Days 18 through 29: Vacation Compilation

“Boy, those French. They have a different word for everything.” -- Steve Martin

“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.”  Martin Buber

"Europeans, like some Americans, drive on the right side of the road, except in England where they drive on both sides of the road; Italy, where they drive on the sidewalk; and France where if necessary, they follow you right into the hotel lobby." Dave Barry

 So happy to be back and blogging again. I wrote daily--some exercises, but mostly freewriting and 'spying' where I eavesdropped and wrote down conversations like this fragment between a young American girl and a young Italian boy who were cuddled up in the Piazza della Signoria in Florence, Italy):

‎          "...and my mother's name is Francis, and my sister is Jessica and my Aunt is Maria. I know, it's a lot to remember! And I can't even pronounce your name. What is it again? Polio?"

          "Paulo. My name is Paulo." 

:0)

I downloaded a couple of writing exercise prompt books onto my kindle before leaving and pulled this exercise from one (can't figure out which one, but will site it when I do): 

"Write an ending paragraph that begins with the sentence 'I love the cold.' "

 Exercise #22

by Laurie Guerin

             I love the cold. I love the way your nose turns red and the inside of your mouth wakes up as you breathe refrigerated air into your lungs. I love walking into a brisk wind, your hair blowing away from your face exposing it for what it is, no embellishment, no softening of bangs. I love how you feel close to the person you’re walking with, knowing that beneath his coat is a heart pumping warm blood, a body capable of heat. I love the silence of deep cold, no birds, no crickets, just the crunch of feet hitting the ground. I love knowing that underground, approximately twelve feet under, your body lies frozen and still; your lips colorless; your hand stiff and folded around the knife that was meant to kill me. 

and this exercise, from the same book, which was to start a story with "The light's green"

Exercise # 25

by laurie Guerin

            “The light’s green,” she says.

            He grips the steering wheel with both hands.

            “I know.”

            “What?”

            “I’ve got two eyes. I can see that the light’s green.”

            “Well? Then go, for christsakes!”

            A horn honks. “Randy! Green means go!”

            He puts his foot on the gas, easing forward slowly. “I was planning to go. I saw the light change and I was planning to go. I don’t need you telling me what color the damn light is.”

            “What? You prefer to hear about it from the people behind you? The people you’re holding up? It’s inconsiderate driving, is what it is, Randy. To make people wait just to prove a point.”

            She presses a button on her side. There’s a loud clack as all of the doors unlock simultaneously. The light ahead turns red.

            “Let’s see if you can  handle this one by yourself,” she says. He brakes to a stop. She presses the same button. There’s a loud clack as all of the doors lock simultaneously.

            “Jesus Mom, will you give it a rest?” Jenna, seated directly behind her mother presses her forehead against the cool glass. 

            “I am keeping this family alive for one more day, is what I’m doing. It’s a well known fact that carjackers  make their move at red lights. Just yesterday it was on the radio that two…”

            “Fine, then keep the doors locked; but how ‘bout you commit to one or the other?”

            “Watch your tone, Jenna. Do you think if it were that easy I’d be tiring myself at all of these lights? Considering the way your father drives it’s only a matter of time before we‘re in a catastrophic accident and studies have shown your chances of survival are greater with the doors unlocked.” 


There's more, but this is the extent of what I'll post in this blog. Back on track tomorrow!
xo

    

           

           

           

           

 

Blog update!

I'm out of the country so internet access is sketchy. As soon as I've got everything worked out I'll catch up on exercises.

xo

Day Seventeen: Fact and Fancy

Many people have observed that truth is stranger than fiction. This has led some intellectuals to conclude that it's stranger than non-fiction as well - Brad Holland

Writing is writing, and stories are stories. Perhaps the only true genres are fiction and non-fiction. And even there, who can be sure? - Tanith Lee




This exercise is taken from The 3 am Epiphany by Brian Kiteley  

Write a brief autobiographical story or fragment in which you use alternating objective and personal sentences. One sentence should set down relatively objective, factual details, focused and clear-headed without bias or interpretation. The next sentence should be personal opinion; it should reveal feeling--deep or shallow; it should respond to the factual sentence but need not respond directly. Alternate like this. Write a total of 30 sentences-- fifteen objective, fifteen personal. 500 words

This is a study in sentence rhythm. Don't worry too much about the spaces, the offstage activity, between sentences.  It will be tempting to write reactions between the personal sentences and the objective sentences --thesis and antithesis. ex: I was born in a gutter. The geometry and engineering of urban sewer systems has always fascinated me. The best fiction that has been triggered by these instructions has used jagged and irregular relationships between the two paired sentences, tangential or associative, rather than cause and effect or point and counterpoint connections.

Later 
This exercise was hard, but also fantastic. It dropped me down into myself quickly--perhaps because it forced me to be non-linear.  

 Exercise Seventeen

by laurie Guerin

There are Three hundred and fifty days in a year, not all of them sunny. Michael takes the weather personally, and rails against the God of elements when fog muddies up the sky. Our dog, Winston, wakes me at the first sign of a squirrel, but I do not ‘rise up and give God my glory,’ as the old hymn commands. An anchor of dread pins me to my bed; muffling the beat of my heart; restricting the flow of air. People use daily affirmations to keep their minds positive and productive. I attach mine like buoys to the anchor until it lifts enough for me to slide out-from-under.

 “This dread is not a premonition,” I recite.

If it were, my world would have ended a million times over.

A ruby throated hummingbird, his wings beating fifty-three times a second, hovers near Michael in the garden. If anything happened to Michael, if his plane went down or his car jumped the concrete divide, I would lie in his garden until sprouts pushed up against my back; until the vines of Morning Glories bound my wrists.

                When you garden without gloves, the earth leaves a fine, chalky silt on your hands. I remember how her tears blazed a white trail down her dirt-smudged cheek.  She was twelve years old. I traced the trail with my fingertips, over her cheekbones to just under her chin and tilted her face toward mine. Brown eyes are more protected from the rays of the sun than blue eyes. “This,” I told her, “Does not define you.”

                The smallest monkey in the world places its nest far out on thin, light branches where larger predators will not go. Our baby boy grips Michael’s pinkie like a life-line.

Day Sixteen: Congrats

Be obscure clearly.  ~E.B. White 

Today's exercise is taken from THE WRITE-BRAIN WORKBOOK by Bonnie Neubauer 

Write a letter congratulating yourself on something you did especially well today. Perhaps it is staying on a diet, or avoiding someone who usually gives you grief, or taking procrastination to a new high or doing this exercise! Start with: 

Dear_________________,

I commend you on the fine job you did today...

My Note: My results for this one will not be published!

xo

Day Fifteen: Clichés

Attempting to get at truth means rejecting stereotypes and cliches. 

- Harold Evans

I would rather read a poorly structured story that has fresh ideas than a tightly structured one with cliches.

- Douglass Wood

...Last, but not least, avoid cliches like the plague.
~William Safire, "Great Rules of Writing"

 Avoiding clichés in descriptive writing is sound advice, although it can be very effective when used in dialogue to capture a character’s original voice. Many people sprinkle them into daily conversation. With that in mind, clichés make great writing prompts, because we’ve been hearing them all of our lives. The following was taken from The Writer’s Block e-zine website:

“Examples of cliches are similar to examples of idioms, but the difference lies in the idea that cliches are frequently used for concepts that can be considered predictable. The likelihood of them being predictable revolves around the fact that they tend to be based off of prior knowledge. For instance, "avoid it like the plague," is an example of a cliche. Notice that "the plague" is something that has happened in the past, hence the predictability of it being something bad, and moreover, something that should be avoided at all costs. Also, the cliche "what goes around comes around" relies on the principle of predictability, as someone must have obviously had something happen to them as a result of something they did.
It is interesting to think that cliches are based off of prior knowledge, as this lends even more imagination to your writing. You can use examples from the past (from your own life or somewhere else) to make your cliche stand out and become more comprehensive.
You may not even choose to use the actual wording of the examples of idioms and cliches that you consider. You may just use them as starting points to explore your writing in more in-depth, critical ways. This will create a more conscious effort on your part to use writing prompts, cliches, idioms, and phrases as just what they are meant to be -- motivators for further exploration of the intricacies of your writing.
The following is a list of idioms and cliches. Use these to help inspire creative writing on your part. To take it even one step further, you might try writing something that does use the examples of idioms and cliches listed below, or others you may find. Write a TV script or some other form of dialogue where people must converse either solely with idioms and cliches, or partially, but make the cliches work off of one another in a creative, impressive way. You'll only find out what you're made of if you try writing activities like this to get your writing ideas to emerge full force!”
A penny saved is a penny earned.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Let sleeping dogs lie.
Smell a rat.
You are what you eat.
Better late than never.
Easier said than done.
Gentle as a lamb.
Hit the nail on the head.
Shoulder the burden.
If none of these resonate with you, find one that does. 500 Words (or 20, or 2000!).
Remember to have fun!

Later

Exercise 15

by Laurie Guerin

Every fiber of my being screamed “No!”

Every fiber except for one, who whispered, “Don’t be so hasty.” 

The rest of the fibers turned to see who had spoken. It was Max. Some of the fibers groaned.

“Max,” said the Grand Poobah, “with all due…,” he paused, a painful smile on his face. The low roar of a collective chuckle arose.  “…respect.” The chuckle transformed into boisterous laughter, with all of the fibers elbowing each other and craning their necks to look at Max.

Max appeared unruffled, ran his hands down the front of his seersucker suit and waited. “There was a time,” continued the GP, “when we gave a great deal of credence to your input and look where it got us…”

“The poorhouse!” shouted a fiber in the back.

“Rehab!” piped-up one who wore knee socks and Bermuda shorts.

“Now, now,” The GP held up both of his hands. “Both of those are slight exaggerations, nevertheless, we are still feeling the after-effects.”

Max cleared his throat. “That was years ago. I would hope we’ve all learned from our mistakes, one of which…”

“We have indeed learned from our mistakes which is why you no longer have a platform, Max.” The GP banged his gavel. “Back to the proposed topic. All in favor?”

“Ay,” said Max.

“All against?”

“Nay,” said everyone else.

Max was a lot of things, but he was not a quitter. He began canvassing the neighborhood, going door to door with his clipboard.

“All I’m asking,” he said. “Is that we consider it. That we don’t dismiss it out-of-hand!” 
"Not interested!" The fibers slammed the door in his face. Max dropped brochures and coupons for free pizza on their mats.

 He called them at home during dinner hour.

"Not interested!" they said, slamming down the phone.

Max assembled custom gift baskets. Bombay Sapphire, raspberries and Fromage D'affinois for some, imported IPAs, mixed nuts and summer sausage for others. He delivered them with his card. On his card was a quote from Mark Twain:

Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect. 

TBC (maybe)

 

Day Fourteen: Imperative

Substitute "damn" every time you're inclined to write "very;" your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.  ~Mark Twain

Today's exercise comes from The 3 AM EPIPHANY, by Brian Kiteley

"Write a fragment of a story that is made up entirely of imperative commands; Do this; do that; contemplate the rear end of a woman who is walking out of your life. This exercise will be a sort of second person narration (a you is implied in the imperative)" 500 words

Brian Kitely recommends reading Lorrie Moore's book, Self Help  for excellent and funny 
 examples of this technique. 

 Later 

Imperative Exercise

by laurie guerin

When your very best friend Tina tells you to cut sixth period with her and go to the beach, bite your lower lip and look scared. Tell her you’re not promising anything. Then promptly tuck your French-cut bikini into your book bag, glance back at Tina and dissolve into laughter. Laugh until your laughter turns into in a high-pitched squeal that makes your dog, Shilo point his nose to the ceiling and howl repeatedly. When Tina complains that Shilo is tripping her out, command him to stop. Stand in front of your mirrored vanity and in this order; spritz yourself with Love’s Baby Soft; slick your lips with one more coat of Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers (Dr. Pepper) and hang the giant tube around your neck; feather your hair with your huge Goody comb; put the comb in the back pocket of your Dittos jeans; grab your Exiles tape and your book bag and head for the door. When your brother shouts not to let the dog out, say, “No Doy, Mike,” and leave.

Get into Tina’s orange Mazda RX2 and pop the Exile tape in the cassette player. Press and stop the forward button until “I Wanna Kiss You All Over” comes on. Say “Tell me about it,” when Tina says this is her favorite song in the world. Say, “Totally to the max!” when Tina says the lead singer Jimmy Stokley looks like the actor on Kung Fu. Say, “Tell me about it,” when Tina says Peter Frampton is a billion times foxier. Laugh in a high pitched squeal and push her on the shoulder when Tina sings, “I want himmm…to show me the waaay..” Twist the rearview mirror toward you as you approach Leland High and in this order; spritz yourself with Love’s Baby Soft; slick your lips with one more coat of Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers (Dr. Pepper) and hang the giant tube around your neck; feather your hair with your huge Goody comb; put the comb in the back pocket of your Dittos jeans; grab your Exile tape and your book bag and head for first period.

Go to all of your classes until fifth period lets out. Go to Tina’s car and wait for her. Feel your heart rate pick up when you see Tina make a bee-line toward you. Notice that Julie Thomson is behind her. Notice that next to Julie Thompson is Christine Crawford. Feel your smile freeze on your face because you hate Christine Crawford’s guts. Say “Whatever,” and roll your eyes at Tina when Christine calls front seat. Notice that Tina does not roll her eyes back. Worry that Tina will try to act all cool with Christine around. Bend forward at the waist to flip your hair before getting into the backseat. Notice that Tina doesn’t say anything when I Wanna Kiss You All Over comes on and Christine says it’s the gayest song ever. Consider telling Tina to stop the car. Consider telling Tina that you are not going if Christine goes. Consider telling Tina that it’s Christine or you. Imagine Julie Thompson looking at you with admiration and saying she feels the same way but has never had the guts to speak up. Imagine saying “Well, what’ll be?” to Tina. Picture Tina looking at Christine and saying “Sorry, but what my best friend says, goes.” Imagine Christine shrugging and saying, “Suit yourself,” before slamming the door. Picture getting into the front seat before Tina peals away from the curb. Picture laughing with Tina and Julie Thompson until you’re all crying and Tina has to pull over to catch her breath. Stop imagining when Christine rolls down her window and asks who in h-e-double-toothpicks is wearing a gallon of Love’s Baby Soft. Feel the wind from Christine's window whip your hair into a frenzy. Say nothing.

 

 

  

Day Thirteen: A Change of Perspective

Do not put statements in the negative form.
And don't start sentences with a conjunction.
If you reread your work, you will find on rereading that a
great deal of repetition can be avoided by rereading and editing.
Never use a long word when a diminutive one will do.
Unqualified superlatives are the worst of all.
De-accession euphemisms.
If any word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is.
Avoid trendy locutions that sound flaky.
Last, but not least, avoid cliches like the plague.
~William Safire, "Great Rules of Writing"

The idea for today's exercise comes from creative writing teachers worldwide, but the prompts come from writer/blogger Maxine Thompson.  (except for number 5 which is mine and entirely self-serving). 

Exercises:
1. Write a story about a five-year-old boy who is lost at the zoo. Tell the story from his point  of view in first person.  In the second draft, tell it from his mother?s point of view in third person. Tell the story from an omniscient point of view.

2. Tell the story of the last day of a murderer on death row. Tell it in first person, second person and third person and see how the story changes up.

3. Tell the story of a baby being born. Tell it in the baby's point of  
view, in the mother's point of view and in the father?s point of
view. You can tell it in first or third person for all three points
of views.

4. Tell the point of  view of a person who lived in the same house      
 in the nineteenth century, the twentieth century, then the                 
 twenty-first century.

5. Take a piece you've already written and experiment with at least one different POV.


Here's a good breakdown of POV from author Vickie Britton.

Day Twelve: Free Writing

 Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.  ~William Wordsworth

Today's exercise comes from me because I've got a limited amount of time :0)

The following explanation on the purpose of free writing I found via Google on a blog written by James Bow I know nothing about James or his blog, except that he posted this explanation in 2002 and he's still blogging away which is admirable. And he nails it:

"The purpose of free writing is to get around the chatter inside your brain to the chatter beneath; to circumvent the part of you that tears down and critiques what you have written as you have written it. By touching your deeper self, you can put some very bizarre collection of words down on the paper, pulling up a vividly described detail or describing an event that you wouldn't normally have described had you let your conscious mind do all the talking." James Bow

 How To: Write for a minimum of 10 minutes without stopping AT ALL. Don't edit, correct spelling, read what you've written thus far, etc.

Use one of the following prompts:

My life is made up of seconds....

At this very moment...

I remember...

There was no way she could have known...

Ready? Set? Go!

Take it a step further: After completing this exercise comb your piece for phrases or ideas that resonate with you.  
 
Later

Notes: I've decided to keep my results from this exercise private.

Day Eleven: The Reluctant I

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.  ~Ray Bradbury

Here we are on day eleven and I'm completely held hostage by day nine's exercise. Not a bad thing :0) I'll catch up today. 

Today's exercise is taken from the book THE 3 A.M. EPIPHANY  , by Brian Kiteley (Kindle and paperback about $9.00)

"Write a first person story in which you use the first person pronoun (I or me or my) only two times but keep the I somehow important to the narrative you're constructing. The point of this exercise is to imagine a narrator who is less interested in himself than in what he is observing. You can make your narrator see an interesting event in which he is not necessarily a participant. Or you can make him self-effacing, yet a major participant in the events related. It's very important in this exercise to make sure your reader is not surprised, forty or fifty words into the piece, to realize that this is a first person narration. Show us quickly who is observing the scene. 600 words."

Brian Kiteley has such interesting things to say about the 'why' of each exercise that I'm going to quote what he writes directly and in its entirety :

"The people we tend to like most are those who are much more interested in other people than themselves, selfless and caring, whose conversation is not a stream of self-involved remarks (like the guy who, after speaking about himself to a woman at a party for half an hour, says, "Enough about me, what do you think of me?").  I'm not trying to legislate only likeable characters or narrators. I use the example of the successful social selves above to give an idea of what is needed in successful fiction. Another lesson you might learn from this exercise is how important it is to let things and events speak for themselves beyond the ego of the narration." 

I'll post my results later. Also, I'd really love to post examples/excerpts of other people's writing on this blog! Email yours to: laurieg41@hotmail.com and I'll check with you before posting. 

Later

There's Something About
by laurie guerin

I order a cappuccino and sit down at a charming, tiny table right across from another charming, tiny table, where a woman is seated.  It’s hard to tell her age, but she’s one of those women who have an elegance about them, evocative of a ballet dancer. Her hair is swept up into a twist. A brilliantly colored silk scarf is draped around her shoulders, setting off a long, graceful neck. She's wearing a fanciful silver ring with what must be an orange sapphire throwing sparks of light on the ceiling every so often. The café’s busy and noisy with the usual café sounds; the clatter of dishes, the whoosh of the espresso machine, but she appears completely rapt. She’s talking to someone—possibly a man. Her face is fully animated, as if every muscle is on high-alert. She pauses, leans forward attentively, and then puts her hand over her mouth in a surprised, girlish way that is utterly endearing. This goes on for a while; she talks, sips her coffee, listens intently, throws her head back and laughs. The only time she looks away is when a small group of children come in for hot chocolate. She sees them and gasps audibly. She waves and says a delighted “Hello,” as if she can’t believe her luck that they’re finally here. Some of the kids smile shyly. The littlest boy waves back enthusiastically until their chaperone grabs his arm and hustles them all to a table. The woman’s quiet for a long moment watching them, before she reluctantly turns her attention back to the table. She lifts her face to the empty chair across from her.  Empty, as you may have guessed, from the start. Observing her though, you can almost see the outline of a person or imagine it possible to catch his image on a camera with an infrared illuminator. With some effort, she smiles and continues the conversation.

The following week there’s another woman talking to herself at the very same spot, as if it’s reserved for those entertaining imaginary guests. This woman is quite the opposite of the first, however. Disheveled and hunched over a cup, her dirty hair hangs in her face. She mutters something, glowering across the table. There’s no love lost between her and whomever it is she imagines there. She spits her words out like she cannot stand the taste of them. The waitress pauses near the woman's table.

“How’re you doin’, Mary?” she asks

The woman, Mary, eyes the waitress warily before raising a hand and waving her away. She’s wearing a ring. An orange sapphire set in silver. She struggles to her feet “Leave me alone! All of you leave me alone!” she shouts.

“Come on, Mary. It’s time to call…”

“Just shut up, you!” She turns to face us all and says in a low growl, “I know. I know.” She begins to turn in slow circles, repeating the words in the same chilling timbre. The woman directly in front of her pales, reaches for her purse. The man to her right clears his throat and folds his newspaper. 

“Don’t worry folks,” says the waitress. “Mary here, just needs to rest, don’t you Mary?”

Mary sinks back into her seat, but continues to mumble the words. The man and woman seem to relax a bit, the woman goes for one last sip of coffee, the man’s eyes drift back to his paper. I beat a hasty retreat, nearly forgetting to leave a tip.  

Now that Mary knows, it’s only a matter of time.

Day Ten: Truth or Dare

Writing became such a process of discovery that I couldn't wait to get to work in the morning:  I wanted to know what I was going to say.  ~Sharon O'Brien

 I'm loving the book The Write-Brain Workbook, by Bonnie Neubauer. Here's today's prompt:


Think about a personal truth that very few people know. Now write down the ultimate dare to which you'd be willing to subject yourself to in order for this to remain a secret. Be sure to write the dare down.


For this story you are now a being in the year 3030, named RoTon. Write from RoTon's point of view making sure to incorporate the aforementioned dare somewhere in the piece. Start with: 

The lights went twink and the carrialet began to...

Bonnie always tags a "Take the Next Step" suggestion at the end of each exercise. Sometimes it's an encouraging bit about the writing process, sometimes it's a suggestion on how to deepen or expand the exercise.

Take the next step: Think of something you have now because you dared to overcome obstacles in the past. It sure looks different in hindsight, doesn't it? Write a lesson you learned to help yourself overcome a current creative obstacle. 

Later 

The lights went twink and the carrialet began its decent. One minute we were above ground surrounded by the lush foliage of a tropical moon, and the next we were plunging into the deep cavern of a fire hill. Through the clear floor of the carrialet I can see the undulating orange glow beneath us. I turn to Masxi, choose the first eye I find to gaze into. See her pupil dilate and contract.

                “RoTon,” her voice is a soft purr, despite her fear. “Keep your focus.”

                What she means is, don’t lose your mind.

We’ve heard stories, but as far as we know the two of us are the only survivors of Mentor to make this descent. The twelve others were not deemed suitable. Maybe because they’re crazy as woftags. If watching your planet crystalize doesn’t do that to you, losing everyone you know will. That’s why Masxi and I are ‘suitable.’ We were there when they came during the second orbit and pulled our people from their silks, paralyzed in half-sleep. We were there when they conveyered them like machine parts onto arbitrary pods. Relocation destination confidential.  We were there, but we were together, Masxi and I.

“Did you remember the ice?” I say and she smiles with effort. It’s not funny.

It was by chance rather than design that we remained together, eventually arriving on this moon for this purpose.  I never thought of her as anything other than a schoolmate on Mentor, but I owe her my life. And she owes me hers.TBC

Day Nine: The Break Up

I'm breaking up with Fred White. Well, not totally, but I'm seeing other people. Have decided that, while his exercises are sure to stretch me as a writer, I need to have more fun and flexibility. So from now on I'll use a variety of sources when choosing a daily exercise, including, but not limited to The Daily Writer. The goal remains the same: To write every day. No rules. And to play!

This exercise (and suggested approach) is taken directly from: The Write-Brain Workbook 366 Exercises to liberate your writing by Bonnie Neubauer

Pick an age between 2-88
Eye color
Hair color
Name of a City/Town
Type of residence/house
First name starting with letter G
Last name starting with letter S
Prominent physical feature
Quirk/Mannerism


You are now officially this character. Start with:
I remember when the power went off...

Take the next step:
Don't worry if you feel like you're having a creativity power outage. This is a vital part of the creative cycle, called the receptive phase. When you're in this phase, it's important to relax and let ideas/inspirations flow through you. One will spark the next part of the cycle, called the active phase. Learn to enjoy both parts of the cycle. Go out and receive!


My Notes: Yes! Much more my cup of tea.

Will post my results later.

Later 

Note: I really liked this exercise! I let the character do all of the talking and she hasn't shut up yet. I chose characteristics with a funny personality in mind, but when I sat down to write she was serious and pensive. I think I'll probably keep working on this one.

Pick an age between 2-88:41
Eye color: brown
Hair color: straw
Name of a City/Town: Yreka, Ca
Type of residence/house: Apartment
First name starting with letter G: Georgia
Last name starting with letter S: Santana
Prominent physical feature: boobs
Quirk/Mannerism: twists her mouth to the side

Untitled

I remember when the power went off. I was sitting there in my car, drinking one of those mini bottles of wine and watching JT’s house.  The curtains were open and all of the lights were on, so you could see just about everything. I had driven a ways. Monterey is, I-don’t-know-how many miles from Yreka, but it’s supposed to take seven hours. Took me five and some change.  I was listening to songs that reminded me, you know.  Anyone who’d seen me driving wouldda thought I was crazy—crying one minute, laughing and singing at the top of my lungs the next.  I get that way on trips. Weepy and sentimental.

I had no idea what I’d find once I got there, it being his birthday and all. For all I knew he might have been in Fiji or somewhere.  That or I’d have to make like Angela Lansbury and tail him to some fancy restaurant. It turned out there was no need.  There he was, standing by the window in his living room, all lit up. It was like watching a TV show with the sound off. You know;  here’s a scene where he’s talking to his buddies and they’re all laughing. Here’s a scene with him holding a little girl, where the director’s told him to look right into her eyes like she’s the only person in the room. Here’s a scene with his arm around the character playing his wife.

He never talked about them, his kid, or his wife. He mentioned them so I’d know they existed and that was that. He never insulted my intelligence with some sorry ass story about how she wasn’t meeting his needs, blah, blah, blah. Never said he would leave her like some guys.  They’ll start in with that because they think it’s gonna make you unzip your jeans right there on the spot.  Those are the kind of guys my friend, Cheryl ends up with.

I’m not that desperate. I mean, at the time I was feeling a little desperate. Working the job at the home and taking care of Jesse on account of his back injury. We weren’t really what you’d call ‘connecting’, Jesse and me. He was three sheets to the wind most of the time on pain meds and overall being a big baby about being laid up. The best times we were having together was when I tapped into his Vicodin just to get a change of perspective. Couldn’t do too much of that though, seeing as I was the bread winner working over at Shasta View nursing center.

There aren’t a lot of jobs in Yreka. I checked out being an aid at the center because I had it in mind that I could work there and go to nursing school at night. I tell you what though. I almost high-tailed it outta there during my tour. After my interview the nurse takes me so I can see what a room looks like. Well, while she’s talking I look over at the bed and there’s a body there, covered with a sheet, head and all. And the nurse is talking away, acting like there’s nothing strange about being in a room with a dead body. And I’m thinking maybe this is how it is working here. Maybe the staff gets so used to people dying off that it’s no big deal. I’m thinking “Hell, no!” and then the nurse, she says to me, “This is Mr. Prichard. He isn’t dead, he just likes us to think he is,” and then she shouts “Isn’t that right there, Mr. Pritchard?” 

And Mr. Prichard, he doesn’t move a muscle or say a word...To be continued..

Day 8: Astrology as Allegory

Summary of meditation: Fred White maintains that the reason so many people in the 21st century (despite or perhaps because of science) give credence to astrology is because we want to believe "the universe is controlled by forces beyond rational understanding."
"Astrology is a kind of mythology for a world in which the supernatural has been driven out like the plague; yet despite (or perhaps because of) our technological culture, the hunger for spiritual experience remains as acute as ever."

Try This:
1) Begin working on a story that takes place in a universe where astrological forces are beyond dispute, where the movements of the stars and planets actually do govern people's lives. What would it be like to live in such a universe? 


2) Read the astrological forecasts that appear in the daily newspaper (or in the daily tabloids). Select an especially intriguing forecast for a particular sign and build an allegorical short story around it. 


My thoughts: I don't know if I'm smart or deep enough to do this exercise. I'm just going to go with the spirit of the thing and see what inspires me. One of the things I've noticed about writing this blog is that I'm really face-to-face with my fear of sucking. If I were doing these exercises at home and not sharing them (first of all, I wouldn't do them because no one would be holding me accountable but me and I'm a terrible account-holder) I would feel free to write shit. Doing it here where I know some of you are checking in makes me feel a bit more restrained. For example I hesitated to write the word "shit" back there. I am resolved to get past this and I encourage you to be equally resolved. Even our icons wrote/write shit. And you have to be willing to suck in order to improve.  And when something sucks, it never sucks 100 percent. There are bits of brilliance in there somewhere.
OK! Onward... (will post my results later)...

Later

Hahaha! O.K., this is pretty bad, but not 100% bad.  I was inspired by this video of  Danny Hoch (thanks, Ann Randolph!), an actor and solo performer who, when creating a piece, starts with the characters rather than the story or plot. My friend Sally told me today that she wrote a biography for many of her characters before starting her amazing (not yet published) book, and had them tell her the story.
I had fun trying this with mine for this exercise. The dialogue came easily, and I attempted to build a story around it. I'll try again another time. Next!
PS I'm pretty sure that using Babelfish to translate an English word (Gemini) into a French word salvages the piece by classing it up.

Gémeaux

Mila leans in close to the mirror, examines her face and drops the razor on the counter as if it's red-hot.

“OMG! How hard can it be to cut two diagonal lines?”

“Let me see.” Luda pushes her hair away from her face, inspects the damage and laughs. “Yeah, maybe in the future we leave this to gangstas and real emo girls.”

“It’s not funny. Basically, I’m screwed,” Mila says, maintaining eye contact with her image in the mirror, refusing to look away. “

“Come one, there are about a million things that can be done about it.”

“Lame-assed things”

“No, perfectly non-lame assed things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as simply declaring it a new trend and owning it.”

“Owning it? WTF?”

“Yes, owning it like ‘This is a new style that I alone have created because I’m edgy and alternative and you can join me in my protest against the dictatorial fashion machine or you can step back in awe.’ That kind of ownership.”

Mila rolls her eyes, pulls the skin around her mouth taut. “Next.”

“Oh, come on! That was brill!”

“Next!” she repeats, turning on the water and reaching for a washcloth.

“Well, there’s tattooing…”

“Right, only about a thousand bucks and hurts like hell. Next!”

 “What about a sharpie? Pencil’s gonna…”

There’s a loud knock on the door.

                “Mila! Who’s in there with you?” Her mother jiggles the handle. “Open up.”

 “No one’s here, Mother.” She looks around frantically, “Quick,” she whispers “The towel.”

“You’re on the phone then, aren’t you? Open up, damnit!” She jiggles the handle more insistently. Mila wraps the towel in a low spiral around her head and opens the door.

“I suppose you’re trying to tell me I’m hearing things.” Her mother peers behind the shower curtain, turns to Mila and stretches out her hand. “Give me the phone.”  

“I don’t have the phone, Mother.”

“I distinctly heard voices and obviously you’re alone. Give me the phone.”

“I told you, I don’t have the freakin’ phone.  Canyougonowthanksbye.” Mila reaches to hold the door open and the towel slips off of her head.

“Do not be smart with me, young…Oh Mila! Your eyebrow! What have you done?”

“Relax, mom. It’s the new style. “ Mila leans casually against the wall.

“One eyebrow shaved off is the style? Who’s style? “

“My style. I’m not done though.” She picks the razor up off the counter and before her mother can stop her, shaves off the remaining eyebrow.  “Well done!” She says to her reflection.

(Sound Twilight Zone music)