Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Week 16 Theme Choice 4

Week 16 Theme Choice 4


Choice #4 Week 16. Write about yourself as a writer--hopes and dreams, strengths and weaknesses, ambitions and failures; reactions to the semester, what changed for better or worse in your writing; course experiences, problems, positives.

Some people like to draw, paint, sing, jog daily, build things…..me, I like to write. Paper is my own little, personal (and inexpensive) counselor. I love finding small details unique and exciting and utilizing those discoveries in various poems, stories, and such (if only you knew the true speck of dust some of these stories stemmed from); it’s like a sick challenged of sorts that I’m obsessed with. I completely enjoy writing about my family, when one of them says to me, “I’m so bored, my life is so dull.” - I write a story about them; just to prove them wrong…all in good fun. It’s grand to capture memories on paper the way a photographer does with a picture; precious things and people fade and become lost if we don’t preserve those memories. Not too mention it is very exciting to write a piece and have it move someone…to tears – to laughter – or to be completely pissed off – whatever the emotion – it’s fun just to know you brought that on with your thoughts and crazy out looks. That’s how I feel anyway.

My weaknesses are retched; I procrastinate something wicked. There are times I am well aware that I do it…I tend to work best under pressure but then there are times that are just beyond my control. It’s a weaknesses that can prove to be beneficial or can really wear me down after countless sleepless nights working late hours to catch up on things.

Another horrid weakness is this dang cement block that hinders my vision and weighs down my writing hand – it can go on for days, weeks, even months and sometimes it is a great challenge to lift it off and work past it. I feel as though my imagination just up and leaves for Hawaii a few times a year.

It’s fortunate in ways that I am still - basically….learning to fly (so to speak) because I do not have many failures on my plate pulling me down. I was hoping to be proud of some great writing accomplishment before my father passed away but that did not happen…but I continue because what child does not want their parents proud of them and mum still enjoys when I read foolishness to her.

This class has been…what a good word for it….like a fine vinaigrette. If you always have your salad plain and never venture out for a little spicy variety then you will never improve the taste of the salad.

Some weeks I really got into doing, I liked the memories the prompts brought up – other weeks felt like trips to the dentist….but with every pulled tooth comes the fairy – right and all your comments and tips and such were like valuable gold coins….not saying you are like a fairy or anything. 

Honestly, any time I write and someone critiques it, I feel I’ve gained something….whether it is a new out look to a different approach, a bit more strength for handing judgments or whatever…but always something gained. I mean sometimes, especially with a nonfiction class, we really put ourselves out there – kinda like baring all.

Occasionally I wanted to comment on other people’s pieces in the class; there are some amazing writers in this group and it’s been quite enjoyable reading the variety of stuff. Other times, I would have liked to hear a few other opinions – specially on the pieces that you didn’t get…it would have been interesting to know if I was so far off – no one could get them or if it was just generation issues.

One of the biggest challenges I felt was the pressure of what to write and what not to, some weeks the lectures frightened me and I was like....ok – he doesn’t want this – this – this or this…so that leaves…this and there are already several good examples of “this” that I don’t want to copy so now I need to do….what again? Confusing. Exactly. Frustrating. Precisely. But fortunately you were not a stickler for requesting the assignments to be done by a certain date/time leaving opportunities for us to sleep on the lectures and really think about them for a while and work through all that.

Positive experiences…many! I honored a friend by writing a story about her life and her struggles, she had her family read it and that evening they all pitched in together to help her clean up the house and they all decorated the place for Christmas; that was a wonderful feeling. I read a few pieces to the sister who I worked with caring for our father during his last days and as I read we shared tears and memories and it was like our own form of therapy. Another sister who lives far away, I call frequently to read my stories to and we laugh and share together and it is very bonding and enjoyable. I could go on an on with the positives…I liked learning some of the different techniques to try. For example, after those torturous vignettes – a friend asked me to go watch the Nutcracker with her…but it was not the whole version it was only a vignette of it – so, finally – duh – got it! 

So, to sum things up – I have no regrets. I enjoyed this class a great deal. Though, I know there are other options that are probably financially more appealing, I want to do more writing classes, fine tune, polish, and simply just keep doing what feels natural. I feel you’ve done a great job as an internet teacher – it must be quite a challenge to keep things interesting and to keep up with all of us posting a dozen weeks at a time!  It’ll be interesting if we ever meet in person someday because over the course of this class I’ve developed my own impression on what sort of person I think you are – lol but I’ll save that for a creative fiction class. 

Thank you for everything.

P.S.

Choice 3 - I would love to tackle but, your right….just to scared, don’t know where to begin, how to begin and now…times up.

Week 16 Theme (Option 2 - I think it is...fixing a prior piece.) Part 2

Here is it revised:

If I was to give it a title, I would call it "Amber"

Fifty-three gowns in two days, she knows he would prefer her in jeans – heck she would prefer jeans (and a get-a-way car). Six of her nine aunts “oooo” and “aaaah” while her mother dabs at tears, her grammy takes pictures, and her nanner zips, tucks and buttons one dress after another; her sister slouches on a red velvet divan and texts; one auntie hangs back questioning the queer look in her niece’s eyes.

Dress after dress, white upon white, all the white could not fix her thoughts…she loved who she loved – she had been wrapped in fifty-three different straight jackets and within a few days she will be bound in one of those contraptions for life…where’s the gaiety in that. In need of a break, she heads out for a bit of time with her best girl. Watching the sun set from their windy seats atop of Blue Hill Mountain, shades of red highlight the sky - the sky masking their blushing cheeks, the cold rock under them prevents them from putting on airs – so they sit in silence – holding hands. Her best girl is like a little radiator, so warm –so soft, they snuggle closer and enjoy the moment; the past is not thought of, the future is not considered only the moment…so warm, so soft, and so red.

Just one day till the shackles are welded closed around her limbs; her sister, mother and grammy arrive at her home to help with final preparations. Her soon-to-be greets them with a grumble from his recliner, feet elevated higher then his head; sporting his lucky Yankees cap, releasing a little gas, he loses himself in the game. Just one day to go…she hides; her sister knows right where to find her – in her closet.

Needing to escape the chaos of finalizations, she sneaks off to visit her Aunt, the aunt who does not usually miss a beat, the auntie who noticed the look in her eyes. Bringing along her best girl, the two sit for a spell, “Auntie, this is my good friend. My auntie loves the Simpson’s, check out this Rubik’s cube of Homer’s head – she can be pretty good at figuring out these head games.” The three girls sit and watch episode 345 of the Simpson’s together, nervous laughter and side glances until her auntie starts a game of Truth or Dare…she was never good at keeping things from her auntie…even as a small child:

“Your knees are ticklish; who are you going to marry? Barney? Big Bird? A Ninja Turtle?” Teases her Auntie

“Turdies, silly Auntie, I wuv Barbie.”

A child no more, the years and days have passed briskly by, the day of reckoning has arrived too quickly, she tries to write her fiancĂ© a long over due Dear John; her hands tremble and she shuffles the pen from right to left – her hands as ambidextrous as her soul. The Fates hold her life but who holds her heart…

A few sprinkles of rain spatter against the windshield, “oh I hope their wedding does not get rained out” her mother frets.

“No matter what happens, it will be a good day” her grammy declares, “red skies at night – sailor’s delight”

The fifty-fourth gown, a restraint concocted of lace and tulle; the final fitting moments before the facade is to begin. Family, friends, co-workers; they are all there – all but her best girl. She thinks back a couple of nights ago to their time on the mountain and tries hard to feel the rock beneath her and to feel the warm, soft hand in hers.

Most everyone is gathering in the pews while, in the back room, she stands for the final alterations. Six of her nine aunts “oooo” and “aaaah” while her mother dabs at tears, her grammy takes pictures and her sister, unenthused, slouches in a chair and texts; one auntie hangs back, noticing, but no longer questioning, the queer look in the bride-to-be’s eyes. She stands on the stool while her nanner alters and hems. Stitching away, nanner leisurely pokes the needle in and gradually pulls it out.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry sweetie, I did not mean to pierce you with the needle.”

She offers a small smile of forgiveness for her nanner, then gazes down at the dress and at the red liquid seeping from a little hole in her leg… or is it from her heart…where is her courage, her strength, her heart; where is her best girl. The clock is ticking - the approaching ceremony is weighing on her like a drove of ominous black clouds, tears escape her eyes...blood trickles from the open wound…yet she feels… nothing.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Week 16 Theme (Option 2 - I think it is...fixing a prior piece.) Part 1

Here is the original from Week 10 Prompt 43 - And your original comments follow:

Blogger Stephanie said...

Prompt 43

Fifty-three gowns in two days, he would prefer her in jeans. Six of her nine aunts “oooo” and “aaaah” while her mother dabs at tears and her granny zips, tucks and buttons one dress after another; her sister slouches on a red velvet divan and texts.

***

Watching the sun set from their windy seats atop of Cadillac Mountain, shades of red highlight the sky; the cold rock under them prevents them from putting on airs – so they sit in silence – holding hands. She’s like a little radiator, so warm –so soft, they snuggle closer and enjoy the moment; the past is not thought of, the future is not considered only the moment…so warm, so soft, so red.

***

He reclines back, feet elevated higher then his head; pulling of his socks, she rubs his feet. The kitchen timer signals supper is ready and she moves to set the table; two plates, two cups, two forks, all but the two red candles that do not leave the cupboard. He brings his plate to the recliner and flips on the Patriots game.

***

“Auntie, this is my friend Dixie. My auntie loves the Simpsons, check out this rubics cube of Homer’s head.” The three girls sit and watch episode 345 together, nervous laughter and side glances until her auntie brings out the brownies.

***

A few sprinkles of rain spatter against the windshield, “oh I hope their wedding does not get rained out” her mother frets.

“No matter what happens, it will be a good day” her granny declares, “red skies at night – sailor’s delight”

***

Fifty-fourth gown and the final fitting moments before the ceremony is to begin. She stands on the stool while her granny alters and hems; she tries hard to feel the rock beneath her and her warm, soft hand in hers.

***

“Your knees are ticklish; who are you going to marry? Barney? Big Bird? Michelangelo (the ninja turtle)?”

“Auntie, I wuv Barbie.”

***

Light headed, dizzy, and a desire to flee, she stands motionless. “Oh dear, I’m sorry sweetie, I did not mean to prick you with the pin.”

She looked down at her dress, granny pulling the pin from her skin - a trickle of red; she felt nothing.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009 3:37:00 PM
Delete
Blogger johngoldfine said...

I get a little lost in this one, stephanie--the little girl confuses me; she's the niece of the bride to be? And the Patriots game...before marriage???? Am I to understand that this fellow is such a lout that he doesn't realize he should at least try to fool his fiancee into believing that she will always take precedence over the kickoff (wait until the knot is tied before letting the truth come out, buddy!)

Or not? As I say, I got confused.

Friday, November 27, 2009 9:18:00 AM

Week 15 Theme 2nd One

Reach for a Lucky, instead of a sweet.
Nothing refreshes better under the hot sun or after a hard day of work.
Have it your way.
Do you know me?
The skin you love to touch.
Reach out and touch someone.
Fast, fast, fast relief.
The ultimate driving machine.
For a product demo break glass.
Melts in your mouth, not in your hands.
Takes a licking and keeps on ticking.
We try harder.
Where’s the beef?
Think small.
My bologna has a first name.
How many licks to get to the center.
Prejudice is one of the worst side-effects.
Just do it.
It’s the real thing.
Snap, Crackle, Pop!
Good to the last drop.
Mmm, mm good.
It’s so simple.
A job well done.
I can be the March Playmate.
Be all that you can be.
Life’s too short for the wrong job.
Always a bridesmaid but never a bride.
A buck well spent.

Week 15 Theme 1st One

Week 15 Theme 1

It's like falling from a plane - you just want to get the landing over with so you will know if you've survived it or not. But you know.....as you fall - you tend to really see a lot, a lot of the world around you - you learn a lot and think about a lot. And when you've realized you've survived the landing - you are a bit wiser, stronger and better because of it.

Rootbeer is on the way.

People never understand death - even when they go through it...sometimes they still don't get it. Why? Because it's different for everyone. The same death could be handled 100's of different ways. I mean really...do we all eat an Oreo the same way - nope.

Bunnies are in the mail.

If they keep at you....ask them, "have you ever burned yourself? Have you ever purposely stuck any part of your body into hot scorching flames?" There answer to the 2nd question will be, “No”. So ask them..."Why do you want me to?"

Hives suck!

Niece: When life hands you a lemon, say F*** the lemon and bail.
Aunt: Embrace the lemon, they are good. You can squeeze them and shoot juice in the eye of whoever handed it to you – laugh and then bail.

The square route of pi is apple.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Week 14 Theme Part 2

Week 14 Theme #2 – Option 1

Effective and Ineffective Ways to Keep Kids Quiet So You Can Write a Paper

Effective*:
1. Duct tape.
2. Burlap sacks, heavy stones and a deep pond.
3. Washer and Dryer.

Ineffective:
1. Ask the oldest child to babysit.
2. Occupy them with food, tv, books or games.
3. Give them all their birthday gifts, Christmas gifts and any other gifts early.


*Please Note: While any of the three choices are highly effective they are illegal and are not recommended, and since they are the only choices offered – suggestions are welcomed.


Week 14 Theme #2 – Option 2

Effective and Ineffective Ways to Keep Kids Quiet So You Can Write a Paper

Effective*:
4. Duct tape.
a. Cover mouths and affix them to walls or furniture.
5. Burlap sacks, heavy stones and a deep pond.
a. Place in sack, add stone, tie tight, drop in pond.
6. Washer and Dryer.
a. One for each child or if you have only one child or more then two feel free to use the rinse cycle…spin well.

Ineffective:
4. Ask the oldest child to babysit.
a. The power will go to their head and both will end up screaming and crying loader then before you shifted the control.
5. Occupy them with food, tv, books or games.
a. Their will be a food fight, they will argue over the show, the books will become objects to hurl and they will want you to play the games with them.
6. Give them all their birthday gifts, Christmas gifts and any other gifts early.
a. Assuming you have any, it will only occupy them for 30 seconds per gift: 15 seconds to open (if you are lucky) and 15 seconds to become bored with it.


*Please Note: While any of the three choices are highly effective they are illegal and are not recommended, and since they are the only choices offered – suggestions are welcomed.

Week 13 Theme

Week 13 Theme

“Tree! Tree! Tree! Tree!” Phoebe holds the little twinkling light in her hand, “pretty” she says and smiles. She is not quite two and her vocabulary is quite limited; within the last hour she has added two new words, “pretty” and “tree”.

This is our third year of putting up a real tree, it took Mike ten years to convince me the world would not end if we cut a tree at Christmas; can’t say that I’m convinced. It’s a little over six feet tall, round and full; lights and two ornaments that Zac made hang from it. The house smells homey.

Out on route nine we found it in a tree lot, with hundreds of others; several returned with us. Most Mainers will do anything to survive, a “Jack of All Trades” is what many are called; we are no acceptation. I never once thought I would take part in cutting a tree, let alone ninety five of them, but we did, Mike fired up the saw and I hauled them through the fields back to the truck and onto the trailer; a days labor for a pauper’s pay.

Mike got way ahead of me in the cluster on the hill side, I followed the sound of the saw – trudging in and hauling out but then it stopped. So, I stopped, lifted my eyes from the forest floor and stared out at the world before me. Atop of the hill, I could see for miles and miles – the tops of trees, the birds flying in circles, the roofs of homes and businesses in the distance, the clear blue sky; I took a deep breath in, the air felt so fresh.

Week 14 Theme

The peeler clangs to the sink, she holds a half peeled apple in one hand and her forehead in the other. Bending forward over the kitchen sink, she cringes from the pain, sweat dripping into her eyes – salty and warm – burning and itching; she’s tired but can not sleep. The clock on the wall behind her ticks a very quiet ‘tap’ ‘tap’ ‘tap’, everyone will be hungry soon and this is only the first apple.

She used to love baking homemade meals, oh, how she took that for granted. Her kids complain she does not cook enough anymore, little do they realize the torture of cutting up potatoes, peeling apples….to use the electric mixer is excruciating, she has to keep stopping every minute or so, the pain in her arm makes her cry but she does not tell them this, she won’t, they do not need to know why their mom is not the same.

She is still bent over the sink when he walks in the door, married for almost ten years, they have been so close and yet are still so far apart; he has not been able to understand the pain that climbs up her legs like a thousand needles marching in form – spreading across her back and shooting out the tips of her fingers. He does not understand why she is always over heated, why she does not smile the way she once did, why she sleeps the days away, he does not understand why she does not bake her apple pies for him anymore. He sighs; frozen pizza again tonight.

Pillsbury has become her new best friend, he makes for her all the things she no longer can…the pie crust, cookies, breads – oh how her children loved her banana bread. She expected this pain to come but not for at least another thirty years or more, she is still too young, only in her early forties not ready to throw in the towel. To have a mind so active and a body so weak, she wonders what is happening to her life.

He already has the t.v. channel on the race, when she leaves the sink to crash on the couch again. He knows not to ask what’s wrong, this year – he remembers. Every Christmas has been hard for her since her father died, that’s when all her pain started, it is when she started sleeping more, when her smile faded and when the smell of fresh baked apple pie left the house. He wants her back, to be happy again but he doesn’t know what to do and he is growing tired too.

Fybro Myalgia is what her doctors have told her, she cares not for the name - the name is meaningless; it puts a small title to the horrible thing that is taking her life from her, that is eating at her from the inside out. She can hear him sighing in his chair, doesn’t he know she wants to be better, she wants to be active again but the constant migraines, the endless fatigue, the pain in her leg muscles so sharp and sensitive she feels if she stands they will buckle beneath her….doesn’t he know – this is not what she wants.

The snow is really picking up, the kids will be coming inside soon; they are too old to slide now…probably best, that is something she did with them each winter and now it would be one more way she would disappoint them. Sometimes she can not bare the thought of looking them in the eyes, they never tell her with words how sad they are she is not the same but she fears their eyes will say it all; stares that would be too hard for her to bare.

The half peeled apple sits alone on the counter; her husband dozes in his chair when the kids come in from the cold; the youngest one heads to the kitchen to start supper. Casual chatter starts up and for a brief moment life feels normal and then her shoulders tighten up and her stomach cramps but she grins so they won’t take notice. Together like this, it feels warm and she would like to hold on to that feeling…that small sense of normalcy.

Her friend arrives at the door, knocks twice, waits for the dogs and then enters. The home feels warm to her, she sees the youngest at the stove and smells something yummy coming from the kitchen, she sees the other two children on the couch with their mother, resting, playing on their laptops and chatting about odd things that get them laughing - little personal inside jokes. She sees her friend’s husband in his comfy chair relaxing and smiling from time to time at his wife. They all look at her – each of them, with love and admiration for what a strong individual she has shown herself to be, they see her not as the woman whose illness is taking her over but as the wife and mother who is fighting that illness – they look at her….with eyes that understand; her friend smiles and joins them.

Each day is a battle for her, some days better then others but it is small moments like this that give her hope. She used to love to run, she can remember that each time she would come to a hill her heart would beat a little faster, her breathing would grow a little heavier and quicken, her muscles would burn and scream but she would run on to the top of the hill just the same. She knows right now she is on a hill and there is an ongoing battle she must fight to make it to the top and she knows… she won’t give up – these people who love her, her husband, her children, her dearest friend – they need her and she needs them…so, she will keep climbing then maybe….just maybe when she gets to the top…maybe then – it will be time for pie again.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Week 12 Theme

Week 12 Theme

They were riding their 4wheeler up in his field again, asked not to but they didn’t care. It’s not like they can hurt anything thing but themselves, the field is only used as a place for his cows to graze.

She’s not really enjoying herself, the place stinks, and there appears to be cow crap everywhere but he is truly handsome. He’s two years older, tall, built rugged, fabulous tan and the most gorgeous green eyes she’d ever seen and he asked her to go riding with him. She would ride through fields and fields of cow crap if it meant spending time with him.

It was getting late, only a wee bit of day light left and the Rolands were not back to their farm yet, he was guessing they had about another hour before he would have to call it a day. He was truly hoping to impress her and then maybe lay her out on a few bales of hay before heading home.

She was leaning into his back holding his waist, tightening her grip when they hit; the atv came to a dead stop and the two of them flipped end over end.

He jumped up to help her and once they both realized they were not hurt they burst into laughter at the site of each other – both covered head to toe in mud (likely to be a mixture of cow crap and mud by the smell of things). Caught up in the humor of the moment they completely forgot why they had been flipped off the vehicle, until they heard a soft cry.

Looking back they saw a frail looking cow and an injured new little baby calf, both still alive but for how long they could not be sure; both critters looked quite hurt.

She started to cry right away, “We’ve got to get them into the barn and help until Mr. Roland shows up!”

“No fucking way! If they die by our doing and we are caught we are gonna get skinned alive!”

She pleaded and pleaded with him. With a quick glance he snatched up the calf and headed for the barn. She breathed a sign of relief and chased after him to help. As they neared the building he turned a bit and lifted a wooden panel from the ground.

“What are you doing?”

Without a reply, he dropped the calf down into the well.

She screamed wildly but her screams could not drown out those from the calf; she tried to reach it but she could not even see how far down he was – she could only hear it screeching.

The momma cow was still out in the field struggling to rise to help her baby. He was running back out to it and she left the well side to try to save the mumma before he got to her. He got to her first but did not go near her, instead turned his 4wheeler up right, jumped on and started it. She thought he was leaving her in the field and was glad, Mr. Roland would be along very soon and they could still save them she hoped.

He revved up the engine, kicked it into gear and drove off, she thanked the stars – she had a chance. He spun back and charged right for the momma; she jumped between them to try to stop him but he rushed on – she had no choice but to leap out of the way or be killed too. He rammed the cow, drove over her and continued to do so repeatedly until all movement from the critter stopped.

She jumped back into his path and tried to stop him but he struck her with his hand and knocked her to the ground. She could not pull herself together quick enough to stop him.

Tying a rope to the cow he dragged her with his atv to the well and knocked her down into it, rejoining her with her calf.

Headlights peeked at the top of the driveway, he spun off for home; leaving his date in the field and the baby calf still screaming.

Week 11 Theme

Clip – snap!

This little piggy went to karate; leaving all her weight at home.

Clip – snap!

This little piggy ate a woopie pie; feeling ashamed and all alone.

Clip – snap!

And this little piggy played wifey; doing dishes and laundry with a moan and a groan.

Clip – snap!

This little piggy wracked up minutes; texting and conversing on her phone.

Clip – snap!

This little piggy played momma; loving and carry for her own.

So, where is the little piggy who looked after the sheep? Well, she’s not under any haystack fast asleep. Awake and wide-eyed, she works night and day; so much to do and no time for play.

Play is for the critters who live in her shoe; for there are so many of them she often does not know what to do. Feeding them no broth – just a bit of bread; off to sleep hungry, she puts them all to bed.

Early to bed, early to rise; the youngest of them pries open her eyes. Pulls at the little curl resting in the middle of her forehead; gets up and going and proves right away that when she is good she is very, very good but when she is bad she is horrid.

A few extra hands this little piggy needs, but little jack horner is not in his corner, the spider on the tuffet has already frightened Miss Muffett and Papa bear is out for his morning stroll while he waits for the cooling of his morning bowl.

So, this little piggy cries below the twinkling star in the far off black sky…wondering – just wondering – why oh why….Keeping up with it all is a task too demanding she is too weak; picking pecks for Peter barely enough energy left to speak.

And what do you think appears before her eyes? But a tiny fairy godmother, dressed in disguise. With a twinkling of her wand and a catchy little jingle; this little piggy’s back starts to tingle; the fairy godmother dances and sings… and from this piggy’s back sprouts some wings.

“Why, fairy godmother, why?”

“Because my dear, pigs must fly!”