Archive for July, 2008

Another fun writing exercise…

Posted in Uncategorized on July 16, 2008 by doesitcomewithgravy

Take this extremely short and dull bit of dialogue. Rewrite it, adding more. First, write it as a conversation between a teenage boy and an elderly woman. What you add may include longer speeches, more speeches, a setting, and descriptions of the people, how they say things, their gestures, and anything else you want to add. Now write it again, as if spoken by two people in love, of any age. Then try it again as…??? Whatever you wish…

Here is the bare-bones dialogue:
Hi.
Hi.
Where were you?
Nowhere.

 

The trees were starting to turn. Yellows, oranges and reds made themselves known throughout the green foliage. Squirrels and chipmunks scurried here and there gathering whatever they could to add to a secret horde only they knew about, frantically stockpiling for the long months ahead. The gray blue water of the lake was marred by ringlets and tiny waves caused by the ducks and geese milling about. They traveled by each person near the water’s edge, hoping for a morsel of something to be tossed out. The afternoon sun shone brightly on the brilliant greens of the mallards and the bright orange beaks of the Chinese geese. Black and gray dominated as the Canada geese outnumbered the others 3-1.

A slight breeze ruffled the woman’s gray hair as it swept by. She paid no attention; she was focused on something far off in the distance. A honk from a nearby goose brought her back from her mind wanderings.

Rummaging through her purse for a mint, she found one, undid the wrapper and popped it into her mouth hoping it might help with the coppery taste that seemed to linger.

She leaned over and tossed the wrapper in the nearby waste bin.

She straightened immediately when she saw him coming through the gate.

Leather jacket, plaid pants and a bright green mohawk made him easy to identify.

He shuffled over to her and knelt down to tie the frayed and already knotted laces on his black converse high tops.

Looking up at the woman he smiled. “Hi”

“Hi” She smiled back.

“Where were you?”

Her mouth opened and closed it once before she replied, “Nowhere.”

He knew better than to press her further. Even at 16 he understood the mind crippling powers of Alzheimer’s disease.

He sat down on the bench next to her and took the hand she offered and together they watched the birds gliding across the water.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hi” he said as she crawled into bed with him, her long brown hair falling over a shoulder and tickled his bare chest. His eyes were still half closed, his body slack from a restful sleep.

“Hi” she kissed him and settled into him welcoming arms.

“Where have you been?”

“Nowhere” Her eyes twinkled with mischief and humor.

“For some reason, I think you where somewhere.” Just then he noticed her arm was still behind her back.  “What have you got there?”

“I’m not telling.” A grin spread across her lovely face. “But I bet you can wrestle me for it”

He laughed and tickled her side. “Ah, but I know your weakness.”

They rolled about in the bed laughing and tickling. He caught both of her wrists in his hands and pinned them above her head.

“Okay, Okay.” Breathlessly, she laughed at him, “That’s not fighting fair, you aren’t ticklish.”

“And this is fighting fair?” He questioned as he yanked the can of whipped cream from her hand.

 

 

 

 

Starched white collared shirt and navy blue slacks covered a slim, wiry build. Thinning hair combed over a bluish, white scalp covered little of the growing bald spot on the top of his head. Pens and pencils fought for space in the ever present clear plastic pocket protector.  Every evening before he left for the day, he would wipe down the keyboard and screen of his computer and straighten the already immaculate cubicle that he lived in for 8 hours every day, trying to stay just a few more minutes so he might catch a glimpse of her. She was his love, the one woman that could complete him. He could only look and dream, as she was his boss and way out of his league.

She walked by his desk every night on her way out, rode down the elevator with him down to the parking lot below the building. He secretly wished that there would be a mugger some night, and he would save her.

It had been a week since he had seen her, a tough decision on whether or not he should help his brother move and not see his love for a whole week.

That night, however, she didn’t come. He waited as long as he could before sullenly picking up his briefcase and coat and walking towards the elevator.

As the doors began to close, he saw her, running towards the door. Franticly he pushed the ‘door open’ button.

Breathless, she slowed her pace and stepped into the elevator.

“Hi” looking at him was hard for her. She just couldn’t pinpoint when she realized that he was attractive to her. His dorky smile was something she looked forward to every day, especially after those long boring board meetings. He was such a nice change from the rest of the rich sinfully handsome company executives she was surrounded by. They were so shallow, so stuck on them selves it made her sick.

“Hi” His voice was so meek, so quiet. She loved hearing it.  It was such a change from the cocksure dandies she wondered if that was what had made her fall in love with him.

He glanced over at her, taking in every detail. Her mauve suit fit her perfectly, clinging in just the right places. High heeled shoes made her at least four inches shorter than him and accented her perfect calves.

Inhaling her scent always had him on edge, but he breathed deeply anyways.

“Where were you?” she asked, hoping to make some kind of a conversation with him.

“Nowhere.” He replied. Not wanting her to know why he had taking time off, as moving his brother is not exactly a family emergency as he had told the shift manager. Knowing he would go home to another microwave dinner and a night of World of Warcraft, he decided against asking her what her plans were for fear of her asking what his might be.

An awkward silence filled the small elevator as they were too shy to say any more.

They both sighed in unison, still not able to go past a simple conversation, let alone express their love for one another.

a morning in the garden

Posted in Uncategorized on July 15, 2008 by doesitcomewithgravy

My garden is flourishing. A beatiful mixture of plants, flowers and a few weeds.  I notice the peas need to be picked, as well as the broccoli. Beans, peppers and squash are blooming and growing tiny little vegetables.  Something is eating the potatoes. Whatever it is, I can’t see it. Every year it comes back and wreaks havock on my poor plants. Thank goodness it only get the potatoes.  I weed and pick off ripe peas and broccoli. My arms are already itching from mosquito bites and the straw. What a great idea Erin gave me. It has kept most of the weeds at bay and locked moisture into an otherwise dry garden bed. I need to lay down more paper, get more straw. Not something easily done with a 18 month old with some virus. The plant my husband picked is 4 feet tall.  It’s a tomato, a yellow plum. Such a strange thing it is. Yellow tomatos.. hmmm. I lost my cucumber plant to an errant hose my son thought should drape through the garden. I should be getting another one, but I forget every time I go to the store. Just like the bug spray. I actually have some tiki torches and the citronella to put in them. A lot of good they are doing in the garage. I have so mush I want to do, but it’s too damn hot out there already. At least I got some work done. Back inside I go.

It’s been a while

Posted in Uncategorized on July 14, 2008 by doesitcomewithgravy

Sometimes I have this great urge to write something. The frustration I feel when I cannot is overwhelming. Almost to the point of wanting to say, ‘forget it, I never have time for it.’

The last few days have been terrible. Ethan with his virus of some kind, causing fever spikes of close to 104, crying and whining almost all the time makes life a little hard for me. Logan has a really bad attitude so much of the time. Whining and throwing tantrums when he doesn’t get his way. It drives me nuts, and sometimes I just want to scream at them. ‘get a grip! it’s not the end of the world!’

But they are children and have no way of understanding me, other than I just yelled at them. So, I keep my voice as calm as possible, soothe when needed and stand firm in my decisions. All too often, I just want to crawl into the corner of the room, put my face in my hands and cry it out. Something I just don’t do very often. I actually called my sister crying the other day on the way home from the Dr’s office. I was so worried about Ethan and so frustrated with my husband not being able to understand any of how I am feeling. I think she was very surprised, but she listened to me whine, and somehow, that made it a little better. I love my sisters, and I miss being able to drive over to their homes whenever I felt like it. Just a quick visit to say hi, or to hang out. Trying to figure out a new recipe for cookies, to watch a lame movie or some kind of crafty thing. Now, the 5 1/2 hour drive just wipes me out. Taking the boys and the dog is a daunting task for even a sane person. Which I am far from. I thouroughly enjoyed myself while I was down there, but when it came time to leave, the sense of lonliness came back almost immediately. I know I ahev a couple of friends here, but none of them understand my like my sisters do. None of them know my quirks and zany habits. And I hesitate to show them that side of me. Again back to the scared to make friends thing… I get scared to show them what I am really like, for fear that they will think I am nuts and not want to see me again.

Ah, the joys of insecurity. Those wonderful self defeating thoughts that swim through my mind in a constant state of awareness.

I should be writing on my novel. I know it. But the whine of my mind is not in it. This is the first time in weeks that I have more than 5 minutes to write.

I should be out in the garden, or cleaning one of the rooms in my very messy house.

Blah blah blah…  Go away self critic.