Week Thirteen Discussion Board Two Short-short Story

Week Thirteen Discussion Board Two Short-short Story

       Early that day the weather turned and the snow was melting into dirty water. We hid the painted Easter eggs in the yard. Mine were pink and purple. I loved pink and wanted to make pink and blue lines on my eggs, the colours ran and turned purple.  My mother said they were lovely.  They were.  The purple was an intense shade and I was proud that my mother looked at my creation so approvingly.  My sister, Jess, was hiding her eggs too, where she thought I would not find them but I saw her out of the corner of my eye.  It wasn't difficult to figure out her hiding places, they were all obvious; plainly visible in the crook of the tree roots near the patio, inside a potted plant, on top of the bird feeder.   Jess was older than me, you'd never know it though.  She was a little taller but her face and expression told a different story: she looked surprised and confused.  She was confused. She wasn't like other kids, she was slow to understand and did the most obvious things and expected that we would find her antics amazing.  She had black curly hair and was sweet in her own bewildered way but she couldn't remember anything at school and even forgot what she was thinking when she raised her hand and the teacher finally called on her.  She would put her hand up again and tell the teacher, again, that she couldn't remember what she wanted to say.  Finally, the teacher would ask her to put her hand down and just be quiet.  It was embarrassing, I was glad we were not in the same class, it was hard enough that everyone knew we were sisters.  I was thinking of what other obvious places Jess would try to put her brown and green eggs.  She had tried to make green and red stripes on her dyed eggs the day before and her colours ran too; they turned brown and looked like something we should keep around for Thanksgiving.  I was thinking about her messy brown-green eggs when I saw a white Tretorn sneaker in the dirty water of a puddle at the bottom of the driveway.  It belonged to Jess.  She would only wear those white Tretorns and rebelled furiously when Mother tried to buy any other brand of tennis shoes for her.  My mother was calling us both and I had looked up toward the kitchen window where she stood and then out to the street where Jess was a moment before.  But Jess wasn't there, she didn't answer and the street was empty.  It was the last time I saw Jess.  I couldn't stop thinking that it was my fault that she was gone, that she left because my mother said my eggs were pretty, or because I was embarrassed when we walked home from school together and I tried to stay a few steps ahead of her and didn't answer her continuous stream of nonsensical questions as she hounded me with her words or maybe the dirty puddle of water had sucked her in. Either way, it was me or the dirty water that made Jess disappear into thin air.

The story in the text is about unhappy people, like the one I wrote.  The baby is innocent like the older sister in my story.  I think that the snow melting and dirty water described in the first line of the story set the tone for this kind of scene.  The stories are completely different but the tone is similarly sad and ends with no solution.

I chose this line because it reminded me of Easters in Minnesota and quickly brought to mind the memory of hiding Easter eggs in the yard with my son when he was little.  The rest of the story came about as a result of that memory.

Three elements of a short story:

media res: the story starts in the middle of an action, just like in the ten minute play, the story starts strong and at a moment of conflict

Rising action: the complication and escalation of the primary conflict, in this case the argument over who would keep the baby.

Resolution: The resolution is often brief but in a short story it may not even be present.  What is important is presenting the conflict and the emotion that we gain from hearing it described.  The resolution, as in 'Crossing the River Zbrucz', is not the point of the story, it is in describing the scene that the author conveys meaning.

WEEK FOURTEEN DISCUSSION BOARD THREE BIRD BY BIRD AND YOU

What early experiences shaped Lamott's writing life?

Lamott's father had great impact on her writing ideals. Her father set an example for her and gave her a standard to work toward.  I was struck by his patient advice.  The one that I would apply to my own writing is: doing a little bit every day, like you are doing piano scales. 'Do it by prearrangement, do it as a debt of honor. Make a commitment to finish things.' (pg xxii) I especially feel that 'finishing' is something that would help me. I sometimes start off with the enthusiasm of an idea and then get lost or discouraged when the image fades and the words are not rolling of the tip of the pen.  I think those moments are blocks to our creativity, moments when we censor ourselves too much and we need to ride that wave of doubt and continue through it without getting discouraged.

Short assignments: How does the advice of taking it bird by bird fit with the writing process?

This whole chapter was inspiring.  The idea of taking it bit by bit, or 'bird by bird', is just what gets us through difficult situations in writing or anything else in life.  The concept is clearly laid out by Lamott when she says, 'all I am going to do ... is write one paragraph that sets the story,.. paint a picture in words... figure out a one inch piece of my story to tell, one small scene, one memory, one exchange.'  (pg  18) Not only does Lamott break down the longer process into a comforting series of smaller steps that lead us progressively toward a goal, but she also indicates that we should focus on an element that gets our attention or a detail of the story that we can hold in our minds and describe for the reader. 

Shitty first drafts: what kind of attitude do you need to get writing done according to Lamott?

Lamott tells us to just get our ideas out of our heads and down on paper, no censorship or perfect first drafts.  This is freeing and sensible.  It makes the process easier than if we expect to get an impressive first draft and squelch anything that is less than complete.  The image of 'pouring it (the draft) out and letting it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later' (pg 22) helped me take a different view of first drafts.  Not only should we free ourselves of the inner criticism and take joy in producing everything we have rolling around in our heads, we can discover some lesser known element that was in there hiding with the more obvious images that may bring to life something more subtle and unique.

Bird by Bird, Lamott, Anne, Anchor Books, 1995

WEEK FOURTEEN DISCUSSION BOARD TWO YOUR OWN BEST LINE

Discussion Board Two Your Own Best Line

Part One

Description of a person

It was a ghastly grin, yellow and rotten with moldy breath exhaling from the same opening that emitted a gutteral, phlegmy cough.

Dialogue

'Don't be telling no lies,' Ma said.

'I'm not lyin' Ma!

'I said, don't be tellin' no lies, or I'll whip you.'

'I swear, ' I sputtered, my tear streaked cheeks red with rage.

Setting

Linda lay on her side, very still, hardly breathing as she heard Hector's footsteps near the bed.

Child narrator

I came home from Mrs. Stapleton's second grade class that day, gripping my side and pale, pain shooting through my back and stomach.  

Point of view

It was pointless talking to him, he never listened to single thing Linda said and treated her like she  didn't exist, like her  words didn't exist, like she was nothing to him.

Part Two

        It was pointless talking to him, he never listened to single thing Linda said and treated her like she  didn't exist, like her  words didn't exist, like she was nothing to him. Hector was always enraged when he walked through the door and tonight was no different.  He found fault with her the moment she appeared.  She knew it was a mistake as soon as she set foot in the hallway. Her heart sank as she felt  his glare.  She kept her head low and looked at the ground, silently, as if she could make herself invisible. Now it would take him a few minutes to think of some cutting word to throw out at her, some mistake, some blunder, possibly made up, but, none the less, something he would say that she had done.  Something ghastly that he could attribute to her. Maybe just something embarrassing, that was the tactic he had taken recently.  He would say something that was nearly true but give the ending a little twist, a non-truth, that would make it sound like Linda was incompetent or unintelligent.  He would make it sound like she had done some gesture unknown to her that was solely directed at damaging him or inconvenience him.  Linda could not answer or defend herself from these verbal attacks, the last time she had tried to point out the fallacy to him, he grew increasingly hostile and his fury fed itself.  They were in the car when it happened and his voice echoed in the tight restraint of their SUV that had become a prison at that moment.  She could not escape or retort, she had to listen and had learned to keep her eyes straight ahead of her so as not to provoke a continuation of his wrath.  She thought about opening the car door when the car slowed in the curves of the mountain roads. What would it feel like to throw herself out of the car as it slowed? Would the pain be  worse than being trapped and insulted as he gripped the wheel, spit flying from his lips as he cursed and swore that she had better learn.  As he told Linda that she deserved nothing that he gave her but did, in fact, deserve the way he treated her?  The last comment sounded strangely like a confession, was he admitting that he treated her harshly? That he was less than kind to her? He had never admitted that before and the thought distracted Linda from the appalling scene of him raging and red in the face, saliva spewing as he ranted.  She began to think of something, anything that was appealing to her.  This was the magic she kept inside her.  The ability to think of something else when all was at it's worst.  The ability to believe that there was a life that waited for her outside that prison.  She thought of  a place where she would be safe, where he would never find her once she had gone.  An apartment in another city, or state, or country.  She began to decorate the space she imagined with furniture that came from her dreams; a swing, her grandmother's writing desk, a soft white bed all to herself. 

WEEK THIRTEEN DISCUSSION BOARD FOUR STRANGE DAYS

TRANSFORMATIONS

          Frosty the Snowman is living in Miami and the story is not as far fetched as you might think.  Frosty needed to  lose weight, he knew perfectly well.  The consequences of his plan did not occur to him though.  The carrot nose was unbecoming and it was impossible to breathe, children would snap it off from time to time and it was frustrating. He would adapt to some recent change, start accepting himself for what he was and wham, a kid would swoop down on him and change his buttons, nose, button eyes, or one would just fall off when he started to ice over.  He wasn't happy with who he was, maybe he never had been.  He made his way to the nearest road and began a hitchhiking odyssey.  The trip south enhanced his physique, with the warmer temperatures the excess body volume began to decrease.  When he arrived at the gorgeous Florida Keys he could go no further and piled out of the car that had carried him to his new home.  He carelessly said goodbye to his travel companions and set out to make a new life for himself.  He rented a condo with a pool and jacuzzi in downtown Miami but he wasn't interested in living in the condo.  He rented that out on Airbnb and accommodated himself in the jacuzzi.  He was just in view of the infinity pool on the condo premises and behind that he could faintly see the ocean, it was beautiful.  As he began to melt, he noticed how he felt lighter and more free than ever before.  The jacuzzi seemed natural to him, he took up the space that he needed, he had gone from solid to liquid form and his new image was appealing and freeing.  He stayed in the jacuzzi, new water was occasionally added in the summer when a bit too much evaporated, that was inevitable, but it became him and he felt reborn.  The trend that  Olaf began with his own personal snowy cloud seemed a ridiculous scheme, one of those things that we do because it is conventional.  Society tells us that such and such a strategy is necessary for our well being, but it traps us in our limited expectations and Frosty could see that now.  His new form brought spontaneity to his life, gave him limitless potential and he started thinking differently. His former self seemed a far off dream and he planned his new life accordingly.  He wanted to get married and have children, no one would have accepted that when he was a snowman.  He felt light headed and began to dream beyond the clichès, he wanted a degree in psychology.  He would be a psychoanalyst and help others, snowmen and non snowmen, to reach their higher potential, their greater selves. He would make a difference in the world.  His former shape never would have permitted him this kind of life, nor would he have been able to conceive such plans in his frozen state.  Miami had given him life and a future, it literally transformed him.  His family would live here, he would raise his children to live with the confidence he had worked so hard to achieve.  Never had a snowman been so creative and free to become whatever he wanted to be without constraints and criticism, without suffering the glares of strangers for his lifestyle and choices.  He was finally free.

WEEK 12 SHORT STORY 101 WORDS

AMAZING

        I have never slept in a tent. My son thinks it will be amazing to sleep under the starry sky.  I worry it will be cold, that my back will ache and the tent will have dirt in it.  My son is chirping as we pitch the tent, he carefully spreads his sleeping bag, puts his pajamas in the tent pockets.  He dangles a flashlight from the tent ceiling, the light glows like a candle in the dark. At night, the lake air in July is freezing. Wind whistles through the northern woods  like a wolf's cry.  I lay looking up at the heavens,  the stars are amazing.

Ten Minute Play Rough Draft

Department store –Late Evening at Closing Time

There is no one left on the store floor, the store is quiet and empty except for Alice who glides along the aisles and displays, choosing various items from the shelves as if she were in another world. 

Alice is out of place; elegantly dressed, full make up and carrying a large purse.  She has a thin, well cared for figure, she walks with exaggerated grace, her once lovely face shows signs of time that has passed and she appears worried.

Alice has been putting seemingly random objects in her bag and checks it to see that she has remembered to ‘get’ everything she needs. She picks up a stuffed shark and puts it in her bag as she looks over her shoulder to be sure there is no one watching. A puppet monkey on the shelf behind her speaks. Alice is more offended than surprised at being spoken to with such lack of deference to her social standing and level of fame and success which demands anyone to assume the position of ‘fan.’

PUPPET

(Demanding, accusatory tone)

What do you need that for?

ALICE

(Turning around quickly, not the least guilty.  She is irritated that she is being disturbed)

I beg your pardon? And who are you?  I am used to being addressed as Ms. Walker.  And we should be properly introduce by my agent, I never speak to anyone off the street, I’ll have you know.

PUPPET

(Aggressively pursuing his questioning, unhesitatingly.  He assumes the tone of an attorney)

Don’t change the subject.  I asked you a question. Who is that stuffed shark for?

ALICE

(She stands regally and looks down at the puppet, her tone is imperious and impatient)

It’s for Gidget, my French poodle. She likes to have something to cuddle up with at night to help her go to sleep. She gets so fidgety when I take her on the yacht, otherwise she is perfectly well behaved.

PUPPET

(Peering into her bag)

Yeah, Lady.  And the rest of that stuff?  You've got everything but the kitchen sink and a fish tank in that bag....What are the designer pillow cases for?

ALICE

You are insolent, who gives you the permission to interrogate me?  If you really must know, the beds on my yacht require custom made sheets that I have made by my personal seamstress but the pillows are standard and I do need to have silk to sleep on…  Armani is my favorite designer, I only use his Italian silk fabrics for all my bedding, I wouldn’t be able to sleep on anything else now that I am used to Giò.

PUPPET

Well, picky,picky.  What about the fake, glass goldfish? 'Those designer fish? Did ‘Giò’make those too?

ALICE

Well! I have never! I refuse to be questioned by a puppet, and a monkey at that....and one who has not been properly introduced. The idea... (She sniffs, incensed) (Pause) The goldfish are for the fish tank on the yacht I mentioned, I already have one, thank you very much.  Which is precisely why I do  not need one in my bag.

PUPPET

(Lowering his voice)

You know you can get in trouble for what you are doing? I could call a guard and have you escorted out of the store, maybe even arrested.

ALICE

(Imperious, she assumes the posture of a teacher giving a lesson to a pupil)

You are inanimate. I would like to know just how you think you are going to get the attention of a guard and how can you expect to be believed by anyone.  I know more than a thing or two about acting and being believable and I assure you that being a stuffed animal is not going to help you a bit.

PUPPET

(Taking on a friendly and persuasive tone)

Look ...  I won’t call anyone and you take me with you, how ‘bout it? (Pause) Where d’you say you’re goin’?

(He looks at his hands like he is checking his nails and could not care less what the answer is, his tone is casual)

ALICE

(Hesitates)

PUPPET

(Trying to gain her confidence)

Isn’t that shark just gonna scare your little poodle? I mean if she' s 'fraid to go on a boat, a ‘shark’ isn’t really the right theme, is it?

ALICE

(Keeping her imperious tone of voice)

I beg your pardon Sir, it is not a ‘boat,’ mine is a yacht, thank you very much.

PUPPET

(Lacking in formality and respect)

PUPPET (cont'd)

(Expectantly, with urgency)

‘Yacht’, ‘boat’, whatever... Will ‘ya take me with you?

ALICE

(As if talking to herself)

I suppose I could use some company, it is getting late and I do hate to walk out in the dark without being accompanied.  My chauffeur's away on sick leave and it is so tiring to go about things without someone to talk to…

ALICE (cont'd)

(Sniffing)

...even my agent hasn’t answered my calls lately, I just detest that kind of rudeness in people....

PUPPET

Ok, ok, alright... Come on let's get going.  Come on, before someone sees you putting me in the bag. Sentimentality later, alright?

ALICE

(Takes the puppet monkey from the shelf and tucks him gently in a corner of the bag, head just exposed)

There.

PUPPET

(Quietly)

Hey, thanks, y'know? That's the first time someone has ever done something for me.

ALICE

People aren't often nice.  

ALICE (cont'd)

(Looking for an exit.)

Unfortunately.

PUPPET

What do you know? You're some big shot, someone used to getting 'introduced,' expectin' respect like you always get it...

PUPPET (cont'd)

(Sadly)

I'm just, I'm... just.... nothing...

ALICE

Nonsense. 

PUPPET

(Slowly, thinking out loud)

Nobody wants me... I've been on that shelf forever.  My battery case falls open and when people see that they put me back and take another monkey. 

PUPPET (cont'd)

(His voice gets soft and wistful)

You don't know how it feels to be held in some little kids hand, see their eyes sparkling.  You know he's goin' to be your friend and play with you, take you home and keep you in bed with him at night... talk to you and look at you every day with that smile... a little kid, one of my own, a kid all to myself.... then the mom comes and turns you over and checks everything, she sees the loose battery cover and puts you back in the same place you've been sitting forever, just dreaming of that little kid that is going to love you.

PUPPET (cont'd)

(Sighs, sadly)

The new monkeys of my same model have a different color fur, it's darker and softer.  Everyone likes 'em. My fur looks faded, but it's not... it's the original color. Makes it look like there is something wrong with me.  My color is the original... but the newer ones look nicer... everyone wants the new ones.  The sales people haven't pulled me from the shelf.  Sooner or later they will see that I'm different then it'll be off to the merchandise room for me and... I'll sit on a shelf with dozens of other broken, outdated items that no one wants... that can't be sold. I'll sit and sit until I get thrown out. 

PUPPET (cont'd)

(Looking downward, off into space)

I'll sit there waiting and thinking of that little kid... with the big blue eyes and long brown lashes and warm hands that smell like cotton candy, holding me tight saying, 'Please, Mommy, please let me have him.' Some one that would love me and that I could love back.

PUPPET

(Softly)

You don't know how it feels ... Dressed up nice, talking about your agent, chauffeur...'Giò' - like you're friends or something... silk pillow cases, your yacht...

ALICE

(Distant)

I, I.... I don't have a chauffeur...

PUPPET

You've been saying...

ALICE

I don't ... my agent...

PUPPET

What...

ALICE

(Gathering herself)

Nothing.

PUPPET

(Gently and cheerfully)

Hey! Truth or Dare.

ALICE

What?

PUPPET

Din't y'ever play truth or dare when you were a kid?

ALICE

No, how....

PUPPET

(Slowly)

Ya gotta tell me about the chauffeur.

ALICE

What are the rules?

PUPPET

The rules are; you gotta answer me because I asked first. (Smiles kindly.) Go on.

ALICE

I, I... I don't....

PUPPET

(Kindly)

Why don't you have a chauffeur?

ALICE

He left.  He isn't sick.  I don't have anywhere to go anymore, don't really need a car or chauffeur. No one calls me... not my agent. Nobody.  I was famous and had great parts, any actress would have been happy to have had those auditions and my roles.  Then I turned 40, the calls slowly dried up.  I got parts for Mrs. Claus or for the minor role of school principal, somebody's grandmother... I just had to stand there, no lines.  My agent didn't answer my calls and never called me, like she was afraid I might ask her for something, a favor, a job, maybe she thought I'd ask for money.  I spent it nearly all, everything I'd earned and saved, just ran out.  All I have left is my house, Gidget and my yacht.  I did 't have anything to pay the chauffeur with, he left... life just doesn't care about you when you get old and you're not 'somebody' anymore.  Life just doesn't care.... I never got married, always concentrated on my career.  My fiancé wanted me to give it all up, wanted us to have a baby... but I always had a role coming up, I put it off until a baby just didn't come anymore, it was too late for me.  The funny thing was that once I could not have children anymore, I stopped getting calls for work.  I was suddenly free but it was too late to have a child and my fiancé by then was long gone and married to someone else.  I gave everything to my career thinking that would be enough and that would make me happy.  I didn't think that a career might not keep me company in old age.... just didn't think of it like that. I thought time would never run out... it did.

PUPPET

Hey...

ALICE

(Looking up at the monkey staring sadly at her)

Oh...

PUPPET

(Happy and encouraging Alice to cheer up.)

Look, we can keep each other company now.  We will go to your yacht and drink champagne and Gidget will wag her tail at us both. Let's go and forget about all this.  We need each other, can't you see that? We are lucky we found each other tonight!  Lucky I spoke up and lucky you decided to take me with you.  There is a reason for everything and the reason we met tonight is because we need one another. Pull yourself together and let's get outta here.  How do you get to your yacht? Which way do we go?

ALICE

(Looking around as if unsure where she is.  She goes to the glass doors of the department store and opens up to the parking lot.  It is raining.)

Here it is! Here it is! Look there is my yacht.

PUPPET

(Patiently)

Alice, this is the parking lot. 

(An awkward pause as the puppet waits for Alice's response.  Alice looks confused and scared)

PUPPET (cont'd)

There is no yacht here, Alice. Alice, are you listening to me?

ALICE

This is the port, pier 'Q,' my place number is 307, it is on the left at the end of the pier. Look, right here...

PUPPET

Alice, leave the bag there inside the door and come outside, leave the bag now.

ALICE

 (The shoplifting detectors go off.  We hear running and shuffling, voices and a man's voice calling out to 'stop right there.' Alice is frantic)

Sharks! Sharks! I can't swim! They will eat me alive... oh my, oh my, what will I do? Oh my!

PUPPET

(Trying to calm Alice)

Alice, it's the police, there are no sharks, put the bag down and leave the store now..

ALICE

(Puts down the bag and moves closer to the door. Alice is in tears.)

They are sharks and I cannot swim, I will fall in and be eaten if I try to get on now, I can't move.

PUPPET

(Gently)

Alice, put me down too.  I can't stay here with you. Put me down, it is better this way.

ALICE

(Crying.)

We were going to keep each other company.  Why are you leaving now? I don't have anyone else to help me take care of Gidget.  Please, I don't have anyone at all... and now there are sharks too.. oooh! (Alice sobs.)

PUPPET

I know Alice, I would like to stay with you but I can't right now. I will get you in trouble Alice, do you understand? You need to let me go, let go of me and the sharks won't eat you, ok? Just let me go Alice. It's ok.

ALICE

(Cannot stop crying)

No! Please! Please don't leave me. 

ALICE (cont'd)

(In a whisper)

I don't want to be alone...

(The puppet jumps and lands in a puddle in the dark parking lot, down stage left as a security guard approaches.  A spot light shines on the lifeless, inanimate form of the puppet laying on the ground as the lights dim on Alice up stage right. She turns to see a security guard and smiles, wiping away her tears.)

ALICE

(Sniffing slightly.)

Officer, how may I help you?

OFFICER

Ma'am did you have a bag with you? The security alarms rang...

ALICE

(Pause)

(Flatly)

No, Officer.  I don't have anything at all.

OFFICER

(Apologetically)

Are you sure, Ma'am? Really? Nothing? I am sorry, I thought...

ALICE

I don't have anything Officer. Thank you for your concern Officer, I was just leaving.

OFFICER

Excuse me, Ma'am...

Alice smiles at him and walks off stage passing by the lifeless puppet in the puddle never looking at him.

(Lights dim.)