Between this and getting Remembrance ready to go out to the test readers, I've been thinking a lot about the things I've written in the past. Those stepping stones on my path to becoming an honest to goodness writer. Well, here's one of them.
One of our assignments in that creative writing course was to take a few elements, and use them in five different shorts. I think they had to be 250 words or less. In the fic world, we call them drabbles. I chose a girl (or woman), sitting alone in a coffee shop, smoking a cigarette. Here's what I ended up with.
I'm not really going to edit these, so I apologize ahead of time if there are spelling or grammatical errors. Part of this is so I can show (and see for myself) just how far I've come.
Just to forewarn ya'll, while most of these won't offend anyone, there is one that deals with a girl considering a very controversial subject matter. I'll mark it, but just so you can't bitch at me for springing it on you, you've been warned.
Drabble 1:
Emily pulled four things from her purse: a notepad, a personalized ball point pen that her mother gave her for Christmas the year after she graduated from college, a pack of Virginia Slims Menthol Lights 120s, and a book of matches. She set her notepad and pen on the table, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, exhaling the sweet nicotine with a flourish of neck and wrist. She had started smoking to look styled, sophisticated, and now, wouldn’t you know it, smoking was out and she was addicted. Didn’t matter to her much; she felt it made her look every bit the high end journalist that she would one day be. This interviewing of animal rights activists and local business owners would one day be behind her and she would be on to bigger and better things: award winning actors, civil rights leaders, the President. One day she would move up from the dinky “In Your Area” column and into the vast department of “In the World Today.” Until then she would continue interviewing the Lindsay Ann, high school science fair winners of the world, arching her eyebrows conspiratorially as she asked the questions she wanted to know. At least if she had to write these stories, she’d do so with a flourish.
Drabble 2:
Ashley puffed on her Misty Ultra Light as she fingered the worn copy of Sense and Sensibility that was sitting in front of her. Lord only knew what made her sign on to that stupid dating site in the first place, not to mention actually accepting a date with one of the fools who use said sites. Well, she thought to herself, I guess I’m one of those fools now, as well. She casually flipped through the Austen novel sitting in front of her, the only relic she kept from her horrific three year relationship with John. In a way, John was the whole reason why Ashley was sitting in this run down coffee shop, fingering a run down book in the first place. If he had been able to keep his zipper closed and his hands off any female being that wiggled, Ashley would still be engaged, and well on the way to living out the rest of her life exactly the way she had planned it out with her Barbies when she was younger. Instead, she turned to the world wide web to look for what she could not find in real life, beginning with Ebay, but quickly moving to E-Harmony. It was there that she met Ralf, the down to Earth father of two who recently lost his wife to cancer and also enjoyed a good Jane Austen novel.
Ashley looked at her watch and, noting that Ralf (what kind of name is that anyway?) was ten minutes late, picked up her book and was about to leave when a tall, well groomed man walked into the coffee shop, carrying a well worn copy of Sense and Sensibility.
Drabble 3:
Victoria sat in the high class coffee shop, smoking her high class cigarette, musing over her life’s accomplishments. She had managed to lure a total of now two dozen men from their wives, a talent she discovered in high school. Mr. Gibbons was a terrible teacher–actually, he was terrible at many things–but he was all too willing to give out extra credit to girls willing to do certain after school activities. Vicki applied this same concept in college, earning herself a diploma without doing an ounce of homework for her male professors, of whom there were many. She now owned a girly bar, where married men flocked to cheat on their wives without actually ever touching another woman.
Her newest conquest was Willard, a broker with a beautiful wife, a beautiful house, and three beautiful children; Vicki had seen pictures of them all. She sipped champagne, still nude under her Egyptian sheets, as Willard dressed, about to return to the office. Before leaving, he turned to her and asked, “Do you ever tire of being the mistress? Wouldn’t you ever want to be the missus?” Vicki thought about this as she took another drag off her cigarette and stirred the nonfat latte the waitress just brought her. No, she decided. I never would want to worry about my husband meeting a woman like me.
Drabble 4:
Candice looked over her list one last time and took out the pack of cigarettes she had hiding in her pocketbook. She had tried quitting hundreds of times, but this wedding was just putting too much stress on her, and she needed the relief, so she bought the pack for “just in case.” Well, if this didn’t qualify as “just in case,” she wasn’t sure what would. She inhaled and was calmed, but only marginally. There was still so much to do. She still had to pick up the bride’s maids dresses, confirm the cake style, tell the live band that she had decided to go with the DJ, and send in the newest version of the RSVP list in to the caterer. That wasn’t even mentioning going over flower arrangements, picking up her own dress, and the whole of the rehearsal dinner. All in just over a week.
Candice looked at the diamond sitting on her left ring finger, and remembered how Michael had proposed, right at the very table she was now sitting at. He had done it in a very Michael fashion, tossing her the ring box when she returned from the bathroom and waggling his eyebrows at her. She tossed the box right back to him, and told him that she would not marry him until he asked properly. So, of course, he called the attention of the entire coffee shop, got down on one knee with a grand flourish, and gave a very corny proposal speech. Candice smiled as she thought that if any man was worth the hassle of a wedding, it was Michael. She decided, somewhat sarcastically, that if she ever were to marry again, however, she would elope.
Candice looked at the diamond sitting on her left ring finger, and remembered how Michael had proposed, right at the very table she was now sitting at. He had done it in a very Michael fashion, tossing her the ring box when she returned from the bathroom and waggling his eyebrows at her. She tossed the box right back to him, and told him that she would not marry him until he asked properly. So, of course, he called the attention of the entire coffee shop, got down on one knee with a grand flourish, and gave a very corny proposal speech. Candice smiled as she thought that if any man was worth the hassle of a wedding, it was Michael. She decided, somewhat sarcastically, that if she ever were to marry again, however, she would elope.
Drabble 5 (the one that you might want to skip if you're sensitive):
Liza’s hands shook as she tried to light her Gold Coast Red with her purple Bic lighter. She finally got it lit and inhaled sharply, thanking the waitress who brought her coffee with a puff of smoke. She loaded the inky liquid down with sugar and creamer, changing its color from rich black to creamy brown. She took a sip and closed her eyes. Pregnant. Ten weeks, according to the doctor. That gave her three weeks to decide what she was going to do. Or rather, three weeks to convince Ron that it was the right choice and to give her the four hundred dollars for the abortion. Four hundred dollars, that sure as hell was a lot of money, especially when she was out of work. She looked at the cigarette in her hand and almost laughed. Theoretically, she shouldn’t be smoking in her condition, but since she wasn’t about to keep the being growing inside of her, she didn’t see the sense in quitting now.
She thought back on the diagram the nurse had shown her in the clinic. Her baby looked about like a baby chicken right now. Actually, it looked like every other baby animal at that approximate stage. It helped her conscious to know that if put in a lineup, she wouldn’t be able to tell her baby from one of another species. Liza shook her head. She didn’t like the idea of “her baby,” she wanted to find a more removed term. What was it the nurse called it? The embryo, that’s right. Liza took another drag off her cigarette and another sip of coffee as she contemplated the future of her embryo and herself.
She thought back on the diagram the nurse had shown her in the clinic. Her baby looked about like a baby chicken right now. Actually, it looked like every other baby animal at that approximate stage. It helped her conscious to know that if put in a lineup, she wouldn’t be able to tell her baby from one of another species. Liza shook her head. She didn’t like the idea of “her baby,” she wanted to find a more removed term. What was it the nurse called it? The embryo, that’s right. Liza took another drag off her cigarette and another sip of coffee as she contemplated the future of her embryo and herself.
Well, there you have it; five shorts written by yours truly over seven years ago.
No comments:
Post a Comment