QueryTracker Community

Writing => Community Fiction => Topic started by: Patrick on July 20, 2007, 08:17:25 AM

Title: Agent Quest
Post by: Patrick on July 20, 2007, 08:17:25 AM
How about a story about a writer going through all kinds of crazy schemes trying to land an agent?  He can be very desperate and try things like kidnapping agents and forcing them to read his work by gunpoint.  Other situations that come to mind:

He could call in a bomb threat on the agent's office, then when the building is empty, sneak in with a box of his manuscripts and replace every manuscript in the office with a copy of his own.  (maybe I actually thought of doing this, maybe I haven't)  He gets away with it and is very pleased with himself.  But just as he leaves the building it blows up.

Or, he finally lands an agent, only to discover that said agent is a mass-murderer.  He is about to report this to the police when he realizes, "So he has a few faults, at least he's an agent." and hangs up the phone.  Now he has to keep his agent out of trouble, at least until a book deal comes through.

With this we can have a little fun, vent some frustration, and get in some good writing exercises.


Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 20, 2007, 11:17:20 AM
Sounds fun. Now, why don't YOU start it? :wag:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 23, 2007, 05:43:34 PM
  The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

There you go!  Have fun with it!
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 23, 2007, 11:14:30 PM
 :clap:

I need time to respond to that!!! Wonderful!
Title: Re: Agent Quest continues
Post by: justwrite on July 25, 2007, 11:02:25 AM
The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

He thought back to the morning of his awakening. Strange it coincided with the day his wife let the trailer screen door slam, their screeching triplets balanced on her hip. "Michael Priest," she yelled through the screen, "there hasn't been a customer at the garage for two months. Do you know what diapers cost? Do you care? I'm moving back with mama."

It could have been four mosquitos circling his head for all it mattered to Priest. Nothing mattered but the quest. Not his foundering auto body shop, nor the nearly mummified mother he no longer visited at the nursing home. She knew he was the one, anyway. He only needed a sign from the heavens affirming his task as a messenger of the divine word.

Priest stared into his soggy cheerios, the rattling slam of the screen door already forgotten. A single glorious beam of light streamed through the tattered curtains like a spotlight. One soggy O rose from the bowl and began to speak.

"You'll make those agents understand, Michael. But you need a plan."
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 25, 2007, 06:07:03 PM
OMG!!!  A talking Cheerio?!  That's fabulous!
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 25, 2007, 08:27:12 PM
Are you stunned into silence? Keep going :yes:...OR if you want something else to do look at my new first chapter for Freaks of Nature, the woe-begone ms I am trying to sell.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 25, 2007, 08:47:52 PM
Oh, no.  I will do more.  We should try to get others involved though.  I need to get a piece of that talking Cheerio...
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Patrick on July 25, 2007, 08:50:03 PM
Would Fruit Loops be more appropriate?

Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 25, 2007, 09:08:01 PM
Maybe in your world...
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 25, 2007, 09:26:02 PM
 :rolf:

I think we need a better title for this...Agent Quest sounds like its about business.

The Quest of Doom
Epic Quest
 
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 25, 2007, 10:01:13 PM
Michael Priest and the Cheerio of Doom
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 25, 2007, 10:14:21 PM
The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

He thought back to the morning of his awakening. Strange it coincided with the day his wife let the trailer screen door slam, their screeching triplets balanced on her hip. "Michael Priest," she yelled through the screen, "there hasn't been a customer at the garage for two months. Do you know what diapers cost? Do you care? I'm moving back with mama."

It could have been four mosquitos circling his head for all it mattered to Priest. Nothing mattered but the quest. Not his foundering auto body shop, nor the nearly mummified mother he no longer visited at the nursing home. She knew he was the one, anyway. He only needed a sign from the heavens affirming his task as a messenger of the divine word.

Priest stared into his soggy cheerios, the rattling slam of the screen door already forgotten. A single glorious beam of light streamed through the tattered curtains like a spotlight. One soggy O rose from the bowl and began to speak.

"You'll make those agents understand, Michael. But you need a plan."

The day at the garage went as he expected.  The lack of customers gave him plenty of time to devise his first strategy on how to make these people see what they were really missing.  It was simple, really.  If they would only just read the words; if only they would listen to the characters.  That was what would make all the difference.  He had tried the query letter and the synopsis, but no one would respond to him, and he was running out of money for self-addressed, stamped envelopes.  He had to meet them in person and convince them in person with his passion and fervor.

“I’m an aardvark, man,” Michael whispered to himself.  “An aardvark.”  He finished polishing his tools five o’clock, and pulled down the garage door for the last time.  With Marlene and the boys gone, he would have the freedom to do what he needed to do, and then she would see.  She would come back to him then, and they would live in that double-wide that she had pointed out to him last year, the one with the bright pink front door and the chandelier in the dining room.

He went home and piled his few belongings into his Vanagon, and at 6:45 pm on Friday afternoon, Michael began his historic journey toward New York City, and toward his destiny.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 25, 2007, 10:25:18 PM
How about just

Agent Quest: The Cheerio of Doom
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 25, 2007, 10:26:52 PM
That's beautiful.  You better respond again, jw, I'm already cooking up another section!!!
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 25, 2007, 10:28:47 PM
 :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf:

Hey..do the rest of you want Loth and me to have ALL the fun? Someone else join in. (I know he's a hard act to follow, but try).

Maybe I should give this to that agent as a present to amuse him.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 25, 2007, 10:29:52 PM
Okay..but I think we need some other hands on this.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 25, 2007, 10:34:46 PM
All right, I'll wait and see if anyone else joins in.  Come on, Chelsea, show us your stuff!  I'm calling you out!
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 25, 2007, 10:47:29 PM
The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

He thought back to the morning of his awakening. Strange it coincided with the day his wife let the trailer screen door slam, their screeching triplets balanced on her hip. "Michael Priest," she yelled through the screen, "there hasn't been a customer at the garage for two months. Do you know what diapers cost? Do you care? I'm moving back with mama."

It could have been four mosquitos circling his head for all it mattered to Priest. Nothing mattered but the quest. Not his foundering auto body shop, nor the nearly mummified mother he no longer visited at the nursing home. She knew he was the one, anyway. He only needed a sign from the heavens affirming his task as a messenger of the divine word.

Priest stared into his soggy cheerios, the rattling slam of the screen door already forgotten. A single glorious beam of light streamed through the tattered curtains like a spotlight. One soggy O rose from the bowl and began to speak.

"You'll make those agents understand, Michael. But you need a plan."

The day at the garage went as he expected.  The lack of customers gave him plenty of time to devise his first strategy on how to make these people see what they were really missing.  It was simple, really.  If they would only just read the words; if only they would listen to the characters.  That was what would make all the difference.  He had tried the query letter and the synopsis, but no one would respond to him, and he was running out of money for self-addressed, stamped envelopes.  He had to meet them in person and convince them in person with his passion and fervor.

“I’m an aardvark, man,” Michael whispered to himself.  â€œAn aardvark.”  He finished polishing his tools five o’clock, and pulled down the garage door for the last time.  With Marlene and the boys gone, he would have the freedom to do what he needed to do, and then she would see.  She would come back to him then, and they would live in that double-wide that she had pointed out to him last year, the one with the bright pink front door and the chandelier in the dining room.

He went home and piled his few belongings into his Vanagon, and at 6:45 pm on Friday afternoon, Michael began his historic journey toward New York City, and toward his destiny.

Chapter 2

Priest hit the highway in a cloud of black smoke, glancing back only once to check on the Cheerio, snug in its bowl. He laughed. The fools rushed past on their mundane errands in their mundane lives. Did they understand how the destiny of the nation, of the planet, rested in the center of one soggy nugget of oat cereal?

It was time to stop and consult the circular oracle.  Besides, nature called.
He pulled into a Denny's, lifted the sacred chalice from the back seat and carried it to a picnic table.

He set the bowl on the table and stared into the bowl. The cheerio spoke for the second time that day.
"The one you seek is in Montana. He, and he alone can guide you to the agents."


Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 25, 2007, 11:02:19 PM
The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

He thought back to the morning of his awakening. Strange it coincided with the day his wife let the trailer screen door slam, their screeching triplets balanced on her hip. "Michael Priest," she yelled through the screen, "there hasn't been a customer at the garage for two months. Do you know what diapers cost? Do you care? I'm moving back with mama."

It could have been four mosquitos circling his head for all it mattered to Priest. Nothing mattered but the quest. Not his foundering auto body shop, nor the nearly mummified mother he no longer visited at the nursing home. She knew he was the one, anyway. He only needed a sign from the heavens affirming his task as a messenger of the divine word.

Priest stared into his soggy cheerios, the rattling slam of the screen door already forgotten. A single glorious beam of light streamed through the tattered curtains like a spotlight. One soggy O rose from the bowl and began to speak.

"You'll make those agents understand, Michael. But you need a plan."

The day at the garage went as he expected.  The lack of customers gave him plenty of time to devise his first strategy on how to make these people see what they were really missing.  It was simple, really.  If they would only just read the words; if only they would listen to the characters.  That was what would make all the difference.  He had tried the query letter and the synopsis, but no one would respond to him, and he was running out of money for self-addressed, stamped envelopes.  He had to meet them in person and convince them in person with his passion and fervor.

“I’m an aardvark, man,” Michael whispered to himself.  “An aardvark.”  He finished polishing his tools five o’clock, and pulled down the garage door for the last time.  With Marlene and the boys gone, he would have the freedom to do what he needed to do, and then she would see.  She would come back to him then, and they would live in that double-wide that she had pointed out to him last year, the one with the bright pink front door and the chandelier in the dining room.

He went home and piled his few belongings into his Vanagon, and at 6:45 pm on Friday afternoon, Michael began his historic journey toward New York City, and toward his destiny.

Chapter 2

Priest hit the highway in a cloud of black smoke, glancing back only once to check on the Cheerio, snug in its bowl. He laughed. The fools rushed past on their mundane errands in their mundane lives. Did they understand how the destiny of the nation, of the planet, rested in the center of one soggy nugget of oat cereal?

It was time to stop and consult the circular oracle.  Besides, nature called.
He pulled into a Denny's, lifted the sacred chalice from the back seat and carried it to a picnic table.

He set the bowl on the table and stared into the bowl. The cheerio spoke for the second time that day.
"The one you seek is in Montana. He, and he alone can guide you to the agents."

Montana?  Who the hell lives in Montana?  But who was Michael to question a talking cheerio.  He nodded and took the chalice back to the Vanagon, secured it into the back seat, and then took a hard left.  As he read the road signs, trying to decide which would be the best route to Montana, the cheerio spoke again.
“You don’t have to GO to Montana, you idiot.  Go to the library.  They have computers there where you can access the internet and get on Querytracker.net.  You will find the agents addresses in New York City there.”

“Right,” said Michael.  He pulled the Vanagon back off the nearest off-ramp and headed back into town.  Good thing he had that cheerio.  He almost just drove all the way to Montana!
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 25, 2007, 11:18:53 PM
Yes but he is going to need a hostage. Tension...we need tension here.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 25, 2007, 11:25:15 PM
An intern  >:D
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Chelc on July 26, 2007, 12:20:01 AM
All right, I'll wait and see if anyone else joins in.  Come on, Chelsea, show us your stuff!  I'm calling you out!
Naw, seems like you guys have it covered   ;)
Besides, I don't have any experience with feeling the need to get back at agents...I'm just here for the advice :yes:
And to laugh at you all ;D
Though, I may just be able to come up with something for the intern-hostage... >:D
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Nostrabuttus on July 26, 2007, 11:38:25 AM
The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

He thought back to the morning of his awakening. Strange it coincided with the day his wife let the trailer screen door slam, their screeching triplets balanced on her hip. "Michael Priest," she yelled through the screen, "there hasn't been a customer at the garage for two months. Do you know what diapers cost? Do you care? I'm moving back with mama."

It could have been four mosquitos circling his head for all it mattered to Priest. Nothing mattered but the quest. Not his foundering auto body shop, nor the nearly mummified mother he no longer visited at the nursing home. She knew he was the one, anyway. He only needed a sign from the heavens affirming his task as a messenger of the divine word.

Priest stared into his soggy cheerios, the rattling slam of the screen door already forgotten. A single glorious beam of light streamed through the tattered curtains like a spotlight. One soggy O rose from the bowl and began to speak.

"You'll make those agents understand, Michael. But you need a plan."

The day at the garage went as he expected.  The lack of customers gave him plenty of time to devise his first strategy on how to make these people see what they were really missing.  It was simple, really.  If they would only just read the words; if only they would listen to the characters.  That was what would make all the difference.  He had tried the query letter and the synopsis, but no one would respond to him, and he was running out of money for self-addressed, stamped envelopes.  He had to meet them in person and convince them in person with his passion and fervor.

“I’m an aardvark, man,” Michael whispered to himself.  “An aardvark.”  He finished polishing his tools five o’clock, and pulled down the garage door for the last time.  With Marlene and the boys gone, he would have the freedom to do what he needed to do, and then she would see.  She would come back to him then, and they would live in that double-wide that she had pointed out to him last year, the one with the bright pink front door and the chandelier in the dining room.

He went home and piled his few belongings into his Vanagon, and at 6:45 pm on Friday afternoon, Michael began his historic journey toward New York City, and toward his destiny.

Chapter 2

Priest hit the highway in a cloud of black smoke, glancing back only once to check on the Cheerio, snug in its bowl. He laughed. The fools rushed past on their mundane errands in their mundane lives. Did they understand how the destiny of the nation, of the planet, rested in the center of one soggy nugget of oat cereal?

It was time to stop and consult the circular oracle.  Besides, nature called.
He pulled into a Denny's, lifted the sacred chalice from the back seat and carried it to a picnic table.

He set the bowl on the table and stared into the bowl. The cheerio spoke for the second time that day.
"The one you seek is in Montana. He, and he alone can guide you to the agents."

Montana?  Who the hell lives in Montana?  But who was Michael to question a talking cheerio.  He nodded and took the chalice back to the Vanagon, secured it into the back seat, and then took a hard left.  As he read the road signs, trying to decide which would be the best route to Montana, the cheerio spoke again.
“You don’t have to GO to Montana, you idiot.  Go to the library.  They have computers there where you can access the internet and get on Querytracker.net.  You will find the agents addresses in New York City there.”

“Right,” said Michael.  He pulled the Vanagon back off the nearest off-ramp and headed back into town.  Good thing he had that cheerio.  He almost just drove all the way to Montana!

Michael salvaged what he could before the smoke made it impossible to stay inside the vehicle any longer. He looked back at the Vanagan parked on the side of the road, still smoking. Why hadn’t he stopped to check on that smell, when he was still in civilization? He wouldn’t be stranded out in the middle of nowhere, if he had just taken the time to find what led to the cause of the fire under the dash.

Too late now, to worry about it, once published he’ll buy a new vehicle. Michael headed north with his backpack over his shoulder. A car would come along soon, he hoped, looking at the diminishing rays of light as the sun dropped below the mountain range to the west. 
Title: Re: Agent Quest: The Cheerio of Doom
Post by: justwrite on July 26, 2007, 12:40:01 PM
Hey, Nostra...I think we have him headed for NY, now. Nice twist!

The book was the best in the history of the world, and Michael Priest knew it.  His mother had told him so.  He hadn't even had to write a second draft.  It was that good.  But as the years dragged on and the rejections to his query letters continued to roll in, Michael began to face a frightening possibility.  Agents did not know greatness when they saw it.
  Michael had taken the college courses, and he had read all the books on writing fiction, but he found that they had little to teach him.  What he found was that if he listened to his heart and let the characters speak, then the books wrote themselves.  The characters did not require editing.  This would be interfering with what they were trying to say, and what they had said in his finished manuscript was beautiful beyond anything he had ever read.  But the agents refused to listen.  They would not recognize his work as the inspired genius that it was, and now that he had exhausted his avenues of traditional approach, he realized that he was going to have to do something radical, something beyond what anyone else had ever thought of.  The world could not be robbed of the opportunity to read his masterpiece.  These heathens could not be allowed to stand in the way of a work of such significance.  He would have to force them to see...

He thought back to the morning of his awakening. Strange it coincided with the day his wife let the trailer screen door slam, their screeching triplets balanced on her hip. "Michael Priest," she yelled through the screen, "there hasn't been a customer at the garage for two months. Do you know what diapers cost? Do you care? I'm moving back with mama."

It could have been four mosquitos circling his head for all it mattered to Priest. Nothing mattered but the quest. Not his foundering auto body shop, nor the nearly mummified mother he no longer visited at the nursing home. She knew he was the one, anyway. He only needed a sign from the heavens affirming his task as a messenger of the divine word.

Priest stared into his soggy cheerios, the rattling slam of the screen door already forgotten. A single glorious beam of light streamed through the tattered curtains like a spotlight. One soggy O rose from the bowl and began to speak.

"You'll make those agents understand, Michael. But you need a plan."

The day at the garage went as he expected.  The lack of customers gave him plenty of time to devise his first strategy on how to make these people see what they were really missing.  It was simple, really.  If they would only just read the words; if only they would listen to the characters.  That was what would make all the difference.  He had tried the query letter and the synopsis, but no one would respond to him, and he was running out of money for self-addressed, stamped envelopes.  He had to meet them in person and convince them in person with his passion and fervor.

“I’m an aardvark, man,” Michael whispered to himself.  “An aardvark.”  He finished polishing his tools five o’clock, and pulled down the garage door for the last time.  With Marlene and the boys gone, he would have the freedom to do what he needed to do, and then she would see.  She would come back to him then, and they would live in that double-wide that she had pointed out to him last year, the one with the bright pink front door and the chandelier in the dining room.

He went home and piled his few belongings into his Vanagon, and at 6:45 pm on Friday afternoon, Michael began his historic journey toward New York City, and toward his destiny.

Chapter 2

Priest hit the highway in a cloud of black smoke, glancing back only once to check on the Cheerio, snug in its bowl. He laughed. The fools rushed past on their mundane errands in their mundane lives. Did they understand how the destiny of the nation, of the planet, rested in the center of one soggy nugget of oat cereal?

It was time to stop and consult the circular oracle.  Besides, nature called.
He pulled into a Denny's, lifted the sacred chalice from the back seat and carried it to a picnic table.

He set the bowl on the table and stared into the bowl. The cheerio spoke for the second time that day.
"The one you seek is in Montana. He, and he alone can guide you to the agents."

Montana?  Who the hell lives in Montana?  But who was Michael to question a talking cheerio.  He nodded and took the chalice back to the Vanagon, secured it into the back seat, and then took a hard left.  As he read the road signs, trying to decide which would be the best route to Montana, the cheerio spoke again.
“You don’t have to GO to Montana, you idiot.  Go to the library.  They have computers there where you can access the internet and get on Querytracker.net.  You will find the agents addresses in New York City there.”

“Right,” said Michael.  He pulled the Vanagon back off the nearest off-ramp and headed back into town.  Good thing he had that cheerio.  He almost just drove all the way to Montana!

Michael salvaged what he could before the smoke made it impossible to stay inside the vehicle any longer. He looked back at the Vanagan parked on the side of the road, still smoking. Why hadn’t he stopped to check on that smell, when he was still in civilization? He wouldn’t be stranded out in the middle of nowhere, if he had just taken the time to find what led to the cause of the fire under the dash.

Too late now, to worry about it, once published he’ll buy a new vehicle. Michael headed east with his backpack over his shoulder. A car would come along soon, he hoped, looking at the diminishing rays of light as the sun dropped below the mountain range to the west. 

Still reeling over the loss of the sacred oracle, Priest ducked into an all night Shoprite as the sky deepened to indigo. He glanced at the emerging stars and wondered if they were trying in vain to communicate with him through the lost cheerio. He lifted his arms to the sky and waited for the message to enlighten his soul.

Nothing.

Priest trudged into Shoprite, downhearted, yet determined. He would find his way to New York. Cheerio or no cheerio. Vanagon or no Vanagon.
In the cereal aisle, a chubby stockgirl stood on her toes, trying to slide a box onto the highest shelf.

"Here, let me help you," Priest offered.
The girl eyed him suspiciously. The delicate silver wire in her eyebrow twinkled in the flourescent glare.
Electric emotion galloped through Priest. The glorious awakening when the word was revealed to him. The shining moment when the cheerio first commanded his sacred quest. Tears pooled in his eyes. It took him moment for Priest to find his voice, so briiilant was the light coming from this wondrous girl.

It had all led to this.

This chubby pierced stockgirl. She was the one who would show him the way forward.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Chelc on July 26, 2007, 04:48:24 PM
Argh. I have an idea for this story, but I need a spot to put it...it doesn't fit anywhere yet. You'll jsut have to wait. ;)
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 26, 2007, 06:10:34 PM
wow..the tension builds. You're going to be a great publicist when you're published!
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on July 30, 2007, 05:34:00 PM
This reply was getting long, so I didn't copy everything over this time.

“Why are you crying?” the stockgirl said.  Michael hesitated, and then noticed that the box he had helped her push up onto the shelf was a whole case of cheerios.  Again he heard the scared O speak:

“You’ll make them understand, Michael.”

“Umm,” Michael said, scrambling for an answer.  He dropped the pack from his shoulder and pulled out a stained handkerchief.  “My wife left me today, and you remind me of her.  Sorry to bother you.”  Micheal wiped his eyes, blew his nose sonorously, and turned away.

“Wait,” the chubby stockgirl said as he turned to leave.  She was fidgeting with the piercing in her eyebrow and was looking down at the floor.  “That’s about the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Well, I meant it,” Michael said.  “She was a good woman, but I’m a bad man.”

“I like bad boys,” the stockgirl said, still not looking up.  She agreed to meet Michael outside the Shoprite after closing time.  The plan was for them to go to an all night diner and get something to eat, but Michael had something else in mind.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on July 30, 2007, 10:47:52 PM
wow..great...I'm too brain dead to continue tonight on it, but i promise I will.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on August 10, 2007, 11:41:21 AM
It's been two weeks... :zzz:
Title: Re: Agent Quest..at last!!!!!
Post by: justwrite on August 10, 2007, 02:43:07 PM
 :inocent: okay, okay...here goes...
“Why are you crying?” the stockgirl said.  Michael hesitated, and then noticed that the box he had helped her push up onto the shelf was a whole case of cheerios.  Again he heard the scared O speak:

“You’ll make them understand, Michael.”

“Umm,” Michael said, scrambling for an answer.  He dropped the pack from his shoulder and pulled out a stained handkerchief.  “My wife left me today, and you remind me of her.  Sorry to bother you.”  Micheal wiped his eyes, blew his nose sonorously, and turned away.

“Wait,” the chubby stockgirl said as he turned to leave.  She was fidgeting with the piercing in her eyebrow and was looking down at the floor.  “That’s about the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Well, I meant it,” Michael said.  “She was a good woman, but I’m a bad man.”

“I like bad boys,” the stockgirl said, still not looking up.  She agreed to meet Michael outside the Shoprite after closing time.  The plan was for them to go to an all night diner and get something to eat, but Michael had something else in mind.

Michael hid in the bushes outside the Shoprite. The chubby stockgirl headed for her Ford Pickup through the deserted parking lot. The moonlight bathed her pink mohawk in neon brilliance. Michael sighed, his eyes closed to savor the moment. It was so right.

He opened them to find a Cheerio-shaped cloud had floated over the moon.
Destiny calling, indeed.

The girl liked bad boys, she said. But Michael wasn't bad. Far from it. He only said that to get her sympathy. He would explain the truth later.
After he locked her in the trunk and tore ass east toward New York. She would understand. He was certain.

The Cheerio cloud confirmed what he already knew. The chubby shopgirl didn't know it yet, but together, they were about to change history.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 10, 2007, 02:45:16 PM
Okay, Lo..get rolling!!!!!  >:D
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on August 10, 2007, 03:41:19 PM
Okay, but Ford pickups don't have trunks.  Trust me, I'm from Montana.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 10, 2007, 04:32:15 PM
Duh..yeah..even I should know that. Give me a better car, and don't use that as an exuse for lollygagging.  :wag:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Patrick on August 10, 2007, 04:44:23 PM
I have to admit, I haven't had the chance to read this, but I will.  I'm just a bit afraid of what I might find.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 10, 2007, 04:59:17 PM
stunning genius, of course.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on August 11, 2007, 04:37:21 PM
Of course!  Umm...  AMC Pacer?  A Gremlin?  Ford Torino?
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 11, 2007, 11:46:56 PM
you are stalling...insert car of your choice and keep on. How do we get others to join in? Are they intimidated by the brilliance of our creation?   ;D
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Diowe on August 12, 2007, 04:39:19 PM
 :yes:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 12, 2007, 06:52:55 PM
 :sick1: I am on strike on this topic until someone else adds to the amazing adventures of the sacred Cheerio.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Chelc on August 12, 2007, 07:13:22 PM
Okay, so I don't have the time right now to actually write something down for this...but here's an idea for someone else:
The cheerio is waiting for Michael somewhere when he (it?) sees a billboard ad for Frootloops--it's arch nemises.  >:D
And so begins the side-story.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 12, 2007, 07:16:39 PM
Can you clarify? What if the Cheerio runs off with a Froot Loop? (and the milk ran away with a spoon)

Hey, wait! I'm on strike. What's with this outsourcing trend in this thread?  :hmm:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Chelc on August 12, 2007, 07:18:17 PM
No, Cheerio decides to abandon Michael (only for a moment) and go terrorize all Frootloops at the nearest grocery store.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 12, 2007, 07:20:10 PM
No outsourcing. Your idea, you write it, chica.  :yes:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Chelc on August 12, 2007, 07:22:10 PM
Not until somebody else adds to my community fiction story.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 12, 2007, 07:23:57 PM
Here's my catchword contribution to QT:

pfffffffft
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on August 14, 2007, 02:13:37 PM
Pat is on assignment right now and is away from the internet for more than 8 hours a day.  It has been difficult for him, but he has decided to work on a segment for Agent Quest and is requesting that the next post be reserved for him!  So, don't post until you see something from Patrick!  I'd hate to delete someone's hard work... >:D
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 14, 2007, 06:39:15 PM
great!!! He's writing!!!!
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Patrick on August 14, 2007, 07:04:27 PM
I wouldn't call it writing, but here goes...


Just as she reached her pickup and was fumbling for her keys, Michael leaped from the bushes and grabbed her from behind.  One hand over her month, he drug her to the rear of the truck.  She kicked and squirmed, but his grip was too strong. 

"I won't hurt you," Michael whispered in her ear.  "I just need you to get in the trunk."
She bit down on his finger.  He yelled out in pain and removed his hand from her mouth.

"What?  You idiot!" She screamed and tore herself from his arms.  "Pickups don't have trunks."
In shock, Michael released his hold on her.  She turned to face him.

"Oh, it's you," she said.  "You don't have to play bad-boy for me.  I know the real thing when I see it."  She patted him on the butt and climbed into the truck and started the engine.  Michael, his plan ruined, watched on in silence.  He had disappointed the Great Round One, he just knew it. 

The window of the truck rolled down, and out came the sounds of some very tasteful classic rock.  "Are you coming?" the girl said.

Michael shrugged, then walked around and got in on the passenger side.

As they drove away, the chubby stockgirl hung her head out of the truck window and shouted, "Woot!"

Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 14, 2007, 07:33:06 PM
 :clap: Yay Patrick! Not a bad effort! You did it! Now it's someone else's turn.  :yes:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Chelc on August 14, 2007, 07:46:31 PM
As they drove away, the chubby stockgirl hung her head out of the truck window and shouted, "Woot!"
best line in the entire story...
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 14, 2007, 07:52:27 PM
There's the title of your first person book, C.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Chelc on August 14, 2007, 08:00:32 PM
What woot? Haha.
But this first person book isn't gonna happen. Tough cookies.  :wag:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 14, 2007, 08:03:09 PM
Quote
But this first person book isn't gonna happen. Tough cookies. 
I'll wear you down.  ;)

Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Patrick on August 14, 2007, 08:05:04 PM
That's perfect.  WOOT.  I can see it now.  Chelc that is a great title.  You better jump on it before someone else does.  You wouldn't want to be left with a Broken Woot.


Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Chelc on August 14, 2007, 08:06:32 PM
How about Woot stands for something?
W.O.O.T.
But I've no idea what it would stand for.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Patrick on August 14, 2007, 08:17:15 PM
W.O.O.T.  Write On ... something
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 14, 2007, 09:03:28 PM
Daniel knows what Woot stands for.

Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: MelanieLane on August 21, 2007, 10:46:47 AM
:draw: OOO! OOO! Let me try!

Just as she reached her pickup and was fumbling for her keys, Michael leaped from the bushes and grabbed her from behind.  One hand over her month, he drug her to the rear of the truck.  She kicked and squirmed, but his grip was too strong. 

"I won't hurt you," Michael whispered in her ear.  "I just need you to get in the trunk."
She bit down on his finger.  He yelled out in pain and removed his hand from her mouth.

"What?  You idiot!" She screamed and tore herself from his arms.  "Pickups don't have trunks."
In shock, Michael released his hold on her.  She turned to face him.

"Oh, it's you," she said.  "You don't have to play bad-boy for me.  I know the real thing when I see it."  She patted him on the butt and climbed into the truck and started the engine.  Michael, his plan ruined, watched on in silence.  He had disappointed the Great Round One, he just knew it. 

The window of the truck rolled down, and out came the sounds of some very tasteful classic rock.  "Are you coming?" the girl said.

Michael shrugged, then walked around and got in on the passenger side.

As they drove away, the chubby stockgirl hung her head out of the truck window and shouted, "Woot!"


--

As they drove on and on through the cloud-filled night, Michael realized he couldn't find the courage to speak to the stockgirl, who he knew held infinite knowledge to help him in his quest beneath her mohawk. Instead, he searched for ways to pass the time while the truck barrelled towards its unknown destination.

After a half hour of staring longingly at the stockgirl, attempting to pluck up the courage he would require to speak, Michael realized the stockgirl's eyebrow ring casted donut-shaped streams of light throughout the vehicle whenever the hole of a Cheerio-shaped cloud passed directly overhead, allowing the full moonlight to find its way into the passenger compartment. He decided to count the divine projections they danced across his lap, mocking his cowardice.

He reached two hundred and eighty-two projections before all self-confidence seemed to be stripped from him by the demonic projections. He ceased his tally, and decided to focus on the classic rock guitar riffs bursting from the truck's speakers, threatening to tear his toupee off his head. The stockgirl kept her eyes on the road, murdering the occasional unfortunate bug on their windshield.

As the sounds of Styx poured over him like water, Michael witnessed the miraculous apparation of the Wise Cheerio in the sky. He was using one of the clouds as his body, and had transformed it to suit his purposes. Michael gazed up in the sky at the 747-sized Cheerio in fear and awe.

The Great One smiled before speaking.  "Fear not, Michael Priest. But you must sing if your journey is to continue."

"Sing?" Michael squeeked, terrified.

"You must conquer your greatest fears now! It's a literary rule!"

"But...singing..."

"I realize the wedding was a terrifying experience for you, what with the mysterious gunslinger appearing during your Karaoke performance and stealing the first half of your manuscript in front of your guests, but you must face your fears!"

"The nut stole the first part of my manuscript?"

"Just sing!"

You should never argue with the Great One, Michael realized, before opening his mouth. "OH MAMA, I'M IN FEAR FOR MY LIFE FROM THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW! HANGMAN IS COMIN DOWN FROM THE GALLOWS AND I DON'T HAVE VERY LONG!"

"I sure hope you write better than you sing," was all the stockgirl said before the world went black and Michael knew no more.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: audal on August 21, 2007, 10:58:00 AM
My elder interpretation of WOOT as I know it:  We Own The Other Team?  But wouldn't that be WOTOT?

Whoa-Tot just doesn't have the same phoenetic jingle-jangle.

Mel's predilection toward 80's schmaltz... Mercy!  Love it!  It's like a helium tank exploded in here.  I am sure someone is gonna hear me whistling the song in public today... and I know one of said inadvertant listeners is gonna think "Oh cool - Renegade!"

I may one day have to take a shot at an entry to Agent Quest.  I am intrigued. :clap:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: MelanieLane on August 21, 2007, 11:18:10 AM
:draw:

 ;D

Funny story about Renegade. I was calling a friend of mine, and I didn't realize they had picked up, so I kept singing for a solid minute with them going "MELANIE! MELANIE! STOP SINGING!"

Come on, get the creative juices flowing! Join in!

Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: audal on August 21, 2007, 11:40:24 AM
 :offtop: :hijack: :blah: :blah: :blah:

I'm takin' my own Styx story over to the Tavern so as to not interfere with Michael Priest's odd quest...
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Patrick on August 21, 2007, 12:32:54 PM
 :rof2:

Very good Mel.  Are you sure you're only a teenager?
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: MelanieLane on August 21, 2007, 12:34:49 PM
:draw:

Thanks!

**Checks To Make Sure**

Mentally or physically? ;)

Yep. 15. Like the miles on the Erie canal.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 21, 2007, 04:33:57 PM
She's a freaky smart teen, ain't she? Man...this forum. I was driving all day and wham...like 8o posts? I've been sitting here an hour and I'm still reading.
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: MelanieLane on August 21, 2007, 06:16:49 PM
:draw:

 :clap: That's a karma right there ;)

:celeb: Thank you, thank you.

But not really. :shy1:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: joanjunkmail on August 21, 2007, 06:56:45 PM
:draw:

Yep. 15. Like the miles on the Erie canal.

some things only the young know - to me, the best line in Lazy Sunday was "they call me Aaron Burr the way I'm droppin Hamiltons"...the only time I saw that 4th grade factoid put to good use!!
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: MelanieLane on August 21, 2007, 07:02:13 PM
^^

I'd start singing about fifteen miles on the Erie canal, but that's reserved for the Tavern.

I like that line, joanjunkmail! I've never heard it, though. :)

:draw:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: joanjunkmail on August 21, 2007, 07:05:07 PM
consider this your culture lesson for the day:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwK6ugW62is

chris parnell and andy samberg are amazing!
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 21, 2007, 07:27:08 PM
Oh...is that the original one? It's making the youtube rounds? Never saw it before.
My daughter is always showing weird clips, like the muffin guy and of course the
numa numa dance!
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: Lotheus on August 21, 2007, 08:11:06 PM
Nice job, Melanie!!!  Good stuff.  I throw down the gauntlet and challenge the rest of you so-called "writers" to show your stuff!  (Sorry.  That "so-called writers" thing was harsh. ;D)
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: MelanieLane on August 21, 2007, 09:42:43 PM
 :draw:

lol. Thanks!

Come on, peeps, let's get this writing party started!

And I have The Numa Numa dance as my ringtone.  :wink:
Title: Re: Agent Quest
Post by: justwrite on August 21, 2007, 10:11:28 PM
maya--HEEE, maya-HA, maya-HA-HA!


I'm a bit tired of it, but I still like to watch it from time to time and do the dance!