The 777 Writing Challenge

Hey, everyone!

I got tagged by proverbs31teen for a writing challenge sort of thing. Here’s the explanation:

The 777 challenge requires you go to Page 7 of your work-in-progress, scroll down to Line 7 and share the next 7 lines in a blog post. Once you have done this, you can tag 7 other bloggers to do the same with their work-in-progress.

So, I’m actually breaking the rules a bit, because 7 paragraphs works better than 7 lines in my excerpt. 

This is from a sequel I’m writing to my first published book, Odd Team Out. If you want to take a look at that, you’d probably have more character backstory.

As it is, I’ll explain as much as needs to be explained.

Jean is an agent for my made up agency, The SPI (Superior Protective Inteligence) Agency. Mr. Ecks (get it?) is the director of the agency and her boss. The agency intercepted some coded letters, and Jean was called in to help decode.

Here you go!


“Were Emily, Ptolemy. I educate thinking ebony otters t learning,” said the first sentence.

   The room was silent for a few moments, then Jean cleared her throat, “Well, you were right about it looking like nonsense.”

   Mr. Ecks shifted forwards in his seat, “’Looking like nonsense’? It is nonsense. But do you know what it means?”

   “Actually, this is in a code that I found interesting when I was studying and I’ve used it before. It’s not very complicated at all, though it looks it.”

   She put the paper on the table, grabbed a notepad and began writing.

   “So you take the first two letters of each word, if they have two letters, write them down and that makes this sentence…” Jean spun the notepad around,

   “We emptied the bottle”

   “But, “ Jean picked up the notepad, “The judging by the next sentence, I’d say this is double coded. They’re masking the words by using different terms, and I don’t know what those mean. It says (decoded), ‘Contents unstable, but are out of danger now’.” It was quiet for a bit as Jean studied the paper more, then she sighed and pushed her hair back. “I think I’ll need some time on this one.”


And, I taaaaaag……



YOU! (bum-bum-buuuum)

I know, I know… I always do that.

But, seriously, if anyone out there reading this wants to do it, just comment and say you want to, and you’re tagged! 🙂

Should I put up more sequel?

Please tell me what you thought!


18 thoughts on “The 777 Writing Challenge

  1. You said I had to do one, but I don’t know what to do with it, so I’m leaving it in your comments. HAH!
    (Yes, I decided to use a boy’s name. :-P)

    The Fog that Teased like Crashing Sapsuckers
    A Short Story
    by Andrew Potts
    Tarfey Saron looked at the superlative tree branch in his hands and felt irritated.

    He walked over to the window and reflected on his nightmarish surroundings. He had always loved spicy Barcelona with its breakable, beautiful black rocky towers. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel irritated.

    Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Sully Laufeyson. Sully was a sleepy noodle with wild-looking noses and purple toes.

    Tarfey gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a sharp, cold, spiced lemonade drinker with tall noses and gawky toes. His friends saw him as an oily, obedient ostrich. Once, he had even helped a curried addled vulture recover from a flying accident.

    But not even a sharp person who had once helped a curried addled vulture recover from a flying accident, was prepared for what Sully had in store today.

    The fog teased like crashing sapsuckers, making Tarfey nervous.

    As Tarfey stepped outside and Sully came closer, he could see the violet glint in his eye.

    “I am here because I want a green jacket,” Sully bellowed, in a gentle tone. He slammed his fist against Tarfey’s chest, with the force of 3223 bald-headed plunkers. “I frigging hate you, Tarfey Saron.”

    Tarfey looked back, even more nervous and still fingering the superlative tree branch. “Sully, why do you keep following me? I’m short,” he replied.

    They looked at each other with envious feelings, like two concerned, chubby cedar waxwings back-flipping at a very wry annual birdwatching festival, which had polka music playing in the background and two spirited uncles sleeping to the beat.

    Tarfey regarded Sully’s wild-looking noses and purple toes. He held out his hand. “Let’s not fight,” he whispered, gently.

    “Hmph,” pondered Sully.

    “Please?” begged Tarfey with puppy dog eyes.

    Sully looked awkward, his body blushing like a fast, fried frying pan.

    Then Sully came inside for a nice drink of spiced lemonade.


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