’t they? He’s got the looks, the thunderbolts, and the bad habit of stepping out on Hera. His escapades have caused more than a few problems. Wouldn’t you say?” Hades watched the light bulb illuminate in Annabeth’s brain.

“What’s that have to do with you?”

“Deflection,” Hades paused. “Zeus would get Olympus in an uproar. Hell, at one point they were ready to oust him. Athena helped him. A brilliant plan really. She used her shield to deflect their outrage here. On me. By the time I heard, the storm was over, and Zeus was the darling god again.” Hades shrugged leaning back against his throne.

“You’re a patsy?” Annabeth’s right eyebrow lifted as she spoke.

“I’m just saying, Persephone and I have been together forever. Any stories about me stepping out on her? No. I would never do that. And the story about me abducting Persephone? That’s another of Zeus’ concoctions. She loves me, and I love her.  She’s my queen, my equal here. I care about the wellbeing of all the humans who cross the river, and I work hard to serve them. The Underworld’s purpose is to tend mortal souls. We subject no one to inequality.”

Annabeth remained silent for a long time. Hades watched her consider his words, weighing them against the stories and her extensive research.

“Let me get this straight,” Annabeth began, “You want me to believe you’re a benevolent god, a faithful and loving husband, and an equal rights advocate?”

Hades nodded as she spoke. When she finished, his smile stretched from ear to ear.

“I think you’re discovering who the real devil is.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer