This prompt strikes me as more than just a little ironic, given that I have spent the last couple of hours trying to figure out financial aid information for my daughter who will be heading off to college in the fall. Right this minute, it doesn't feel like there is much in life that is free. We'll see where the prompt (once again from Lisa Romeo) takes me.
Prompt: Free
Ezra escaped today. Ever since he started walking, he has turned into a regular Houdini. Trying to change his diaper is like trying to do a Rubic's cube with your hands tied behind your back. He is just so wiggly! I won't even try to change him on the changing table or bed, for fear he'll land right on his head.
So this morning I spread the changing pad on the floor and managed to wrestle him flat. With my forearm pinning down his chest, I managed to remove his dirty diaper and clean him up reasonably well with one hand until he twisted away, jumped up and ran around the room laughing … at me! My beautiful baby boy was pointing and laughing at me.
I struggled to my feet, then slipped on the changing pad and landed flat on my butt, which set Ezra into a fit of giggles. He started running around in circles saying: "Boom … damn! Boom … damn!" For the first time since he was born, I was furious. Just furious. My tailbone was killing me, I let out a epithet when I fell and now this little traitor was going to rat me out. Unbelievable. I thought we were a team.
At this point, I turned into a crazy woman, chasing him around the room and barking orders like a drill sergeant: "Ezra Michael Stern, you come here right this minute. I mean it now. Stop running and come here. If you don't come here right now …"
I have absolutely no idea how that threat would have ended, because before I could finish it, my socks slid on our newly buffed hardwood floor and I fell — again — this time doing the splits before rolling out of them in complete agony.
I pulled myself to a sitting position, trying to determine whether anything was broken, besides my spirit. This little one-year-old alien monster had brought me to my knees in less than 8 minutes after waking from his morning nap. I burst into tears. If I couldn't handle him as a toddler, what on earth was I going to do when he was a teenager and bigger and stronger than me? I rolled back onto my side in the fetal position and wept.
I was in such a state of self pity that it didn't even occur to me that the baby might have gotten into real trouble. Suddenly, if felt his wet, sloppy lips on my forehead and opened my eyes to see his worried face pressed close to mine. "OK Mama? Awbetter Mama?"
I sat up, wiped my eyes and gave him a wobbly smile. "All better, Ezzy-man."
"Good," he said with a grin. "Get up!" Then he giggled and started running in circles around me, still naked, his arms flapping and his little penis bobbing as he chanted: "Get up, get up, get up!"
This time my smile was genuine. But I wonder, will I ever feel that free again?
Time: 12 minutes
I don't know a mom in the world who hasn't been brought to her knees by an infant or toddler. It's a completely overwhelming feeling. For me, the first time it dawned on my that my freedom was gone was when my twins were napping and I realized that I couldn't even walk the block and a half to White Hen. It's good to be able to tap into those feelings at such a primal, visceral level. Sort of like method acting. Using this scene in a kind of "method writing", I could help my character feel trapped, stuck, completely not free … a common obstacle to throw in the path of your hero.
Showing posts with label dialogue. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dialogue. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Day #20 — Just a Little Something …
Today is my 20th straight day of free writing to a prompt. That's more discipline than I've shown … well, ever. I'll see how long I can keep up the streak. Maybe I should find some lucky socks or something and wear them every day until the streak is broken. Today's prompt is one of the few remaining in Lisa Romeo's month of writing prompts. Your job — see if you can guess which parts are true and which are pure fiction.
Prompt: Just a Little Something to Take the Edge Off
"Are you going to the pool today?" Allie asked me at 6:45 in the morning, in what would be one of at least 10 calls for the day. We don't even bother with salutations anymore.
"Not now," I said. "Remember, it's Wednesday. Swim team day. The pool doesn't open until 1:30."
"Shit, that means I have to entertain the little darlings all morning. Any ideas?"
"Sorry, we're going to the dentist."
"All of you?"
"Yep — he's blocked out the whole morning for us. Then Cassie has gymnastics, so we won't be ready for the pool until at least 1:30 anyway."
"Be there at 1:30. And us bring a little something."
"What do you want?"
"You know, just a little something to take the edge off. I'm going to need it."
Two hours, five cleanings and $700 dollars later, we were done with the dentist. I dropped Cassie off at the gym and told her I would pick her up on the way to the pool.
"Bring my pink bikini — not the hot pink one, the other one with the butterflies," she ordered.
Generally speaking, I'm not the world's most organized mom, but after 10 years, I've got the whole pool thing down to a science. The mesh boating bag is packed with sunscreen, goggles, a few pool toys and Max's epi pen. Even at the pool somebody might have nuts. I keep the pool passes in a little zipper pocket on the outside of the bag. Woe to the child who fails to return his or her pass to the pocket.
We have a perfect size cooler that is unpacked immediately on returning home from the pool. The ice pack is returned to the freezer, the big zip lock bag is refilled with gold fish or pretzels, and the water bottles are rinsed. There's no glass allowed at the pool, but plastic bottles are fine. Sometimes I pack some grapes or cherries. I'm always astounded at how hungry everyone is after they cool off in the pool.
I was closing up the cooler when I remembered Allie's request. What on earth did she want? Chocolate? No, she's the only woman on earth who doesn't have a chocolate monkey on her back. Oooh, I know. I opened the cupboard with the water bottles and pulled out the only two left — red and blue teddie bears with flip tops. I forced a couple of ice cubes through the small openings and filled the sippy bottles with premade margarita mix. Smiling a guilty little smile, I stuck them into the cooler and headed for the pool.
Allie looked at me like I had lost my mind when I handed her the blue bear-shaped bottle. Then her eyes widened and she took a sip.
"That's it," she said. "I'm dumping Tom and eloping with you to Vegas."
Time: 13 minutes
So, can you figure it out? I like this scene. It could be exaggerated to be really funny.
Prompt: Just a Little Something to Take the Edge Off
"Are you going to the pool today?" Allie asked me at 6:45 in the morning, in what would be one of at least 10 calls for the day. We don't even bother with salutations anymore.
"Not now," I said. "Remember, it's Wednesday. Swim team day. The pool doesn't open until 1:30."
"Shit, that means I have to entertain the little darlings all morning. Any ideas?"
"Sorry, we're going to the dentist."
"All of you?"
"Yep — he's blocked out the whole morning for us. Then Cassie has gymnastics, so we won't be ready for the pool until at least 1:30 anyway."
"Be there at 1:30. And us bring a little something."
"What do you want?"
"You know, just a little something to take the edge off. I'm going to need it."
Two hours, five cleanings and $700 dollars later, we were done with the dentist. I dropped Cassie off at the gym and told her I would pick her up on the way to the pool.
"Bring my pink bikini — not the hot pink one, the other one with the butterflies," she ordered.
Generally speaking, I'm not the world's most organized mom, but after 10 years, I've got the whole pool thing down to a science. The mesh boating bag is packed with sunscreen, goggles, a few pool toys and Max's epi pen. Even at the pool somebody might have nuts. I keep the pool passes in a little zipper pocket on the outside of the bag. Woe to the child who fails to return his or her pass to the pocket.
We have a perfect size cooler that is unpacked immediately on returning home from the pool. The ice pack is returned to the freezer, the big zip lock bag is refilled with gold fish or pretzels, and the water bottles are rinsed. There's no glass allowed at the pool, but plastic bottles are fine. Sometimes I pack some grapes or cherries. I'm always astounded at how hungry everyone is after they cool off in the pool.
I was closing up the cooler when I remembered Allie's request. What on earth did she want? Chocolate? No, she's the only woman on earth who doesn't have a chocolate monkey on her back. Oooh, I know. I opened the cupboard with the water bottles and pulled out the only two left — red and blue teddie bears with flip tops. I forced a couple of ice cubes through the small openings and filled the sippy bottles with premade margarita mix. Smiling a guilty little smile, I stuck them into the cooler and headed for the pool.
Allie looked at me like I had lost my mind when I handed her the blue bear-shaped bottle. Then her eyes widened and she took a sip.
"That's it," she said. "I'm dumping Tom and eloping with you to Vegas."
Time: 13 minutes
So, can you figure it out? I like this scene. It could be exaggerated to be really funny.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Day #11 — I've Never Been Speechless a Day in My Life
As you can see from the title of this post, anything I write here will be pure fiction. According to family lore, I started speaking when I was so young, people thought my mother was lying about my age. So here's the story, prompted by Lisa Romeo:
Prompt: Speechless
Speechless. I was completely and totally speechless. Sure, I've imagined winning something like this ever since I first put fingers to keyboard with the idea for my novel, but when the call came, I was speechless.
And not in a charming, humble kind of way. I was speechless a way that had my agent banging his receiver on his desk (or whatever, I assume it was his desk) and shouting my name into the phone. "Are you OK? Should I hang up and call 9-1-1."
Then I started to cry. Not cute, endearing tears of humility. I was doing the ugly cry, complete with puffy red eyes and lots of snot. Thank God video phones have not caught on yet. I do not want people to see what I look like when I'm talking on the phone. If I wanted them to see me, I would meet them in person. No picture is one of the best features of a telephone.
"Oh, for God's sake, this is good news," Michael said.
"I know, I know," I finally stammered. "I just can't help it. You caught me off guard. Who would have thought after 437 rejections …" I hiccoughed and went back to speechless.
"Well, you should have come to me first," said Michael. "I told you your book was brilliant. I knew it in the first 30 seconds. You're brilliant, and now you are a brilliant, award-winning author. The ceremony will be in New York next month. Get this. They are paying for your plane ticket and your hotel. You have to come on Thursday, because there will all kinds of press events before the dinner on Saturday night. I heard John Irving is giving the keynote, and your speech will come right after dinner.
Speech? How can I possibly give a speech? I can't even talk to Michael on the phone. All of a sudden, I hang up. And then I crack up. I'm laughing so hard that now I'm crying again. The dog is whining and my son wants to know if he should call 9-1-1.
Time: 10 minutes
So, I can dream, can't I? How sad is it that even in my dreams I'm not lovely and charming and eloquent? You would think if I'm going to muster up a fantasy, I should be able to make myself witty and skinny. Clearly, this fantasy needs some rewriting.
Prompt: Speechless
Speechless. I was completely and totally speechless. Sure, I've imagined winning something like this ever since I first put fingers to keyboard with the idea for my novel, but when the call came, I was speechless.
And not in a charming, humble kind of way. I was speechless a way that had my agent banging his receiver on his desk (or whatever, I assume it was his desk) and shouting my name into the phone. "Are you OK? Should I hang up and call 9-1-1."
Then I started to cry. Not cute, endearing tears of humility. I was doing the ugly cry, complete with puffy red eyes and lots of snot. Thank God video phones have not caught on yet. I do not want people to see what I look like when I'm talking on the phone. If I wanted them to see me, I would meet them in person. No picture is one of the best features of a telephone.
"Oh, for God's sake, this is good news," Michael said.
"I know, I know," I finally stammered. "I just can't help it. You caught me off guard. Who would have thought after 437 rejections …" I hiccoughed and went back to speechless.
"Well, you should have come to me first," said Michael. "I told you your book was brilliant. I knew it in the first 30 seconds. You're brilliant, and now you are a brilliant, award-winning author. The ceremony will be in New York next month. Get this. They are paying for your plane ticket and your hotel. You have to come on Thursday, because there will all kinds of press events before the dinner on Saturday night. I heard John Irving is giving the keynote, and your speech will come right after dinner.
Speech? How can I possibly give a speech? I can't even talk to Michael on the phone. All of a sudden, I hang up. And then I crack up. I'm laughing so hard that now I'm crying again. The dog is whining and my son wants to know if he should call 9-1-1.
Time: 10 minutes
So, I can dream, can't I? How sad is it that even in my dreams I'm not lovely and charming and eloquent? You would think if I'm going to muster up a fantasy, I should be able to make myself witty and skinny. Clearly, this fantasy needs some rewriting.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Bedazzled — Day 6
Today is day six of the Lisa Romeo prompts: Bedazzled. I will ignore my immediate impulse to do a riff on that machine that adds sparkles to your jean jackets. Will not go there. Where then? Let's see.
Prompt: Bedazzled
"Oh. My. God." they mouthed to each other after Sara pulled the curtain closed. Behind it was one Matthew M. Constant, by far the cutest patient who had found his way into their ER in … well, a very long time.
"Did you see those pecs?" Sara asked when they got back to the station. She'd been the one to cut off his shirt so they could get a clear look at his wound. "He must work out incessantly."
"Who does?" asked Danny, their favorite moonlighter from U Hospital.
"Curtain 3," said Diana, a third year resident. "I'm all about the arms. He has great arms. And beautiful eyes. My God, it looked like he was wearing eyeliner."
"What's wrong with him?" asked Danny.
"Nothing," the women sighed together, then giggled and gave their report.
"Car accident," said Diana. "He wasn't actually in the accident. An SUV flipped over and he played hero, climbing in through the broken back window to rescue a toddler from her car seat. He scraped his side pretty good on something that was sticking out from the mangled roof. I need to see how deep the wound is before we clean it out and stitch him up. Probably needs a Tetanus booster, too."
"A Greek God and a hero," said Danny. "Sounds like just my type."
"Uh, hands off, buddy boy, we saw him first," said Sara, doing a fast walk past Danny back to the patient. Danny grabbed the chart and gave the hero a once over before turning his back and mouthing another "Oh, my God!" to Sara.
"Told ya," she said.
Time: 10 minutes
OK, it sounds a bit like a bad episode of Grey's Anatomy. But I can see this guy. Really white teeth. Not complaining about the pain. The nurses I know live for this kind of patient. I wonder what's really wrong with him. Will he die in this episode? Stay tuned.
Prompt: Bedazzled
"Oh. My. God." they mouthed to each other after Sara pulled the curtain closed. Behind it was one Matthew M. Constant, by far the cutest patient who had found his way into their ER in … well, a very long time.
"Did you see those pecs?" Sara asked when they got back to the station. She'd been the one to cut off his shirt so they could get a clear look at his wound. "He must work out incessantly."
"Who does?" asked Danny, their favorite moonlighter from U Hospital.
"Curtain 3," said Diana, a third year resident. "I'm all about the arms. He has great arms. And beautiful eyes. My God, it looked like he was wearing eyeliner."
"What's wrong with him?" asked Danny.
"Nothing," the women sighed together, then giggled and gave their report.
"Car accident," said Diana. "He wasn't actually in the accident. An SUV flipped over and he played hero, climbing in through the broken back window to rescue a toddler from her car seat. He scraped his side pretty good on something that was sticking out from the mangled roof. I need to see how deep the wound is before we clean it out and stitch him up. Probably needs a Tetanus booster, too."
"A Greek God and a hero," said Danny. "Sounds like just my type."
"Uh, hands off, buddy boy, we saw him first," said Sara, doing a fast walk past Danny back to the patient. Danny grabbed the chart and gave the hero a once over before turning his back and mouthing another "Oh, my God!" to Sara.
"Told ya," she said.
Time: 10 minutes
OK, it sounds a bit like a bad episode of Grey's Anatomy. But I can see this guy. Really white teeth. Not complaining about the pain. The nurses I know live for this kind of patient. I wonder what's really wrong with him. Will he die in this episode? Stay tuned.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Take One — Day #5
This is day five of the Lisa Romeo emailed prompts (you can still sign up to get her writing prompt in your inbox; just click here). I've been very busy putting up my new freelancing Website , but I'm not going to break my resolution of 10 minutes of free writing every day. Starting now.
Prompt: Take One
Do you ever feel like your life is a movie? Lately, mine feels like a b-movie script on a straight to video project.
Scene 49, Take 1
Drama at home. Drama at work. So much drama, I keep waiting for the reviews to come out in the New York Times, but here's the problem. I am not the star. I am not the drama queen. I seem to be nothing but a bit player in my Lifetime Movie of the Week.
For example, yesterday Dick lowered the boom on David and Richard's project. (Don't you just love that I have a boss named Dick?) No one was surprised, but the overacting from the two main characters brought eye rolls from the audience. "But, Di-ck," whined Richard. "We've been working on this project for just ages. Why now?"
Cut to Dick. "Because, Richard, I am not flushing one more solitary penny down this stink hole of a merger or collaboration or whatever it was. You have spent more time, more dollars and more of my office supplies on this turd that I care to think about. Done and done."
So, fine. Done and done. Cut to the staff meeting 20 minutes later, when I had to present the monthly figures on my own little project. Modest project, little income so far, but income nonetheless. And the profit is coming. It was all there in black and white, and I was going to be the star of my own little Powerpoint showing just what we can expect. But, nooo. Back to the David and Richard show we go. Dick spent the entire staff meeting on toilet analogies about their done-and-done project, and my Powerpoint was put on the back burner.
"Just email it to me," Dick said as he left the meeting five minutes early. He had plans with D&R for lunch. He buys the potty boys lunch, but wants me to "just email" him about a month's worth of my work. Flush that.
Time: 10 minutes this time
What I've noticed about this free writing thing is that 10 minutes seems to be about the time it takes to write a scene. The characters pop pretty vividly into my mind and the scene unfolds. Interesting though they are on their own, I'm still struggling with the why of this kind of writing. Who are these people and why should I be writing about them? Will this really help me with my "real" writing. I'm already pretty fast. I can follow a scene down it's path. What does this free writing project bring to my palette? Should I be trying to tie these together? That doesn't seem right. Hmmm. More to ponder.
Hey, take a minute and check out the new Website .
Prompt: Take One
Do you ever feel like your life is a movie? Lately, mine feels like a b-movie script on a straight to video project.
Scene 49, Take 1
Drama at home. Drama at work. So much drama, I keep waiting for the reviews to come out in the New York Times, but here's the problem. I am not the star. I am not the drama queen. I seem to be nothing but a bit player in my Lifetime Movie of the Week.
For example, yesterday Dick lowered the boom on David and Richard's project. (Don't you just love that I have a boss named Dick?) No one was surprised, but the overacting from the two main characters brought eye rolls from the audience. "But, Di-ck," whined Richard. "We've been working on this project for just ages. Why now?"
Cut to Dick. "Because, Richard, I am not flushing one more solitary penny down this stink hole of a merger or collaboration or whatever it was. You have spent more time, more dollars and more of my office supplies on this turd that I care to think about. Done and done."
So, fine. Done and done. Cut to the staff meeting 20 minutes later, when I had to present the monthly figures on my own little project. Modest project, little income so far, but income nonetheless. And the profit is coming. It was all there in black and white, and I was going to be the star of my own little Powerpoint showing just what we can expect. But, nooo. Back to the David and Richard show we go. Dick spent the entire staff meeting on toilet analogies about their done-and-done project, and my Powerpoint was put on the back burner.
"Just email it to me," Dick said as he left the meeting five minutes early. He had plans with D&R for lunch. He buys the potty boys lunch, but wants me to "just email" him about a month's worth of my work. Flush that.
Time: 10 minutes this time
What I've noticed about this free writing thing is that 10 minutes seems to be about the time it takes to write a scene. The characters pop pretty vividly into my mind and the scene unfolds. Interesting though they are on their own, I'm still struggling with the why of this kind of writing. Who are these people and why should I be writing about them? Will this really help me with my "real" writing. I'm already pretty fast. I can follow a scene down it's path. What does this free writing project bring to my palette? Should I be trying to tie these together? That doesn't seem right. Hmmm. More to ponder.
Hey, take a minute and check out the new Website .
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Cramping Up on Cramped
Day 2. Today's prompt from Lisa Romeo is "Cramped." Maybe I was just up too late writing last night, but nothing immediately comes to mind, so I'll try a little free association. Setting the 10-minute timer now. Go.
Prompt: Cramped
Cramped, cramping, cramps. Menstrual.
Cramped, tight, claustrophobic.
Cramped, clamped, champed, camped.
Cramped, crimped, crumpled.
I hate sitting in the middle. Pauly always gets the window seat behind mom. Danny always get the window seat on the other side. And I'm always smushed in the middle. No fair.
"I did not elbow him in the ribs. His ribs hit me in the elbow."
"I am not on his side. I'm in the middle. I want a side."
"I call the window on the way home."
"What if I have to throw up. I can't even reach the window. Don't blame me if I puke in Pauly's lap."
"Mom, Danny's making gagging noises trying to get me to puke in Pauly's lap."
When I grow up, I'm getting a car with no middle seats. And I'm only having two boys. And everybody will get a window.
When I grow up, I won't let my bigger kids push the littlest one around and always take the best stuff and the best spot.
When I grow up, I will never, ever blame the kid in the middle just because he has no room and everybody is always blaming him for stuff he didn't do.
I wonder what it's like to be the oldest. I bet it's great. Pauly thinks it's great. "Little baby Andy-pants, doesn't sing and doesn't dance." I hate older brothers.
And middle brothers. They're just as bad. Pauly bugs Danny, so Danny bugs me. Maybe Mom will have another baby so I have somebody to bug. Maybe I should ask for a little brother for my birthday. Maybe then we could get a bigger car and I wouldn't have to sit in the middle. Stuck. Smushed. Cramped in the middle. I bet Batman never had to sit in the middle. I bet Batman doesn't have any big brothers, either.
Stop. 10 minutes.
Hmm. Kid dialogue seems to come easy, but cramped isn't a kid word. It is a kid feeling, though. Kids feel everything so intensely — every slight, every pain and itch and loose tooth. I have to remember that when I revise my Ian manuscript.
Prompt: Cramped
Cramped, cramping, cramps. Menstrual.
Cramped, tight, claustrophobic.
Cramped, clamped, champed, camped.
Cramped, crimped, crumpled.
I hate sitting in the middle. Pauly always gets the window seat behind mom. Danny always get the window seat on the other side. And I'm always smushed in the middle. No fair.
"I did not elbow him in the ribs. His ribs hit me in the elbow."
"I am not on his side. I'm in the middle. I want a side."
"I call the window on the way home."
"What if I have to throw up. I can't even reach the window. Don't blame me if I puke in Pauly's lap."
"Mom, Danny's making gagging noises trying to get me to puke in Pauly's lap."
When I grow up, I'm getting a car with no middle seats. And I'm only having two boys. And everybody will get a window.
When I grow up, I won't let my bigger kids push the littlest one around and always take the best stuff and the best spot.
When I grow up, I will never, ever blame the kid in the middle just because he has no room and everybody is always blaming him for stuff he didn't do.
I wonder what it's like to be the oldest. I bet it's great. Pauly thinks it's great. "Little baby Andy-pants, doesn't sing and doesn't dance." I hate older brothers.
And middle brothers. They're just as bad. Pauly bugs Danny, so Danny bugs me. Maybe Mom will have another baby so I have somebody to bug. Maybe I should ask for a little brother for my birthday. Maybe then we could get a bigger car and I wouldn't have to sit in the middle. Stuck. Smushed. Cramped in the middle. I bet Batman never had to sit in the middle. I bet Batman doesn't have any big brothers, either.
Stop. 10 minutes.
Hmm. Kid dialogue seems to come easy, but cramped isn't a kid word. It is a kid feeling, though. Kids feel everything so intensely — every slight, every pain and itch and loose tooth. I have to remember that when I revise my Ian manuscript.
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