I had been following her for days. I once thought that a lady like her could never cheat - but I wasn’t that foolhardy anymore. And I needed the money. She came every day - after her morning in town - to stand by the bank under the Golden Gate Bridge. “To let her nails dry” my partner, Joe, said. “No bourgioux woman would just sit and think.” This afternoon the water was unusually rocky. I settled behind a few rocks and was finishing my crossword when I heard it. I looked up and she was gone. I was about 600 meters away, but In a flash I was running, my hat flying, stripping my suit jacket. How long had she been under? One, two minutes? I jumped in and grabbed her wrist, then hefted her under the arms. Her body was light and terrifyingly limp. I laid her down on the cement walkway. 1-2-3 - blow. 4 times, 5 times. Her eyes flew open and water poured out.
After a long while she looked at me. Her eyes were blue San Francisco water, “I thought you’d been watching.” “What?” I asked, realizing my blown cover. “This was one way to confirm my suspicions.” “And if I wouldn’t have come?” I asked, perplexed. She paused, and looked down again. “I would either jump and meet you, or I would finally get to what I’ve been putting off.”
I took her hand, “Let me take you home,” and led her away.
Showing posts with label writer's workshop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writer's workshop. Show all posts
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Writer's Workshop Exercise 1: 2012
I was talking to a friend the other day and he mentioned an interest in reading my blog. The thing about this stupid blog is that it was created through a gmail account that I haven't used in 3 years. So I consider it a real inconvenience and a downfall of gmail to allow a blog to be changed from any email address except another gmail email account.
Ok. I really sorta needed to get that out of my system.
I decided to join the Writer's Workshop again this year. I'm not sure if my gumption will last a whole 12 months, but I decided to commit. And tonight was the first meeting with the first exercise. So I decided to post it here. There's a couple of reasons why posting these exercises on my blog is a challenge to me:
1) I usually write very dark. I work at a job where I read about abuse, and people who cut themselves, or wish themselves dead, or families that have caused each other lots of pain, and the resulting depression and eating disorder, and anxiety and substance use and other disorders that people have to cope with things that one shouldn't have to cope with. So with the new year comes new beginnings, so I am trying to keep things a little more light and airy. Though this presents itself with challenge number 2.
2) I usually use writing as therapy. Actually I use most arts that I take part in as therapy. Which means that if there is some unusually depressing story at work that I need to process and get out of my system (which never really gets out, I don't think), I use art to get it out. Our walls are thin and I can get home late, so flute isn't always an option, so I will write to get it down and out and flushed through the lens of art. So this means that my challenge number 1 is already feeling pressure, because I either have to write twice as much to submit the pleasant stuff to writer's workshop, or I search a little harder for the happy bits of life.
3) I usually find it difficult to finish writing pieces I have started. So in posting it to my blog, it's a challenge for me to finish what I start.
Today's writer's workshop exercise was to take an article that you found interesting, and take a character (or a spectator or indirectly related) from the article and make a short story from it. Or you could write a journal entry as one of the characters (or a spectator or indirectly related) in the article.
The article I chose I can no longer find, but it was about a two-headed baby born in Brazil. The baby is doing fine and is healthy. But what struck me is that there was a two-headed female baby born in the states almost 20 years ago, and they are doing fine. So this was what I wrote regarding those two brave ladies.
Ok. I really sorta needed to get that out of my system.
I decided to join the Writer's Workshop again this year. I'm not sure if my gumption will last a whole 12 months, but I decided to commit. And tonight was the first meeting with the first exercise. So I decided to post it here. There's a couple of reasons why posting these exercises on my blog is a challenge to me:
1) I usually write very dark. I work at a job where I read about abuse, and people who cut themselves, or wish themselves dead, or families that have caused each other lots of pain, and the resulting depression and eating disorder, and anxiety and substance use and other disorders that people have to cope with things that one shouldn't have to cope with. So with the new year comes new beginnings, so I am trying to keep things a little more light and airy. Though this presents itself with challenge number 2.
2) I usually use writing as therapy. Actually I use most arts that I take part in as therapy. Which means that if there is some unusually depressing story at work that I need to process and get out of my system (which never really gets out, I don't think), I use art to get it out. Our walls are thin and I can get home late, so flute isn't always an option, so I will write to get it down and out and flushed through the lens of art. So this means that my challenge number 1 is already feeling pressure, because I either have to write twice as much to submit the pleasant stuff to writer's workshop, or I search a little harder for the happy bits of life.
3) I usually find it difficult to finish writing pieces I have started. So in posting it to my blog, it's a challenge for me to finish what I start.
Today's writer's workshop exercise was to take an article that you found interesting, and take a character (or a spectator or indirectly related) from the article and make a short story from it. Or you could write a journal entry as one of the characters (or a spectator or indirectly related) in the article.
The article I chose I can no longer find, but it was about a two-headed baby born in Brazil. The baby is doing fine and is healthy. But what struck me is that there was a two-headed female baby born in the states almost 20 years ago, and they are doing fine. So this was what I wrote regarding those two brave ladies.
Baxter first saw Aubrey and Brit at the circus. They wore a cottony, summer dress that was tailor made with two neck holes, two sleeves, and one skirt. One laughed when the other dropped her bag of hot circus peanuts, but not when some boys offered their tickets to see the girls do a dance. They walked one way, and Baxter walked towards the lions, and that was the last Baxter thought of them for the rest of the summer.
He spent the rest of his break dreading his next orthodontics visit, each of which included another metal contraption to connect his teeth, his jaw, and his head in a crude exo-skeleton. The removable headgear was originally only needed 10 hours a day. Though his sleep was cut to a few restless hours a night, he was fine staying indoors after summer baseball practice and reading books by Card, Tolkien, Adams, Orwell, Asimov, Wells and Verne in order to refrain from being seen in public with the apparatus attached. But after a month and a half, the commitment was raised to 14 hours a day. This meant that Baxter was supposed to wear the headgear at least two hours in school, which was rapidly approaching, since sports practice was ‘mandatory’ according to his dad, and the headgear was ‘already paid for,’ according to his mom. He politely wore his headgear past the first block, turned the corner, and shoved it in his backpack. In the evenings he would put it on right as he turned the corner home, and wore it through the night.
But his orthodontics visit during Thanksgiving Break found him out - as progress wasn’t being made as the dentist expected. Baxter’s mom gave him the ‘i know it seems hard to be appreciative now’ speech, and walked him to school, to make sure it stayed firmly on his head. He only responded by saying that he was transferring as soon as the gear came off, and by third hour he was thinking of schools in the area that weren’t sports competitors with the Engelwood Badgers.
It was at lunch time that he noticed that Aubrey and Brit were there. He had forgotten about them. They were shy and timid and seemed to gauge the sincerity of everything that was said to them. They kept to themselves, walked straight to class and drove home with their dad in the passenger seat to meet their drivers ed hours.
A couple of weeks later Baxter ducked as Duane, the school bully sent a fist aimed at “scrambling your antannae.” Baxter turned on a dime and ran straight into Aubrey and Brit and their extra high pile of books. He split down the hall with Duane’s flat feet pounding after him. He cut through the Women’s bathroom and circled out the other end to help pick up the girl’s books, but as he came within hearing distance, he heard Aubrey say, “Phil Lancaster, don’t you ever talk like we’re handicapped again. And we can pick up our own books thank you very much.” Baxter changed his mind, did an about face and found himself braces to chest with Duane’s mass.
The next day Baxter saw the girls again in the hall. “Sorry for making a mess yesterday” he mumbled, a little intimidated of a ‘handicapped’ scolding. “Sorry about the black eye” Brit said.
From that day on, the girls said hi, and he made small talk. He won the science fair, since he had quit baseball and found himself with an extra amount of free time in the evenings. He started shaving his chin stubble, and during the middle of the next summer finally found himself free of his headgear. Surprisingly, his parents did let him transfer, and he became a Southwater stormchaser. At least that’s what he claimed, since the purple and gold Tornados mascot wasn’t his type of storm, he took evening classes and became a certified storm chaser after he got his drivers license.
One summer, years later, he ran into Aubrey and Brit.
“Good to see you.” Aubrey said, “It was always good to see you in the halls at Englewood.” Brit added.
“Why?” he asked.
They shrugged, “Because you treated us like a person, not like a novelty, or science experiment.”
“Oh. I just, you know, talked and stuff. There wasn’t anything special I did.” Baxter mumbled.
“That’s why we loved it.” They said, smiling and walked off. Their cotton dress swaying, heads turned in conversation.
He spent the rest of his break dreading his next orthodontics visit, each of which included another metal contraption to connect his teeth, his jaw, and his head in a crude exo-skeleton. The removable headgear was originally only needed 10 hours a day. Though his sleep was cut to a few restless hours a night, he was fine staying indoors after summer baseball practice and reading books by Card, Tolkien, Adams, Orwell, Asimov, Wells and Verne in order to refrain from being seen in public with the apparatus attached. But after a month and a half, the commitment was raised to 14 hours a day. This meant that Baxter was supposed to wear the headgear at least two hours in school, which was rapidly approaching, since sports practice was ‘mandatory’ according to his dad, and the headgear was ‘already paid for,’ according to his mom. He politely wore his headgear past the first block, turned the corner, and shoved it in his backpack. In the evenings he would put it on right as he turned the corner home, and wore it through the night.
But his orthodontics visit during Thanksgiving Break found him out - as progress wasn’t being made as the dentist expected. Baxter’s mom gave him the ‘i know it seems hard to be appreciative now’ speech, and walked him to school, to make sure it stayed firmly on his head. He only responded by saying that he was transferring as soon as the gear came off, and by third hour he was thinking of schools in the area that weren’t sports competitors with the Engelwood Badgers.
It was at lunch time that he noticed that Aubrey and Brit were there. He had forgotten about them. They were shy and timid and seemed to gauge the sincerity of everything that was said to them. They kept to themselves, walked straight to class and drove home with their dad in the passenger seat to meet their drivers ed hours.
A couple of weeks later Baxter ducked as Duane, the school bully sent a fist aimed at “scrambling your antannae.” Baxter turned on a dime and ran straight into Aubrey and Brit and their extra high pile of books. He split down the hall with Duane’s flat feet pounding after him. He cut through the Women’s bathroom and circled out the other end to help pick up the girl’s books, but as he came within hearing distance, he heard Aubrey say, “Phil Lancaster, don’t you ever talk like we’re handicapped again. And we can pick up our own books thank you very much.” Baxter changed his mind, did an about face and found himself braces to chest with Duane’s mass.
The next day Baxter saw the girls again in the hall. “Sorry for making a mess yesterday” he mumbled, a little intimidated of a ‘handicapped’ scolding. “Sorry about the black eye” Brit said.
From that day on, the girls said hi, and he made small talk. He won the science fair, since he had quit baseball and found himself with an extra amount of free time in the evenings. He started shaving his chin stubble, and during the middle of the next summer finally found himself free of his headgear. Surprisingly, his parents did let him transfer, and he became a Southwater stormchaser. At least that’s what he claimed, since the purple and gold Tornados mascot wasn’t his type of storm, he took evening classes and became a certified storm chaser after he got his drivers license.
One summer, years later, he ran into Aubrey and Brit.
“Good to see you.” Aubrey said, “It was always good to see you in the halls at Englewood.” Brit added.
“Why?” he asked.
They shrugged, “Because you treated us like a person, not like a novelty, or science experiment.”
“Oh. I just, you know, talked and stuff. There wasn’t anything special I did.” Baxter mumbled.
“That’s why we loved it.” They said, smiling and walked off. Their cotton dress swaying, heads turned in conversation.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
What Makes Happiness?
The exercise for this week's writer's workshop was "What makes you happy?" It's worth looking into. I started off making a list, just the first things that came to mind. I was intending to format it into some poem or something. But it just wanted to stay a list. So here it is.
NOT being around frat humor
SNL when it first started
my mom's cooking
pinterest
rachel and lucas regier
alfred hitchcock movies
cowboy bebop, and other such marvelous anime
quiet neighborhoods
cuddly and happy animals
live professional classical music
live professional theater
conversations in the kitchen
family
modern female jazz singers
a good view from a window
a meal with lots of variety
nice fabrics
a stockpile of rich lotions and fancy chapsticks
being hydrated
getting stuff
nail polish that lasts a week
voluminous hair
a day at a zoo or in a garden
colorado springs, co
christmas
pictures
thai iced tea
All of these things involve memories with my husband.
What makes you happy?
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Alternate Chicago - Writer's Workshop Exercise
I realized that even though I've been involved in a writer's workshop, I haven't posted any more frequently on this ol' blog'o'mine. So the most recent post is creating an alternate world, so here's my exercise. I wanted to create a subtle, slightly Clockwork Orange situation.
The same day that Dispensational Premillenialists were supposed to be caught up with Christ in the clouds a tornado destroyed a little town called Redding and Chicago shut down Sheridan avenue. Naturally, 10 years later and it was obvious that prohibiting traffic through a 10 mile street in the northern neighborhoods was by far the most expensive of all the events that day. With the heavy debt the windy city carried, city officials mandated that shutting down damaged roads and El stops was aggrandized to paying construction workers and purchasing a new fleet of police cars with top of the line Monroe OESpectrum shocks with Twin technology control functions. Other such unfortunate thoroughfares included the better north portion of Western, 5 miles of Touhy and 10 or 12 other miles of street that were deemed unworthy of repair throughout the city. After a few months of heavy stray traffic on the emasculated avenue the city put serious proscriptions into effect by tearing up the street from Foster to Touhy and starting construction on cheap condos that didn't sell for the first two years after completion. By this time an ordinance passed that any stray vehicular devices found on the sidewalks surrounding the Sheridan Ave Condos would be impounded. When this decree passed, 85% of the 135 businesses that once existed on the strip had shut down, vandalism had increased 162%, and 40% of the residents previously living two blocks from Sheridan had moved. 10 years and over $14 million later, the city of Chicago tore down the Sheridan Ave Condos, rebuilt Sheridan, laid brick sidewalks and landscaped the medians. The day Sheridan Ave opened again, the mayor came up to cut the ribbon and give away free lemonaid, and 15 citizens arrived to nurse on 25 gallons of heavily diluted Country Time.
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