Practice Piece 1: Describe an Object

Dear Reader,

It’s in your best interest that you don’t become an international spy. My nerves are burnt out. I twisted my ankle diving behind a wall when I mistook a rattling trashcan for a detonating bomb. I’m out of hair dye, hats, and my publicist has mysteriously disappeared. At this point, I can’t use my passport to escape the country. Until my stylist can smuggle me to Canada, I can’t reveal where your friends are. What I can say is that the girl has a tongue piercing, boy one bears a black eye, and boy two wears a studded battle jacket. So, they’re alive and safe.

However, if you still want into this business, I have two rules for you to follow: one, always invent new identities. Two, always appreciate nature. Nature offers you an imaginary vacation when you can’t escape to the beach.

Yesterday, I found a sycamore leaf that is pressed into my journal. My laced boots crunched and broke the sidewalk branches. Rental signs marched in line in front of the houses while other homes had clown-faced pumpkins on their doorsteps. Little witches and reapers rehearsed their trick-and-treating plans. Huskies beg for head scratches and coal-colored cats scurry across the streets. Cars glide to stops at the intersections. I wasn’t risking a cracked back or bad luck, so I skipped over sidewalk cracks. High above, tree leaves blended from yellow to orange. The wind shook the leaves from their home as they fluttered and fell like snowflakes. One leaf landed at my feet.

            It was a primary, cherry red, and burnt brown outlined its jagged edges. A pinhole decorated its tip. Hold it up to the sun and the leaf’s tiny veins curled and crawled across the red. You felt the veins’ ridges if you ran your hand along its back. The veins moved your eye away from the leaf’s design and then back to it. No wonder the tree rejected this leaf; it was too beautiful for the other mummy brown leaves. I spun the stem between my fingers creating an autumnal top and a formless, blur of red. The sycamore leaf smelled of soft, moist earth and the memory of caramel apples. It’s the red leaf of children’s laughter as they fell into leaf piles. It’s the red that a painter mixed on their palette. This leaf was a reminder the season was almost over.

            Now it’s possible my enemies planted this leaf to trap me. Unlikely since there was no listening device or microscopic camera attached to the leaf. When you’re a detective, you worry about such things anyway. Whenever you can, appreciate these tiny things, and steal the beauty if you can.

            Yours,

 

Practice Piece 2: Character Description

To: Mari Wilson (mrswilson@cmail.com)
From: Orson (detective_orson@paranormalinvestigators.com)

Subject: Your Children Are Safe

Date: Friday, 3 April 2007 15: 55: 20 GMT

Your Children Are Safe

Dear Mrs. Wilson,

Here are the documents I promised you, complete with photographs as well. I also managed to get information on your children’s friends. I suggest you delete this file once you’re done viewing it and don’t bother keeping the photos in an album either. Not a week ago, I received a phone call from your ex-husband asking for similar information. I’m certain he’ll call again once he believes my caseload has lessened.

It must be heart-wrenching thinking you’ve missed a decade of someone’s life. For now, they’re safe from Harvey and so are you. There’s one thing they aren’t safe from, but I can’t help you with that. During my investigation, I found out there’s another entity stalking them. Through their connection to Anekka, ghosts are haunting them now. These spirits have tied themselves to the kids’ souls, refusing to let go. Perhaps sending them crucifixes would help.

However, I have other concerns and questions for you. Family reunions don’t always end in celebrations. What will you do if your daughter and son don’t want a relationship with you? I understand Harvey threatened you into leaving, a woman can take only so many punches, but why didn’t you bring your children with you? Assume you are forgiven; how will your son react if he discovers he is a child of your affair? From my investigation, it’s clear your daughter resents you and Harvey, what twenty-six-year-old wants to mother their sixteen-year-old brother? This isn’t meant to blame you, but I’ve had many clients take their anger out on me when the outcome wasn’t favorable. Still, what you do with this information is up to you.

Best Wishes,

Detective Orson

Confidential!

Page 1 of 11

            Your son’s grown into a handsome teenager and his black eye has healed. Why he hasn’t cut his hair yet is beyond me, but he appears to like it. Connor has entered high school and he towers over his sister. We can be grateful that Harvey’s abuse hasn’t affected Connor’s looks. The same can’t be said for Connor’s emotional states but you can read that in my summary.

Here are some facts that have remained unchanged about your daughter. For example, she cannot cook and consumes fish and fruit. She prefers her nickname, Zita, over her full name, Felicitas. Furthermore, Zita works as an accountant and has broken up with her boyfriend. Yet, you wouldn’t recognize her if you met her on the streets.

Photos 1 and 2 of 3: Connor stood with the smokers, counting the time on his watch before the bell rang. He combed his fingers through his Heavy Metal long hair then threw it back. This cigarette smoke had an advantage, it distracted people from his borrowed, ripped jeans, and mud-splotched sneakers. Nothing hid his bone-thin limbs. He’s surfing safari tan like your lover, but it’s tinted with your peach complexion.

Connor has Zita’s nose, even though she looks more like her father.

Zita sat at her desk gnawing at her pencil, while numbers and worries danced through her head. The shaved half of her head was visible to visitors if they peaked behind the statues. She ignored them by using her Rapunzel side hair as a curtain. If someone bothered to speak to her, I’ve no doubt she’d stare through them with her librarian glasses. Zita wasn’t unattractive and dressed in pastel, lace dresses with bookworm sweaters. She was a Regency belle in our technological world.

Page 4 of 11

Despite my bribes, I’ve not convinced the principal to give me access to Connor’s school records. What I can say is that your son receives B’s and C’s but excelled at Home Economics. His friends consumed his meals than the school’s food.

Photo 3 of 3: Connor is sandwiched between his girlfriend, Anekka, and his other best friend, Dylan. The girl has poisoned apple, green hair, as well as a face full of metal. To Connor’s left, is Dylan, a boy with Sahara brown skin and an afro mohawk. I’m showing my age, but I don’t understand the appeal of piercings so stretched it looks like someone shot a cannonball through your ear. Both teenagers are normal enough; Anekka kissed Connor’s cheek and Dylan’s held two fingers behind Connor’s head.

Page 8 of 11

Practice Piece 3: Write a Prose Poem

dear paranormal professionals’ association,

this is what possession is like.

you’re floating, floating, and swimming under the water. you’re swimming through the bubbles. the waves wash over you. you’re floating, swimming, drifting under the earth. you sink under the soil. you sing to the silence. you’re sleeping in the cemetery. spirits are floating and flying over you. they’re smiling. they’re watching you. they dive inside your mind. they blend and bleed and whirl your thoughts. they braid and break your identity. they become you. i’m swimming in lives and sinking in deaths that aren’t my own. i can’t swim away. i don’t know if they’re ghosts or demons.

yours,

 

Practice Piece 4: Write a Science-Fiction Story

To: Orson (detective_orson@paranormalinvestigators.com)

From: Mari Wilson (mrswilson@cmail.com)

Subject: RE: Your Children Are Safe

Date: Sunday, 5 April 2007 10:16:00 GMT

            Your Children Are Safe

Dear Mr. Orson,

Thank you for this document and your concern. I’ll be heartbroken if Connor and Felicitas don’t forgive me, but I wouldn’t blame them. If Harvey avoids them, if they’re alive and safe, I can accept not being in their lives. I’m uncomfortable with Connor dating a possessed girl. Can you assure me that this girl isn’t dangerous to either of my children? For your effort, I’ll send you an extra check.

Thanks again,

Mari Wilson

To: Mari Wilson (mrswilson@cmail.com)

From: Orson (detective_orson@paranormalinvestigators.com)

Subject: RE: RE: Your Children Are Safe

Date: Sunday, 5 April 2007 10:30:00 GMT

Dear Mrs. Wilson,

From what I know, an exorcism wouldn’t rid Anekka of these spirits. I can connect you to an associate of mine who specializes in these cases. Look for a physical copy of his report in the mail.

From,

Detective Orson

Dear Mrs. Orson,

They’ll be a thud on your porch. The trash bins will rattle as the mail truck speeds by. Don’t toss this box into the bin so the neighbor finds it instead. After you’re done reading my report, place it back in the box then lay it underneath your tree at midnight. We’ll be there to pick up the box later. We trust you will not reveal this information to the girl this is about. She cannot know and we will be watching you very carefully.

Cautiously Yours,

President of the Exorcism Experts Association

Confidential Information Enclosed!

Property of the Exorcism Experts Association (A Division of the Acme Corporation)

Case Number: 4915736257

Date: Circa 2007

Pages 52 – 60 of 137

Anekka sat on the tub’s edge, painting sections of her hair punk pink. A few times she’d check her reflection, stick out her tongue, or wiggle her eyebrows, catching the matching pink in her metal ring. It had been a year since the car accident and Anekka hadn’t gotten used to these ghosts haunting her. One time, a ghost dived inside her. He twisted and mangled her face. He yanked out her piercings, leaving bloody holes in their place. This ghost curled Anekka lip and dragged her eye down her cheek. He’d blurred and blended his face with her own. Soon, he transplanted his head on her shoulders. Later, Anekka awoke sprawled out on the floor with everything back to normal. Her parents hadn’t locked her away yet, because her father said, “Psych hospitals are too expensive for us.” Dying her hair rainbow colors reminded her that she was Anekka Kealoha and not a vacant body fought over.

Today would be different.