Untitled

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

10.1

1. “Hello Sir, can I take your order?” an overly plucky kid with greasy hair asks as soon as I sit down. 

“Scotch, neat. Macallan if you have it.”

“Right away sir!” he says, practically sprinting to get my drink. 

It’s always like that these days. Kids think that if they wait tables on Wall Street someone will come around and just magically tell them how to make a fortune in investment banking or housing or securities or whatever the goddamn Wall Street Journal is telling them is the next big move is. 

“Here is your drink sir!” the kid tells me not a minute later. 

The whiskey is smooth, chilled. I check my Rolex, a present from my ex wife before the divorce, and signal for another. 

Already I feel a migrane coming on at the thought of another buisness lunch, more talking about data integration and best practices. 

“Just until the merger goes through,” I murmer as John walks across the room, “then i’ll retire.”

2. I’ll admit this was a very difficult assignment for me. I tend to write about characters relatively close to me in age and place in life. So or this assignmentchose to write about a rich old man. However, I do not understand the thought process of old rich men so I felt kind of like I was writing in stereotypes. In my mind he is tired and ready to retire, but I dont know much more of him beyond that. This assignment was doubly difficult for me because I wrote in first person, which I never do if I can help it. 

[jukhuu]

As the stomping and banging and screaming continued upstairs, Annie covered her ears and banged her head against the keyboard, groaning in irritation. What kind of party are they having? she asked herself. It sounded like a hoard of elephants had invaded the apartment upstairs and judging by the screams, the tenants living there are being violently murdered.

She felt a gradual headache set in, as it sounded like something fell over. Her neighbors in the apartment above her have been getting on her nerves for the past week. Just yesterday, at 2am while she was trying to sleep, they turned on their bass so loud that her walls were shaking. Today, she didn’t know what was going on upstairs but the walls were shaking and the crack on the ceiling was gradually increasing in size, and she was very very tempted to go up there herself to go punch someone.

 ** 

Cindy had an uninvited houseguest in the corner of her apartment, hiding between the couch and the wall. After the party last night, she had been too tired to clean up all the leftover food, and that proved to be a mistake. As the little brown furry menace came out of hiding and scurried across the carpet to the other side of the room, Cindy screamed, and her roommate, Christy screamed, and her boyfriend, Derrick, tried to drop a huge chemistry textbook onto the rat. It missed the quick little rodent completely, and the rat got closer and closer to where Derrick was standing. As the rat advanced, Derrick wanted to brave it out, and see if he could kick it, but at the last second, those beady eyes and large front teeth proved too much. Derrick ran into the next room, and Cindy and Christy continued to scream.

They had been trying to catch the little beast for the past hour, but had no success. In the middle of all the chaos, a knock came from the other side of the front door. Since the rat was safely behind the couch again, Cindy thought it was safe to go open it. However, the second she opened it, the rat started running around again, and at the same time, the door swung open as if bashed in with a battering ram. The girl she recognized was her downstairs neighbor had kicked the door in, and the rat zoomed out the open door. From his hiding place inside the room, Derrick heard three screams (not including his own), and a sickening splat. He poked his head out of the doorway to see his girlfriend and her roommate huddling in fear with another girl, who looked half disgusted and half pissed off. They were all looking in the direction of the now dead rat, and the bloody spot against the side of the wall. Derrick passed out.

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

You did a really great job of complicating the story. The first draft i really got a clear sense of the person irritated at their loud neighbors, a very relatable story for college students. Then after that the second draft goes more into detail of the aftermath of the party and the fear they felt when chasing down the rat. Its also interesting you focused the second story on another group of characters, introducing the downstairs neighbor towards the end as “half didgusted and half pissed off”

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

9.1

1. Its 2am and the red and blue flashing lights are disorienting and you are ready to fucking KILL Jason. He told you that he was going to take it easy tonight and play designated driver for your group. You KNEW he had been drinking but you told yourself it was fine when you got into the car.

 Now the officers are shining lights into your eyes and pushing you into the back of the police car. You thank God that no one was hurt tonight but you also know without a shadow of a doubt that this night will end in one more casualty because you are going to rip Jason’s fucking head off the second you see him. That worthless asshole is as good as dead now.

2. Its 2am and the red and blue flashing lights are disorienting and you are ready to fucking KILL Jason. He told you that he was going to take it easy tonight and play designated driver for your group. You KNEW he had been drinking but you told yourself it was fine when you got into the car because you had been drinking too and you needed to get home right now so you could be up for football practice in the morning.

 Now the officers are shining lights into your eyes and pushing you into the back of the police car. Goosebumps break out on your neck and you try to hold back tears as once again the horror of the situation hits you. What is going to happen to your football scholarship that you worked so hard for? You know D1 schools don’t take too kindly to 18 year old kids with a drinking problem. God your old man is going to kill you, all of those early morning practices for nothing. You hope you can at least graduate after this. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck your life is over. 

You thank God that no one was hurt tonight but you also know without a shadow of a doubt that this night will end in one more casualty because you are going to rip Jason’s fucking head off the second you see him. That worthless asshole is as good as dead now—and probably so are you. 

[ucdfictionalthings]

A Man in Nature

He sat. The world enveloped his body, and coolness filled his lungs.

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

He sat motionless in the silence and fresh air, fully enveloped by the world. 

[ucdfictionalthings]

Prompt 8.1 25 words or less

His parents told him nothing. He saw nothing. He heard nothing. He felt nothing. He said nothing. He knew everything. Nothing was the same.

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

His parents told him nothing. He knew everthing. Nothing had chaged but everything was different 

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

8.2 Author Bio

Danielle was born and raised in suburban San Diego before moving to Davis, California to pursue a degree in Political Science. While she considers herself an avid political junkie, her writing very rarely includes politics. Danielle is curious about coming of age and a person’s agency, themes very prevalent in her work. Danielle is also very inspired by humor, pop culture, music and literature, and hopes to bring that into her work as well.

[whitmbrown-blog1]

Form

Hello?

Hi, Mom, it’s me.

Hi Julie! Sorry I’m in the middle of making pizzas, we have the Andersons and the girls over for dinner tonight. How are you? Are you going to see Mark this weekend?

Uh, I’m okay, and yeah, I’m actually on the way. I’m stuck in traffic.

Yeah? I bet the weather’s nice, are you guys going to the beach tomorrow?

I don’t know, probably, I guess.

Is everything okay? You sound sad.

I don’t know, Mom…

Okay, hang on, let me get out of the kitchen. One second, honey, I’m walking upstairs. Okay, what’s wrong?

Well I’ve just been feeling…I don’t know…like I don’t want to do long-distance with Mark anymore. But I know it will hurt him so much if I end it and I’m really scared.

Oh, no. Well, do you think you can tough it and maybe move closer to him? Would that help?

That’s the thing, I don’t want to move to be with him…so all I can see of our future is distance and it just doesn’t really feel worth it to me. I hate having to go see him every weekend and I know I shouldn’t be feeling that way. 

Oh, wow, okay. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I mean, if he was the one you’d be willing to make those sacrifices. 

Mom, I don’t think like that.

I know, but if he was you would want to go see him all the time.

Sure, whatever.

So are you going to end it?

I think I have to. I don’t know, I guess I’ll just see how I feel when I get there. 

Yeah, he’ll be receptive, just tell him how you feel and see what he says. Trust your gut, though, you always know what you want. Do what’s best for yourself, okay sweetie? I should get going back to the pizzas, will you be okay?

Yeah, thanks Mom, I’ll be fine. I should get off the phone anyway. 

Okay, good luck. I love you.

Love you too, Mom. Tell everyone I say hi.

Will do, Jules. Drive safe and stay in touch. Call me tomorrow if you need.

K, bye Mom.

Take care, honey.

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

This was a really relatable story. It really catches the tone of calling your mom for advice and how moms always seem to know when something is bothering you. You got to know the main character and her relationship problems as well as her relationship with her mother all in a short period of time. In the future, it may be beneficial to do more to differentiate the two people speaking, maybe by using two different fonts or phone numbers or something like that as it could be easy to forget who is talking.

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

7.2 Form

_______________________________________________________________

Subject: CONGRATULATIONS YOU WON A NEW CAR!!!

Sent 3:44 AM Wednesday October 14th

Hello Friend,

Amazon corporation would like to reach out to yeu with a grate opportunity for a brand new car. Please vist amzn.org to claim your prize

Bye,

Amazon Corporation

_______________________________________________________________

RE: CONGRATULATIONS YOU WON A NEW CAR!!!

Sent 9:30 AM Wednesday October 14th

To whom it may concern,

This is maybe the worst phishing email I have ever seen in my entire life. If you are going to be a cyber criminal, please have some pride in your work and run spell check.

Sincerely,

You can do better than this

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE: CONGRATULATIONS YOU WON A NEW CAR!!!

Sent 11:52 AM Wednesday October 14th

Hello You can do better than this,

I wouldn’t be so high and mighty since you just took the time to respond to “the worst phishing email” you have ever seen in your entire life. Also, tell that to the 235 people who have responded to my emails in the past.

Regards,

Who knows, maybe I just uploaded a Trojan to your computer.

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE: RE: CONGRATULATIONS YOU WON A NEW CAR!!!

Sent 1:46 PM Wednesday October 14th

To “Who knows”

I literally work in cyber security.

Sincerely,

I have definitely uploaded a trojan to your computer. It is nice to meet you, Rick Pearson from Ft. Lauderdale Florida.

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE: RE: RE: CONGRATULATIONS YOU WON A NEW CAR!!!

Sent 2:45 PM Friday October 16th

Rick my good buddy,

Its also nice to see that you do not currently have a house leased under your name? Do you live with your mother perhaps?

Sincerely,

You should probably learn a little more about computers before trying to be a criminal

________________________________________________________________

Subject: HELLO RICK FROM FT LAUDERDALE FLORIDA

Sent 3:30 PM Friday October 16th

Rick my main man,

Your bank balance also leaves a lot to be desired. But this baby photo of you is adorable!

 *View Attachement*

Sincerely,

What a cute kid

________________________________________________________________

RE: HELLO RICK FROM FT LAUDERDALE FLORIDA

Sent 3:35 PM Friday October 16th

Alright please, please stop. You win jesus christ. Don’t you have anything better to do?

You win,

Rick from ft. Lauderdale Florida

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE: HELLO RICK FROM FT LAUDERDALE FLORIDA

Sent 3: 45 PM Friday October 16th

Dearest Rick,

Honestly no. I work as a freelancer who hacks into software systems to expose weaknesses in their code. I just finished my last job so hacking into your (incredibly weak) system is a way to stay fresh. This is the equivalent of light stretching for me.

Sincerely,

Daphne

P.S. You may want to reverse your encryption feedback loops. Free tip from a pro ;)

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE: RE: HELLO RICK FROM FT LAUDERDALE FLORIDA

Sent 4: 52 PM Friday October 16th

Dear Daphne,

Isn’t that information a little confidential to be sending over the internet?

-Rick

P.S. That tip honestly saved me. Thanks.

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE: RE: RE: HELLO RICK FROM FT LAUDERDALE FLORIDA

Sent 5:02 PM Friday October 16th

Dear Rick,

Like you have any chance in hell of hacking my systems. Please.

Anyways, your LinkedIn says you graduated with a computer science degree in 2012. Why stoop to phishing?

-Daphne

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE: RE: RE: HELLO RICK FROM FT LAUDERDALE FLORIDA

Sent 5:08 PM Friday October 16th

Honestly, the same old story, the economy sucks… student loans, whatever.

-R

________________________________________________________________

Subject: Daphne WILLIAMS?????!!!!!!!!!

Sent 5:15 PM  Friday October 16th

ROOKIE MISTAKE SUCKER! I JUST REMEMBERED THAT LINKEDIN HAS A SETTING THAT LETS YOU SEE WHO HAS VIEWED YOUR PROFILE.

“Daphne Williams is a cybersecurity professional based in the New York metropolitan area. Specializing in attack based encryption and ethical hacking, Daphne graduated from M.I.T. cum laude in 2014.

Nice to meet you,

Rick from Ft Lauderdale Flordia,

________________________________________________________________

RE: Daphne WILLIAMS?????!!!!!!!!!!

Sent 5:20 Friday October 16th

I may have “no chance in hell” of hacking into your systems, but I can do some good old fashioned Facebook stalking.

-Rick

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE: Daphne WILLIAMS?????!!!!!!!!!!

Sent 5:25 PM Friday October 16th

Wow, congratulations on finishing that half marathon last July!

-Rick

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE: Daphne WILLIAMS?????!!!!!!!!!!

Sent 5:27 PM Friday October 16th

And, yes bangs definitely are a good look for you. Really digging the new haircut.

-Rick

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE: RE: Daphne WILLIAMS?????!!!!!!!!!!

Sent 5:28 PM Friday October 16th

AND YOU HAVE TWITTER TOO!!!!!

“Currently watching Star Trek in my pajamas and drinking bourbon at 3 in the afternoon. Who says this adulthood thing is hard?”

Well I just envy your life now.

-Rick

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE:RE: RE: Daphne WILLIAMS?????!!!!!!!!!!

Sent 5:29 PM Friday October 16th

Stop! STOP! I will literally drain all of your bank accounts in 5 minutes if you don’t stop stalking me on the internet. Please I am begging you!

-Daphne Williams, the cyber security professional from New York

________________________________________________________________

RE: RE:RE: RE: RE: Daphne WILLIAMS?????!!!!!!!!!!

Sent 5:31 PM Friday October 16th

How about this instead. Let’s call a truce.

-R

________________________________________________________________

Subject: Truce

Sent 5:31 PM Friday October 16th

Sounds good to me. I’ll do you one better though. I’m bored out of my mind and you’re unemployed so you clearly have nothing better to do...let’s be friends.

-D

P.S. Currently texting you on the cell number I pulled from your bank statements ;)

________________________________________________________________

Subject: Date?

Sent 8:32 AM Wednesday April 30th

Hey Daph,

I know you don’t check email until after 9am so call me after you get this.

Here goes, I got that job interview in New York I was telling you about… I’ll be in the city in a few weeks. Let me take you out to dinner.

Yours,

Rick.

[ucdfictionalthings]

My question has to do with writing fiction. Writing fiction is supposed to be a personal journey with the author and the character, but there is so many tasks and expectations to meet. My question is, how can a writer be truly liberated from everything else to the point where only the story matters? (Are there any exercises recommended, ways of thinking, etc.)

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

This question intrigued me because I definitely relate. Hwever, I also was left questioning, what tasks and expectations do you mean?

In my mind, the tasks and expecatations are things that stem from remembering that your’re writing for an audience. When writing for an audience you keep in mind the form and the characters and the length and all of the things we talk about in class because at the end of the day you know someone will be reading what you wrote. Of course you want them to enjoy what they are reading, but that can also detract from the writing process as a whole. 

Maybe to truly liberate yourself as a writer, you just need to write more. Intsead of writing with a goal in mind, just sit down and write. While many of the projects might be total garbage there will be some that will be great and might shape into something meaningful. The more you practice writing, the more comfortable you may feel writing just for characters and the story, without thinking about all of the tasks at hand and expectations you place on yourself. 

There are a ton of writing challenges online like this one:

http://30daychallengearchive.tumblr.com/post/832610035/writing-prompt-30-day-challenge

These are deisgned to get people in the habit of writing every single day. Since its a little structured, maybe doing something like this will help remove the expectations and focus on just writing. This could then spill over on the writing that is really important to you. 

In the same vein, these tips are designed for changing the direction of something you’re already writing. This could also help strip away expectations by forcing us to be creative and react to something changing in a story that already exists.

http://www.cracked.com/blog/5-writing-exercises-that-will-make-you-more-creative/

[ucdfictionalthings]

Question

This whole quarter, we have been reading stories about a multitude of characters and discussing how close we feel to them; how much we feel like we know the character. For example “Who’s Irish?” I felt like I truly knew the character and where she was coming from. Why she felt the way she did and the reasoning behind her actions. Then, for “Cleopatra Brimstone” I as the reader knew everything she was doing and where she was going, but not why. Both stories work in their own way. How, do I know how close or distance I should put my characters to the reader? How do I know what works for my stories and what doesn’t when it comes to knowing your character?

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

I think that choosing the right narrative distance really comes down to the character themselves. If the character is someone who seems open, confident in their decisions like the main character of “Whose Irish?” then it makes sense to have an incredibly close narration. Or for another example, the main character of “Leda and the Swan” demands to be in first person because she is a character who enjoys talking at other people. When you have characters who are more reserved and withholding like Jane in “Cleopatra Brimstone” then it makes sense to put in a lot of narrative distance between the reader and the character. 

Maybe the best thing to do is some writing exercises where you write a scene with your character in each of the points of view and distances within them and figure out where your character thrives.

I also think that maybe it will be easier to determine narrative distance the stronger your character is. I’ve noticed a common thread of trying to figure out how to write real seeming characters in our class discussions and how difficult that can be. But, when you have a real character with agency, they will demand the narrative distance that fits them best. 

I found a great article about crafting compelling characters on Writersdigest.com that I think was very helpful. http://www.writersdigest.com/writing-articles/by-writing-goal/write-first-chapter-get-started/hooked-on-a-feeling

I highly reccomend reading the entire article, but at one point the writer states that to them, the fundamental elements of a compelling character are that they have: 

1. A driving need, desire, ambition, or goal

“...The fundamental truth to characterization is that characters must want something, and the stronger the want, the more compelling the resulting drama” 

2. A secret

“For your character, a secret is that inclination or trait (such as a psychological disposition to dishonesty, violence, sexual excess, or the abuse of alcohol or drugs, to name a few) or an incident from the past that, if revealed, would change forever the character’s standing in her world, among co-workers, neighbors, friends, family, lovers. Secrets inform us of what our characters have to lose, and why.” 

3. A contradiction

“ We all know people who are both shy and rude, cruel but funny, bigoted but protective. This complexity, which seems to particularly manifest itself during times of stress or conflict, is what can make a person inherently unpredictable, setting the stage for the kind of surprising behavior that can keep readers enthralled, wondering what might happen next.”

4. Vulnerability 

“ Nothing draws us into a character more than her vulnerability. When people appear wounded or in need of our help, we are instantly drawn to them—it’s a basic human reflex. We may also sometimes be repelled or frightened, but either way, the fact of the matter is that injury to another person instantly triggers a strong response.”

While there cant be a formula to writing, I personally found this list incredily helpful to keep in mind when crafting characters and the stories (and narrative distance) that suit them. 

[gowendyblog-blog1]

Valentine’s Day

It started with a poke on Facebook. Many argue that it was the Easter card. Ana and Enrique went back and forth trying to remember how they first started talking to one another. Basically trying to figure out when they first met.

It was their 50th anniversary. But this particular anniversary was not to celebrate the day they got married, it was to celebrate the day they met. The sucky thing is the older you get, the more your memories of when you were young start to dissipate into nothingness. Their life together panned out better than expected. They had a retirement fund and traveled every once in a while.

Ana was of medium height and had dark brown hair and eyes. She was sorta chubby because she had nine children and twelve grandchildren, so there was no time to worry about her looks. She was super organized and loved to cook. But of course, her husband and best friend did not care. He was as in love with her since the first day they met, but neither of them remembered exactly how.

All Enrique ever saw was the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him. He knew she hated washing the dishes, so he would do it for her. It was like this couple knew everything about each other.

Enrique was tall and always wore dark jeans and a flannel or t-shirt. It suited his dark hair and dark brown eyes. He was clumsy and smart. Enrique was always looking for an adventure and he always imagined Ana being with him. It was almost as if they became one person throughout the fifty years of knowing each other. Although, Enrique was particular about his things. He wanted his food cooked and cut a certain way and his shirt must be ironed before his jeans.

Ana did not mind it, it was the little things the brought them closer than ever. She could not possibly love him more than she did already. I could see it by the way she looks at him. They met when they were sixteen by the way. When I was growing up, I always heard that people don’t usually end up marrying their first girlfriend or boyfriend, but these two did.

They never actually remembered how they met. Ana and Enrique asked around, but no one seem to recall. But in reality it did not matter because they had so many memories together and so many more memories to make.Everyday was a new beginning and they what made them the best couple ever, I like to think. I was there the day they met and I saw Enrique give the Easter card to Ana with a box of chocolates and Ana had a confused face because she had never talked to Enrique before. I didn’t wanna say anything, well because like Forrest Gump said, “Life is a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get” And I thought that people don’t have to know everything. Sometimes it’s better to appreciate the person, rather than knowing how you met them.

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

This was such a short, sweet story. The couple is very well flushed out and you could see a lot of love with them. When reading it, I immediately liked the characters and wanted to get to know them more.  I was a little confused if there meeting was a poke on facebook or the easter card, but to me that took a backseat to the characters anyways..The facebook poke made me laugh a little bit, because in 50 years that very well may be the start of a modern love story. 

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

It all started with...

It all started with beer, Kevin thinks as he walks a few blocks to meet up with his friend Jeremy at the bar down the street that is “way cooler” than the one they were just sitting at. If he hadn’t just said no the one drink after work then he would probably be at home in sweatpants by now. 

Well, actually it was probably the beer and the tequila shots, Kevin thinks as he boards the train to that underground house concert that Jeremy was SO POSITIVE would be the greatest night of their entire lives. 

Well, more acurately, tequila shots and Beyonce. Yes, Kevin thinks as they stand outside of a broken down warehouse in the freezing cold winter hoping to see some new DJ or something. Yes, if the bar hadnt started playing Beyonce just as they were doing tequila shots Jeremy wouldnt have insisted they go somewhere that plays “real music.”

Or actually, Kevin thinks as they shuffle forward in line, It was probably the Beyonce and those goregeous women they overheard talking about that cool new warehouse party just a few subway stops over that everyone was going to.

Well, it was the women and the fact that his job has been so goddamn boring recently, Kevin thinks as Jeremy bribes the bouncer some obscene amount or money to let them in to to the pretentious warehouse party. Insurance claims processing isnt supposed to be the most exciting job out there, but its just been stifiling recently. 

Or really, it was the fact that his job has been so boring and Lisa found herself a new boyfriend, Kevin thinks, sipping his beer as Jeremy buzzes around the crowded warehouse, looking for a dealer.

Fucking Lisa, this is all her fault, Kevin thinks, bleary and disoriented, just before he slips out of conciousness on the cold bathroom floor. 

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

An assignment (5.1)

I originally thought of “nothing happening” as very difficult with a character with agency. So I decided that the most “nothing” that could happen would be with a completely passive character. In this case, a laptop.

The laptop powers up.

The laptop is set on a desk with a copy of transcendental poetry volume II, two empty cans of Redbull, and a box of powdered mini donuts.

Microsoft word opens. Spotify begins playing.

Type type type type. Backspace Backspace backspace.

The laptop is closed.

The laptop is opened once more.

Spotify shuts down. Backspace, backspace.

Google chrome is opened.

The keys G O O G L E S C H O L A R are hit in that order.

The keys F E M I N I S M I N T R A N S C E N D E N T A L P O E T R Y are hit in that order

The mouse clicks.

Control find.

Copy paste.

Microsoft word maximized.

Type, backspace, type, type period.

Enter. Tab to indent.

Backspace backspace backspace backspace.

Type Type Type.

Spell Check.

Printer powers on.

The laptop is closed.

[niecygirl34]

I stayed quiet to make sure I couldn’t hear my mom coming up the stairs. Once I was sure she wasn’t, I quickly kicked my toys underneath my bed. She would never look there. I grabbed some old cups that had been adding up in my room and headed downstairs to put them in the sink. Gaby was sitting on the couch watching TV and eating something that smelled sweet. Candy.

Where did you get that?

 Mom gave me some. She said without even looking at me.

 Mom wouldn’t do that. She only lets us eat candy from there when we’ve done something special.

 She paused the TV, sighed, and stared at me.

 Unlike you, I’ve been keeping my room clean, so mom said I deserved it. She continued watching TV.

 I walked into the kitchen to put away my dishes when I noticed a post-it on the fridge. That’s where mom always put her reminders for us.

 Josh I’m going out with Aunt Sara today so that room better be clean by the time I get back love mom

 I rolled my eyes and took the note from the fridge.

 You didn’t tell me mom left. I shouted out to Gaby as I passed the living room.

 You didn’t ask! And pick up your shoe from the hallway; I almost tripped over it this morning!

 I heard Gaby yelling at me, but I chose not to reply. I’m almost to my room when I stop; I pick up my shoe and toss it into my closet.

 Time seemed to slow down and my room didn’t seem any cleaner, despite how much stuff I picked up from my floor. I hated cleaning. I’d rather do homework all day than clean.

 Actually, I hate homework. I’d rather be watching TV, I’d even watch it with Gaby if it meant that I could stop cleaning.

 Before I knew it the sun was slowly going to sleep and I was finally done cleaning. Just then I heard the front door open.

 Hey kids I’m home! I heard mom yell.

 I ran downstairs.

Hey mom! I said as I peaked into the grocery bags she had carried in.

 Hi hun, your room clean? She stopped putting away the groceries and glared at me.

 I looked right into her eyes and smiled.

 Yep. I’m all done, you can even go check.

 Good. Thank you for not complaining about it. She reached into one of the cabinets.

 I watched her slowly, wondering if she could be getting what I was thinking about.

 She turned around.

 Here hun, choose whichever one you want. There in her hands she held the best thing in the whole wide world, the candy jar.  

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

Just as I was about to reach for Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, my favorite, Mom held the jar just above my reaching hands and said but first, lets check in your room. 

I broke out into a cold sweat. Gaby laughed from the living room. 

Mom followed me down the hallway and then I opened the door. 

My bed is perfectly made! See mom! I yell. 

She walked further in the bedroom and checked my closet, nodding her head as she noticed how well I had put away my toys. 

She looked at my desk, with no papers on top of it. 

I was in the clear, that candy was as good as mine. 

Can I get candy now? I asked. 

Almost! Mom said. Then she walked up to my bed, bent over, and looked under the bed.

Good try Josh. She said with her hands on her hips. How about you really clean your room and then we’ll see about that candy jar. 

Moms are the worst.

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

4.2 In the Candy Store

Elijah had been looking forward to Kate coming into the candy store all day. At 23 years old she was the most beautiful thing the 20 year old had ever seen and he was sure that she loved him too.

So distracted was he at the thought of his lady love that Elijah almost didn’t hear his grandfather’s request to fill up the jars of Swedish Fish in the front until he yelled at him three times. “Go fill that jar boy!” His grandfather yelled “It’s the one with the post it on top!”

Reluctantly, Elijah made his way to the stock room. “Now which was it?” Elijah thought, heart sill a-flutter. “the one without the post it right?”

Absentmindedly, Elijah opened the jar not marked by a post it only to find a small skull, about the size of a child’s head, covered with carvings. 

Elijah couldnt believe what he was seeing. Quickly, he put the skull back in the jar, determined to act like everything was normal. 

It wasn’t until later that night in the arms of the beautiful Kate that Elijah felt comfortable opening up about what he had seen. 

“Oh my poor baby” Kate whispered, stroking his hair. “I didnt want to have to do this, but now you’ve seen too much.” 

Then Kate got up, crossed her bedroom, and pulled out a large, ornate knife.  Terrified, Elijah got out of bed, ready to run, but his shoes were suddenly stuck to the floor. 

“NO!” he screamed, Just as Kate crossed the room with the knife. “Please! I love you!”

The next day there was a second skull in the candy jar. 

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

Coffee shop assignment

I spent most of my time at the coffee shop watching a faily talk over lunch and wrote a little story about them. 

—

The girl, the mother, and the grandmother are sitting at a table in a café.

The girl is wearing her bright pink jacket. It isn’t that cold today, but the girl got a bright pink coat for Christmas and has worn it every day since.

The mother is wearing a pink jacket too. It’s a little wrinkled, faded, some long forgotten relic of her teenage years that is somehow back in style today. She will never tell anyone this but sometimes she puts on the coat to remember what it’s like being young and excitable, working out to Jane Fonda videos in the middle of her living room after school.

…But mostly she says she wears it because her daughter is still at that age where being like Mommy is a cool thing and not a liability.

The grandmother is not wearing pink. Somehow, somewhere the world has decided that bright colors are no longer right for “women her age.” So, instead she wears an oatmeal sweater and black pants, sweater fading into her beige colored hair and black pants the same color of the orthopedic shoes. The ones her doctor told her to start wearing or else she’ll have to get a hip replacement.

The girl is dancing in her seat. She’s waving her arms and making funny faces, telling the mother and the grandmother all about her day at dance class and the upcoming recital. She doesn’t stop to take a breath between her stories. She lets them keep building on each other, her voice getting louder and louder because she hasn’t yet been told that young ladies aren’t supposed to monopolize conversation and that being excited about every little thing isn’t cool because “you’re not that great of a dancer anyways and who are you to keep talking about your accomplishments so why don’t you just quiet down and let someone else take the spotlight for once.”

The mother watches her daughter, noting how happy her daughter seems and swearing up and down that she’s not going to mess this whole parenting thing up. Not like her mother did, she thinks, always criticizing her daughter for being too loud, too wild and crazy, too much trouble to get into in a town as small as this one. She does not notice that the girl has asked her a question until the girl asks a second, then a third time.

The grandmother idly listens to the girl.  But honestly, she’s really thinking of her own past on the dance team—maybe the dancing genes have been passed down. She had been good, she thinks, good enough to wear the sparkly costumes and stands front and center. One year, she remembers, she led a chorus line for her high school like a Rockette, white boots and all. She flexes her foot in her orthopedic shoes and tunes back into the conversation.

The girl stops talking to look outside, noticing that two other little girls are playing outside in the muddy grass. Please let me play with them, the girl asks, staring hopefully at the mother.

The mother tells the girl no, that it’s almost time to go anyways.

And besides, the grandmother adds, do you really want to get that new pink coat dirty anyways?

And so the girl sits back down in her seat, unaware that no matter how hard she tries, one day her bright pink coat will fade as well.

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

The girl, the mother, and the grandmother are sitting at a table in a café.

The café is bright and cheery, with sandwiches and salads for the mother and grandmother and a sprinkle covered brownie for the girl. Really the café isn’t even the best one in town, only chosen because “it’s halfway between our houses and don’t you think that I should be able to see my granddaughter more than once a month?”

 The girl is wearing her bright pink jacket. It isn’t that cold today, but the girl got a bright pink coat for Christmas and has worn it every day since.

The mother is wearing a pink jacket too. It’s a little wrinkled, faded, some long forgotten relic of her teenage years that is somehow back in style today. She has never told anyone this but sometimes she puts on the coat to remember what it’s like being young and excitable, working out to Jane Fonda videos in the middle of her living room after school.

…But mostly she says she wears it because her daughter is still at that age where being like Mommy is cool and not a liability. Every time she puts on the jacket she prays silently that this won’t be the day where the girl tells her that she would rather be caught dead than match her Mother.

The grandmother is not wearing pink. Somehow, somewhere the world has decided that bright colors are no longer right for “women her age.” So, instead she wears an oatmeal sweater and black pants, sweater fading into her beige colored hair and black pants the same color of the orthopedic shoes--the ones her doctor told her to start wearing or else she’ll have to get yet another hip replacement.

 The girl is dancing in her seat. She’s waving her arms and making funny faces, telling the mother and the grandmother all about her day at dance class and the upcoming recital. She doesn’t stop to take a breath between her stories. She lets them keep building on each other, her voice getting louder and louder because she hasn’t yet been told that young ladies aren’t supposed to monopolize conversation and that being excited about every little thing isn’t cool because “you’re not that great of a dancer anyways and who are you to keep talking about your accomplishments so why don’t you just quiet down and let someone else take the spotlight for once.” So the girl keeps talking.

The mother watches the girl, noting how happy she seems seems and swearing up and down that she’s not going to mess this whole parenting thing up. Not like her mother did, she thinks, always criticizing her for being too loud, too wild and crazy, too much trouble to get into in a town as small as this one. She does not notice that the girl has asked her a question until the girl asks a second, then a third time.

The grandmother idly listens to the girl.  But honestly, she’s really thinking of her own past on the dance team—maybe the dancing genes have been passed down to her hyperactive grandchild. She had been good, good enough to wear the sparkly costumes and be on top of the pyramid. One year, she even led a chorus line for her high school like a Rockette, white boots and all. But now, she flexes her foot in her orthopedic shoes and tunes back into the conversation.

 The girl stops talking to look outside, noticing that two other little girls are playing outside in the muddy grass. Please let me play with them, the girl asks, staring hopefully at the mother.

The mother tells the girl no, that it’s almost time to go anyways.

And besides, the grandmother ads, do you really want to get that new pink coat dirty anyways?

And so the girl sits back down in her seat, resenting the mother just a tiny bit in her new pink coat.

[myriahjsmith-blog]

A Disaster at Starbucks

When it first began, it seemed like an innocent game. Neither of the two girls meant for what they started to turn into something twisted or wrong. Initially, the purpose of their meeting revolved around an entirely different matter. After all, who gathers at a Starbucks in Santa Rosa in order to stalk random guys on the internet?

On a rainy Friday, just seconds after 1:07pm, two girls barged into the Mission Street Starbucks. Literally, they barged in; the heavy wind and rain caused the door to slam against the wall as it opened, making everyone in the small establishment immediately turn in a startled daze. While a normal person might be embarrassed by this outburst, the two girls erupted into laughter. The taller one brushed her sopping wet bangs out of her face, flinging the remaining water droplets off her hand with an odd disgust. She proceeded to toss two long, blonde braids over her shoulders, despite the fact it led to even more water flinging about, and peel off a bright yellow raincoat. The other girl, supposedly her friend, motioned to an empty table near the back of the coffee shop, adjusting the strap of a purple Jansport backpack slung across one shoulder. This girl shook about her mop of brown curly hair, and then proceeded to the unclaimed table with a determined, and almost wild excitement.

The coffee shop calmed down following the initial entrance of these two quiet and unseemly trouble makers. Gathered around the small, round table, the two girls commenced their secret meeting. The brunette produced an old Dell laptop out of her backpack, and delicately placed it on the table. She then fished around in her backpack until emerging with a twenty dollar bill, and then happily flounced her way to the counter. The blonde waited at their table, slouched in her chair and focused intently on her phone. She no longer displayed the giddy entertainment about her location she showed when she first entered the Starbucks. Even her friends return with a giant, obnoxious looking concoction of blended ice, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce failed to return a spark to her face. The other girl, however, appeared infinitely ecstatic about whatever endeavor they had planned, and sipped excitedly from her own mysteriously crafted beverage.

“Okay, so what was his name again?” The brunette asked, typing furiously on her laptop.

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Megan, I told you like a hundred times. It’s Sean!”

The brunette, Megan apparently, frowned. “I know, Kate. I meant his last name. There are like, a million Seans on Facebook.”

Kate blushed. “Sean Tillinghast. He has brown hair. That one!” Kate leaned closer to the computer screen and pointed, at a profile most likely. Megan squealed, probably out of approval at her friend’s choice.

“Do you know if he has a girlfriend?” Megan asked Kate. Kate sighed and sat back, shaking her head. “Well that’s okay. I mean, it doesn’t say it here, but from his pictures, it doesn’t look like it.” Megan clicked away. Despite the fact this Sean supposedly interested Kate, she remained focused on her phone, rather than admiring the Facebook photos of her maybe future boyfriend.

Suddenly Megan froze. “Oh no…” She moaned.

“What?” Kate mumbled, not looking up.

“Don’t be mad. But I… I accidentally liked one of his photos… from a year ago.” Megan whispered.

“Megan!” Kate screeched, once again reeling in the stares of the entire coffee shop. Megan ducked her head down apologetically, frantically sipping her sugary drink. Kate covered her face with her hands and groaned.

“God and we had to log into MY profile to stalk him. WHY!? I am so mad at you right now. My life is so over.” Kate stood up and started to put on her bright yellow rain coat.

“Kate, come on don’t leave. I’m sorry! It’s not a big deal.” Megan tried to assure her friend.

“Megan, now he will know I like him. God, this is so stupid. I’m calling my mom to pick me up.” Kate whipped out her cell phone and walked towards the entrance of the Starbucks. Megan slouched down into her chair, frowning. She did not try to talk to Kate. She simply sat, facing forward, looking sorry for herself.

About five minutes later, a white Toyota mini van pulled out in front of Starbucks and Kate hopped in. Megan stared at it as it pulled away; it’s “My Child is on Honor Roll at Rincon Valley Middle School” sticker fading into the distance.

[danielleistakingawritingcla-blog]

Very funny story, I am sure everyone can relate to the pain of accidentally liking a photo. You describe the setting very well, from the rain to the time of 1:07 pm. This really seems like another day in the life for two teenage girls. I really liked your story.