Oh god! Where the hell is she?
I sat in the lobby of the Worthington University Library for a half hour waiting on this heavy-set gal in my British Literature class to show up. She worked at the circulation desk until three on Friday afternoons. She should've met me by now. I needed to give her the rough draft of her research paper because our final drafts were due Monday. We did a one-on-one workshop in class the Friday before on our drafts and I had recently finished looking it over.
I fidgeted in my chair with a scowl on my face. I wanted to forget about the email I received earlier that Friday morning from the editor-in-chief at The Dallas Review of Prose and Poetry, "We are sorry to inform that you do not meet the requirements for the assistant editor position at our fine journal. Thanks for applying."
It's a shame. I was really looking forward to reading different short story submissions from around the world. Two weeks until graduation and I don't have a job lined up. This awful recession has reduced the number of openings for college grads like me.
Since my British Lit partner wasn't there yet, I texted Paul to ask him what time we were playing football. He'd been an intern for Campus Crusaders for the last year and a half. I'd been a member of this laid-back Christian group ever since Paul's arrival. One of my good friends invited me to the organization's Wednesday night large group meetings last fall and Paul's charisma made it worth joining.
Paul was tall and athletic and encouraged the guys to play football every Friday afternoon. We normally played at four, but lately Paul pushed the game up to three-thirty since the days had gotten shorter. After I texted him, I noticed my workshop partner still hadn't shown up. Okay, time to go look for her.
I walked over to the circulation desk, covered with miniature multi-colored Christmas lights twisted through evergreen branches. I needed to find out if my partner was still up there. I noticed an old lady with round spectacles was helping a dark-haired girl, but there wasn't any sign of my partner. Okay, then. I'll get on one of the computers over in the lab and check my email. This will be a better use of my time. What else am I gonna do besides wait around out in the cold for people to show up for football?
I found an open PC to my right on the first long table I passed. As I logged into the computer, Paul texted me back, saying, "Football at 3:30. Come bring it!"
Oh god! I'm running late.
I gave a hard left-click on the mouse and logged off. I snatched my navy blue Nike gym bag underneath the table and started heading out. As I was getting ready to leave the lab, I realized that I was missing something. I'd left my blue beanie and thick, dark Columbia gloves next to the computer. Dammit! Now I've gotta go back and get my beanie and gloves. From now on, I'm gonna leave them in my backpack or gym bag when I'm inside.
After I went back to grab my beanie and gloves, I looked towards the circulation desk one last time to see if my literature partner was there. I still couldn't find her. Dammit! Did she miss her shift? Boy, is she in trouble now? It happens to the best of us.
While all of this processed through my head, I saw my friend Christina, who took over my elusive partner's shift on Friday afternoons. Christina and I knew each other since our freshman year of high school, and she liked what Worthington offered as much as I did. Her straight, dark hair and blue eyes made her attractive, which was why she received plenty of long stares from the guys on campus. We could've dated all these years, but we didn't want to ruin our friendship. Anyhow, Christina smiled at me as she was getting ready to load books onto the cart, but I barely acknowledged her as I stormed past her. Her smile turned into a stunned look. Oh god! Did I just scowl at her? She's gonna wonder why I'm angry, but I don't have time to explain. It's okay. I'll explain it to her later. I just need to play football and not think about my problems.
When I walked out into the cloudy, thirty-degree weather, I debated whether I should text Paul back to tell him that I was running late. Nah, I'm not gonna worry about it. He should realize that I'm already on my way over.
As I walked across University Drive, I noticed this blond-hair girl wearing a dark jacket and a gray, black striped skirt running right by me barefoot. At least she had opaque tights on to cover her tiny feet. But still, she was crazy to be doing this in the frigid Texas weather. I guess those black pumps she's carrying in her right hand were hurting her feet.
Like me, she panicked and yelled out, "Oh my god! I'm not gonna make it."
I guess she was supposed to meet somebody or be somewhere and lost track of time. That gal made me want to run the rest of the way to the intramural fields. At least I had my Asics 2140 running shoes. This would save me some time.
Asics running gloves. I ran up until I got to the intersection of Stadium and Park Place, which was busy with only a four way stop. Worse yet, I had to put up with rush hour traffic. Dammit! I was making up some time. Oh good! The guy to my left in the silver Pathfinder is letting me cross.
I gave him a thank-you wave as I ran across the intersection. Okay, I'm almost there. I just need to get past the Greek dormitories and jog down the small flight of stairs and I'll be there.
Despite everything I went through that Friday, I arrived at the intramural fields at a quarter 'til four. The fields were still damp with some small patches of snow off to the side. I noticed that there was only one football game going on. Dammit! They started without me. I missed our pregame prayer. But, I probably haven't missed much else.
"Where have you been? The Deltas have already scored a touchdown and we've been waiting for a sixth man to show up so we could equal the number they have," Paul yelled out at me as I placed my Nike bag next to the metal fence.
No you haven't! You went ahead without me. God, I can't believe you're only in short sleeves and shorts. You're no different than this gal I just saw running around barefoot. It makes me cold just looking at you two. I actually didn't reply back to Paul. I was pretty much quiet the whole time I was out there. Not getting the internship and then my literature partner not showing up had put me in a foul mood. The only time I said anything was when Paul chased down the Deltas' quarterback, Jason, who wore a dark green Michael Vick Eagles jersey in Dallas Cowboy country. Paul shouted out as Jason ran out of bounds, "He kills dogs!"
"Okay, Paul. We get it," I reminded him with a smile before Jason was able to hear his comment.
I didn't say anything else. On the next play, I got aggressive for a game of touch football. Jason hikes the ball. Randy, the tight end, runs a short slant across the middle. Jason passes it to him. I'm coming to bring the pain. Randy catches the pass. He is hit immediately and goes flying into the air. Fortunately, there aren't any refs out here to throw a flag for unnecessary roughness.
Randy lifted his big, muscular body up from the wet grass and got into my face, "Dude! What the hell's your problem? You could've broken my back. It's not tackle football."
I wasn't in the mood to fight back and instead walked away from the game. Randy yelled out, "Where do you think you're going? You can't just quit in the middle of a game. Come back here!"
Paul ran up and encouraged me, "Just ignore Randy. He's a jerk. It's about time somebody took him down like you did. In the three semesters I've been here, you play the best defense out of our entire organization, and we need to see more of that in order to beat these guys."
"I wish I could stay and finish the game, but I just realized I've gotta meet someone at the library," I gave him an excuse. I needed to find a way to take myself out of the game so that I didn't have to deal with Randy. Lying to Paul was the best solution I could come up with.
I made a break for it and ran across the windy field. As I was leaving the fields, I realized something. I could email my workshop partner and set up a meeting time over the weekend to return her draft. Even though she lives off campus, she's gonna need to work on her revisions at some point. The town's not that big. It shouldn't take her that long to get here from her apartment. Why didn't I think of this before?
Instead of walking back to my dorm, I decided to return to the library and email my partner. Hey, Christina's gonna be up there for another hour. Maybe I'll run into her and be able to apologize for scowling at her.
I decided not to run over there since I had plenty of time. The sun began to peek out from behind the clouds by the time I walked back across University Drive. I saw that same gal who ran across that street barefoot an hour earlier, except this time she was walking with her dark-haired friend. They seemed to be giggling about girl stuff. But she was still going around without any shoes on. God, she must hate those shoes. I know what she's gonna be wanting for Christmas. At least her friend's wearing black boots. I guess that's who the barefoot gal was in a hurry to meet.
The first thing I did when I returned to the library was walk by the circulation desk. There was no one there. Hmm, maybe Christina's in the quiet section stacking books. Well, I guess I'll go email my British Lit partner.
The PC that I briefly logged onto before I rushed out of there to go play football was still available. I logged in the second time around without any interruptions. In my email to her, I wrote, "Where were you? I spent a half hour in the library lobby waiting for you to get off work. It would be best for you to meet me on campus this weekend to pick up your rough draft. So, when do you want to pick it up and where would you like to meet?"
After I sent the email, I went and looked over at the circulation desk again for Christina. I still didn't see anyone that looked familiar. Well, the only other choice I've got is to go to the quiet section and do some studying. Maybe I'll run into her later.
I walked down until the end of the long, green-carpeted aisle and scanned the area to see if she was in there. Even after glancing down all the rows of where the books were placed in alphabetical order of the authors' last names, I still couldn't find her. I decided to walk back down the aisle. The library was surprisingly packed for a Friday afternoon. I guess because finals are near people are serious about studying.
Luckily, I saw an open table two rows down to my left in the dusty corner. I went over there and pulled up one of the wooden chairs that faced the aisle so I could see if Christina walked by without having to crane my neck.
I spent an hour in the quiet section answering some of the questions related to the study guide of my U.S. Geography final, but most of the time I sat in there doing nothing. Lots of people walked past me, but not Christina. Dammit! I guess she already went back to her apartment for the weekend. I need to call her this evening or I'm gonna be brooding about the scowling incident all weekend.
While I was getting ready to pack away my study materials though, I heard faint footsteps. My heart slowed to a near normal pace. I wonder who this could be. Hopefully, not another stranger. I looked up to see who it was. That time, it wasn't some stranger. It was Christina, and she looked at me with a pleasant smile on her face.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Finding a True Voice
According to Josip Novakovich, it is important to write as you speak. Flannery O'Connor does a good job using Southern dialect in her short story "A Good Man is Hard to Find," especially with the grandmother and The Misfit. The voices in Flannery's story were natural and not forced. As a writer, you should always jot down what a person says that is interesting or funny because you may eventually incorporate it into one of your stories. Novakovich writes, "Analyze writings you find funny. If you persevere, in some of them you'll find an applicable method" (184). When I overhear someone saying something funny, I will usually write down what they say in my journal.
Novakovich states that fictional voice depends on who and what you write about. Find a voice that is closest to yourself like Flannery did. She wrote about the South because that is what she knew and gave us the voice of the Southern people.
Novakovich states that fictional voice depends on who and what you write about. Find a voice that is closest to yourself like Flannery did. She wrote about the South because that is what she knew and gave us the voice of the Southern people.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Living the High Life
Note: This is the first draft of a novel I'm working on. Each chapter is marked by dots.
"I need eight thousand dollars right away," Rick demanded as he talked to Uncle Mark on his iPhone sitting outside at the shiny patio table on a sultry July evening.
"Why?" he replied as he was getting ready to change out of his blue scrubs in the men's locker room at Harris Downtown.
"I need to buy another engagement ring for Nikki. A burglar followed her home from Albertson's earlier this evening. He held her up at gun point when she came back to the house and took all of her jewelry including the engagement ring."
"Under these circumstances, I'll lend you eight thousand dollars. But this is the last time. I can't keep bailing you out every time you need money."
Rick wanted to surprise Nikki for her twenty-fourth birthday with another engagement ring that looked exactly like the gaudy, diamond one that got stolen. He wasn't able to get insurance for the stolen ring and couldn't afford to buy her another one. Rick and Nikki were in debt because they owed payments on their credit cards and still owed money on their student loans. They bought fancy furnishings for the one-story home they rented in the Ridgmar subdivision and traveled to places like San Francisco, Beijing, Tuscany, and Aspen, Colorado. Rick had no choice but to ask Uncle Mark to lend him eight thousand dollars in cash so he could buy her another ring. Even though it had been a month since Rick proposed to Nikki, it almost seemed like it was yesterday. He and Nikki were hiking in the Maroon Bells Wildnerness Area near Aspen. It was a bright sunny morning with no clouds in the sky. They were over twelve thousand feet in elevation by the time they got to West Maroon Pass. The view was magnificient at the pass with the snow-capped peaks in the distance and the green vegetation mixed in with the boulders and winding trail down below. He remarked, "What breathtaking scenery."
These views made Rick want to get down on one knee and propose to Nikki. The cool breeze blew her dark hair to the left side of her face and it made her look even more beautiful than ever. When Rick popped the question, Nikki's face lit up with excitement and she gave him a bear hug. Rick wished that moment had never ended.
After Nikki was robbed, she tearfully reminded Rick, "I still want to have my dream wedding in San Francisco."
Rick looked at Nikki in awe as he consoled her. It had always been Nikki's dream to get married in San Francisco since she grew up there as a little girl and she wasn't going to change her mind despite what had happened. Nikki moved to Fort Worth with her mother after her parents separated when she was ten. Nikki's older sister stayed in San Francisco with their father. This ultimately turned out to be a good thing since he had someone who could look after him when he suffered a stroke two years ago. Nikki had made numerous trips to San Francisco to check up on him. Nikki and Rick had known each other for six years. She previously dated Rick's best friend, Mike during their senior year at Arlington Heights High School. She and Rick had dated ever since their freshman year at Texas Christian University. They acted like a married couple because they had lived together in different rental properties for the past three years.
..................
"God! I can't believe they want to have the wedding in San Francisco. Jenny called me this afternoon at work complaining about it," Mark told his wife the news as he was about to take a bite into the spaghetti and meatballs his wife, Betty cooked.
"Why San Francisco? Why not here in Fort Worth?" Betty replied sitting across from him at their round, wooden dining table.
"Apparently, Nikki's always dreamed of getting married in San Francisco since she has nostalgic memories of growing up there."
"That's true. However, she's lived in Fort Worth much longer."
"Not only that. Most of Rick's family and friends live here."
Mark and Betty continued to eat their dinner without saying anything more. Mark loaned Rick a total of twenty-eight thousand dollars in the last several months. Mark remembered the first time Rick called him up for money on a Friday evening back in March. Mark was getting ready to settle down with a glass of Merlot when he heard his blue, razor-thin Sprint phone go off next to him on the kitchen counter. Luckily, Mark was able to reach his phone before it went into voicemail. When Mark answered the phone, Rick sounded tearful, "Nikki and I are behind on our rent. We didn't realize how difficult it would be to pay our rent. I also need to pay off Nikki's student loans and our credit card debt." He claimed, "Thankfully, the trip that Nikki took to Tuscany was paid by her aunt."
Mark ended up lending Rick ten thousand dollars. Once Mark got off the phone, he informed Betty about Rick's financial situation. She warned him as she sat next to him on the brown-leather sofa with a glass of Merlot in her right hand, "I don't believe Rick's telling you the truth. He told you that most of the trip to Tuscany was paid for by Nikki's aunt, but I think that Rick paid for most of it. He'll do anything to make her happy."
"Believe me. Rick would never lie to me. He's always been an honest person." Mark had loaned money to people before and they were always good about paying him back and he believed Rick would do the same.
Nikki hadn't incured debt until she took a trip to Beijing at Spring Break last year when she was a senior at TCU. As a graduation present a couple months later, she took a trip to Tuscany with her sister and aunt. Rick was actually the one who paid for most of Nikki's trips in the end. That wasn't the only thing he lied about to his uncle. He also bought a gas grill and a flat-screen TV after his uncle gave him the loan. Mark was stunned when his older sister, Rose told him this over the phone a week later. After Mark got off the phone with her, he shared this information with his wife, "I guess I should've listened to you."
"I was warning you Rick was up to no good," Betty told him.
Last month, Rick left a message on Uncle Mark's cell phone again saying, "Nikki and I are still behind on our rent. I'd appreciate it if you could loan me another ten thousand."
Mark lent him another ten thousand after he gave his nephew advice, but Rick didn't always return his calls. Mark told him, "All right, but I can't keep bailing you out every time you need money. You've borrowed twenty thousand dollars from me and four thousand from your Grandma. You've squandered it on trips and things you don't really need. My advice to you would be to trim down on excess spending, move into a house with lower rent, and don't travel as much. This is the last time I'm bailing you out." Rick ignored his uncle's advice and used a portion of the ten thousand dollars to fly to Aspen.
Mark worked hard as the director of the medical research laboratory at Harris Downtown and didn't have time to keep bailing his nephew out. Mark thought that Rick often got what he wanted because of his charisma and good looks. Rick was only paid a base-line salary as a market analyst for Uncle Arnie's commercial real estate company. He was lucky enough to get a job when he graduated from TCU last May. The job was only supposed to be for a year so he could pay off his student loans until he got his real estate license. Rick still needed to take the real estate board's exam in order to sell commercial real estate, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. He thought that he studied hard enough after four years of college. Arnie, knowing the tight job market decided to keep him on as a market analyst for another year.
..................
"I'm home," Rick told Nikki as he came in through the front door with a paper grocery sack.
"Dinner will be ready in a sec," she responded from the kitchen.
Rick went out through the back door without Nikki noticing. He didn't want her to know that he bought pot again. Rick was starting to feel like he couldn't go through with the wedding and was hoping it could be delayed until he and Nikki got out of debt. Rick hoped that smoking pot would help him alleviate the stress he felt. He stopped by Mike's run-down apartment in Como on his way home from work and bought it. Rick went over to the far right corner of the backyard, rolled a joint and started smoking. Its nice aroma helped calm him down as he sat down on the parched grass by the bushes. Once he got into a dazed state, he heard Nikki call him in for dinner. He frantically snuffed out the flame, hid the bag of pot behind the bushes, and raced back inside.
"I know of a great church where we could have our wedding," Nikki told Rick as they sat at their round, cherry wood dining table. She was looking at a magazine-sized guide of all the different churches in San Francisco that her father sent her.
"What would that be?" Rick responded.
"Take a hint. It's one of the more famous churches in the heart of downtown. It's been around for over a century."
"I don't remember any churches of that kind."
"St. Mary's Cathedral! I swear to God! Sometimes, I think you're off in another world," she slammed the guide down on the table and walked over to the kitchen to grab the dishes out of the dishwasher. Rick snuck back outside to smoke the rest of his joint. I'm serious! Half the time Rick ignores me. God, I hope he didn't spend any of the money he got from Uncle Mark on drugs. That money was supposed to be used towards buying another engagement ring. I swear to God! If he bought drugs again, the wedding is postponed.
..................
"I got a text from Jenny this afternoon. It's worse than we thought," Mark told Betty as he entered the house after a long work day.
"What now?" Betty exclaimed as she cooked a Mexican casserole.
"Rick and Nikki want to get married in the famous St. Mary's Cathedral."
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"
"Yeah! I'm afraid it's true."
"How in the world is everyone on Rick's side of the family going to pay for it all? All of the relatives on your side of the family except for Rose and Arnie certainly don't have the money to go to this wedding. Neither do Rick's friends."
"That's the thing! This could be a bust in the end."
..................
"Are you sure you look okay? It seems like you haven't slept in days," Nikki was worried as she saw Rick come in through the front door.
"I'm fine!" he snapped at her.
In actuality, Rick wasn't okay. His face looked gaunt and he hadn't slept in days. He didn't want her to know that he hadn't been sleeping lately. He was concerned about how they were going to pay for this wedding. Her family thought of him as the "big provider." They didn't know where he had gotten all the money. He didn't want them to know that he conned money from his side of the family. If Nikki's family ever found out, they would force Nikki to call off the marriage. She knew where he had gotten all the money from, but she didn't care one way or the other.
When Nikki went into the utility room to do laundry, Rick escaped out to their tiny backyard. The hot summer sun shone brightly and there were mosquitoes swarming around. That didn't bother Rick as he walked over to his usual hangout in the backyard to find his stash of pot. He sat down on what was left of their green grass and got high. While he was in his dazed state, he came up with a revelation. I know what I could do. Maybe, I'll write a hot check for eight thousand dollars to buy Nikki an engagement ring that looks exactly like the one that got stolen.
..................
"We've got a problem, Arnie. It looks as if one of your employees by the name of Rick Snelling wrote me a hot check for eight thousand dollars to buy a large, diamond engagement ring. I'm afraid this is going to have to be handled by the police," Todd, the owner of Haltom Jewelers on Camp Bowie phoned Arnie at his office. Todd had been a good client of Arnie's for years. Arnie owned the building where the jewelery store was located.
"Don't worry, Todd. I'll handle it. He's my nephew," Arnie assured him. Arnie didn't want to fire Rick because he wanted to protect Rick's mother, Jenny. Jenny had no clue how much money her son borrowed. Everybody on Rick's side of the family was worried that if Jenny ever found out, she would be livid and no one wanted to see her have a stroke. She was already under a lot of stress with her computer programming job at United Insurance as the number of layoffs had her barely hanging on. As it was, Rick was lucky enough to avoid spending quality time in prison.
..................
"Mom, how much money did you give Rick?" Mark asked her as he sat on the brown sofa next to her sipping a cup of coffee.
"I gave him four thousand to help pay for the final semester of his college education. You gave him twenty-two thousand," she claimed.
"You got it all wrong. Rick tapped me for a total of twenty-eight thousand. First, it was ten thousand. Then, another ten thousand. Then, eight thousand. And I cut him off after that."
Mark's mother had been forgetting things over the last few years. It had gradually gotten worse. When she told stories, she usually didn't have her facts straight. She had lived with Mark and Betty since the death of her husband ten years ago. Although, Betty spent more time with her because Mark's job at the hospital was so demanding.
..................
"This wedding's going to cost Jenny and me ten grand," Tom told Mark and Betty while he sat in his baby blue Lazy Boy watching the Texas Rangers play on TV. Tom and Jenny didn't have the money to pay for Rick's wedding as they had to put all three of their boys, counting Rick, through college. Tom had to work extra shifts for Cowtown Heating and Air while Jenny was going to be fortunate enough to have health insurance and her pension when she retired from United Insurance in two years at age fifty-five.
"How the hell are they going to pay for their honeymoon?" Jenny exclaimed coming into the room with a glass of Chardonnay in her right hand.
"They might as well have it in San Francisco," Mark suggested sitting on the navy blue sofa next to Betty.
To be continued.......
"I need eight thousand dollars right away," Rick demanded as he talked to Uncle Mark on his iPhone sitting outside at the shiny patio table on a sultry July evening.
"Why?" he replied as he was getting ready to change out of his blue scrubs in the men's locker room at Harris Downtown.
"I need to buy another engagement ring for Nikki. A burglar followed her home from Albertson's earlier this evening. He held her up at gun point when she came back to the house and took all of her jewelry including the engagement ring."
"Under these circumstances, I'll lend you eight thousand dollars. But this is the last time. I can't keep bailing you out every time you need money."
Rick wanted to surprise Nikki for her twenty-fourth birthday with another engagement ring that looked exactly like the gaudy, diamond one that got stolen. He wasn't able to get insurance for the stolen ring and couldn't afford to buy her another one. Rick and Nikki were in debt because they owed payments on their credit cards and still owed money on their student loans. They bought fancy furnishings for the one-story home they rented in the Ridgmar subdivision and traveled to places like San Francisco, Beijing, Tuscany, and Aspen, Colorado. Rick had no choice but to ask Uncle Mark to lend him eight thousand dollars in cash so he could buy her another ring. Even though it had been a month since Rick proposed to Nikki, it almost seemed like it was yesterday. He and Nikki were hiking in the Maroon Bells Wildnerness Area near Aspen. It was a bright sunny morning with no clouds in the sky. They were over twelve thousand feet in elevation by the time they got to West Maroon Pass. The view was magnificient at the pass with the snow-capped peaks in the distance and the green vegetation mixed in with the boulders and winding trail down below. He remarked, "What breathtaking scenery."
These views made Rick want to get down on one knee and propose to Nikki. The cool breeze blew her dark hair to the left side of her face and it made her look even more beautiful than ever. When Rick popped the question, Nikki's face lit up with excitement and she gave him a bear hug. Rick wished that moment had never ended.
After Nikki was robbed, she tearfully reminded Rick, "I still want to have my dream wedding in San Francisco."
Rick looked at Nikki in awe as he consoled her. It had always been Nikki's dream to get married in San Francisco since she grew up there as a little girl and she wasn't going to change her mind despite what had happened. Nikki moved to Fort Worth with her mother after her parents separated when she was ten. Nikki's older sister stayed in San Francisco with their father. This ultimately turned out to be a good thing since he had someone who could look after him when he suffered a stroke two years ago. Nikki had made numerous trips to San Francisco to check up on him. Nikki and Rick had known each other for six years. She previously dated Rick's best friend, Mike during their senior year at Arlington Heights High School. She and Rick had dated ever since their freshman year at Texas Christian University. They acted like a married couple because they had lived together in different rental properties for the past three years.
..................
"God! I can't believe they want to have the wedding in San Francisco. Jenny called me this afternoon at work complaining about it," Mark told his wife the news as he was about to take a bite into the spaghetti and meatballs his wife, Betty cooked.
"Why San Francisco? Why not here in Fort Worth?" Betty replied sitting across from him at their round, wooden dining table.
"Apparently, Nikki's always dreamed of getting married in San Francisco since she has nostalgic memories of growing up there."
"That's true. However, she's lived in Fort Worth much longer."
"Not only that. Most of Rick's family and friends live here."
Mark and Betty continued to eat their dinner without saying anything more. Mark loaned Rick a total of twenty-eight thousand dollars in the last several months. Mark remembered the first time Rick called him up for money on a Friday evening back in March. Mark was getting ready to settle down with a glass of Merlot when he heard his blue, razor-thin Sprint phone go off next to him on the kitchen counter. Luckily, Mark was able to reach his phone before it went into voicemail. When Mark answered the phone, Rick sounded tearful, "Nikki and I are behind on our rent. We didn't realize how difficult it would be to pay our rent. I also need to pay off Nikki's student loans and our credit card debt." He claimed, "Thankfully, the trip that Nikki took to Tuscany was paid by her aunt."
Mark ended up lending Rick ten thousand dollars. Once Mark got off the phone, he informed Betty about Rick's financial situation. She warned him as she sat next to him on the brown-leather sofa with a glass of Merlot in her right hand, "I don't believe Rick's telling you the truth. He told you that most of the trip to Tuscany was paid for by Nikki's aunt, but I think that Rick paid for most of it. He'll do anything to make her happy."
"Believe me. Rick would never lie to me. He's always been an honest person." Mark had loaned money to people before and they were always good about paying him back and he believed Rick would do the same.
Nikki hadn't incured debt until she took a trip to Beijing at Spring Break last year when she was a senior at TCU. As a graduation present a couple months later, she took a trip to Tuscany with her sister and aunt. Rick was actually the one who paid for most of Nikki's trips in the end. That wasn't the only thing he lied about to his uncle. He also bought a gas grill and a flat-screen TV after his uncle gave him the loan. Mark was stunned when his older sister, Rose told him this over the phone a week later. After Mark got off the phone with her, he shared this information with his wife, "I guess I should've listened to you."
"I was warning you Rick was up to no good," Betty told him.
Last month, Rick left a message on Uncle Mark's cell phone again saying, "Nikki and I are still behind on our rent. I'd appreciate it if you could loan me another ten thousand."
Mark lent him another ten thousand after he gave his nephew advice, but Rick didn't always return his calls. Mark told him, "All right, but I can't keep bailing you out every time you need money. You've borrowed twenty thousand dollars from me and four thousand from your Grandma. You've squandered it on trips and things you don't really need. My advice to you would be to trim down on excess spending, move into a house with lower rent, and don't travel as much. This is the last time I'm bailing you out." Rick ignored his uncle's advice and used a portion of the ten thousand dollars to fly to Aspen.
Mark worked hard as the director of the medical research laboratory at Harris Downtown and didn't have time to keep bailing his nephew out. Mark thought that Rick often got what he wanted because of his charisma and good looks. Rick was only paid a base-line salary as a market analyst for Uncle Arnie's commercial real estate company. He was lucky enough to get a job when he graduated from TCU last May. The job was only supposed to be for a year so he could pay off his student loans until he got his real estate license. Rick still needed to take the real estate board's exam in order to sell commercial real estate, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. He thought that he studied hard enough after four years of college. Arnie, knowing the tight job market decided to keep him on as a market analyst for another year.
..................
"I'm home," Rick told Nikki as he came in through the front door with a paper grocery sack.
"Dinner will be ready in a sec," she responded from the kitchen.
Rick went out through the back door without Nikki noticing. He didn't want her to know that he bought pot again. Rick was starting to feel like he couldn't go through with the wedding and was hoping it could be delayed until he and Nikki got out of debt. Rick hoped that smoking pot would help him alleviate the stress he felt. He stopped by Mike's run-down apartment in Como on his way home from work and bought it. Rick went over to the far right corner of the backyard, rolled a joint and started smoking. Its nice aroma helped calm him down as he sat down on the parched grass by the bushes. Once he got into a dazed state, he heard Nikki call him in for dinner. He frantically snuffed out the flame, hid the bag of pot behind the bushes, and raced back inside.
"I know of a great church where we could have our wedding," Nikki told Rick as they sat at their round, cherry wood dining table. She was looking at a magazine-sized guide of all the different churches in San Francisco that her father sent her.
"What would that be?" Rick responded.
"Take a hint. It's one of the more famous churches in the heart of downtown. It's been around for over a century."
"I don't remember any churches of that kind."
"St. Mary's Cathedral! I swear to God! Sometimes, I think you're off in another world," she slammed the guide down on the table and walked over to the kitchen to grab the dishes out of the dishwasher. Rick snuck back outside to smoke the rest of his joint. I'm serious! Half the time Rick ignores me. God, I hope he didn't spend any of the money he got from Uncle Mark on drugs. That money was supposed to be used towards buying another engagement ring. I swear to God! If he bought drugs again, the wedding is postponed.
..................
"I got a text from Jenny this afternoon. It's worse than we thought," Mark told Betty as he entered the house after a long work day.
"What now?" Betty exclaimed as she cooked a Mexican casserole.
"Rick and Nikki want to get married in the famous St. Mary's Cathedral."
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"
"Yeah! I'm afraid it's true."
"How in the world is everyone on Rick's side of the family going to pay for it all? All of the relatives on your side of the family except for Rose and Arnie certainly don't have the money to go to this wedding. Neither do Rick's friends."
"That's the thing! This could be a bust in the end."
..................
"Are you sure you look okay? It seems like you haven't slept in days," Nikki was worried as she saw Rick come in through the front door.
"I'm fine!" he snapped at her.
In actuality, Rick wasn't okay. His face looked gaunt and he hadn't slept in days. He didn't want her to know that he hadn't been sleeping lately. He was concerned about how they were going to pay for this wedding. Her family thought of him as the "big provider." They didn't know where he had gotten all the money. He didn't want them to know that he conned money from his side of the family. If Nikki's family ever found out, they would force Nikki to call off the marriage. She knew where he had gotten all the money from, but she didn't care one way or the other.
When Nikki went into the utility room to do laundry, Rick escaped out to their tiny backyard. The hot summer sun shone brightly and there were mosquitoes swarming around. That didn't bother Rick as he walked over to his usual hangout in the backyard to find his stash of pot. He sat down on what was left of their green grass and got high. While he was in his dazed state, he came up with a revelation. I know what I could do. Maybe, I'll write a hot check for eight thousand dollars to buy Nikki an engagement ring that looks exactly like the one that got stolen.
..................
"We've got a problem, Arnie. It looks as if one of your employees by the name of Rick Snelling wrote me a hot check for eight thousand dollars to buy a large, diamond engagement ring. I'm afraid this is going to have to be handled by the police," Todd, the owner of Haltom Jewelers on Camp Bowie phoned Arnie at his office. Todd had been a good client of Arnie's for years. Arnie owned the building where the jewelery store was located.
"Don't worry, Todd. I'll handle it. He's my nephew," Arnie assured him. Arnie didn't want to fire Rick because he wanted to protect Rick's mother, Jenny. Jenny had no clue how much money her son borrowed. Everybody on Rick's side of the family was worried that if Jenny ever found out, she would be livid and no one wanted to see her have a stroke. She was already under a lot of stress with her computer programming job at United Insurance as the number of layoffs had her barely hanging on. As it was, Rick was lucky enough to avoid spending quality time in prison.
..................
"Mom, how much money did you give Rick?" Mark asked her as he sat on the brown sofa next to her sipping a cup of coffee.
"I gave him four thousand to help pay for the final semester of his college education. You gave him twenty-two thousand," she claimed.
"You got it all wrong. Rick tapped me for a total of twenty-eight thousand. First, it was ten thousand. Then, another ten thousand. Then, eight thousand. And I cut him off after that."
Mark's mother had been forgetting things over the last few years. It had gradually gotten worse. When she told stories, she usually didn't have her facts straight. She had lived with Mark and Betty since the death of her husband ten years ago. Although, Betty spent more time with her because Mark's job at the hospital was so demanding.
..................
"This wedding's going to cost Jenny and me ten grand," Tom told Mark and Betty while he sat in his baby blue Lazy Boy watching the Texas Rangers play on TV. Tom and Jenny didn't have the money to pay for Rick's wedding as they had to put all three of their boys, counting Rick, through college. Tom had to work extra shifts for Cowtown Heating and Air while Jenny was going to be fortunate enough to have health insurance and her pension when she retired from United Insurance in two years at age fifty-five.
"How the hell are they going to pay for their honeymoon?" Jenny exclaimed coming into the room with a glass of Chardonnay in her right hand.
"They might as well have it in San Francisco," Mark suggested sitting on the navy blue sofa next to Betty.
To be continued.......
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Important Lessons Learned from Dialogue and Scene
I use to stress when I was writing dialogue. I am somewhat of an introvert, so writing dialogue was not easy at first. After I took the advice of my creative writing instructor at Tarrant County College (Mr. Holt), it became easier.
One important point that Josip Novakovich makes is that when writing dialogue, the writer needs to have the right balance between realism and economy of speech. Dr. Kuhne's story "Magic Coins" is an excellent example of this, especially in the first paragraph on page 264, "Like a quarter man, but gold...It was a couple of weeks ago I lost it here." The dialogue is authentic throughout the story and the description of the characters makes it easy to visualize the tension between Cruz and the car wash owner, Jake.
Another thing that Novakovich points out is that dialogue helps set up a dramatic scene. Dr. Kuhne creates a dramatic scene through dialogue on the first page when Cruz asks Jake about the "magic" coin. This scene helps set up the tone of the story. When I was Dr. Kuhne's assistant editor on the 2010 issue of TCU's journal of prose and poetry (descant), he told me that whenever you are writing fiction, it is important to have the dramatic event occur within the first two pages. Otherwise, the story moves slow and you will lose your audience. In most cases, when you include lots of dialogue, you will create plenty of scenes and the reader will be entertained from start to finish.
One important point that Josip Novakovich makes is that when writing dialogue, the writer needs to have the right balance between realism and economy of speech. Dr. Kuhne's story "Magic Coins" is an excellent example of this, especially in the first paragraph on page 264, "Like a quarter man, but gold...It was a couple of weeks ago I lost it here." The dialogue is authentic throughout the story and the description of the characters makes it easy to visualize the tension between Cruz and the car wash owner, Jake.
Another thing that Novakovich points out is that dialogue helps set up a dramatic scene. Dr. Kuhne creates a dramatic scene through dialogue on the first page when Cruz asks Jake about the "magic" coin. This scene helps set up the tone of the story. When I was Dr. Kuhne's assistant editor on the 2010 issue of TCU's journal of prose and poetry (descant), he told me that whenever you are writing fiction, it is important to have the dramatic event occur within the first two pages. Otherwise, the story moves slow and you will lose your audience. In most cases, when you include lots of dialogue, you will create plenty of scenes and the reader will be entertained from start to finish.
Friday, March 4, 2011
The Infamous Scowling Incident - Revised
Note: This is unassigned, but I wanted to share my revisions with the class.
Oh god! Where the hell is she?
I've been sitting in the lobby of the Worthington University Library for the last half-hour waiting on this heavy-set gal in my British Literature class to show up. She works at the circulation desk until three and she should've met me by now. I need to give her the rough draft of her research paper so she can work on her final draft that's due Monday. We did a one-on-one workshop in class today and I just finished looking it over. It has been hard for me to concentrate on anything ever since I found out by e-mail early this morning that I didn't get the internship as an assistant editor for The Dallas Review of Prose and Poetry. It's a shame. I was really looking forward to reading all the different short story submissions from around the world. Two weeks 'til graduation and I don't have a job lined up. This awful recession has reduced the number of openings for college grads like me.
Since my British Lit partner's not up here yet, I decide to text Paul and ask him what time we're playing football. He's been an intern for Campus Crusaders for the last three semesters. I've been a member of this laid back Christian group ever since my freshman year (two years before Paul's arrival). His charisma makes him the coolest intern the organization's ever had. He's tall and athletic and encourages the guys who are involved to play every Friday afternoon. We normally play at four, but lately, Paul's pushed the game up to three-thirty since it gets dark so early outside. After I text him, I notice my workshop partner still hasn't shown up. Okay, time to go look for her.
I go over to the circulation desk, covered with miniature multi-colored Christmas lights twisted through evergreen branches. I need to find out if my partner's still up there. She's not! Okay then. I'll get on one of the computers over in the lab and check my e-mail. What else am I gonna do besides wait around out in the cold for people to show up for football?
As I log into my e-mail account, I receive a text back from Paul, saying, "Football at 3:30. Come bring it!"
Oh god! I'm running late.
I frantically log out of my e-mail account and grab my navy blue Nike gym bag. Once I start walking, I realize that I'm missing something. I've left my blue beanie and thick, dark Columbia gloves by the computer. Dammit! Now I've gotta go back and get my hat and gloves. From now on, I'm gonna leave them in my backpack or gym bag when I'm inside.
On the way back from getting my hat and gloves, I look towards the circulation desk one last time to see if my British Literature partner's there, but she isn't. Dammit! Did she miss her shift? Boy, is she in trouble now? It's okay. It happens to the best of us.
While all of this is processing through my head, I see my friend Christina, who takes over my elusive Literature partner's shift on Friday afternoons. Christina and I have known each other since our freshman year of high-school, and she liked what Worthington had to offer just as much as I did. Her straight, dark hair and blue eyes make her attractive, which is why she gets plenty of long stares from the guys on campus. We could've dated all these years, but we didn't want to ruin our friendship. Anyhow, as I walk by the circulation desk, she's looking at me, and I've got an angry look on my face and I'm breathing real hard. She has a stunned look on her face. Oh god! Did I just scowl at her? She'll never speak to me again. It's okay. I just need to play football and take my mind off of this.
When I walk out into the cloudy, thirty degree weather, I debate whether I should text Paul back to tell him that I'm running late. Nah, I'm not gonna worry about it. He should realize that I'm already on my way over to the intramural fields.
As I'm walking across University Drive, I see this blond-hair girl wearing a dark jacket and a gray, black striped skirt running right by me barefoot. At least she has opaque tights on to cover her tiny feet. But still, she's crazy to be doing this in the frigid Texas weather. I guess those black high-heeled dress shoes she's carrying in her right hand were hurting her feet. Unlike me, she's panicking and yelling out, "Oh my god! I'm not gonna make it."
I guess she was supposed to meet somebody or be somewhere and lost track of time. Seeing this girl makes me want to run over to the intramural fields. At least I've got my Asics 2140 running shoes. This will save me some time.
I start running over there once I get past University Drive. I think of it as if I'm going for a seven-mile run. I blaze past the new dormitory buildings that I've been living in this semester and the recreation center. I'm bundled up in a green windbreaker, black wind pants, and the beanie and gloves I almost left behind in the library. I don't have time to go back to my dorm to grab my thin pair of Asics running gloves. I run up until I get to the intersection of Stadium and Park Place, which is a busy intersection with only a four-way stop. Worse yet, I've gotta put up with rush hour traffic. Dammit! I was making up some time. Oh good! The guy to my left in the silver Nissan Pathfinder is letting me cross.
I give him a thank-you wave as I run across the intersection. Okay, I'm almost there. I just need to get past the Greek dormitories and jog down the small flight of stairs and I'll be there.
Despite everything I've been through today, I arrive at the fields at a quarter 'til four. The fields are still damp with some small patches of snow off to the side. There's only one football game going on. Dammit! They started without me. It's okay. I probably haven't missed much.
"Where have you been? The Deltas have already scored a touchdown and we've been waiting for a sixth man to show up so we could equal the number they have," Paul yells out at me as I place my Nike bag by the fence.
"No you haven't! You went ahead without me. God, I can't believe you're only in short sleeves and shorts. You're no different than this gal I saw on the way over here running around barefoot. It makes me cold just looking at you two," I thought to myself. I actually don't reply back to Paul. I'm pretty much quiet the whole time I'm out here. Not getting the internship and then my Literature partner not showing up has put me in a foul mood. The only time I say anything is when Paul chases down the Deltas' quarterback, Jason, who's wearing a dark green Michael Vick Eagles jersey in Dallas Cowboy country. Paul shouts out as Jason runs out of bounds, "He beats dogs! He beats dogs!"
"Okay Paul. We get it," I remind him with a smile before Jason's able to hear his comment.
Other than that, I don't say anything else. On the next play, I get real aggressive for a game of touch football. Jason hikes the ball. Randy, the tight end, runs a short slant across the middle. Jason passes it to him. I'm coming to bring the pain. Randy catches the pass. He is hit immediately and goes flying into the air. Fortunately, there aren't any refs out here to throw a flag for unnecessary roughness.
He gets his big, muscular body up from the wet grass and says to my face, "Dude! What the hell's your problem? You could've broken my back. It's not tackle football."
I'm not in the mood to fight back, and instead walk away from the game. Randy yells out, "Where do you think you're going? You can't just quit in the middle of the game. Come back here!"
Paul runs up and encourages me, "Just ignore Randy. He's a jerk. It's about time somebody took him down like you did. In the three semesters I've been here, you play the best defense out of our entire organization, and we need to see more of that in order to beat these guys."
"I wish I could stay and finish the game, but I just realized I've gotta meet someone at the library," I give him an excuse. I need to find a way to take myself out of the game so that I don't have to deal with Randy. Lying to Paul is the best solution I could come up with.
As I leave the intramural fields, I realize something. I could e-mail my workshop partner and set up a meeting time over the weekend to return her draft. Even though she lives off campus, she's gonna need her paper at some point. The town's not that big. It shouldn't take her that long to get here from her apartment. Why didn't I think of this before?
Instead of walking back to my dorm, I decide to return to the library and e-mail my partner. Hey, Christina's gonna be up there for another hour. Maybe I'll run into her and be able to apologize for scowling at her.
I decide not to run over there since I've got lots of time. I bet that gal that ran around barefoot isn't going to be rushing back from whatever she tried to get to on time.
The sun begins to peek out from behind the clouds by the time I walk back across University Drive. I see that same gal who ran across this street barefoot an hour ago, except this time she's walking with her dark-haired friend, probably talking about girl stuff. But she's still going around without any shoes on. God, she must really hate those shoes. I know what she's gonna be wanting for Christmas. At least her friend's wearing black boots. I guess that's who the barefoot gal was in a hurry to meet.
The first thing I do when I return to the library is walk by the circulation desk. Christina's not there. Hmm, maybe she's in the quiet section stacking books. Well, I guess I'll go e-mail my British Lit partner.
In my e-mail to her, I write, "Where were you? I spent a half-hour in the library lobby waiting for you to get off work. It would be best for you to meet me this weekend on campus to pick up your draft. So, when do you want to pick it up and where would you like to meet?"
After I send the e-mail, I go and look over at the circulation desk again for Christina. I still don't see her. Well, the only other choice I've got is to go to the quiet section and do some studying. Maybe I'll run into her on the way over.
I walk down until the end of the long, green-carpeted pathway and look around real carefully to see if she's in here. Even after looking down all the rows of where the books are placed in alphabetical order according to the authors' last names, I still can't find her. I decide to walk back down the pathway. The library's surprisingly crowded for a Friday afternoon. I guess because finals are near, people are real serious about studying.
Luckily, I pass by an open table on my left. I pull up one of the wooden chairs that face the pathway so I can look to see if Christina's walking by without having to crane my neck. And also too, it'll be easy for me to apologize to her.
I spend an hour in the quiet section answering some of the questions related to the study guide for my U.S. Geography final. Most of the time, I just sit here and look for her. Unfortunately, I don't see her. Dammit! I guess she already went back to her apartment for the weekend. I'm gonna be brooding about the scowling incident all weekend.
While I'm getting ready to pack away my study materials though, I see someone entering the quiet section. That's not some stranger, it's Christina, and she's looking at me with a pleasant smile on her face.
Oh god! Where the hell is she?
I've been sitting in the lobby of the Worthington University Library for the last half-hour waiting on this heavy-set gal in my British Literature class to show up. She works at the circulation desk until three and she should've met me by now. I need to give her the rough draft of her research paper so she can work on her final draft that's due Monday. We did a one-on-one workshop in class today and I just finished looking it over. It has been hard for me to concentrate on anything ever since I found out by e-mail early this morning that I didn't get the internship as an assistant editor for The Dallas Review of Prose and Poetry. It's a shame. I was really looking forward to reading all the different short story submissions from around the world. Two weeks 'til graduation and I don't have a job lined up. This awful recession has reduced the number of openings for college grads like me.
Since my British Lit partner's not up here yet, I decide to text Paul and ask him what time we're playing football. He's been an intern for Campus Crusaders for the last three semesters. I've been a member of this laid back Christian group ever since my freshman year (two years before Paul's arrival). His charisma makes him the coolest intern the organization's ever had. He's tall and athletic and encourages the guys who are involved to play every Friday afternoon. We normally play at four, but lately, Paul's pushed the game up to three-thirty since it gets dark so early outside. After I text him, I notice my workshop partner still hasn't shown up. Okay, time to go look for her.
I go over to the circulation desk, covered with miniature multi-colored Christmas lights twisted through evergreen branches. I need to find out if my partner's still up there. She's not! Okay then. I'll get on one of the computers over in the lab and check my e-mail. What else am I gonna do besides wait around out in the cold for people to show up for football?
As I log into my e-mail account, I receive a text back from Paul, saying, "Football at 3:30. Come bring it!"
Oh god! I'm running late.
I frantically log out of my e-mail account and grab my navy blue Nike gym bag. Once I start walking, I realize that I'm missing something. I've left my blue beanie and thick, dark Columbia gloves by the computer. Dammit! Now I've gotta go back and get my hat and gloves. From now on, I'm gonna leave them in my backpack or gym bag when I'm inside.
On the way back from getting my hat and gloves, I look towards the circulation desk one last time to see if my British Literature partner's there, but she isn't. Dammit! Did she miss her shift? Boy, is she in trouble now? It's okay. It happens to the best of us.
While all of this is processing through my head, I see my friend Christina, who takes over my elusive Literature partner's shift on Friday afternoons. Christina and I have known each other since our freshman year of high-school, and she liked what Worthington had to offer just as much as I did. Her straight, dark hair and blue eyes make her attractive, which is why she gets plenty of long stares from the guys on campus. We could've dated all these years, but we didn't want to ruin our friendship. Anyhow, as I walk by the circulation desk, she's looking at me, and I've got an angry look on my face and I'm breathing real hard. She has a stunned look on her face. Oh god! Did I just scowl at her? She'll never speak to me again. It's okay. I just need to play football and take my mind off of this.
When I walk out into the cloudy, thirty degree weather, I debate whether I should text Paul back to tell him that I'm running late. Nah, I'm not gonna worry about it. He should realize that I'm already on my way over to the intramural fields.
As I'm walking across University Drive, I see this blond-hair girl wearing a dark jacket and a gray, black striped skirt running right by me barefoot. At least she has opaque tights on to cover her tiny feet. But still, she's crazy to be doing this in the frigid Texas weather. I guess those black high-heeled dress shoes she's carrying in her right hand were hurting her feet. Unlike me, she's panicking and yelling out, "Oh my god! I'm not gonna make it."
I guess she was supposed to meet somebody or be somewhere and lost track of time. Seeing this girl makes me want to run over to the intramural fields. At least I've got my Asics 2140 running shoes. This will save me some time.
I start running over there once I get past University Drive. I think of it as if I'm going for a seven-mile run. I blaze past the new dormitory buildings that I've been living in this semester and the recreation center. I'm bundled up in a green windbreaker, black wind pants, and the beanie and gloves I almost left behind in the library. I don't have time to go back to my dorm to grab my thin pair of Asics running gloves. I run up until I get to the intersection of Stadium and Park Place, which is a busy intersection with only a four-way stop. Worse yet, I've gotta put up with rush hour traffic. Dammit! I was making up some time. Oh good! The guy to my left in the silver Nissan Pathfinder is letting me cross.
I give him a thank-you wave as I run across the intersection. Okay, I'm almost there. I just need to get past the Greek dormitories and jog down the small flight of stairs and I'll be there.
Despite everything I've been through today, I arrive at the fields at a quarter 'til four. The fields are still damp with some small patches of snow off to the side. There's only one football game going on. Dammit! They started without me. It's okay. I probably haven't missed much.
"Where have you been? The Deltas have already scored a touchdown and we've been waiting for a sixth man to show up so we could equal the number they have," Paul yells out at me as I place my Nike bag by the fence.
"No you haven't! You went ahead without me. God, I can't believe you're only in short sleeves and shorts. You're no different than this gal I saw on the way over here running around barefoot. It makes me cold just looking at you two," I thought to myself. I actually don't reply back to Paul. I'm pretty much quiet the whole time I'm out here. Not getting the internship and then my Literature partner not showing up has put me in a foul mood. The only time I say anything is when Paul chases down the Deltas' quarterback, Jason, who's wearing a dark green Michael Vick Eagles jersey in Dallas Cowboy country. Paul shouts out as Jason runs out of bounds, "He beats dogs! He beats dogs!"
"Okay Paul. We get it," I remind him with a smile before Jason's able to hear his comment.
Other than that, I don't say anything else. On the next play, I get real aggressive for a game of touch football. Jason hikes the ball. Randy, the tight end, runs a short slant across the middle. Jason passes it to him. I'm coming to bring the pain. Randy catches the pass. He is hit immediately and goes flying into the air. Fortunately, there aren't any refs out here to throw a flag for unnecessary roughness.
He gets his big, muscular body up from the wet grass and says to my face, "Dude! What the hell's your problem? You could've broken my back. It's not tackle football."
I'm not in the mood to fight back, and instead walk away from the game. Randy yells out, "Where do you think you're going? You can't just quit in the middle of the game. Come back here!"
Paul runs up and encourages me, "Just ignore Randy. He's a jerk. It's about time somebody took him down like you did. In the three semesters I've been here, you play the best defense out of our entire organization, and we need to see more of that in order to beat these guys."
"I wish I could stay and finish the game, but I just realized I've gotta meet someone at the library," I give him an excuse. I need to find a way to take myself out of the game so that I don't have to deal with Randy. Lying to Paul is the best solution I could come up with.
As I leave the intramural fields, I realize something. I could e-mail my workshop partner and set up a meeting time over the weekend to return her draft. Even though she lives off campus, she's gonna need her paper at some point. The town's not that big. It shouldn't take her that long to get here from her apartment. Why didn't I think of this before?
Instead of walking back to my dorm, I decide to return to the library and e-mail my partner. Hey, Christina's gonna be up there for another hour. Maybe I'll run into her and be able to apologize for scowling at her.
I decide not to run over there since I've got lots of time. I bet that gal that ran around barefoot isn't going to be rushing back from whatever she tried to get to on time.
The sun begins to peek out from behind the clouds by the time I walk back across University Drive. I see that same gal who ran across this street barefoot an hour ago, except this time she's walking with her dark-haired friend, probably talking about girl stuff. But she's still going around without any shoes on. God, she must really hate those shoes. I know what she's gonna be wanting for Christmas. At least her friend's wearing black boots. I guess that's who the barefoot gal was in a hurry to meet.
The first thing I do when I return to the library is walk by the circulation desk. Christina's not there. Hmm, maybe she's in the quiet section stacking books. Well, I guess I'll go e-mail my British Lit partner.
In my e-mail to her, I write, "Where were you? I spent a half-hour in the library lobby waiting for you to get off work. It would be best for you to meet me this weekend on campus to pick up your draft. So, when do you want to pick it up and where would you like to meet?"
After I send the e-mail, I go and look over at the circulation desk again for Christina. I still don't see her. Well, the only other choice I've got is to go to the quiet section and do some studying. Maybe I'll run into her on the way over.
I walk down until the end of the long, green-carpeted pathway and look around real carefully to see if she's in here. Even after looking down all the rows of where the books are placed in alphabetical order according to the authors' last names, I still can't find her. I decide to walk back down the pathway. The library's surprisingly crowded for a Friday afternoon. I guess because finals are near, people are real serious about studying.
Luckily, I pass by an open table on my left. I pull up one of the wooden chairs that face the pathway so I can look to see if Christina's walking by without having to crane my neck. And also too, it'll be easy for me to apologize to her.
I spend an hour in the quiet section answering some of the questions related to the study guide for my U.S. Geography final. Most of the time, I just sit here and look for her. Unfortunately, I don't see her. Dammit! I guess she already went back to her apartment for the weekend. I'm gonna be brooding about the scowling incident all weekend.
While I'm getting ready to pack away my study materials though, I see someone entering the quiet section. That's not some stranger, it's Christina, and she's looking at me with a pleasant smile on her face.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
A Weekend in the Life of Plot
Josip Novakovich pointed out several interesting ideas about plot. First, he explained the different types of plot that writers of the past have used: confrontational plots including man versus self, man versus nature, man versus society, man versus machine, man versus God, and God versus everybody. The type of plot I tend to use though, as a writer is either a slice of life plot or a combination plot.
Another important section is about how to generate plot. Novakovich points out one essential element that is necessary when writing either a short story or novel - "plot demands that all parts of the story need to be coherent in relation to the main event."
Ann Beattie's short story "Weekend" is a good example of a combination plot. There is conflict between Lenore and her boyfriend George and the plot is also an example of "slice of life." The actions the characters Lenore and George become involved in seem typical problems for a couple in that situation.
Beattie also uses a lot of detail in describing the setting and each of the main characters. The description of the relationship between George and Lenore - both past and present allows the reader to empathize with Lenore's predicament, but also one feels angry with Lenore for staying with her philandering lover. This story is definitely well-written to evoke such strong emotions.
Another important section is about how to generate plot. Novakovich points out one essential element that is necessary when writing either a short story or novel - "plot demands that all parts of the story need to be coherent in relation to the main event."
Ann Beattie's short story "Weekend" is a good example of a combination plot. There is conflict between Lenore and her boyfriend George and the plot is also an example of "slice of life." The actions the characters Lenore and George become involved in seem typical problems for a couple in that situation.
Beattie also uses a lot of detail in describing the setting and each of the main characters. The description of the relationship between George and Lenore - both past and present allows the reader to empathize with Lenore's predicament, but also one feels angry with Lenore for staying with her philandering lover. This story is definitely well-written to evoke such strong emotions.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Character Sketch - Captain Jimenez
Our blue books were scooped up from the edge of the desk, ready to be handed back to everybody. Dr. Jimenez dragged his feet up and down the auditorium, returning everyone's U.S. Government exams in the order he stacked them in his pile. I ended up being the last person to get their test back. When Jimenez slammed the test with his stubby hand on my desk, I gave him a look of concern. He encouraged me, “Don’t look at me like that. You did good!”
I felt relieved up until I opened up my blue book to the first page. That's when I noticed that I had gotten a seventy. Why was he smiling at me after he returned my exam? Even though I passed last week’s exam, I still could’ve gotten a better grade. I put an extensive amount of detail on each essay question and all I got was a seventy.
Jimenez told the class when he wrote the grade averages on the dusty chalkboard, "There was one A, two Bs, five Cs, six Ds, and eight Fs. You obviously need to make more of an effort in preparing for my tests if you want to pass this class. Otherwise, why did you even bother wasting your time and money with my class?"
We’ve only been in class for a month and almost half of the students who enrolled have either dropped out or quit showing up. Everybody in the class found his methods of teaching hard to follow. He spoke at a staccato pace and it was hard to keep up with what he was saying. Luckily, Jerry and I exchanged notes after every lecture. As we walked out together after class last Tuesday, I asked him, "Were you able to get everything down that Jimenez wants us to go over for Thursday's test?"
I felt relieved up until I opened up my blue book to the first page. That's when I noticed that I had gotten a seventy. Why was he smiling at me after he returned my exam? Even though I passed last week’s exam, I still could’ve gotten a better grade. I put an extensive amount of detail on each essay question and all I got was a seventy.
Jimenez told the class when he wrote the grade averages on the dusty chalkboard, "There was one A, two Bs, five Cs, six Ds, and eight Fs. You obviously need to make more of an effort in preparing for my tests if you want to pass this class. Otherwise, why did you even bother wasting your time and money with my class?"
We’ve only been in class for a month and almost half of the students who enrolled have either dropped out or quit showing up. Everybody in the class found his methods of teaching hard to follow. He spoke at a staccato pace and it was hard to keep up with what he was saying. Luckily, Jerry and I exchanged notes after every lecture. As we walked out together after class last Tuesday, I asked him, "Were you able to get everything down that Jimenez wants us to go over for Thursday's test?"
"I got as much down as could. It's hard to keep up with him," Jerry replied as he pulled his gray notebook out of his black Columbia backpack and showed me his notes.
"I tried too, but all I could get was a half page," I showed Jerry my notes as I had kept it on the page I had written them on.
"He's never available outside of class since he's also a small-town cop."
"Oh well! All we can hope for is to do our best."
Jimenez's fast-paced lectures weren't the only thing everybody complained about. He would write a key term on the board in a scrawl so illegible I could barely read it. During that day's lecture, I whispered into Jerry's ear, "What's that that he wrote on the board?"
"It looks like he wrote down criminal prosecution," he quietly responded.
"I shouldn't have to hear any whispering," Jimenez barked at us as he was getting ready to take a sip from his green coffee mug.
Jesus! He can't even tolerate whispering. Boy, this professor's really a jerk.
That wasn't the only time Jimenez got on somebody for breaking one of his class policies. The previous class during his lecture on the Supreme Court, he heard a tapping sound coming from one of the students. He profusely asked, "What's going on? Is someone texting? I hope no one's texting. You know my policies."
A guy wearing a red baseball cap several rows up from Jerry and I suddenly looked up and quickly put his iPhone back into his left shorts pocket before Jimenez could catch him. There was no escaping Captain Jimenez's ire.
"I tried too, but all I could get was a half page," I showed Jerry my notes as I had kept it on the page I had written them on.
"He's never available outside of class since he's also a small-town cop."
"Oh well! All we can hope for is to do our best."
Jimenez's fast-paced lectures weren't the only thing everybody complained about. He would write a key term on the board in a scrawl so illegible I could barely read it. During that day's lecture, I whispered into Jerry's ear, "What's that that he wrote on the board?"
"It looks like he wrote down criminal prosecution," he quietly responded.
"I shouldn't have to hear any whispering," Jimenez barked at us as he was getting ready to take a sip from his green coffee mug.
Jesus! He can't even tolerate whispering. Boy, this professor's really a jerk.
That wasn't the only time Jimenez got on somebody for breaking one of his class policies. The previous class during his lecture on the Supreme Court, he heard a tapping sound coming from one of the students. He profusely asked, "What's going on? Is someone texting? I hope no one's texting. You know my policies."
A guy wearing a red baseball cap several rows up from Jerry and I suddenly looked up and quickly put his iPhone back into his left shorts pocket before Jimenez could catch him. There was no escaping Captain Jimenez's ire.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Characterization and It's the Law
I first read some of Jim Lee's prose in the anthology of Fort Worth stories - Literary Fort Worth for a Texas Literature class that he co-taught at Tarrant County College with Dr. Ruth McAdams. In his short story "It's the Law," Lee uses several characterization techniques discussed in Josip Novakovich's chapter on characters. For example, we learned a lot about one of the main characters in the story, Melvin Spruille just from the dialogue between Isham Hayes, the judge, and Banty when Hayes first comes into the courtroom to pay the twenty-five dollar fine. Another technique that Lee uses is describing the characters through appearance. We know that Hayes is a mechanic because Lee describes him pulling out a greasy roll of bills from the pocket of his coveralls (2).
Lee does a great job of summarizing Spruille's miserly ways when Hayes explains why he wanted to beat Spruille up in the first place. It's amusing that despite the fact that he had harbored this grudge for twenty-five years, he waited for a day when Spruille would not have his glasses on. Hayes says, "You know, Texas don't let you hit a feller with glasses. It's against the law" (16).
Novakovich's chapter on characters and Lee's story have inspired me to continue working on my story about a family growing up in Utopia, Texas during the early 1900s. I can see now how I can make my story more interesting by using some of the techniques that were described in the chapter to round out the personalities of my characters rather than making them flat. I definitely agree with Novakovich that combining two or more approaches will improve the characterization of the people in my story.
Lee does a great job of summarizing Spruille's miserly ways when Hayes explains why he wanted to beat Spruille up in the first place. It's amusing that despite the fact that he had harbored this grudge for twenty-five years, he waited for a day when Spruille would not have his glasses on. Hayes says, "You know, Texas don't let you hit a feller with glasses. It's against the law" (16).
Novakovich's chapter on characters and Lee's story have inspired me to continue working on my story about a family growing up in Utopia, Texas during the early 1900s. I can see now how I can make my story more interesting by using some of the techniques that were described in the chapter to round out the personalities of my characters rather than making them flat. I definitely agree with Novakovich that combining two or more approaches will improve the characterization of the people in my story.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
The Infamous Scowling Incident
Oh god! Where the hell is she?
I've been sitting in the lobby of the Townsend University Library for the last half-hour waiting on this heavy set gal in my British Literature class to show up. I need to give her the outline of her research paper. We did an one-on-one workshop in class today on our outlines and I didn't get to finish looking it over. I told her I'd meet her here at three when she got off work at the circulation desk. It's three-thirty now and I still haven't seen her. She better be here because our freaking revisions are due Monday. Otherwise, she'll get a zero and blame it on me.
In the meantime, I text Paul and ask him what time we're playing football. He's been an intern for Campus Crusaders for the last three semesters. I've been a member of this laid-back Christian group ever since my freshman year (two years before Paul's arrival). His charisma makes him the coolest intern the organization's ever had. He's tall and athletic and encourages the guys who are involved to play a game of football every Friday afternoon. We normally play at four, but lately Paul's pushed the game up to three-thirty since it gets dark so early outside. After I text him, I notice my workshop partner still hasn't shown up. Okay, time to go look for her.
I go over to the Christmas decorated circulation desk to see if my partner's still up there. Dammit! She's not up here. Okay, then. I'll get on one of the computers over in the lab and check my e-mail. This will be a better use of my time. What else am I gonna do besides wait around out in the cold for people to show up for football?
As I log into my e-mail account, I get a text back from Paul saying, "Football at 3:30. Come bring it!"
Oh god! I'm running late.
I'm in such a hurry to exit the library, I end up leaving my blue beanie and thick, dark Columbia gloves by the computer. Dammit! Now I've gotta go back and get my hat and gloves. From now on, I'm gonna leave them in my backpack or gym bag when I'm inside.
On the way back from getting my beanie and gloves, I look towards the circulation desk one last time to see if my British Lit partner's there, but she isn't. Dammit! Did she miss her shift? Boy, is she in trouble now? It's okay. It happens to the best of us.
While all of this is processing through my head, I see my longtime friend Christina, who takes over my elusive British Lit partner's shift on Friday afternoons. Christina and I have known each other since our freshman year of high-school and she liked what this university had to offer as much as I did. She's very attractive with her straight, dark hair and blue eyes, which get her plenty of long stares from the guys on campus. We could've dated all these years, but we didn't want to ruin our friendship. Anyhow, as I walk by the circulation desk, she's looking at me and I've got an angry look on my face and I'm breathing real hard. She has a stunned look on her face. Oh god! Did I just scowl at her? She'll never speak to me again. It's okay. I just need to play football and take my mind off of this.
When I walk out into the cloudy, thirty degree weather, I debate whether I should text Paul back to tell him that I'm running late. Nah, I'm not gonna worry about it. He should realize that I'm already on my way over to the intramural fields.
As I'm walking across University Drive, I see this blond-hair girl wearing a dark jacket and a gray, black-striped skirt running right by me barefoot. At least she has opaque tights on to cover her tiny feet. But still, she's crazy to be doing this in the cold weather. I guess those black high-heeled dress shoes she's carrying in her right hand were hurting her feet. Like me, she's panicking, although not being discreet about it. She's yelling out, "Oh my god! I'm not gonna make it."
I guess she was supposed to meet somebody or be somewhere and lost track of time. Seeing this gal makes me want to run over to the intramural fields. At least I've got my Asics 2140 running shoes on as opposed to that gal who has no shoes on at all. This will save me some time.
I start running over there once I get past University Drive. I think of it as if I'm going for a seven-mile run. I blaze past the new dormitory buildings that I've been living in this semester and the recreation center. I'm all bundled up in a green windbreaker, black wind pants, the beanie and gloves I almost left behind in the library. I don't have time to go back to my dorm to grab my thin pair of running gloves. I run up until I get to the intersection of Stadium and Park Place, which is a busy intersection with only a four way stop. Worse yet, I've gotta put with rush hour traffic to my left and right. Dammit! I was making up some time. Oh good! The guy to my left in the silver Nissan Pathfinder is letting me cross.
I give him a thank you wave as I run across the intersection. Okay, I'm almost there. I just need to get past the Greek dormitories and jog down the small flight of stairs and I'll be there.
Despite everything I've been through, I arrive at the fields at a quarter 'til four. The fields are still damp with some small patches of snow off to the side. Dammit! They started without me. It's okay. I probably haven't missed much.
"Where have you been? The Deltas have already scored a touchdown and we've been waiting for a sixth man to show up so we could equal the amount they have," Paul yells out at me as I place my dark Nike gym bag by the metal fence.
No you haven't! You went ahead without me. God, I can't believe you're only in short sleeves and shorts. You're no different than this gal I just saw running around barefoot. It makes me cold just looking at you two.
I don't reply back to Paul. I'm pretty much quiet the whole time I'm out here. The British Lit gal failing to meet me in the library has put me in a foul mood. The only time I say anything is when Paul chases down the Deltas' quarterback, Jason, who's wearing a dark green Michael Vick Eagles jersey. Paul shouts out as Jason runs out of bounds, "He beats dogs! He beats dogs!"
"Okay Paul. We get it." I remind him with a smile before Jason's able to hear his comment.
Other than that, I don't say anything else. On the very next play, I get real aggressive. Jason hikes the ball. Randy, the tight end, runs a short slant across the middle. Jason passes it to him. I'm coming to bring the pain. Randy catches the pass. He is hit immediately and goes flying into the air. Fortunately, there aren't any refs out here to throw a flag for unnecessary roughness.
He gets his big muscular body up from the wet grass and says to my face, "Dude! What the hell's your problem? You could've broken my back. It's not tackle football."
I'm not in the mood to fight back, and instead, walk away from the game. Randy yells out, "Where do you think you're going? You can't just quit in the middle of a game. Come back here!"
Paul runs up and encourages me, "Just ignore Randy. He's a jerk. It's about time somebody took him down like you did. In the three semesters I've been here, you play the best defense out of our entire organization and we need to see more of that in order to beat these guys."
"I wish I could stay and finish the game, but I just realized I've gotta meet someone at the library," I give him an excuse. I needed to find a way to take myself out of the game so that I didn't have to deal with Randy. Lying to Paul was the best solution I could come up with.
As I leave the intramural fields I realize something. I could e-mail my workshop partner and set up a meeting time over the weekend to return her outline. Even though she lives off campus, she's gonna need her outline at some point. The town's not that big. It shouldn't take her that long to get here from her apartment. Why didn't I think of this before?
Instead of walking back to my dorm, I decide to return to the library and e-mail my partner. Hey, Christina's gonna be up there for another hour. Maybe I'll run into her and be able to apologize for scowling at her.
I decide not to run over there since I've got lots of time. I bet the gal that ran around barefoot isn't going to be rushing back from whatever she tried to get to on time.
The sun begins to peek out from behind the clouds by the time I walk back across University Drive. I see that same gal who ran across this street barefoot an hour ago, except this time she's walking with her dark-haired friend talking about girl stuff. But, she's still going around without any shoes on. God, she must really hate those shoes. I know what she's gonna be wanting for Christmas. At least her friend's wearing black boots. I guess that's who the barefoot gal was in a hurry to meet.
When I walk by the circulation desk, Christina's not up there. Hmm, maybe she's in the quiet section stacking books. Well, I guess I'll go e-mail my British Lit partner one more time.
In my e-mail to her, I write, "Where were you? I spent a half-hour in the library lobby waiting for you to get off work. You better come up here and pick up your outline this weekend or else you'll fail this assignment."
After I send the e-mail, I go and look over at the circulation desk again for Christina. I still don't see her. Well, the only other choice I've got is to go over to the quiet section and do some studying. Maybe I'll run into her on the way over.
I walk down until the end of the long, green-carpeted pathway and look around real carefully to see if she's in here. Even after looking down all the rows of where the books are placed in alphabetical order according to the author's last names, I still can't find her. I decide to walk back down the pathway. The library's surprisingly crowded for a Friday afternoon. I guess because finals are near, people are real serious about studying.
Luckily, I pass by an open table on my left. I pull up one of the wooden chairs that face the pathway so that I can look to see if Christina's walking by without having to crane my neck. And also too, it'll be easy for me to apologize to her.
I spend an hour in here studying. Most of the time, I just sit here and look for her. Unfortunately, I don't see her. Dammit! I guess she already went back to her apartment for the weekend. I'm gonna be brooding about the scowling incident all weekend.
While I'm getting ready to pack away my study materials in my gym bag, I see someone entering the quiet section. That's not some stranger, its Christina, and she's looking at me with a pleasant smile on her face.
I've been sitting in the lobby of the Townsend University Library for the last half-hour waiting on this heavy set gal in my British Literature class to show up. I need to give her the outline of her research paper. We did an one-on-one workshop in class today on our outlines and I didn't get to finish looking it over. I told her I'd meet her here at three when she got off work at the circulation desk. It's three-thirty now and I still haven't seen her. She better be here because our freaking revisions are due Monday. Otherwise, she'll get a zero and blame it on me.
In the meantime, I text Paul and ask him what time we're playing football. He's been an intern for Campus Crusaders for the last three semesters. I've been a member of this laid-back Christian group ever since my freshman year (two years before Paul's arrival). His charisma makes him the coolest intern the organization's ever had. He's tall and athletic and encourages the guys who are involved to play a game of football every Friday afternoon. We normally play at four, but lately Paul's pushed the game up to three-thirty since it gets dark so early outside. After I text him, I notice my workshop partner still hasn't shown up. Okay, time to go look for her.
I go over to the Christmas decorated circulation desk to see if my partner's still up there. Dammit! She's not up here. Okay, then. I'll get on one of the computers over in the lab and check my e-mail. This will be a better use of my time. What else am I gonna do besides wait around out in the cold for people to show up for football?
As I log into my e-mail account, I get a text back from Paul saying, "Football at 3:30. Come bring it!"
Oh god! I'm running late.
I'm in such a hurry to exit the library, I end up leaving my blue beanie and thick, dark Columbia gloves by the computer. Dammit! Now I've gotta go back and get my hat and gloves. From now on, I'm gonna leave them in my backpack or gym bag when I'm inside.
On the way back from getting my beanie and gloves, I look towards the circulation desk one last time to see if my British Lit partner's there, but she isn't. Dammit! Did she miss her shift? Boy, is she in trouble now? It's okay. It happens to the best of us.
While all of this is processing through my head, I see my longtime friend Christina, who takes over my elusive British Lit partner's shift on Friday afternoons. Christina and I have known each other since our freshman year of high-school and she liked what this university had to offer as much as I did. She's very attractive with her straight, dark hair and blue eyes, which get her plenty of long stares from the guys on campus. We could've dated all these years, but we didn't want to ruin our friendship. Anyhow, as I walk by the circulation desk, she's looking at me and I've got an angry look on my face and I'm breathing real hard. She has a stunned look on her face. Oh god! Did I just scowl at her? She'll never speak to me again. It's okay. I just need to play football and take my mind off of this.
When I walk out into the cloudy, thirty degree weather, I debate whether I should text Paul back to tell him that I'm running late. Nah, I'm not gonna worry about it. He should realize that I'm already on my way over to the intramural fields.
As I'm walking across University Drive, I see this blond-hair girl wearing a dark jacket and a gray, black-striped skirt running right by me barefoot. At least she has opaque tights on to cover her tiny feet. But still, she's crazy to be doing this in the cold weather. I guess those black high-heeled dress shoes she's carrying in her right hand were hurting her feet. Like me, she's panicking, although not being discreet about it. She's yelling out, "Oh my god! I'm not gonna make it."
I guess she was supposed to meet somebody or be somewhere and lost track of time. Seeing this gal makes me want to run over to the intramural fields. At least I've got my Asics 2140 running shoes on as opposed to that gal who has no shoes on at all. This will save me some time.
I start running over there once I get past University Drive. I think of it as if I'm going for a seven-mile run. I blaze past the new dormitory buildings that I've been living in this semester and the recreation center. I'm all bundled up in a green windbreaker, black wind pants, the beanie and gloves I almost left behind in the library. I don't have time to go back to my dorm to grab my thin pair of running gloves. I run up until I get to the intersection of Stadium and Park Place, which is a busy intersection with only a four way stop. Worse yet, I've gotta put with rush hour traffic to my left and right. Dammit! I was making up some time. Oh good! The guy to my left in the silver Nissan Pathfinder is letting me cross.
I give him a thank you wave as I run across the intersection. Okay, I'm almost there. I just need to get past the Greek dormitories and jog down the small flight of stairs and I'll be there.
Despite everything I've been through, I arrive at the fields at a quarter 'til four. The fields are still damp with some small patches of snow off to the side. Dammit! They started without me. It's okay. I probably haven't missed much.
"Where have you been? The Deltas have already scored a touchdown and we've been waiting for a sixth man to show up so we could equal the amount they have," Paul yells out at me as I place my dark Nike gym bag by the metal fence.
No you haven't! You went ahead without me. God, I can't believe you're only in short sleeves and shorts. You're no different than this gal I just saw running around barefoot. It makes me cold just looking at you two.
I don't reply back to Paul. I'm pretty much quiet the whole time I'm out here. The British Lit gal failing to meet me in the library has put me in a foul mood. The only time I say anything is when Paul chases down the Deltas' quarterback, Jason, who's wearing a dark green Michael Vick Eagles jersey. Paul shouts out as Jason runs out of bounds, "He beats dogs! He beats dogs!"
"Okay Paul. We get it." I remind him with a smile before Jason's able to hear his comment.
Other than that, I don't say anything else. On the very next play, I get real aggressive. Jason hikes the ball. Randy, the tight end, runs a short slant across the middle. Jason passes it to him. I'm coming to bring the pain. Randy catches the pass. He is hit immediately and goes flying into the air. Fortunately, there aren't any refs out here to throw a flag for unnecessary roughness.
He gets his big muscular body up from the wet grass and says to my face, "Dude! What the hell's your problem? You could've broken my back. It's not tackle football."
I'm not in the mood to fight back, and instead, walk away from the game. Randy yells out, "Where do you think you're going? You can't just quit in the middle of a game. Come back here!"
Paul runs up and encourages me, "Just ignore Randy. He's a jerk. It's about time somebody took him down like you did. In the three semesters I've been here, you play the best defense out of our entire organization and we need to see more of that in order to beat these guys."
"I wish I could stay and finish the game, but I just realized I've gotta meet someone at the library," I give him an excuse. I needed to find a way to take myself out of the game so that I didn't have to deal with Randy. Lying to Paul was the best solution I could come up with.
As I leave the intramural fields I realize something. I could e-mail my workshop partner and set up a meeting time over the weekend to return her outline. Even though she lives off campus, she's gonna need her outline at some point. The town's not that big. It shouldn't take her that long to get here from her apartment. Why didn't I think of this before?
Instead of walking back to my dorm, I decide to return to the library and e-mail my partner. Hey, Christina's gonna be up there for another hour. Maybe I'll run into her and be able to apologize for scowling at her.
I decide not to run over there since I've got lots of time. I bet the gal that ran around barefoot isn't going to be rushing back from whatever she tried to get to on time.
The sun begins to peek out from behind the clouds by the time I walk back across University Drive. I see that same gal who ran across this street barefoot an hour ago, except this time she's walking with her dark-haired friend talking about girl stuff. But, she's still going around without any shoes on. God, she must really hate those shoes. I know what she's gonna be wanting for Christmas. At least her friend's wearing black boots. I guess that's who the barefoot gal was in a hurry to meet.
When I walk by the circulation desk, Christina's not up there. Hmm, maybe she's in the quiet section stacking books. Well, I guess I'll go e-mail my British Lit partner one more time.
In my e-mail to her, I write, "Where were you? I spent a half-hour in the library lobby waiting for you to get off work. You better come up here and pick up your outline this weekend or else you'll fail this assignment."
After I send the e-mail, I go and look over at the circulation desk again for Christina. I still don't see her. Well, the only other choice I've got is to go over to the quiet section and do some studying. Maybe I'll run into her on the way over.
I walk down until the end of the long, green-carpeted pathway and look around real carefully to see if she's in here. Even after looking down all the rows of where the books are placed in alphabetical order according to the author's last names, I still can't find her. I decide to walk back down the pathway. The library's surprisingly crowded for a Friday afternoon. I guess because finals are near, people are real serious about studying.
Luckily, I pass by an open table on my left. I pull up one of the wooden chairs that face the pathway so that I can look to see if Christina's walking by without having to crane my neck. And also too, it'll be easy for me to apologize to her.
I spend an hour in here studying. Most of the time, I just sit here and look for her. Unfortunately, I don't see her. Dammit! I guess she already went back to her apartment for the weekend. I'm gonna be brooding about the scowling incident all weekend.
While I'm getting ready to pack away my study materials in my gym bag, I see someone entering the quiet section. That's not some stranger, its Christina, and she's looking at me with a pleasant smile on her face.
Monday, January 24, 2011
The Importance of Setting in a Story
There were several points that Josip Novakovich writes about in his chapter on setting that I could relate to. First, he points out that while setting is important to a story, it doesn't have to be described in detail. Like in a drama, the reader needs to know where the action takes place, but it shouldn't dominate the story. Otherwise, the reader gets bogged down in the detail of the setting and gets bored reading it. In Ernest Hemingway's short story "Hills Like White Elephants," he uses minimal descriptive words to describe the train station. Another point that Novakovich makes is how the characters in a story need a background that they can interact with. For example, I have used the mountains of Colorado as a backdrop for several short stories and creative nonfiction essays. Just like Novakovich mentioned, the mountains are the place that my characters move on and play out their drama.
Novakovich makes a valid point when he says the author should use an authentic setting - it is easier to describe the place if you have intimate knowledge of it. For example I find it easy to describe the Colorado mountains because I have spent a lot of time there and so I am familiar with the mountain trails, flora, and fauna of the Rockies. He also points out that the writer can set the mood using descriptive verbs, adjectives, and adverbs. Hemingway illustrates this point with the words he uses not only to describe the hills, but also the mood of the characters. Even though Jig and her boyfriend (husband) seem happy on the surface, they are masking their true feelings.
The last point that I thought was important in the chapter on settings was how the author can use it to characterize the people in the story. He used a wonderful example with the passage he chose from Dead Souls. After reading that paragraph the reader can visualize the stinginess of the character. I never thought of describing a room to characterize a story!
Novakovich makes a valid point when he says the author should use an authentic setting - it is easier to describe the place if you have intimate knowledge of it. For example I find it easy to describe the Colorado mountains because I have spent a lot of time there and so I am familiar with the mountain trails, flora, and fauna of the Rockies. He also points out that the writer can set the mood using descriptive verbs, adjectives, and adverbs. Hemingway illustrates this point with the words he uses not only to describe the hills, but also the mood of the characters. Even though Jig and her boyfriend (husband) seem happy on the surface, they are masking their true feelings.
The last point that I thought was important in the chapter on settings was how the author can use it to characterize the people in the story. He used a wonderful example with the passage he chose from Dead Souls. After reading that paragraph the reader can visualize the stinginess of the character. I never thought of describing a room to characterize a story!
Sunday, January 16, 2011
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