“I’ll have a Peacemaker. My friend will have a Fuzzy Navel with four pierced cherries. The Peacemaker is for me. Did you know it was named after a bomber during World War II? I’m not so much of a fru-fru drinker…” The bartender walked away as she continued to ramble on about peaches and nuclear weapons. As he should have. Because really.
I’ve been writing and stalling and writing a little more on my very first ever short story, and it’s not going anywhere at all but it’s certainly fun and I’ve reached the point where I’m enjoying the process of poking at my characters.
As Krystal fumbled with her wallet she accidentally emptied all of her cards and cash across the top of the table, buying Charlotte a few more seconds to drink as much of the beer as she could. (Charlotte could never waste a Peacemaker—especially in these troubled times.)
It seems that I really love writing on the thing when I actually sit down to write on the thing, but sitting down to write is something I tend to save until last.
The flurries were glowing under the streetlights, the sky was filled with stars, the air smelled like waffles, they were leaving perfect dusty footprints on the sidewalk, and suddenly Krystal stumbled and fell and there went all of her cash and cards again. Krystal. Shit. She is essentially homeless in this town and Charlotte knew that if she were to let Krystal crash at her place, she might take that as an invitation to stay even longer. (Sometimes it sucks to be the person who won’t let their friend sleep it out on a park bench.) As she stood shaking her head and watching Krystal recover, Charlotte heard her name, but not really her name.
“Mary?”
Let’s all sit down and write a little today. Or draw a little. Or play the piano a little. Or eat a little popcorn with a little Singapore spice a little.
As Krystal tried to take off her boots (the zippers were hilariously confusing for her), Lincoln left the room to grab water—giving Charlotte the chance to check out his decorating style, which she supposed would be considered eclectic by anyone who doesn’t want to use the word nonsensical.
The dishes/laundry/food prep can wait until tomorrow, right? What do you want to do instead? Give yourself 30 minutes and do it. (Disclaimer: I am not a licensed life coach.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Veronica. Veronica. Veronicaaaaaaaa. Veronica.
I’m hoping we’ll get to read the finished story. Sounds interesting so far.
Krystal with a K. Just like Nicky spelled Nikki – the stories abound.
I am fascinated by your story already!
And trying to take your call to creativity to heart. I FEEL better in my heart and in my body when I find the time a space to be creative in a day. But I also find it really difficult to actually make and claim that time.
Argh with the not wanting to invite her to stay, the not wanting her to sleep on a park beach imagery! ;(
I’m currently taking my 30 minutes to watch part of the first new Handmaid’s Tale.
I really want to read this. Please stop all life stuff and finish writing it so I may then read it. Thank you.
“which she supposed would be considered eclectic by anyone who doesn’t want to use the word nonsensical.” Hahahahah – I love this so much. I have recently had reason to look at a lot of real estate listings on the internet, and I think this perfectly captures SO MANY people’s decorating style (possibly including mine ?! – eek). I think it may also apply to fashion sense, color choice in craft projects, and plating choices in fine dining. Oh – I love it SO MUCH!!!! Keep writing, keep writing – it’s really great (and I’m a big reader, so I should know!).