JB

The Writer’s Studio, Level II – Assignment #1 May 12, 2008

Preamble: 3rd person narrator but almost 1st. Relaxed, light, playful, precise. Direct access to characters thoughts but there is some distance. Pick a popular character. Put in a dilemma and a scene.

JB

A distant flash could be seen. Moving impossibly
fast through the impossibly beautiful. Aston Martins
were preferable for the English Countryside.
Particularly in skillful hands. He slides up and down
that familiar road with an unmatchable
determination and focus. But the smile he gives
today, that half mouthed grin, is for himself alone.
Top down, he takes flight. Little gusts rush to be the
ones to part his hair. These times between
assignments are his favorite. His Walther PPK sits
at home. Against the wishes of his director. Along
with all the gadgets that guard him. So many new
toys to learn about. They can be a real pain. He
once almost shot himself with his cigarette lighter.
But not today. He soon reaches 200 kilometres per
hour. The remaining stress drains from his body.
Not that anyone could notice. Certainly not him. He
wouldn’t allow it. That’s a job requirement you see.
Thoughts of work tomorrow pushes his foot deeper
and sets them afire. He and his Aston. Their bodies
move together. The Aston turns with his deft
guidance. Without question. He keeps it just above
redline even while downshifting through turns.
Unfolding the machine into its maximum glory. But
there is no rush today. There will be no beautiful
woman at the end of this road. No villain to kill.
Not even someone important to save. Today is not a
day for the Queen. It is solely his. And he has
seized it.

Dog Park

The Writer’s Studio, Level I - Assignment #9 May 5, 2008

Preamble: 3rd person narrator, description of a group I am familiar with. Narrative compassion showing love, sympathy and knowledge. Patient in describing the action (missed that one). Show that group in an activity.

Dog Park

The last had finally trickled in making their daily descension complete, giving life to that small square of green in the middle of their city. What was silent just minutes ago became an excited buzz punctuated by an occasional bark or two. Leashes would unsnap and wrap around hands as the little ones took flight. Soon there would be balls flying all over the place and sticks thrown. Pinecones were partial substitutes when all the balls at home were hidden or destroyed.

Sometimes they were as eager to see each other as their cherished ones were. But most times it was more dutiful. A little chat here with one group then a quick hello with another. Even united with a common purpose their familiarities or distrust would faction them. Conversations would fly, “Did you hear what happened to the Standard Poodle?”, “Skipper’s mom is in chemo.”, “Sousie just had surgery on her tail.” They never knew each other’s names. They just knew enough to pass the time while their dogs tired themselves out for the evening, their winding down from work complete.

Of course the dogs were happy to see each other too. This park was for them after all. Seeing their favorite friends they would run from a distance. But only after a serious winding up tail wag while coiling into a crouch. They had their own groups too. The faster running dogs chasing each other with lightning speed. Some, just plain old friends, simply enjoyed being around each other.

Conversations would pause only to encourage their kids to keep playing. And to run. Run fast and hard. To fit in a day’s worth of play into 20 tight minutes. So they would feel less guilty about leaving them alone all day. In the middle of a city. With only a patch of green in the middle.

It was an Autumn evening. The year didn’t matter. But it was different tonite. Birthday cake looked good enough to eat. It was Laika’s day today. And she was happy.

the climber

he set his foot with surity
carefully as if his life depended on it
falling was not an option
one foot, one hand, after another
so slowly he sometimes got sick of the pace
climbing is easier when you know which way is up
it wasn’t always easy

he had traversed great stretches
then, while distracted by a fluttering bird
pebbles rained down on fellow climbers below
slipping back
loosing precious ground
sliding into the hand of a sure footed neighbor
he stopped to catch his breath
to retrace his steps
back to the alltime high
retracing was easier
grooves are that way

he had climbed into the nite
far away from the others
with weariness around the bend
a little mistake
no one to catch him
freefall
tumbling
crying out, helpless
cuts and bruises
landing squarely into waiting arms
knotted hands shooting from the dirt
oddly placed, but expected
feeding leaves that shadded him,
from a light rain
a sweet oasis
he rested for the next days climb

smoke

The Writer’s Studio, Level I - Assignment #8 April 28, 2008

Preamble: 3rd person narrator, description of short scene between 2 people. Stay in the moment of the scene. Main character is in distress but doesn’t see it, narrator sees it. Like a camera, pick a scene and describe.

smoke

their eyes meet through the smoke of his cigarette,
she always liked the way he flicked the ashes
stale music permeated the room,
like the smell of beer
her hair highlighted by a neon glow,
reflecting off her glossy lips
she looked like candy,
delicately rolled up in a thin wrapper
its what she usually wore,
when she found her way back to him

as his hangover cleared,
light reflected off her boot buckle
and caught his shattered eye,
drawing a glance downwards
taking a different route back up,
by way of those perfect legs
as she crossed them,
he felt it
the needle hit the groove when she first walked in,
that same record began to play
like a hated old friend,
pure cause and effect

his cigarette gave up its last breath,
with a final deep sigh
curls of smoke twirled around her face,
caressing her hair and closing her eyes
she was quick to light a match,
briefly revealing his look of indifference
but she was too busy controlling fire to notice,
bringing relief to his breath again through the red glow
he ordered her a drink, and another for himself,
then ran his hand up and through his hair
tousling it out of his eyes,
triggering another leg cross
eyes locking but less focused now,
the beat changed as someone fed the box in the corner
prices unchanged, like the selections,
but it still fit them both
their hands joined,
as they left together

piano lessons

The Writer’s Studio, Level I - Assignment #7 April 21, 2008

Preamble: 3rd person narrator, revealing how the character feels. Tone is direct, mood is uneasy. A time in childhood when the world felt different, changed. An event that didn’t directly happen to the character. Focus on what the character felt and did around the event.

Green

Years and ages can be hard to remember for a youngster. He was probably in 6th grade. Perhaps 7th. The first lifetime. There was no routine to settle into. Things had always been as they were. With the unexpected always around the corner. Priscilla was a good 25 years older than Wayne. But sometimes they were the same age. And when they were, it was either for a great game of imagination, or, depending on the winds, she became the
younger sister. He took piano lessons. But never learned to read sheet music. So Pris would teach him the piece and he would memorize each note. She was an excellent pianist you see. He would then pretend to be reading it while performing for his teacher. It worked well. Six years well. There were several weekly rituals but this was the most tiresome. Last minute homework was a close second however. But he was good at that too. Just like Pris was in her day.

The older children were out of the house by now. That is, all but Pris, the oldest. Wayne grew up with Pris. He knew her well. At least her symptoms. When you are born thinking the sky is green you never consider otherwise. All was well in his house with his mom and dad. And Pris. Under that big beautiful green sky. Her favorite color. Almost in the blink of an eye she would be in need. And he would be right there. On her lap. Able to cheer her up. Tell her those thoughts were false. To snap her out of it. And it would work. He would work. Wonders. He always could. She gave him that power. Like the magic coffee he would make for her.

When they could no longer handle her she had to move away. A sadness filled the house. Wayne’s sadness mixing in with that of his parents. His playmate gone. The cigarette smoke cleared. A strange and unexplainable heaviness was lifted. The end of piano lessons.

Steel Steal

The Writer’s Studio, Level I - Assignment #6 April 14, 2008

Preamble: 3rd person narrator, subtly revealing, non-human character. Approach with sympathy, humor and affection to reveal humanness. Removed or non-fiction style.

Steel Steal

They sit there, all in a row
polished to brilliance each day
sharp edges boast of precision
handles sure and swift
cold but quickly warming
they wait, singly purposed

in blessed hands
they open us up with a silent tenderness
whispers of hope emanate
from a place of steely strength
firmly plunging our depths
to seek and separate offense
bringing a second chance
to go and do likewise

held against their grooves
they thrust and dash
blind to their own careless precision
fracturing magnificence
moving with agility
yet dancing in sorrow
to steal what is most coveted
bringing a final irreversibility

work completed
only to slide once again into anonymity

Solution #4

The Writer’s Studio, Level I - Assignment #5 April 7, 2008

Preamble: 1st person narrator, expansive, fun, outlandish. Eccentric, unreliable narrator, revealing himself.

Solution #4

While finishing my second bottle of wine it dawned on me. In fact the idea is so perfect I have decided to document this moment in history with a permanent record. I will record my very thoughts as I conceive them because I am so sure it will work out that our children (and you) will get a kick out of reading this account. I understand it appears we have little in common. And that we gave it our best. At least that is what you said. But in reality… no, scratch that. In conclusion …no. For starters, we have music. Yes I have never heard of half the groups you like, but you have never heard of the ones I like either. So that is already something we have in common. But more importantly, there is our most basic need. We do it 3 times a day, sometimes more, sometimes less. It is what we dream of when we don’t get enough. And sometimes take drastic measures when we get too much. Food - the very sustenance of all life. As you know, I appreciate food in all its glory. There is nothing I won’t eat. For food I will travel to the farthest restaurant, wait in the longest line, and brave any neighborhood. There is no cut of any beast I will not eat. And you are vegan.

I love how you care about animals. I love them too and not just for the good eating. In fact, my sister had a bird once. So here’s the deal. Since we are absolutely made for each other I have figured out how we can meet each other in our food. The solution is so apparent I don’t understand why it hasn’t been discovered sooner. You don’t want animals killed for our food. And I do. Behold. Now we can both be satisfied. Picture this. Pastures filled with cows. Happy cows. Not that California cheese crap but really happy cows. They hear the sound of waterfalls echoing through the hills. Cows sipping water from pools around those falls. Sharing the waters edge with flocks of birds and other lovely creatures. Nutritious, body building feed mixed with natural, organic painkillers to put them in a state of constant bliss. No barbed fences but instead bounded by natural boarders. Rolling grass filled hills as far as the eyes can see. A lone building in the distance, fashioned into the hills with an award winning, ecologically green design. Then, and not following any timetable, each cow is led by hand into that triangular building. Each cow, when they are ready. There are no barking dogs, just one caretaker, gently walking her in. Once inside she is greeted with calm music. The floors are clean. A line of cows entering on one side. A line of trucks leaving the other side. And on that third side, a line of cows exiting. Those same cows! We will hire the best surgeons. Yes, there are meat cuts that we cannot provide but many will be available - chuck, sirloin, and many others. Our costs will be higher of course but I think you will agree it will be worth it.

Spots

Spots (The Writers Studio, Level I, assignment #4) March 31, 2008

Preamble - first person narrator also working as third, reveal the narrator. Intimate actions.

We grew fainter with each stroke of your hand
at a celebration of new beginnings
we twirled and laughed,
amidst tables of friends, old and new
not so secretly hoping for our own celebration
gazing and smiling and making plans

then, that spot
that single spot
landing on her dress,
that damn drop
one red drop, meant to satisfy the lips
a careless neighbor’s lips
missed
that new dress, beautiful dress, perfect dress
and one little drop
naturally blending in but a deafening cry of imperfection

so she rubbed, and blotted, and scrubbed
club soda from fearful waiters
more and more of her focused on that spot
drawing stares and loosing those around her
removing the imperfection so she could be once again
to scream again everything is all right

rubbing harder wouldn’t remove the spots on her soul
but she didn’t know it
it won’t heal the deepest spots, the ones she didn’t put there
but she knew no other choice
when touched just right our spots drip red
a verification of being alive
and a reminder of the work before us
but the rubbing never stopped,
the spots grew stronger and watched us die
spots are a funny thing
don’t you know by now?
before you can accept mine, you first have to accept yours

dream

dream (The Writers Studio, Level I, assignment 2) March 17, 2008

Preamble: 1st person, happy moment in time, no judgment, exaggeration, risk being sentimental

my universe was barely bigger than my arms
but further than my eyes could see
it was quiet as a naptime slumber
yet roared with dreams uncontained
my universe smelled of paper and glue, and it was good

eyes closed and nestled within our sleep sacks
the floor under our desks was covered with jittery rectangles
filling the room with silent giggles and whispers
a joyous praise rising in the air
growing louder and louder
until we arose like light activated coiled springs

we smiled freely with unbroken hearts and splintered teeth
teeth. A second set far off in the wings,
waiting to cover the innocent follies of the first
we should have had second hearts. Or a third, or fifth
but pinning up vermillion and yellow-green masterpieces
all is well when you’ve just begun to dream

Birkin

Birkin (The Writers Studio, Level I, assignment 1) March 10, 2008

Preamble: 1st person, light subject, jumping into the story, absurd, funny (sorry this is lame)

Salt water seeped down my throat and burned my eyes. With each breath I’d take some in. And each exhale I would cough some out. At times I thought my arms had fallen off. I couldn’t feel them. Their motions were burned in and automatic. As my head went under for what seemed like the last time, there you were. Great big beautiful you. My massive sturdy savior. Steady like a rock as I bobbed around you. I can’t describe my relief as you reached in and pulled me out. But it changed the rhythm of the few beats left in my heart. And the water. I can take cold. My body can handle it. But water? As far as I’m concerned that is for drinking and nothing else.

My brown body has walked that ledge a thousand times. I must have slipped.
Probably even bumped my head on the way down. After you pulled me out you toweled my limp body like a child. Yes I was comforted. Yes I fought you. But I was panicked! I could have drowned!

And where is my friend? He was with me when I fell in. Did you find him? He needs to be saved and toweled off too. I need to find him. Please. He has to be there. Don’t you even know? I need him. Look around. Please. Please! I am not leaving till I find him! Oh wait. I left him in the living room. Forget it.

So tell me, does this cold and wet body look like it can swim? I love you but next time you take a bath please ignore my purrs and keep me away from the tub will ya?