Tag: Writing 101

Writing 101, Day 9

Rough draft, mostly playing with this idea.

WARM

It was warm out finally, and thank God for that, Marcey thought.  At 72, the cold was no fun.  But finally the winter chill had gone, the wet grass was dried by the late May sun, and she could take her work to the park.  So she packed up her knitting supplies, and took herself down to the park.

She bought herself a cup of coffee, and settled into her work.  She was making a little red sweater for a client who wanted something more personal for her nephew’s second birthday.  It made Marcey’s daughter laugh whenever they talked about her little ‘side hustle,’ as  they called it.  It wasn’t like she needed the money.  She wasn’t hurting like some her age.  She just liked to keep busy.

As she made her way to the chest of the sweater, a young couple walked past.  The woman was keeping up a constant stream of chatter.  The man, however, stopped in his tracks, and stared at Marcey.  Specifically, he stared at the sweater.  She was starting to wonder whether she should yell for the police, when the man burst into tears.

“Sorry,” the woman said to her, pulling the man away.  “I’m really sorry.”  She hurried away from Marcey as quickly as she could, still dragging the sobbing man along.

“What was all that?” Marcey muttered.  Since she knew she wasn’t likely to find out, she sipped her coffee, and made a mental note to tell her daughter about it later.

It was a warm day, but Jordan didn’t feel very warm.  There was never such a thing a good weather for a funeral, after all.

She’d put a lot into helping Paul plan it.  There was no one else around to do it, and hadn’t he always been her best friend?  So she pulled on her black dress, and went to his apartment to pick him up.

Paul was dressed when she got there.  Well, that’s a step in the right direction, she thought.  He even managed a smile for her when he came to the door.

“Did you eat?” she asked him.

“Not yet,” he replied.

“Let’s take a walk through the park, and go to the diner,” Jordan said.

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

Jordan felt triumphant as they started along the path.  They’d talked about nothing but the funeral for days, so she thought of anything she could to talk about now other than that.

“So that Rick guy called me again,” she said.  “Just out of the blue, like our last date went well or something.”

“No kidding,” Paul said, and actually managed a laugh.  “After spending half the date talking on his phone?”

“I know,” she replied.

They were coming up on a bench.  There was an old woman sitting there, drinking a coffee and knitting a red sweater.  When Paul saw her, he froze.  Then he started to sob.

The woman looked scared to death, which made absolute sense to Jordan.  Generally, people don’t start crying at the sight of art projects.  “Sorry,” she said, and started pulling Paul away, “I’m really sorry.”  She drug him down the path, trying to figure out what about that old woman had made Paul so upset.

If it had only been Maureen, Paul thought, maybe he could stand it a little better.  He dressed in the bedroom they had shared for three years, where her side of the bed still smelled a little like her.  He had loved her since the first day he met her, and when she died it broke his heart.  But if it had only been her, he supposed it would have healed.

Jordan was pulling up.  She’d been so great though all this, the only person he’d had to rely on.  He had put so much of this on her, even though he knew she must be hurting too.

So when she suggested a walk through the park and breakfast at the diner, he gave her a smile and said yes.

And at first, he really did feel better.  Listening to Jordan babble, walking with her in the sunlight, he felt warm for the first time since Maureen died.

Then he saw the woman, knitting a sweater with red yarn.

Maureen had laughed at him when he brought her that red yarn and a pair of knitting needles.  “I hope those are for decoration,” she’d said, “because I don’t knit.”

“Yeah, but you’re going to be a mommy now,” Paul had told her with a laugh.  “Everybody’s mother should knit.”

He couldn’t help it.  He started to weep.

If it had only been Maureen, he supposed he could have healed.  But knowing there would have been a baby, and now there never would be?  He didn’t believe he would never be warm again.

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Writing 101 Day 8

Today’s Prompt: Go to a local café, park, or public place and write a piece inspired by something you see. Get detailed: leave no nuance behind.

Ironically, I went somewhere today that is right out of my childhood memories, but I didn’t remember until my husband pointed it out.

Our kids don’t go to normal school, they attend cyber school.  This means they attend live classes online, in my living room.  This is great fun, because it means we get to chime in on all their lessons.  It also means that they have to go somewhere else to take there standardized tests, known here as the PSSA’s.

This year, they’re taking them at the local Days Inn.  It just so happened to be the same place I’d had my ROTC ball in high school.

Of course, I didn’t remember.  Of course he did.  And of course, since we’d both attended the ball, just at different times, we had to go see it.

There was a business fair today, but I could still see how it had looked that night.  I wore a gold gown, petite white gloves, and more make up than I had ever had before that day.  And I went with my best friend, instead of a guy.

There were chandeliers, and a terrible catered dinner.  But the best moment of the night?  I got a medal.

it was the first time I remember getting awarded for doing something.  We’d had a big national inspection a week before, and it was discovered that not all of our Class A uniforms had a required patch on their arm.  I came in early armed with thread and needles, ready to baste stitch as many of these jackets as humanly possible.  A few other cadets joined in, and we got it done.  I mean, some of them were sort of crooked, but damn it, they were there!

I got to walk up and get my medal, which I then got to wear on my class A uniforms every time we wore them.  Now, it wasn’t as cool as the cadet who had preformed cpr on a lady and kept her breathing until the ambulance got there.  No, that was way, way cooler.  But I got a medal for doing something I was good at, and volunteering.  It also set a precedent for the rest of my life.  I was a girl, in ROTC, and I sewed.  I was and am, exactly who I am, and my gender has not a thing to do with it.

All of that from walking into a ball room I hadn’t been in for over a decade.

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Writing 101, Day 6

Today’s Prompt: Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year?

Wow, just one person?  No way, can’t do it.

See, here’s the thing.  I work in tech support and billing, which means I have the amazing opportunity to talk to brand new people all day long.  Here’s the thing, though, I never see any of them.  All I have is their voices, and their stories.  Oh, and let me tell you, the stories!

For some reason, people want to open up to someone when they’re stressed, and the tech chick on the other side of the phone is really non threatening.  So I get to hear all about what’s going on in their life today.

There was one woman, though, that stuck out in my mind.  After I fixed her tech problem we just talked for awhile, because she seemed like she needed someone to talk to.

Her husband had died a year before, but when he was alive they owned a Cesna, and she told me all about flying it all over America.  They’d started out working class, just like me and probably you.  But they’d invested so carefully and faithfully over the years, that they retired early and spent their retirement flying all over visiting their family.  She kept me on the phone for half an hour, and encouraged me to invest.  (I’m trying.)

People who are getting divorced, getting married, kids are about to leave for college, college kids just starting out on their own.  Every one of them has a story to tell, and sometimes they tell them to me.  And I love to listen.

I hear about the great new jobs, and I love that.  I had a gentleman call me to cancel his account with my company because he was moving into hospice, and it made me cry.  If you don’t know, hospice is the end of life portion of the hospital.  I talk to baby sitters who managed to break something, and moms who don’t know how to unhook the game system so they can watch their shows.

If you’re an aspiring writer, and you’ve got to have a day job, try to have one where you’ve got to handle people.  Because if you’re friendly, and ready to listen, you will hear more stories than you ever thought were there.

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Writing 101, Day 5

Today’s Prompt: You stumble upon a random letter on the path. You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter.

Alright, just tossed this together, not sure if the ending is strong enough.  What do you think?

I always hated working nights at the diner. I’d get the occasional family, some quiet people, but not many. No, most of what I got on those long nights were college students from the campus. Just a few years younger than me, a constant reminder of what I could have done if things had been better.

They didn’t tip well, didn’t eat much. They came in as loud, needy groups, or by themselves laden with books and papers. I poured their coffee, cleaned up booths covered in ketchup and eraser smudges after they left, and hated each and every one of them, except one.

One of them came in one night, shaking the rain from her coat as she went. She sat down at the bar, and ordered a coffee. She had a bookbag with her, but she didn’t take out any work. Instead, she waited, her eyes darting towards the big window every few seconds. Finally, she went to the bathroom, taking her bag with her.

When she picked up her bag, an open envelope fell onto the bar. I saw a handwritten letter slide out. And I knew that I should have just left it alone, but my worse nature got the better of me. I scooped it up, and started to read.

Maggie,

I’m sorry that it took so long for me to write you, but I wanted to make sure that you could think about this for yourself, instead of letting Mom tell you what you should think about it. Now that you’re in college, I hope you’re away from that.

Look, I know my leaving was hard on you, and I know that there can never be a good reason to have left you there alone. You were the only regret I had.

But I had to do what I did. Mom wouldn’t let me tell you about Becky. She never wanted you to see her, never wanted you to be the same disappointment I was. I know this is probably terrible of me, but I’m not sorry that she doesn’t want to see me still. Becky is too precious for me to share with someone so hateful.

Maggie, I know you went through hell these last few years. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when Dad died. But I just couldn’t have Becky around that. She didn’t need to face that.

When I was going to Pitt, there was this little diner just off campus. If you can, meet me there on Friday.

Hoping to see you,
Candace.

The girl was coming back from the bathroom. I stuffed the letter back in the envelope, and set it back on the bar. She had her phone out, and stopped long enough to toss some money on the bar and grab her letter. I watched her look toward the door, as an older woman walked in, holding the hand of a three year old girl.
She knelt down to say something to the little girl, then give her a hug. With the little girl in her arms, Maggie gave the woman a hug. When she pulled away, there were tears in her eyes.

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Writing 101- Day 4

Today’s Prompt: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.

So, the loss that I’m going to talk about today might not seem like a very big one at first, but it’s honestly something that I am impacted by on almost a weekly bases, even though the loss of the actual thing occurred many years ago now.

My husband and I were moving into our very first apartment together.  My goodness, it was so small and crappy.  There were four rooms; two ‘bedrooms’ a bathroom the size of a closet, and a living room/kitchen area.  You had to walk through our daughters’ room to get to our bedroom, and you had to walk through both to get to the bathroom.  Did I mention it was small?

We didn’t care, though.  It was our first place together, we could afford it, and we could have a cat.

On moving day, there was this one box that I’d backed from my old living room.  I wanted everyone to be very careful with it, because it had my whole dvd collection.  Some of my regular readers will remember that I am a huge geek, so when I say dvd collection, I mean a huge collection. I mean all five seasons of Angel, Firefly, The Critic (most people haven’t even heard of the critic), the first three seasons of Psych, all the Charlie Brown Holiday specials, both Scary Godmother movies, first three seasons of Dexter and a limited edition version of Nightmare Before Christmas.

Like a fool, I wrote ‘DVDs’ on the side.  I wanted everyone to be careful with the box, you see.

Of course, being a cheap and small apartment, it was also an apartment in a bad neighborhood.  Not like a ‘don’t go out at night, lock the damn door, keep a crowbar by your bed’ neighborhood.  More like a, ‘stupid downstairs neighbor’s smoking up again, and there are the cops for the third time this week,’ bad neighborhood.  Needless to say, my dvd box got stolen.

Here’s the real problem, though.  There was more in that box than just my collection.

There was also a quilt, with three mountains, three trees and a river.  My grandmother made it for her twin boys, who left it behind when they moved out on their own.  She was going to throw it away, and I took it instead.  I loved that quilt.  It made me think of my grandma’s house after church on Sundays.  It made me think of watching Star Trek and X-Files with her on nights my mom worked. (I come by the geek gene honestly, even if it did skip a generation.)

There was also a little brass turtle.  You could take his shell off, and put things in him.  He belonged to my great grandma.  When I was little, I used him as a pretend tea set.  I played with him every New Years Eve when we’d go there and play Penny Poker.  My mom and Grandma June would smoke, and I’d drink diet Pepsi out of a can with a straw.  When she passed away, our family went through her house and put things in keep, toss, donate piles.  The little brass turtle came home with me.  My daughter played with him.

Now, I’ve rebuilt my collection of dvd’s.  It took time, and money.  But my quilt and my turtle, which the thief probably tossed without another thought, those things I miss.

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Writing 101, Day 3

Today’s Prompt: Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you?

Only three?  That might be hard.  Well, let’s see, if I’ve only got three, we’ll go with Run, Rabbit Run, by Eminem, Angel From Montgomery by Bonnie Raitt, and Landslide by Stevie Nicks.

If you’re a writer living in obscurity, likely broke, maybe with kids, and you’ve never listened to Run, Rabbit, Run, go do it.  Don’t bother with the awful movie that spawned it, I wouldn’t want you to have to sit through it.  But the song speaks to something very deep in my heart about writers block, and trying to find the right words to express the image I’ve got in my head.  It’s nice to know that maybe I’m not the only one who can see a scene just right in my mind, but then when I try to write it out, it just crashes and burns like the Hindenburg.

Angel From Montgomery is one that my mom used to sing when I was little, so I hear her voice when I listen to it.  Even though she and I aren’t close, and never really were, it makes me think of the way I felt then, when I was little and she was the strongest person I knew.  Besides that, Bonnie’s just got this voice, you know?  It’s so deep and powerful.

And Landslide.  Just step away for a moment from the legacy and legend that is Stevie Nicks, and think about the song itself, and the myriad of meanings it can have for the listener.  When I first heard it, I would have said it was about a woman who’s husband was leaving her, and she didn’t know what to do with herself.  She’d wrapped up too much of who she was in being his lover.  Now, I hear a mother’s lament in it.  “Time makes you bolder, children get older, I’m getting older, too.  And if you see my reflection in a snow covered hill, the landslide will bring you down.”  Now, it’s the image of a woman who’s daughter is moving out into the world, away from her.  We build our lives around our children, and when they leave there’s a hole where they were.  But I think we all secretly believe that they’ll look at themselves and see a part of us there.  No matter how bad your relationship with your parents, there are parts of them in you, the same as there will be parts of you in your children.  For better or worse.

Music’s always been so crucial to me.  It expresses emotions in a way I have very rarely seen prose writers manage, hard as we may try.  We writers, we paint a landscape.  Song writers show us one flower.

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Writing 101, Day Two

Today’s Prompt: If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?

So, this one didn’t have a time limit, so I’m going with my normal ten minute sprint.

If I could be anywhere at all right now?  Pittsburgh.  I know, it’s not exotic, and it’s not far away, but it’s my favorite place in the world.  I got a chance to explore some more of my favorite city over Christmas.  My mother in law got tickets to a musical event at Heinz Hall, thinking that my older daughter wouldn’t be with us that night.  Plans changed, and she was.  We couldn’t get an extra ticket, but I saw a Starbucks across the street.  Now, understand that I live in a very small town, and I am sometimes a hipster.  I love Starbucks and we don’t have one in my little town of Butler.  So, I jumped on the chance to go write there while my family saw the show.

I wrote a whole new prolog for Broken Patterns.  And I looked around at all of the people.  There was just so much life there, so much going on.  Tired college students working on their studies, a couple sitting way too close to each other, parents trying to have some quiet time while their kids munched on some huge cookies.

After the show, back out on the streets, there was a girl doing a fire eating show, trying to make some extra money for school.  Did you know there’s this great place in Pittsburgh called the Cathedral of Learning?  It’s like a massive castle, and it’s open all the time for the college students to go study in.  Situated in the middle of the campuses, it’s like a dream of a mage acadamy.  Oh, and there’s a little coffee bar on the second floor that sells snacks.  If I could be anywhere at the speed of light right now, I’d be there.  I’d be sipping a coffee, typing this up.  Well, I’ve got the writing and the coffee (Starbucks house blend, I buy it in bean form and grind it myself,)  But I don’t have the Cathedral.  That’s my favorite place on Earth, I’ll tell you that.  If you ever get a chance to visit, do it.

Oh, and the park right in the middle of the three rivers, with the huge fountain?  You know, the one so big they had to install a special meter that lowers the water on windy days so it doesn’t hit the nearby buildings, and kids play in the outer ring in the summer.

Did I mention that in Pittsburgh you can find people fishing in the rivers in good weather?  Just fishing, in the middle of the city. Yeah, that’s how we roll here.

That’s the end of my ten minutes.  See you tomorrow.

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Writing 101, Day One

Ugh, I’m a slacker.  This was meant to go up yesterday, sorry.

Alright, so day one’s prompt is to just free write, about anything, for twenty minutes.  So, here’s mine.  Forgive any messiness in this post.  As the rules say, I am not thinking about what I’m writing, just keeping my fingers moving for twenty whole minutes.

Now, this is really fun, free writing.  I’ve always loved it.  See, I see writing as play acting, always.  I act out the characters in my head, and I play every part, even the men.  Even the bad guys, especially the bad guys.  I love writing for the bad guys.  so, free writing is like just playing make believe with your friends, the way my daughters do.  Alright, let’s play secret agents, or princesses in space, or FBI.  Now we’re Dr. Who’s companions, now we’re mermaids.  My kids are kind of eclectic.

Speaking of mermaids, I found a picture on Pintrest earlier that showed Ariel, from the Little Mermaid, sewing up her legs to get her fins back.  The message was that if you change yourself for someone else, you will eventually regret it with all of your heart.  It was a rather gruesome picture, but boy did that strike me.  I mean, think about the ramifications of that.  The love of her life, it didn’t matter at all when compared to being herself.  What if she had just stayed who she was?  What if she had found someone who could love her for who she was?

On the other hand, Ariel wasn’t happy as she was born.  She really wanted to be human, and live on land.  I have no idea why, but it was what she really wanted.  Maybe she did what she did to be comfortable in her own skin like Chaz Bono.  Just a thought.

See what I mean?  Having to keep your fingers moving four a whole twenty minutes brings out all sorts of things you wouldn’t normally consider.  I usually hate old Disney Princess movies.  Bell had Stockholm syndrome, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White were useless even if they were the main characters.  Cinderella was a wuss.  Arial might have had to be saved by the men in her life, but at least she went for what made her happy.  There’s a lesson in that, I think.

Sorry, I have daughters, I spend way too much time talking about princesses.  You should hear them go on about Anna and Elsa.  My goodness.

Which is a good example of the amazing amount of age bracket cross over recently.  Hunger Games, Divergent, Frozen, Harry Potter and Doctor Who are all good examples of things that are loved by people my age, (I turn 29 this year) and kids my daughters age,(10 and 11)  Is it because my kids are getting older?  Are they just more mature than other kids their age?  Am I childish?  Or is it just something about my generation?  Are we terminally stuck in our own childhood?  Maybe, think about all the remakes of things my generation loved.  TMNT, Transformers.  Even The Giver can be traced back to us, you know.

Now that was a great book.  Really, the gem of the dystopian future genre.  Really, if you haven’t read it, do.  I read it once a year for my birthday, and have ever since I was thirteen.  That’s fifteen times I’d read the same book, and every time I read it, it means something new to me.  Seriously, read it.  Before you see the book.

That, I think, is something that we as writers must all have a love/hate relationship with.  We see all these books get awesome blockbuster movies, and that makes us drool.  Makes me drool, anyway.  The thought of having my story, that started in my head, playing out on the screen?  But I think that we, as readers, also worry that it cheapens the story somehow.  For instance, I hate hearing someone say, “I loved the Divergent movie, but I had no idea it was a book until you just told me.”  Really?

On the other hand, I’ve always said that there is some great writing that’s never been in the binding of a book.  Gotham’s got a great story line, I’m a huge fan of the whole Avengers Vs. X-men story, Mass Effect is a great story too, and it’s a video game.  So maybe we shouldn’t be so judgmental of people who appreciate a great story in alternative forms?  And, I mean, it’s not like there aren’t books that are total trash.  Fifty Shades of Grey, Twilight.  You know what I mean.  So maybe we should be focusing on telling the good stories, no matter how we tell them.  I’m sure watching Leverage is going to be better for someone than reading Twilight.

Well, that was twenty minutes.  Thanks for indulging me.  And I hope that gives you a fun behind the scenes look at how weird my brain is.  We went from free writing about free writing to Leverage.

Have a great night, everyone.

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