Ringing and ringing, the phone called for me in its shrill voice. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
Muffled through my pillow, yet just audible enough to be nagging, the phone's persistence paid off.
The choice to leave my warm bed behind was a hard one, but once it was made, I had to commit. If only I could apply this practice to the rest of my life, I might not be woken up at all hours by the usual unexpected phone call.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I knew
I knew it was evening because of how low the sun was on the horizon, but beyond that details were a bit foggy. Looking around, I saw that I had woken up in an empty field. It certainly wasn't one of the lush, green rolling meadows that I can still see so vividly in my mind's eye from my childhood. No, this field was brown and desolate. Sparse plantlife scattered throughout a dusty plain provided little shelter or nourishment for any creature unfortunate enough to have found themselves looking for either in this place.
Checking myself for injuries I was relieved to be relatively unharmed. The absence of my ID and watch, however, were somewhat disconcerting. Trying to retrace, step by step, the events of the past 18 hours or so prooved to be even more unsettling.
I knew that my now filthy rag of a gown was once an eye-catching cotoure creation merely hours ago. I remembered leaving Sam's album release party with a horrible migraine, yet I didn't remeber getting into my car.
Checking myself for injuries I was relieved to be relatively unharmed. The absence of my ID and watch, however, were somewhat disconcerting. Trying to retrace, step by step, the events of the past 18 hours or so prooved to be even more unsettling.
I knew that my now filthy rag of a gown was once an eye-catching cotoure creation merely hours ago. I remembered leaving Sam's album release party with a horrible migraine, yet I didn't remeber getting into my car.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Peter
I wrote this poem a few months ago and there's just something about it that makes it one of my favorites. I still can't put my finger on it, but at the same time, I don't want to.
----------
Peter, Peter, pronounced deleter of wondrous sway, sits alone watching the blue sea foam. His hair tousles and twists with the rift of the fine salt spray.
"If I could find my way back home, where will I go?" he asks of the small crab at his feet.
The crab answers in it's stacatto voice "You should head for the hills, high above the starlight. There you'll find the permanence of age, ready to hold you tight."
Peter nods slowly, knowing this was his path all along, finally accepting, lets slip the last of the sand from its home in his hand.
----------
Peter, Peter, pronounced deleter of wondrous sway, sits alone watching the blue sea foam. His hair tousles and twists with the rift of the fine salt spray.
"If I could find my way back home, where will I go?" he asks of the small crab at his feet.
The crab answers in it's stacatto voice "You should head for the hills, high above the starlight. There you'll find the permanence of age, ready to hold you tight."
Peter nods slowly, knowing this was his path all along, finally accepting, lets slip the last of the sand from its home in his hand.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
My Purple Clouds
My purple clouds are calling me. Wistful whispers meant only for my ears are beckoning me outside.
The transition between day and dusk has become endless in its brevity. I could stare at those thin strips of sky for hours, if only they'd let me. Dark below, vibrantly hued above, the clouds seem to be more of a metaphor for balance in life than an actual physical entity.
They're tired of waiting for me. They're riding the wind closer and closer to where i sit, watching them.
Aggressive and subtle, menacing and serene. I am meant to see them now, and understand them later.
The transition between day and dusk has become endless in its brevity. I could stare at those thin strips of sky for hours, if only they'd let me. Dark below, vibrantly hued above, the clouds seem to be more of a metaphor for balance in life than an actual physical entity.
They're tired of waiting for me. They're riding the wind closer and closer to where i sit, watching them.
Aggressive and subtle, menacing and serene. I am meant to see them now, and understand them later.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Friday Fiction
This morning I found the One-Minute Writer, and was inspired to take a shot at the Friday Fiction challenge.
The multitude of courses was intimidating at first, but as the evening progressed Klara became increasingly more at ease. The exquisite wines paired with each dish played no small part in melting away her tension. She had never been to a four star restaurant before, and had no preconceived notions about what to expect. The long, plush drapes, the enormous blooms of exotic flowers, and the way the waitstaff was invisible yet omnipresent at all times, were just a few of the touches she would have never imagined on her own.
As she savored the blends of sweet, salty, acidic, and pungent in her mouth, she cared less and less about her second-hand shoes. This night was a treat, a reward. She couldn't be disrespectful and allow her bashfulness to hinder a truly magnificent experience just because she felt like a fish out of water.
Klara's work as a counselor for underprivileged children usually consumes not only her working hours, but often much of her personal time as well. "Children don't stop having problems at 5:00", she reminds her friends. It was exactly her dedication to making lives better for those who cannot help themselves that brought her to Phillipe's on the River, to enjoy a tasting of the entire menu in a private room overlooking the lighthouse. After ten years of dedicated service, her co-workers decided that it was time Klara allowed someone else to serve her.
The multitude of courses was intimidating at first, but as the evening progressed Klara became increasingly more at ease. The exquisite wines paired with each dish played no small part in melting away her tension. She had never been to a four star restaurant before, and had no preconceived notions about what to expect. The long, plush drapes, the enormous blooms of exotic flowers, and the way the waitstaff was invisible yet omnipresent at all times, were just a few of the touches she would have never imagined on her own.
As she savored the blends of sweet, salty, acidic, and pungent in her mouth, she cared less and less about her second-hand shoes. This night was a treat, a reward. She couldn't be disrespectful and allow her bashfulness to hinder a truly magnificent experience just because she felt like a fish out of water.
Klara's work as a counselor for underprivileged children usually consumes not only her working hours, but often much of her personal time as well. "Children don't stop having problems at 5:00", she reminds her friends. It was exactly her dedication to making lives better for those who cannot help themselves that brought her to Phillipe's on the River, to enjoy a tasting of the entire menu in a private room overlooking the lighthouse. After ten years of dedicated service, her co-workers decided that it was time Klara allowed someone else to serve her.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Sipping
Sipping on such a tiny straw will only give you a headache, Mandy admonished silently, as she had already learned this lesson the hard way. She admired her brother's naivete. He was willing his dense milkshake up through the narrow opening, cheeks suctioned into his mouth leaving concave hollows on his cheeks.
"Mandy, when will you be able to come back home with us? I mean, for good?" Ryan had posed the question she knew was coming but was praying would stay buried, this time at least.
"Mandy, when will you be able to come back home with us? I mean, for good?" Ryan had posed the question she knew was coming but was praying would stay buried, this time at least.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Sweltering
Sweltering heat will not deter his determined mind. The young boy knew that it was crucial to embed himself securely within the proper social group this summer before returning back to school in the fall as just another nobody.
He has spent countless hours alone, planning, plotting, and practicing the right moment at which he will show them how he's transformed from the little boy they thought they once knew. Today is the day. Clear skies, a sense of freedom in the air, and the will to succeed have all collaborated to align his path.
His childhood bedroom now barren of his former playthings, awaits new interests and hobbies to fill it's walls.
They're all there, sitting by the fire hydrant, talking about whatever cool thing it is that they're going to do on this marvelous day. Andy walks up to them as if he's been their gang leader for years now, the expression on his face as cold as his soul. "Where are we going to hit up today, boys?" he asks.
Their shock is brief, but they understand. Chris, the tall one, responds "If you're going to stick around you know what it is you have to do. We were just talking about that one, over there." Chris nodded his head towards the blue house with the boat in the driveway.
He has spent countless hours alone, planning, plotting, and practicing the right moment at which he will show them how he's transformed from the little boy they thought they once knew. Today is the day. Clear skies, a sense of freedom in the air, and the will to succeed have all collaborated to align his path.
His childhood bedroom now barren of his former playthings, awaits new interests and hobbies to fill it's walls.
They're all there, sitting by the fire hydrant, talking about whatever cool thing it is that they're going to do on this marvelous day. Andy walks up to them as if he's been their gang leader for years now, the expression on his face as cold as his soul. "Where are we going to hit up today, boys?" he asks.
Their shock is brief, but they understand. Chris, the tall one, responds "If you're going to stick around you know what it is you have to do. We were just talking about that one, over there." Chris nodded his head towards the blue house with the boat in the driveway.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Samantha
I don't know if I'll ever manage to do this exercise on a Saturday, but here's my offering for Raven's Saturday Wordzzle.
words: Green goddess, shampoo, filibuster, please and thank you, Operation Marigold, throw pillows, up the creek without a paddle, spandex, ubiquitous, wedding ring
Samantha just knew that her husband would be up the creek without a paddle if he didn't figure out a way to prevent the filibuster his coworkers were planning for Operation Marigold. She sat, anxiously twisting her wedding ring around and around her tiny finger, wondering how she could help. But the fresh scent of the Green Goddess herb salsa she made for her lunch was distracting her so much that soon she was happily munching and consumed with trying to remember where she had last put her ubiquitous spandex to wear under her dress for the event. "Ah well, it's a little late for that now," she thought to herself. With a quick fluff of the throw pillows, she got up to shower and shampoo her hair, and get ready for tonight. She'd have to look her best tonight for the founders' dinner, and always say please and thank you, even if she despised every last one of them.
words: Green goddess, shampoo, filibuster, please and thank you, Operation Marigold, throw pillows, up the creek without a paddle, spandex, ubiquitous, wedding ring
Samantha just knew that her husband would be up the creek without a paddle if he didn't figure out a way to prevent the filibuster his coworkers were planning for Operation Marigold. She sat, anxiously twisting her wedding ring around and around her tiny finger, wondering how she could help. But the fresh scent of the Green Goddess herb salsa she made for her lunch was distracting her so much that soon she was happily munching and consumed with trying to remember where she had last put her ubiquitous spandex to wear under her dress for the event. "Ah well, it's a little late for that now," she thought to herself. With a quick fluff of the throw pillows, she got up to shower and shampoo her hair, and get ready for tonight. She'd have to look her best tonight for the founders' dinner, and always say please and thank you, even if she despised every last one of them.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
I'd Rather
I'd rather run through an open nowhere in the pouring rain than stay inside when you're angry. The way you seem to darken the skies is far more threatening that any thunder or lightening coming from high above me.
Your crooked mouth, hanging onto that last bit of humanity that I thought was lost long ago, hides broken truths and devious lies. If only you could show a glimmer of that peaceful you, the one I used to love, then I might be able to risk staying by your side. As things are now, I cannot help but leave and hope that you will meet your end swiftly.
Goodbye, Grandpa.
Your crooked mouth, hanging onto that last bit of humanity that I thought was lost long ago, hides broken truths and devious lies. If only you could show a glimmer of that peaceful you, the one I used to love, then I might be able to risk staying by your side. As things are now, I cannot help but leave and hope that you will meet your end swiftly.
Goodbye, Grandpa.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Butterfly
In my blogtastic travels, I came across Raven's writing and I really liked her weekly word challenge. I am always into trying something new, so I thought I'd give it a shot here. The concept is to write a cohesive, short paragraph using the ten given words or phrases.
words: gentle spring rain, mammoth, soap opera, worry, bubble gum, garden gate, seizure, of Biblical proportions, paralysis, wrinkles
The butterfly's paralysis was only temporary. He was entranced by the enormous blooms on the hydrangea, freshly opened after drinking their fill of last week's gentle spring rain. It wasn't long before his wings were all aflutter, driving him this way and that to peruse each petal pointedly. Just past the garden gate he became aware of the mammoth groundhog, digging a hole of Biblical proportions underneath the fine stone statue presiding over the garden. Overcome with worry, the butterfly began to interrogate the groundhog as to why he chose to dig in that very spot. The butterfly feared the hole would lead the statue to become unbalanced and teeter until it toppled on top of a delicate flower waiting helplessly below. The groundhog answered "Fear not, butterfly. I have many years experience in digging such holes and I can personally vouch for the safety of all things in your garden. Anxiety does not serve you well, you will only develop premature wrinkles, or perhaps even suffer a seizure. Your disastrous scenario sounds more like something from a soap opera; let's just leave the digging to the professionals, ok?" As the groundhog turned diligently back to his hole, the butterfly realized that he would be unable to stop a falling statue anyway, and that perhaps the groundhog was right after all. He turned to float to another corner of the garden and admire the sweet scent of the honeysuckle, on his way he spied a turtle spitting out his chewed piece of bubble gum. "Excuse me, turtle, but is that necessary...." began the butterfly.
words: gentle spring rain, mammoth, soap opera, worry, bubble gum, garden gate, seizure, of Biblical proportions, paralysis, wrinkles
The butterfly's paralysis was only temporary. He was entranced by the enormous blooms on the hydrangea, freshly opened after drinking their fill of last week's gentle spring rain. It wasn't long before his wings were all aflutter, driving him this way and that to peruse each petal pointedly. Just past the garden gate he became aware of the mammoth groundhog, digging a hole of Biblical proportions underneath the fine stone statue presiding over the garden. Overcome with worry, the butterfly began to interrogate the groundhog as to why he chose to dig in that very spot. The butterfly feared the hole would lead the statue to become unbalanced and teeter until it toppled on top of a delicate flower waiting helplessly below. The groundhog answered "Fear not, butterfly. I have many years experience in digging such holes and I can personally vouch for the safety of all things in your garden. Anxiety does not serve you well, you will only develop premature wrinkles, or perhaps even suffer a seizure. Your disastrous scenario sounds more like something from a soap opera; let's just leave the digging to the professionals, ok?" As the groundhog turned diligently back to his hole, the butterfly realized that he would be unable to stop a falling statue anyway, and that perhaps the groundhog was right after all. He turned to float to another corner of the garden and admire the sweet scent of the honeysuckle, on his way he spied a turtle spitting out his chewed piece of bubble gum. "Excuse me, turtle, but is that necessary...." began the butterfly.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Mr. Moon
Mr. Moon, please stop staring at me. I don't have the right words, and I don't know if I ever will. Your relentless gaze is dangerous; the more I look over my shoulder to fight you off with my mean face, the less i pay attention to the road before me.
I suppose I should thank you for displaying those two deer, laying in wait, biding their time.
I'm afraid you're going to have to do a lot more, though, Mr. Moon, to make me like you tonight. Why don't you run along now and go play with the other side of life for a while, and leave me to think in darkness.
I suppose I should thank you for displaying those two deer, laying in wait, biding their time.
I'm afraid you're going to have to do a lot more, though, Mr. Moon, to make me like you tonight. Why don't you run along now and go play with the other side of life for a while, and leave me to think in darkness.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Miss Mary
Miss Mary went down to fetch a canary, all the while wishing her song would stay. She would hum along and bounce til dawn, if only the words would play.
Mary's older brother was quick to ruin her fun, telling her "You can dance all you want but no other will come."
"I need no other save my mind," thought Mary. "Everything is as free as time."
With that she turned her back on what was behind her and ran off to sing what could no longer stay inside her.
Mary's older brother was quick to ruin her fun, telling her "You can dance all you want but no other will come."
"I need no other save my mind," thought Mary. "Everything is as free as time."
With that she turned her back on what was behind her and ran off to sing what could no longer stay inside her.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Your Food
Your food is devine, and your words are bland.
Filling my stomach starves my mind.
I could spend hours upon hours watching, learning, emulating your cuisine. Yet when you open your mouth to speak, I want to run and hide.
Where is the delicate touch you employ so well when applying a ginger foam atop a lattice of caramel? When will read your account of finding the perfect spring lobster and liberating it from it's rigid shell, and actually smell the sea scent on the creature?
I will write for you, if you will cook for me.
Filling my stomach starves my mind.
I could spend hours upon hours watching, learning, emulating your cuisine. Yet when you open your mouth to speak, I want to run and hide.
Where is the delicate touch you employ so well when applying a ginger foam atop a lattice of caramel? When will read your account of finding the perfect spring lobster and liberating it from it's rigid shell, and actually smell the sea scent on the creature?
I will write for you, if you will cook for me.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
The Rain
I wrote this a few days ago, but I think it's still fitting seeing as how it's raining, again.
The rain was angrily slapping the young spring leaves on the old oak tree just past midnight. I awoke, picturing Mother Nature lashing about from the clouds above, twirling around and around in her green garb. Mr. Nature must have come home late again, he's been doing that more and more it seems.
The Natures have been together for so many eons now, even their moods are predictable. Every year, around this time, Mr. Nature tends to get a little cabin fever, and finds himself lingering too long after work. But Mother knows, that that is the way the world works; she expells the rain from the swollen clouds not only to vent her anger, but also to soothe and nourish her domain, making it ready so that she and the Mr. can enjoy a lovely summer picnic together
The rain was angrily slapping the young spring leaves on the old oak tree just past midnight. I awoke, picturing Mother Nature lashing about from the clouds above, twirling around and around in her green garb. Mr. Nature must have come home late again, he's been doing that more and more it seems.
The Natures have been together for so many eons now, even their moods are predictable. Every year, around this time, Mr. Nature tends to get a little cabin fever, and finds himself lingering too long after work. But Mother knows, that that is the way the world works; she expells the rain from the swollen clouds not only to vent her anger, but also to soothe and nourish her domain, making it ready so that she and the Mr. can enjoy a lovely summer picnic together
Friday, May 1, 2009
Friday Free Write
For today's free write exercise, I'm going to start with a memory of mine from when I was in Amsterdam and just see what transpires from there.
As she walked along the cobblestone street, trying in vain to stay level (who knew high heels would be so troublesome in the old part of the city?), her eyes bounced from one storefront to another. It seemed the Dutch had an endless appetite for women's apparel, which was in no way was a bad thing to Nikki.
She rounded a corner, ditched a massive sinkhole, and was overcome by a sweet smell in the air. It wasn't sickeningly sweet, like Grandma's perfume, nor was it so strong as to mask the everyday city odors. Nikki continued walking, checking her guidebook to make sure she was on the right path to the restaurant she was so excited to try, and became aware that the scent was developing more body, it was almost layering upon itself.
"The source must be nearby", she thought to herself, as she wrapped her thick wool coat tighter around her chest. April in Amsterdam was warmer than January, but not by much. She will later ask herself why she couldn't wait until the rainy season was over to come and explore this great city. Her thoughts were then interrupted as she inhaled deeply at the expanse just now coming into her view.
Nikki had stumbled upon the great Flower Market. Countless booths, floating end to end along the edge of the canal, butting up against the sidewalk stretched beyond her field of vision to her left and right, each booth containing various flowers in bloom, fresh bulbs, and other things flower related.
The source of the complex scent now revealed, Nikki was absorbed by the vibrant colors bursting forth from the booths. The flowers seemed to make the rest of the city appear in black and white. She slowed, studying every petal, touching each stem, taking in the spectacle of beauty before her. Her gaze fell on a nearby vendor, his cheerful demeanor and pleasant sounding conversation (she couldn't understand the words but could certainly hear his tone) were what made her realize that he was selling smiles, and who wouldn't be happy to do that for a living.
Nikki spent hours looking over the contents of each booth. The wind grew strong around the same time the noises her stomach were making became audible. She hated to walk away, but she knew that no matter what she did for the rest of her time here in Amsterdam, she would always have the memory of that flower market to take with her.
As she walked along the cobblestone street, trying in vain to stay level (who knew high heels would be so troublesome in the old part of the city?), her eyes bounced from one storefront to another. It seemed the Dutch had an endless appetite for women's apparel, which was in no way was a bad thing to Nikki.
She rounded a corner, ditched a massive sinkhole, and was overcome by a sweet smell in the air. It wasn't sickeningly sweet, like Grandma's perfume, nor was it so strong as to mask the everyday city odors. Nikki continued walking, checking her guidebook to make sure she was on the right path to the restaurant she was so excited to try, and became aware that the scent was developing more body, it was almost layering upon itself.
"The source must be nearby", she thought to herself, as she wrapped her thick wool coat tighter around her chest. April in Amsterdam was warmer than January, but not by much. She will later ask herself why she couldn't wait until the rainy season was over to come and explore this great city. Her thoughts were then interrupted as she inhaled deeply at the expanse just now coming into her view.
Nikki had stumbled upon the great Flower Market. Countless booths, floating end to end along the edge of the canal, butting up against the sidewalk stretched beyond her field of vision to her left and right, each booth containing various flowers in bloom, fresh bulbs, and other things flower related.
The source of the complex scent now revealed, Nikki was absorbed by the vibrant colors bursting forth from the booths. The flowers seemed to make the rest of the city appear in black and white. She slowed, studying every petal, touching each stem, taking in the spectacle of beauty before her. Her gaze fell on a nearby vendor, his cheerful demeanor and pleasant sounding conversation (she couldn't understand the words but could certainly hear his tone) were what made her realize that he was selling smiles, and who wouldn't be happy to do that for a living.
Nikki spent hours looking over the contents of each booth. The wind grew strong around the same time the noises her stomach were making became audible. She hated to walk away, but she knew that no matter what she did for the rest of her time here in Amsterdam, she would always have the memory of that flower market to take with her.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Someday...
"Someday, I'll stop seeing only the outside edges of life," thought Samantha. She has long ago been diagnosed as having obsessive compulsive disorder, and her routine of mathematically calculating numerical values for everything she encounters has taken over her persona. She cannot walk past a bus of school children without counting their small, round heads, or adding together the number correlating to each letter in the alphabet for all the words in a street sign.
This is more than just a little quirk for Samantha, it's her security blanket. She is more comfortable when she can safely know that each element of life is represented by a number, they're so absolute and unwavering, they must inherently hold more meaning than the thing they are representing, she rationalizes. The only thing she has ever lost count of was how many times her friends and family have tried to get her to stop counting.
This is more than just a little quirk for Samantha, it's her security blanket. She is more comfortable when she can safely know that each element of life is represented by a number, they're so absolute and unwavering, they must inherently hold more meaning than the thing they are representing, she rationalizes. The only thing she has ever lost count of was how many times her friends and family have tried to get her to stop counting.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
My Tree
This morning, flowers fluttering on a crabapple tree outside my window greeted me with a warm spring scent. Their whiteness always impresses me. I feel so lucky to have them closeby, only I also have to prepare myself for their eventual demise. Soon the delicate petals will become ripe fruits, tempting birds and squirrls alike. The remants of their beauty scattered about on the grass below the many branches.
But for now, today, I can enjoy the flowers as they are, complete and unmarred. Existing for my pleasure.
But for now, today, I can enjoy the flowers as they are, complete and unmarred. Existing for my pleasure.
Monday, April 27, 2009
The woman...
The woman worked hard to maintain her composure. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry. "Men make mistakes too, but it takes a lot more for them to admit it, especially to themselves," she mused.
Her tousled hair clung in sweaty strips to the side of her face as she hefted the forty pound sac of flour over her shoulder. Making her way into the kitchen she could see that he had realized her trespasses while she was out. The earthenware bowls she adored so much lay smashed to bits in one corner of the room. Furniture was pushed out of place, as if he couldn't decide where to vent his fury so he ultimately paced back and forth, knocking and punching the tables as he moved.
"Well," she thought, "this day was bound to come. I should have been better prepared for it, or long gone." He stood, intently studying her face, and trying to unclench his fists, expecting her to give up some half-hearted explanation and then to beg for his forgiveness.
She did neither. She only began to straighten out the mess and silently, secretly, formulate a better plan for next time.
Her tousled hair clung in sweaty strips to the side of her face as she hefted the forty pound sac of flour over her shoulder. Making her way into the kitchen she could see that he had realized her trespasses while she was out. The earthenware bowls she adored so much lay smashed to bits in one corner of the room. Furniture was pushed out of place, as if he couldn't decide where to vent his fury so he ultimately paced back and forth, knocking and punching the tables as he moved.
"Well," she thought, "this day was bound to come. I should have been better prepared for it, or long gone." He stood, intently studying her face, and trying to unclench his fists, expecting her to give up some half-hearted explanation and then to beg for his forgiveness.
She did neither. She only began to straighten out the mess and silently, secretly, formulate a better plan for next time.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Friday Free Write
Today I thought I'd do a little free write exercise based on a post that Bridget recently did. I know it's probably not the million dollar idea she had in mind, but I figured it's as good as anything else I can think of to randomly write about.
__________
Darlene thought it was about time to teach herself to appreciate her surroundings a little bit more. She is too used to rushing through life and taking certain things for granted, she decided. Today she made the conscious decision to go out for a nice walk and let her legs lead her where they may. Her neighbor's cherry tree in bloom was the perfect beginning to set her off with a smile, fresh petals so white they seemed to glow against the vibrant green of the woods behind.
She grabbed a light jacket, closed the side door behind her with a soft thud and a little push to make sure the latch caught completely in the jamb, and made her way out to the road. In these early morning hours just after the sunrise the road would be near desolate. She could marvel in her geographic juxtaposition between towering mountains and the wide expanse of the Hudson river from the main road without worrying that a speeding vehicle would come out of nowhere, plowing her into the pavement.
Darlene has spent most of her life living in this area, or rather, getting through life in this area. She has long been making up for her discordant upbringing. But for today, at least, she only wants to focus on the over sized bumble bees buzzing about with their bee business, and on the way Queen Anne's Lace always seems to grow in wide clumps, never alone.
She walks along, so content to let the fresh, fragrant air fill her lungs. The calming effect is almost toxic. She can't even hear the pebbles crunching under her own feet, entranced by her own revelry. And then she almost tripped over it; a bright white sneaker, lying harmlessly on its side on the road directly in front of her. Darlene stopped, captivated. She bent down and grabbed the misplaced shoe and turned it over in her hands. The leather was so white and the sole so clean that she could tell immediately that it was virtually new. It even had that pungent rubbery smell that new sneakers have. She tucked it under her arm and kept walking.
About an hour later, Darlene returned to that same side door she had embarked from. This time when she went through to the kitchen, Lloyd was home from the late shift he worked over at the factory. Her serene mood was instantly shattered.
"What is this, Lloyd?!" she yelled, waving the sneaker in front of his face as he stood in front of the open refrigerator. "How many times have I told you that you have to be more careful? You can't take care of most of the details and leave something like this behind to connect you, and ME, to everything!"
"Oh. Sorry. I thought I got all her stuff and I guess she must have lost that sneaker in the back of the truck when I first picked her up. I found it when I was cleaning and I just chucked it in the woods. How would anyone know it was her shoe anyway?"
"Dammit Lloyd! If you can't learn how to tie someone up properly and dispose of your evidence we're going to run into some serious trouble here! Now be a good boy and run and get some wood." Darlene turned to head upstairs, "All that fresh air made me queasy. I'm going to lay down."
Lloyd did as his mother bade him, he hated to see her angry. Returning with the wood, he arranged the logs just right in the small cast iron stove. Once the fire was going he threw the shoe inside and closed the door. He lumbered over to the kitchen table and sat down with a tired groan. He wanted to think of something nice to do for his mother before she woke from her nap...
__________
Darlene thought it was about time to teach herself to appreciate her surroundings a little bit more. She is too used to rushing through life and taking certain things for granted, she decided. Today she made the conscious decision to go out for a nice walk and let her legs lead her where they may. Her neighbor's cherry tree in bloom was the perfect beginning to set her off with a smile, fresh petals so white they seemed to glow against the vibrant green of the woods behind.
She grabbed a light jacket, closed the side door behind her with a soft thud and a little push to make sure the latch caught completely in the jamb, and made her way out to the road. In these early morning hours just after the sunrise the road would be near desolate. She could marvel in her geographic juxtaposition between towering mountains and the wide expanse of the Hudson river from the main road without worrying that a speeding vehicle would come out of nowhere, plowing her into the pavement.
Darlene has spent most of her life living in this area, or rather, getting through life in this area. She has long been making up for her discordant upbringing. But for today, at least, she only wants to focus on the over sized bumble bees buzzing about with their bee business, and on the way Queen Anne's Lace always seems to grow in wide clumps, never alone.
She walks along, so content to let the fresh, fragrant air fill her lungs. The calming effect is almost toxic. She can't even hear the pebbles crunching under her own feet, entranced by her own revelry. And then she almost tripped over it; a bright white sneaker, lying harmlessly on its side on the road directly in front of her. Darlene stopped, captivated. She bent down and grabbed the misplaced shoe and turned it over in her hands. The leather was so white and the sole so clean that she could tell immediately that it was virtually new. It even had that pungent rubbery smell that new sneakers have. She tucked it under her arm and kept walking.
About an hour later, Darlene returned to that same side door she had embarked from. This time when she went through to the kitchen, Lloyd was home from the late shift he worked over at the factory. Her serene mood was instantly shattered.
"What is this, Lloyd?!" she yelled, waving the sneaker in front of his face as he stood in front of the open refrigerator. "How many times have I told you that you have to be more careful? You can't take care of most of the details and leave something like this behind to connect you, and ME, to everything!"
"Oh. Sorry. I thought I got all her stuff and I guess she must have lost that sneaker in the back of the truck when I first picked her up. I found it when I was cleaning and I just chucked it in the woods. How would anyone know it was her shoe anyway?"
"Dammit Lloyd! If you can't learn how to tie someone up properly and dispose of your evidence we're going to run into some serious trouble here! Now be a good boy and run and get some wood." Darlene turned to head upstairs, "All that fresh air made me queasy. I'm going to lay down."
Lloyd did as his mother bade him, he hated to see her angry. Returning with the wood, he arranged the logs just right in the small cast iron stove. Once the fire was going he threw the shoe inside and closed the door. He lumbered over to the kitchen table and sat down with a tired groan. He wanted to think of something nice to do for his mother before she woke from her nap...
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The boy...
The boy followed the teacher as he was supposed to, walking with his head hung low, chin tucked against his bony chest. He hadn’t done anything wrong; this was how he always walked, afraid to look anyone in the eye.
As he listened intently to the directions from the teacher on how to use the combination lock on his locker, he shrunk a little more into himself. He could feel their stares on his back, and all around him. His palms grew moist and he couldn’t help shifting his weight from his right leg to the left and back again. It was going to be the same here as it always was at the other schools.
The teacher, attempting to reassure what he thought was just ordinary nerves, offers politely “We’re a friendly bunch here in Crendleton. I’m sure you’ll fit right in with the other children in no time.” The boy knew better than to get his hopes up, he’s heard this line before.
As he listened intently to the directions from the teacher on how to use the combination lock on his locker, he shrunk a little more into himself. He could feel their stares on his back, and all around him. His palms grew moist and he couldn’t help shifting his weight from his right leg to the left and back again. It was going to be the same here as it always was at the other schools.
The teacher, attempting to reassure what he thought was just ordinary nerves, offers politely “We’re a friendly bunch here in Crendleton. I’m sure you’ll fit right in with the other children in no time.” The boy knew better than to get his hopes up, he’s heard this line before.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Are you there Blog, it's me Lana
Dear reader, in a departure from the social commentary which I enjoy so much, I have decided to use this blog as a venue for continuously examining my journey to becoming a "serious" writer, hopefully without taking myself too seriously. I have long since been aware of how much I enjoy writing, and also aware of how little I actually know about the technical side of it. I can't even say specifically what I'd like to write about, but I know that whatever I do, I need to practice.
For my first entry into this blog/notebook, I really wanted to do an exercise that I read about recently. The goal is to take a scene from a book or short story, and rewrite it in your own words using the original characters and plot. Purely for my own use, it seems like an exercise that would be helpful for me to gauge my progress the more I do it.
I'm going to use a scene from Jim Thompson's The Killer Inside Me. I chose this novel particularly because it's so descriptively set in 1952. My goal here is to convey the same mood and mindset of the main character, yet modernize his speech. The following scene is when deputy sheriff Lou Ford starts to recount for the reader his version of events occurring right before he killed his fiancé, Amy Stanton:
I killed Amy Stanton on Sunday night, April 5th, 2009, at just a few minutes before 9:00.
It was the kind of night that you'd expect from April, cold enough to make you wonder if the long awaited spring sunshine actually warmed your back earlier in that same day, or if it was all just your imagination. It was the perfect night for Amy and me to run off together. She took care of her part efficiently and unalarmingly, as is the only way she could have. Her parents never suspected a thing when she surprised them with tickets to the new musical that just opened in the city. She saw them off at 7:00 and came over to my place around 8:30 and...and...
I knew when I saw the Stanton's car drive past my house that Amy's facade of innocence was already being melted away by a hot shower, as she began to make herself ready for her big night. She must have been a whirlwind of activity now that they were finally out of the house. There had to be very deliberate thought put into her chronology of events so as to achieve the perfect amount of preparedness while masking her true desperation.
I can see her rushing from room to room, checking every little detail. She would be sitting in front of her vanity with the magnifying make-up mirror, shaping her eyebrows hurriedly yet effortlessly, the curling iron heating on the table beside her, ready to steam her wispy locks into waves. She's checking her suitcase for all her necessary accessories. She's probably busy with the final decision about which dress to wear, trying on both in front of the mirror. Her mouth must be alternating between a pout and a smirk as she pretends she's walking towards her husband-to-be, I guess. It must be difficult for her to arrange her cleavage just so, turn her head this way and that, lift her arms to check the movement in the dress. And then, that must have been about all, I guess. Then she came over, over to my house and...
I was in the kitchen when she entered through the side door. I wasn't dressed, but I was ready for her. Her chest heaving from running up the steps, and excited about finally getting her way, I guess...I guess...
I guess I'm not ready to talk about it yet. If I talk about it now, then it will all be over and that would be the end. I don't want it to end so soon...
For my first entry into this blog/notebook, I really wanted to do an exercise that I read about recently. The goal is to take a scene from a book or short story, and rewrite it in your own words using the original characters and plot. Purely for my own use, it seems like an exercise that would be helpful for me to gauge my progress the more I do it.
I'm going to use a scene from Jim Thompson's The Killer Inside Me. I chose this novel particularly because it's so descriptively set in 1952. My goal here is to convey the same mood and mindset of the main character, yet modernize his speech. The following scene is when deputy sheriff Lou Ford starts to recount for the reader his version of events occurring right before he killed his fiancé, Amy Stanton:
I killed Amy Stanton on Sunday night, April 5th, 2009, at just a few minutes before 9:00.
It was the kind of night that you'd expect from April, cold enough to make you wonder if the long awaited spring sunshine actually warmed your back earlier in that same day, or if it was all just your imagination. It was the perfect night for Amy and me to run off together. She took care of her part efficiently and unalarmingly, as is the only way she could have. Her parents never suspected a thing when she surprised them with tickets to the new musical that just opened in the city. She saw them off at 7:00 and came over to my place around 8:30 and...and...
I knew when I saw the Stanton's car drive past my house that Amy's facade of innocence was already being melted away by a hot shower, as she began to make herself ready for her big night. She must have been a whirlwind of activity now that they were finally out of the house. There had to be very deliberate thought put into her chronology of events so as to achieve the perfect amount of preparedness while masking her true desperation.
I can see her rushing from room to room, checking every little detail. She would be sitting in front of her vanity with the magnifying make-up mirror, shaping her eyebrows hurriedly yet effortlessly, the curling iron heating on the table beside her, ready to steam her wispy locks into waves. She's checking her suitcase for all her necessary accessories. She's probably busy with the final decision about which dress to wear, trying on both in front of the mirror. Her mouth must be alternating between a pout and a smirk as she pretends she's walking towards her husband-to-be, I guess. It must be difficult for her to arrange her cleavage just so, turn her head this way and that, lift her arms to check the movement in the dress. And then, that must have been about all, I guess. Then she came over, over to my house and...
I was in the kitchen when she entered through the side door. I wasn't dressed, but I was ready for her. Her chest heaving from running up the steps, and excited about finally getting her way, I guess...I guess...
I guess I'm not ready to talk about it yet. If I talk about it now, then it will all be over and that would be the end. I don't want it to end so soon...
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