Anyhow, here it is. Maybe I’ll finish writing my reflections    [Continue reading]]]> I first posted this story exactly a year ago. As Super Bowl Sunday approaches, it seems worth posting again, even though posting it pretty much nails it that no one will be inviting us over for a Super Bowl party, Tom Brady or no. Oh well.

Anyhow, here it is. Maybe I’ll finish writing my reflections on rehab (I’m home! I can walk with my new knees!) during the half-time show.

**

Game Time

All eyes were on Deirdre when she walked into the room. She hated times like this. Those stares, what they were thinking behind their glassy eyes – always made her uncomfortable. Wet circles began forming under her armpits.

Great. Now they could make fun of her hygiene as well as her clothes, her chewed nails.

The room was quiet a second too long; then Jed stood up. “Glad you could make it, Dee.” No one called her Dee. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Bud Light. He handed it to her and she nodded thanks, took a short sip of the watery liquid. It wasn’t even cold. Ugh, how could they drink that shit when there were so many decent beers out there?

Conversation started again. Larry launched into a monologue that left Deirdre dazed and everyone else entertained. She’d probably interrupted him by showing up. He finally stopped to take a breath and everyone except Deirdre laughed. He must have gotten to the punch line.

Tammy and Britt held their bottles up to Larry in a mock salute and clicked their bottles together.

They were drinking India Pale Ale from Deirdre’s favorite microbrewery. Then Deirdre noticed that everyone was drinking good beer – Larry, Jed, the rest of them.

WTF?

Deirdre imagined pouring her warm Bud Light into the big bowl of chips on the coffee table, or better yet, down Jed’s back. It was the first time she smiled all day.

Instead, she walked to the bar sink and tipped her bottle high, watching the foamy liquid swirl down the drain. She caught Jed staring at her as she opened the refrigerator and got herself a bottle of IPA. She took a long draught from the bottle and stared back. Much better.

So this was the “man cave” Jed talked about incessantly at work. She looked around. Testosterone oozed from the black leather couches, the big flat panel TV, the dartboard hanging on the wall.

She’d been included – inadvertently, she’d assumed – in an email inviting the staff to his house for potluck and the game on Sunday. Deirdre hated football, thought she’d leave before the game started.

But her new year’s resolution had been to get out of her own skin more, to act normal. This was an opportunity for her to at least try. Even her therapist would be pleased.

Her clothes were, as usual, all wrong for the afternoon. She’d worn dark slacks and a twin set. Everyone else was in jeans and a logo team shirt.

“Who’s playing?” This was wrong; she realized that even as the words were coming out. The looks ranged from incredulous to pitying. Well, screw them. They probably had no idea what was happening politically halfway around the world, let alone halfway across the city, if it wasn’t carrying a football team banner.

The silence lasted an instant too long. Tammy rolled her eyes for Britt’s benefit, and Britt barely stifled a chuckle. That did it.

Deirdre would play her own game.

“Hey!” Deirdre’s voice was jovial. “Who wants to play darts before the game?” Her co-workers looked at her. They’d never heard that upbeat voice. No one spoke.

“I said, who wants to play darts?” This time her tone was different. Tammy shifted uneasily in the leather loveseat. Jed stood up. No one spoke.

Deirdre grabbed the darts from the corkboard. They were expensive darts – heavy, weighted just right. The kind she liked. At least Jed had picked those well. She aimed for him first. He dropped silently to the shag carpeting.

Were they all really moving in slow motion, or was it her adrenalin? Deirdre was able to aim slowly, carefully, accurately. Soon she’d used all the darts, and the room was quiet.

She stepped over Britt’s body on her way to the refrigerator. She wanted to grab a couple of beers to take home.

She might watch the football game after all.

Great. Now they could make fun of her hygiene as well as her clothes, her    [Continue reading]]]> All eyes were on Deirdre when she walked into the room. She hated times like this. Those stares, what they were thinking behind their glassy eyes – always made her uncomfortable. Wet circles began forming under her armpits.

Great. Now they could make fun of her hygiene as well as her clothes, her chewed nails.

The room was quiet a second too long; then Jed stood up. “Glad you could make it, Dee.” No one called her Dee. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Bud Light. He handed it to her and she nodded thanks, took a short sip of the watery liquid. It wasn’t even cold. Ugh, how could they drink that shit when there were so many decent beers out there?

Conversation started again. Larry launched into a monologue that left Deirdre dazed and everyone else entertained. She’d probably interrupted him by showing up. He finally stopped to take a breath and everyone except Deirdre laughed. He must have gotten to the punch line.

Tammy and Britt held their bottles up to Larry in a mock salute and clicked their bottles together.

They were drinking India Pale Ale from Deirdre’s favorite microbrewery. Then Deirdre noticed that everyone was drinking good beer – Larry, Jed, the rest of them.

WTF?

Deirdre imagined pouring her warm Bud Light into the big bowl of chips on the coffee table, or better yet, down Jed’s back. It was the first time she smiled all day.

Instead, she walked to the bar sink and tipped her bottle high, watching the foamy liquid swirl down the drain. She caught Jed staring at her as she opened the refrigerator and got herself a bottle of IPA. She took a long draught from the bottle and stared back. Much better.

So this was the “man cave” Jed talked about incessantly at work. She looked around. Testosterone oozed from the black leather couches, the big flat panel TV, the dartboard hanging on the wall.

She’d been included – inadvertently, she’d assumed – in an email inviting the staff to his house for potluck and the game on Sunday. Deirdre hated football, thought she’d leave before the game started.

But her new year’s resolution had been to get out of her own skin more, to act normal. This was an opportunity for her to at least try. Even her therapist would be pleased.

Her clothes were, as usual, all wrong for the afternoon. She’d worn dark slacks and a twin set. Everyone else was in jeans and a logo team shirt.

“Who’s playing?” This was wrong; she realized that even as the words were coming out. The looks ranged from incredulous to pitying. Well, screw them. They probably had no idea what was happening politically halfway around the world, let alone halfway across the city, if it wasn’t carrying a football team banner.

The silence lasted an instant too long. Tammy rolled her eyes for Britt’s benefit, and Britt barely stifled a chuckle. That did it.

Deirdre would play her own game.

“Hey!” Deirdre’s voice was jovial. “Who wants to play darts before the game?” Her co-workers looked at her. They’d never heard that upbeat voice. No one spoke.

“I said, who wants to play darts?” This time her tone was different. Tammy shifted uneasily in the leather loveseat. Jed stood up. No one spoke.

Deirdre grabbed the darts from the corkboard. They were expensive darts – heavy, weighted just right. The kind she liked. At least Jed had picked those well. She aimed for him first. He dropped silently to the shag carpeting.

Were they all really moving in slow motion, or was it her adrenalin? Deirdre was able to aim slowly, carefully, accurately. Soon she’d used all the darts, and the room was quiet.

She stepped over Britt’s body on her way to the refrigerator. She wanted to grab a couple of beers to take home.

She might watch the football game after all.

**

[Props to Cathryn Grant and her story An Extra Man in the House for planting the seed for this one in my warped brain this morning.]

**

“I personally think you’re nuts.”  He glanced away from her considerable bosom as he spoke.

“Coming from you, Jerry, I consider that high praise.”  She flicked her ash into his Blackberry and stood up.  “My new attorney will be in touch.”

“Tell him to    [Continue reading]]]> I had this ready last Friday, but got waylaid by real life until now….

**

“I personally think you’re nuts.”  He glanced away from her considerable bosom as he spoke.

“Coming from you, Jerry, I consider that high praise.”  She flicked her ash into his Blackberry and stood up.  “My new attorney will be in touch.”

“Tell him to take his time.”

He felt lighter, cleaner once she’d left the office.  Definitely a good day so far.  He’d wanted to give the new iPhone a whirl anyway.

She snorted. “He’ll be the one who pays.”

“Shirley, I’m not sure I want to represent you in this matter. There    [Continue reading]]]>
“I don’t care if he is in the hospital. Serves him right. Thinks he can just ignore me — and when he’s working on my dime, too – ”

She snorted. “He’ll be the one who pays.”

“Shirley, I’m not sure I want to represent you in this matter. There isn’t a reasonable person this side of the Mississippi would favor you over Jake on this.”

She glared at him across the desk and the air grew still, cold. “Well then. We’ll just have to find some unreasonable people, won’t we?”

Well, yeah…

I belong to a women’s group that meets monthly on the Tuesday night    [Continue reading]]]>
The Creativity Workshop is coming to an official end – and this is where those graduation speech sentiments come into play: the end of something meaningful, but more importantly, the launch pad for something newer, more exciting, bigger. blah blah blah.

Well, yeah…

I belong to a women’s group that meets monthly on the Tuesday night closest to the full moon. Last night we did one of those rituals where you pull a seemingly random card out of a deck, read what the accompanying guidebook says about the card, and make connections to your own life.

We used The Celtic Tree Oracle: A System of Divination. The cards themselves are beautifully rendered – each depicting a different tree that represents a certain mythic concept described more fully in the text.

Sometimes I’m pretty prosaic, so my first thought was, “Oh, good, trees. I’ve been writing about trees.” My first Creativity Workshop story turned out to be a love story – between a house and a tree. My last CW story, Timbre – the one I’m working on right now – focuses on people cutting down trees in a suburban neighborhood. It’s a hate story, I suppose.

I pulled the Ash card. In Celtic cosmology, the Cosmic Ash “connects the three circles of existence… which can be variously interpreted as past, present and future, or as confusion, balance and creative force.”

I’m not so sure yet about balance, but I’ve certainly moved from confusion to creative force – and back again – with my writing in general, and through the challenges of this workshop in particular.

“The Ash can be seen as spanning both microcosm and macrocosm, the little world and the great world… Since the Ash itself carries ‘keys’ (winged fruits), choosing this card is a key to a more universal comprehension of how all things are linked, everything being connected; earthly and spiritual; yourself and the cosmos; lowest and highest. Your deeds form part of a far greater, even endless, chain of events, and your own inner pathways have their reaction in the outer world.”

This resonates with my belief in and respect for the interdependent web of all existence so I’m nodding and smiling while reading/typing the above quote.

But the prosaic kicks in again, and these words stand out in flashing lights for me: Deeds ==> chain of events. Inner pathways ==> reaction in the outer world.

I suppose these are obvious to everyone else, but right here and right now, they are the focusing guideposts I need for completing Timbre and moving forward. What can cutting down a backyard tree set in motion? What can refusing to cut a backyard tree set in motion? Who is affected, and how? How can I entice you, the reader, to care about it?

I see a more nuanced, original story evolving from a fallen tree as part of a cosmic chain of events that reverberates through the universe — or at least through the cul de sac. The story is getting deeper, richer and I can see roots (sorry!) of a larger, interconnected web of — what? deception, possibly, nastiness, most definitely — growing beneath the surface.

So, yes, I will finish this final CW story. And, yes, I will move forward with a tangle of ideas that wiil, I hope, weave themselves into a larger narrative, a bigger universe. NaNoWriMo 2010, can you hear me?

I just looked back at my original intent for this final segment of the Creativity Workshop:

Taking the mythic journey through the heart of darkness, er, suburbia.

I am so there.

::w00t::

[And another shout-out for the fabulous Merrilee Faber for getting this whole inspirational writing workshop rolling. Thank you, and thanks to everyone who slogged along for the journey. It’s been real. ]