Selections from FALL IN LOVE WITH WRITING 2019

As promised, here are pieces that a few writers from my October 19th, 2019 writing event were brave enough to share with me to share on my blog. A huge thanks for sharing!

Please, let the authors know what you think by leaving even a brief comment for them to read. Keep in mind, these are drafts, rough and unfinished, yet shared bravely!

Writers are insecure. We doubt our words. We worry. We mumble and disclaim before sharing, even with other writers.

Show them some love, dear readers!

Story #1 written by Connie Geissel

Prompted from: Nightclub, Action/Adventure, a unicycle

Unfinished story

10/19/19 Bestsellers

He was good at standing on a rock, solid and strong and had been known to be a fairly good gymnast. His family would laugh as he climbed down the stairs on two hands. But the phone call he received this morning truly rattled him. Sitting down after slowly putting the phone back in its cradle a smile finally came to the surface. He knew exactly what he’d do.

Putting his hat on he told his wife perhaps the first fib of his very long marriage. He told Edna he was going to walk to the Lake in order to think, which he never really did as his wife was fully capable of thinking for him.

The north wind blew strongly as he forced his body to lean into the November gale working his way down Baraga to Queen City Bicycle Shop. The flimsy door flew open as the wind whipped up from the Lake. This didn’t faze Kevin, the shop owner, as they were used to the winds fighting against their door.

Emil explained that he was looking for a unicycle and wanted to have a lesson in riding the one-wheeled contraption. Kevin stifled a laugh, after all, even though Emil was 70 something, he was a paying customer, and promised to teach him in the alley behind the shop.

Surprisingly, the lesson was successful as Emil was a quick learner; he bought the unicycle and headed home up Baraga where he would hide the new bike from his ever-present wife as he knew the consequences of her tongue.

Evening came and another lie. He told Edna he felt like having a beer with his friends at the pub. So again donned his cap but this time snuck down to the lower porch to grab the hidden unicycle, then continued fighting north through the evening gale. Instead of a left turn on 3^rdtoward the pub he went right down toward the nightclub. This was a first for him, as his wife felt the devil lived in the club and would never allow her husband to grace its doors.

Emil was getting excited about the prospect of being a celebrity and began visualizing the headlines in The MiningJournal. He also imagined the tongue-lashing his wife would give him on its publication. These thoughts ran through his mind as he neared the nightclub when a gust of wind grabbed hold of the unicycle, which he was only holding gently, and sent it flying down the hill toward Lake Superior. It was too far for him to run down and get the tricycle as he had to be at the nightclub in five minutes. 

“Dang it” he blurted and started thinking of a solution on what to do. Hanging his head in thought, he spotted Peepee Pants Peter’s tricycle sitting on the wind-protected porch on 3^rd. Letting the pent up tension from his cheeks, he snuck up to the porch, reached over the creaky rail, grabbed the small tricycle and let his long legs carry him quickly to the club.

Story #2 written by Zach Corbin

Fall in Love With Writing Piece 10/19/19

Prompt: Click Click

Click Click…I hear the noise it the middle of the night. I wish I could say that it woke me up, but I was already laying here pretending to sleep while stressing over the entire day’s events while simultaneously stressing over tomorrows events that haven’t even happened yet. A song from earlier in the evening is playing over and over again in my head. Click Click is the only thing so far that has silenced this annoying battle in my head. 

Now I am overly aware of everything around me. My wife sleeping next to me. My daughter sleeping downstairs. My dog who hasn’t budged. Every scenario I can come up with in my head is happening so fast that I can’t move. Was it the front door? No I think it was the back. But it could have been a downstairs window. Is the garage closed? Did I actually hear anything? My past experiences are creeping around me whispering terrifying thoughts of what ifs. My daughters irrational fear of break ins is somehow becoming a horrible reality that she will never get over. I hear screaming, fighting and I sit straight up in bed only to realize that its silent. Too silent. 

Click Click…Its now or never. I slowly get out of bed. My wife still breathing slow and steady, deep asleep doesn’t move. The dog raises his head and looks but seems unphased and lays back down. I walk from the edge of the bed to the living room fully expecting to see shadows moving. The silence is deafening. 

Story #3 written by Kim Haas

Not that Guy

By Kim Haas

He entered the park just as darkness set in. It got dark a little earlier each day and he hated it. With the darkness outside, emerged a cloak of darkness inside. Sure, there was a label for it. There’s a label for everything these days. When your legs twitch they call it Restless Leg Syndrome. No kidding. Way to state the obvious. What he experienced was SAD or Seasonal Affective Disorder. Technically anyways. That’s what his girlfriend called it. Liza was into everything natural so she bought him a special light he was supposed to sit in front of every morning, replicating the light of the sun, promoting those feel-good chemicals naturally instead of chemically. She didn’t know that he took meds as well. He didn’t want to disappoint her. But his darkness felt so heavy and dense that she was afraid. Not of what he might do exactly but of all he wouldn’t be able to make himself do.

            He pulled his sweatshirt tighter around him, yanking the hood up. He’d forgotten to layer up for these crazy change in temperatures.

            Liza was probably already at home. Probably sipping a cup of tea, herbal, of course. With a pot of vegetable soup simmering on the stove. 

            He was lucky he’d found her. That she found him. She says they found each other.

            It’s still a mystery to him why she sticks around. Every day he goes home, surprised to still see her things there.

            Around him, the trees were practically bare, branches etched against a darkening sky. He listened to the scuffle and crunch of the leaves beneath his shoes. He tasted the residue of the three beers he’d had at the bar. His nightly routine. A routine Liza wasn’t aware of. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

            He continued concentrating on his concrete senses. It was a trick Liza had taught him when he got too stuck in his head, which happened often. So, he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until he felt something dull yet insistent against his back.

            “Toss your wallet on the ground.”

            Shit. He was being mugged. In the park just around the corner from his apartment. He thought about turning around. In his head, that’s what he did. He was already spinning how he’d tell this story later so he wouldn’t look quite so weak, quite so pathetic.

            While he spun the story of how he’d like to act, what he actually did was raise his arms overhead.  A gesture of cowardly surrender. Because that was the real him.

            “Okay, man, Okay,” he said.

            His right hand reached into his back pocket and slipped the wallet out. It landed with a soft thud on the sidewalk.

            The person picked it up. “Are you fucking kidding me? Three bucks? That’s it?”

            “I’m sorry,” he said. Yep, he apologized to his mugger. By the voice he could literally could not tell if it was a male or female. In his version, it was definitely a guy. And he was big. Like 6’6” at least.

            He felt that dull nudge at his back again. “Well, thanks for nothing, pal.”

            He heard a sigh then the person advised him to stay looking straight ahead and count to 100.

            He started counting then heard something land in the bushes behind him. When he reached  37, he turned slowly. Nobody was there. He crept over toward the bushes.  He pushed the branches aside and saw a wooden stick. Not a gun. A stick. He picked it up. No. It was worse than a stick.

            It was a plunger.

            A goddamn plunger.

            He’d been held up at plunger-point.

            If he was a different guy, he’d be able to laugh about it. Tell the story in a way that wasn’t humiliating to him.

            But he wasn’t that guy. Not even close.

            He’d only lost three bucks.

            He’d just pretend it never even happened.

            The mystery of his park assault would remain just that.

            An untold mystery to. Known to nobody.

            Except him.

            And the person who left the exchange three bucks richer. 

            

Story #4 written by Christine McElhone 

Middle School English teacher, Aleta Berkey-Ms. Berkey to us-was strict and had very high standards. Breaking the rules was met with swift and public consequences. If she was speaking, we were silent unless asking questions. If we were working-copying grammar definitions, a noun is, a verb is, a gerund is, into our notebooks, writing bread and butter notes, looking up vocabulary definitions, etc.- everyone was working. There was no whispering, no pencil sharpening (there were two on every desk--sharpened before class). The only movement was to walk to Ms. Berkey's desk to turn in completed assignments--up to the desk, paper in the tray, smile, back to your desk. Get out your book to read.

One of the rules was "no pen clicking". One day Marvin-a not too bright young man-sat at his desk during a spelling test. Ms. Berkey said "opportunity, He missed a great opportunity by not paying attention." She always had a message and never missed a teachable moment. 

Click. click went Marvin's pen. The rest of us froze. Heads whipped around to see who it was. Ms. Berkey glared at him. He did not look up. click. click went his pen. Ms. Berkey said, "juxtaposition. Rules and behavior are often in juxtaposition". She stared at Marvin, almost daring him to click. He looked back at her, held her gaze. His thumb moved to his pen. The rest of us gasped. His thumb moved to the end of the pen. Click. Click. We held our breath. No one moved except Ms. Berkey. She was a larger woman but moved quickly. She snatched the pen away. Held it close to Marvin's ear and pushed the end. Click. click. She leaned in close and stage whispered, "Was it worth it?" 

Marvin's face turned red. The fear finally reached him. He walked to the front of the classroom and knelt on the small square of astroturf facing the wall.