Creative Writing final assignment ~ short story

As you may or may not know, I've been taking a creative writing class with the wonderful Miss Pamela Des Barres (author I'm With the Band). In this session, we worked on character development with the end goal being a short story. Below is my final assignment...

Tracks trudged down Los Angeles Street, shoulders hunched with the weight of her world. The sun is bright this morning, heating the dark asphalt of the streets. Though she sweats through the many layers of clothes, Tracks is cold. It’s a cold the sun can’t chase away. It’s the cold that is lives in her bones. She trails her hands over dusty windows, stucco walls, wrought iron bars, chain link fences and corrugated metal. “Closed. Closed. Closed.” She repeated. “Stay out.” She stopped to peer through a metal grate into a tailor’s shop. “Stay out.” Yolanda dropped her elbow onto Tracks’ shoulder. “Baby girl, it ain’t to keep us out. It’s to keep them in.” They stood a moment longer, staring at the mannequins, sewing machines and pin cushions. Then continued on their way.

Harlan Haines strode confidently past tinted storefront windows, discreetly checking his profile every few steps. From a distance, he looks like every other downtown-working businessman – dark suit, white shirt, bold colored tie. Up close, the details set him apart. Harlan still wears cufflinks. His son, Hunter, had scoffed when Harlan gave him his first pair. Since when did cufflinks become passé? Harlan wondered. No matter. Harlan liked the glint when caught by the sun at the right angle. He liked the double H monogram – simple, not haughty or tasteless. All of Harlan’s shirts were monogrammed with the double H on the pocket. He and Gwendolyn liked the subtlety of tone-on-tone. Both of them thought flashy was tawdry. Both of them were elegant in simple ways, evidenced in their homes, their cars and their appearances.

Harlan stopped in front of the doors, adjusted his cufflinks and sleeves; gave himself the once-over. He patted at the sweat on his upper lip. Slow inhale. Slow exhale. He adjusted again. He hesitated. Slow inhale. Slow exhale. Harlan walked into the bank.

Inside the Downtown Women’s Center, Tracks and Yolanda ate lunch. The yellow walls and rows of windows, while meant to be warm and cheery, sadly highlighted the age and wear of the building. More bars Tracks observed silently. DWC is one place she feels safe. She wishes they could stay…

“After you shower, I’ma go. I’ll be back to shower before it close” said Yolanda, her mouth full of pasta. Tracks never asked where Yolanda went or why she went alone. She always came back for her. Yolanda always came back…usually stoned and happy, sometimes with money, one time with a black eye and bloody lip. No, Tracks never asked where Yolanda went or why she went alone.

“Good afternoon, Mister Haines.”
“Hello, Donna. Safe deposit box, please.”
“Certainly, Mister Haines. This way.” Together they walked to the far corner of the bank. Harlan filled out the form and signed the entry sheet. The buzz alerted Harlan the lock was disengaged. He pushed through the door. Donna slid a card key through a scanner then entered her key when a tiny light turned green. Harlan followed her into the vault. “5-5-Oh” she said, sliding her key into the bottom lock. “Thank you Donna.” Harlan slid his key into the top lock and together they opened the small door. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” Donna nodded, “Take your time, Mister Haines.” She left him alone.

Harlan removed the box, set it on the table, and lifted the lid. Inside were copies of his and Gwendolyn’s wills, their passports, several envelopes, two ring boxes and an Airweight snub-nosed revolver. He grabbed the envelopes, pocketed the gun and called for Donna.

Tracks was relieved to find the arts and crafts room empty. Fresh air and sounds of the street blew through the open windows. Tracks removed one envelope from the front of her jeans emptying its contents on a table under the window. Pictures, postcards, paper and Polaroids spilled across the tabletop. Pushing her damp hair back, Tracks began to arrange the items – girls here, boys there; smiling, not smiling; groups of people; places. She studied each picture, making up her own story to go along with the faces. She didn’t know why people threw out the pictures; she didn’t care, really. She liked having them; having them close.

Tracks read the labels on the craft boxes – pencils, pens, crayons & markers, glue, glitter. She took the pens, glue and glitter to the table. She found orange construction paper and scissors on a shelf then sat down. Tracks picked up a stack of pictures, thumbed through and selected. In the picture, a group of boys in party hats made silly faces at the camera. On the table in front of them sat a huge pepperoni pizza, 3 pitchers of soda and presents. Tracks carefully cut around the boys, their pointy hats and elbows, the pitcher, the pizza and the presents. She glued this onto a sheet of construction paper. Tracks folded the paper in half so the picture was on the outside and wrote “Thank you for the food” inside. Tracks sat uninterrupted in the arts and crafts room for 3 hours, making cards with most of the pictures, postcards, paper and Polaroids from the envelope. She cleaned up her mess; put everything back into its proper place and walked downstairs.

Harlan sat outside the Starbuck’s checking voicemail. He skipped through the first four messages – Patricia will answer those. At the fifth message – which was marked Private and Urgent - Harlan froze. “Harlan, it’s Jack Leverett. Come see me.” Jack Leverett was the company’s Senior Counsel. He never left a message. His secretary left messages for him. Harlan loosened his tie. Tiny sweat beads sprang up across his upper lip and forehead. Could he…? No. No! Jack? Jack?? No. No way. No way. Harlan closed his eyes. Slow inhale. Slow exhale. Slow inhale. Slow exhale. Harlan took a minute to scan his emails on the blackberry. Nothing out of the ordinary there. He relaxed. Slightly. He pushed 4 on the phone which rang his office.

“Harlan Haines office.” Harlan wondered if she’d heard anything about his call to Leverett’s office.

“Hi Patricia, it’s Harlan. I’m at Starbuck’s – would you like anything?” Did you hear – I took money from the company? I took lots of money from the company.

“No thank you Mister Haines. Would you like your messages?” Business as usual. Does she sound suspicious? Does she sound different? She does. She doesn’t. His stomach cramped. I’ll give you money if you don’t tell. Shh! It’ll be our little secret.

“Yes, please.” She rattled off his messages. “Thank you, Patricia. I’m going to the 17th floor then I’ll be in the office.” He hoped she wouldn’t be suspicious. She didn’t sound suspicious. His head pounded.

“Yes sir. Bye.”

His stomach cramped, his mouth dry, his head pounded. Harlan trudged to his office, shoulders hunched with the weight of his world.

Curled up on a cot, Tracks dreamt of home. The pretty green house with white shutters; rose bushes, flower beds and kids running through sprinklers on the front lawn; a blue hammock in the shade of 2 trees. She’s running and laughing with the children but they don’t see her. She’s pushing the hammock but they don’t see her. She yells and screams. But they don’t see her. She cries and screams herself awake. Vanessa, the Day Center manager, is sitting on a cot next to her. “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re at the Center. You’re okay. Here’s some water.” She placed the cup of water into Tracks’ shaky hands. “Let’s go outside, Tracks. Come on. Let’s get fresh air.”

Harlan sat in his Mercedes, head on the steering wheel. Relief. Sweet relief! Jack wanted to talk about secretaries. Secretaries! Harlan practically giggled with delight when Jack asked if he could promote Patricia when his assistant left in September. “Of course you can, Jack!” Harlan bellowed. “Of course you can!” No, Harlan didn’t need to think about it. Yes, Harlan will tell her. Great, great. Yes, it’s great. Though relieved, his heart beat wildly. His stomach still cramped. His head still pounded. The bottle of water did nothing to his dry mouth. Harlan pulled the car out of the garage and merged into downtown traffic.

Tracks sat in the shade, against a wall in the empty parking lot - chin on her knees, the tears dried on her face. She rarely thinks of home. She often dreams of it. She can never go back after all of the horrible things she said, all of the lies she told, all of the things Zeke did. Too embarrassing! Her stomach cramped at the thought of it all.

Harlan pulled his Mercedes into the empty parking lot, coming to a stop across 2 adjoining spaces. No one around – perfect. He pounded his fists on the dashboard and steering wheel, yelling and screaming, crying and screaming.

Tracks watched the car speed into the lot and screech to a halt. He didn’t try to park, he just stopped. He was yelling at someone or something. He was hitting the steering wheel. She liked the glint of whatever the sun caught – his watch or something? She stood up, watching the lights dance out from the car.

Harlan calmed himself down. He took the envelopes out from the front of his pants, careful to arrange them on the dashboard. He removed the cufflinks and his watch and wedding band and put them in the envelope marked Gwendolyn. He sat turning the gun over and over in his hand. It was unraveling…he would bring shame to his family, his reputation dirtied by accusations then ruined by the truth. He started to cry...body shaking. His sobs became moans. His façade cracked as his moans became wails. He screamed with the gun in his mouth.

The man’s screams wrenched her gut. He was crying in pain. Tears sprung to her eyes and her body wracked with release. She stood, staring into the car, shaking her head. Tracks said no. No. No, repeating it over and over, louder and louder until she was screaming and wailing. Hugging herself, Tracks rocked on her heels.

Harlan stopped screaming, but the screams did not stop. He opened his eyes and met those of the screaming girl.

Observations from the Deck. Observations from the Line.

Thursday night ~ VH1 Save the Music benefit ~ Carnival Cruise Line 'Splendor' ~ John Mayer, Jordin Sparks, Gavin Rossdale, Sara Barellis, OAR and 2 other bands

Observations from the Deck:
~ when given the option, most girls go for fashion over comfort (me included)
~ 20something girls are really young ("I LOVE YOU JOHNNY! I LOVE YOU GAVIN!")
~ open bar and open cruise ship food is a good thing~ perhaps 'open bar' shouldn't be so open to some people (the 2 ladies in front of us and the whole row of girls behind us for example)
~ Gavin Rossdale really is hot!
~ goody bags are aptly named
~ cruise ships need better decorators
~ when there are several singers on a bill, limiting each to 2 songs is brilliant

Saturday night/Sunday morning ~ Prince ~ Club Nokia @ the Nokia Plaza downtown Los Angeles

Observations from the line:
~ when given the option, most girls go for fashion over comfort (me included)
~ the Religion of No Mirrors has a larger following than I suspected! I'd hate to think friends let friends go out of the house without commenting on outfits...
~ curiosity gets the best of people - if there's a line, everyone wants to know what the line is for
~ one raspberry beret
~ a lot of purple
~ there really is someone for everyone!
~ some people will do anything to not wait in line!
~ $40, if propositioned to the right guy, will get you a place in line
~ waiting 3 hours in line + starting the show an hour late is worth it if Chaka Khan shows up to sing 'Sweet Thing' with Prince on guitar

:)

gimme an S

swirly

strange

smitten

struggling

stressed

separated

I woke up this morning feeling those things

Creative Writing homework 03.15.09

In my creative writing class, we're working on character development. The end result will be a short story. Our homework was to describe the bedroom of our character.

- Bedroom -

For the past two nights she slept in the doorway of a Wells Fargo Bank near LAX. Though she and Yolanda blocked the ATM atrium entrance, she didn't care. Much. She liked sleeping in a space like this - three walls of protection. Yolanda sleeps on the outside - her fourth wall of protection.

She pulled her knees close to her chest, stretching her sweatshirt over her knees and leaned her head against the beige colored stucco wall. She rubbed the bumps and closed her eyes.

"Mom, I don't like the bumpy stuff. Can't we get rid of it?"
"Honey, it's up to you."
She hugged her Mom tighter. Her parents were giving her the best 'Sweet 16' birthday gift ever ~ a bedroom makeover!

The result was better than she'd imagined! Standing at the door, the opposite wall is glossy grass green. The window to the backyard has white vertical blinds, white sheers and a green polka dot valance. The other three walls are flat Navajo White. The wall to the right of the door is covered with pictures: framed photos of family vacations, friends at school, at school events, at sleepovers. Postcards of places she's visited and places her friends visited. Posters of Gossip Girl, One Tree Hill and High School Musical. Opposite the photo wall is the framed Michael Parkes print 'Gargoyles' that used to hang in her Mom's first apartment. She'd found it in the garage, had it re-matted and re-framed. Below the Parkes print is her desk and computer. Next to the picture, the walk-in closet door painted the same glossy grass green as the other wall. Her four-poster bed is on the wall opposite the green accent wall. The comforter, dark green on one side, light green on the other, was smoothed across the bed - light green side up. The sheets are white with tiny green and yellow flowers. Six throw pillows, in varying shades of green, are strategically arranged in a haphazard fashion with the darker colored pillows in the middle. Atop the dark green pillows sits a small stuffed doll - wheat colored hair wearing a green jumper and flowered shirt. Her cheeks were faintly pink and her lips a pretty red.

Tracks jerked awake. Some street noise, that's all. In the faint light, she reached for her backpack. Feeling around inside, she grabbed the corduroy. Putting the doll on her lap, she gently finger combed its hair. She lifted the jumper, pulled up the shirt and stared at the hand-stitched heart around the name. Her name.

character meets me

In my writing class, we're working on character development. The end result will be a short story. Below is my character meets me:

Once a month, I volunteer at the Downtown Womens Center to teach sign language to its residents and visitors. Several women show up, a handful actually participate. Last month, after several months away, Yolanda showed up with a young girl in tow.

"Rissie! Where you been, girl? You still cookin' in the kitchen?" We hugged.
"Yep, still cooking on Thursdays." We'd met last year on a DWC cooking night. She threw her arm around the young girl.

"Tracks, this here's Rissie. She cooks sometime, she serve lunch sometime and she teach those sign things to the ladies."

"I'm Rissa. Nice to meet you. Tracks? Where'd that name come from?" She shrugged a little.

"Come from me. One - she from the other side of the tracks. Two - this girl can run! I seen her outrun Jackson and you know that nigger fast, girl!"

"Are you staying for the class?"

"Nah, not today. We came to sleep and shower, get clothes and eat. You make them two times potatoes?"

"Not this time," I said. "Pasta shells, green salad, garlic bread and jello."

"Mmm!" She playfully punched my shoulder and walked off to the day room. Tracks stood there, staring at me.

The seven ladies arranged their chairs in a circle, while Tracks sat on the sofa against the wall, directly in my line of sight. We reviewed the ABC's and numbers, each woman spelling her name and signing her favorite number. I introduced colors by asking some women their favorite color then showing her the sign.

"Tracks, what's your favorite color?"

She signed green.

character meets a celebrity

In class, we're working on character development. The end result will be a short story. Below, my character meets a celebrity:

She sat outside the Mission, in line with Yolanda. It was her turn to stay awake. The soft sounds of Yolanda's snoring comforted her. She knew any sudden movement would jolt Yolanda awake, prepared to defend. "Girl, it ain't safe out here for us," she had warned. "We gotta take turns sleepin' and watchin'."

As the sun rose, people in line stirred and started, anxious to get a hot meal. The man with the roll of cash walked up and down the line handing out money. Yolanda got a 20. She got a 5. She folded the bill in half, turned toward the wall and carefully slid the money into one of her manila envelopes.

Eyes cast down, she shuffled along the line. She could hear chatter all around. But she was overcome by the smells. The delicious smells of Thanksgiving wafting out the door, swirling around her nostrils, causing memories to crash in her brain. A tear escaped. "Aw, Tracks. Baby girl, don't cry," soothed Yolanda. "You okay, girl. You okay baby girl."

She took the tray handed her by the volunteer, smiled and mumbled "thank you." The went outside, found shade against the building, away from the others. She watched the mayor and the governor visit families sitting at the picnic tables, followed by cameras and women with microphones. A girl walked out - apron, jeans, Converse high tops, hair pulled back and tucked under a beanie. She kept her eyes down and walked toward the dumpster.

"Happy Thanksgiving" she said in a soft Southern drawl. "How y'all doin?" Her smile tightened a bit, realizing what she'd said. "How's your dinner?" she said brightly.
"It's delicious!" chirped Yolanda, just as bright. "We appreciate it so very much!"
"I'm Miley. Miley Cyrus." She extended her hand.
"I'm Yolanda. This here's Tracks." Miley and Yolanda talked a bit, then Miley walked away.
"She was nice."
"Hmph. She's just here for publicity."
"Oh."

She looked at the girl talking on the phone. Their eyes met then each looked away.

Before...After

In my writing class, we're working on character development. The end result will be a short story. Below is the introduction to my character:

Before...her hair was the color of wheat on a sunny day. It moved down her back like wind through a wheat field, all wavy and wild. She brushed her hair one hundred strokes each night before bed to keep it "soft and shiny" (she'd read that in an issue of Seventeen magazine). She liked trying new hairstyles ~ pony tail, two pony tails, a single braid down her back, two braids, french braid, sophisticated up-do, hair ribbons, hair bands, barrettes. But she always wore her hair down, cascading down.

After...her hair is the color of cardboard. It's the same color as the inside of a pizza box from Johnny Z's. This made her cry. She had found three crusts and one full slice in the bags one summer morning. She pushed her hair off her face, pulling out two clumps. The clumps fell into the pizza box. She gobbled down two crusts, not noticing how they tasted; just that they were. The third crust had some tomato sauce on it. Mmm. She looked at the full slice - Italian sausage, black olives, extra sauce and cheese. God bless 'em, whoever you are she thought. As she lifted the slice, she caught sight of the clumps of her hair. She fingered the clumps, rolled them between her fingers. The color of cardboard, the texture of straw. Dried straw. Tears welled as she recalled her hundred strokes ritual. Before...before...she dropped the pizza, the clumps and the tears. She now wears her hair off of her face, secured by a red bandanna which hides the thinning and the clumps.

Before...her skin was fair yet warmed by the sun. Couldn't be helped, really - she ran track, played tennis and was on the swim team - she was always outside. Her smile betrayed a dimple to the left as well as crooked bottom teeth. She was prone to pimples on her chin and forehead - the 'T-zone' is what the Seventeen magazine called it. She wore sunscreen instead of sunblock because she liked having the hint of a tan.

After...sunscreen hasn't touched her skin in years. Submerging herself in a vat of lotion could not help her cracked heels, dry skin or wind-chapped face. Her nose and chin are peppered with blackheads and occasionally pimples will appear. Her skin color can be described in one word - dirty. She is dirty most of the time; the color just enhances it.

Boot Camp!

Days I and II

Awake at 6. Out the door by 6:30. At the gym by 6:45. Oh, what a beautiful morning :::insert Howard Keel version:::

8 people in boot camp, 8 different levels.

We did squats. We did squats across the basketball court. We did squats on the plastic step thingy. Followed by more squats. We jogged across the basketball court. Bicep curls. Tricep dips. Lunges. Rows. Chest presses. Crunches. Planks. Push ups. On the step. Over the step. On the ground. I don't think Alisha is trying to kill us but she certainly dances right up to the line without going over.

Day One and I was one with the epsom salts that night.

When I told my friends I'd signed up for boot camp, they all said "Good for you!" No one told me I'd get my butt kicked! Sheesh.

I had a difficult time getting out of bed this morning as it was cold, dreary and misty. Once I got moving, it was okay.

Our group shrunk to 5 today; good thing as we worked inside, upstairs in the corner of the gym.

Alisha made us WORK! It was a lot, back to back to back with maybe 10 seconds to rest or grab water in between. While on the elliptical thingy, chest pains slowed me down. I pushed through because, well...it's boot camp and you're supposed to. Then floor work and back to the elliptical. Whoa! I had to stop. The pain became tense and heavy, so I sat down. Alisha told me to take deep breaths and just sit. As I did, I noticed the relaxation of my chest, shoulders and neck. Huh. Joining the workout again made me realize I tense those areas in order to lessen the work on the rest of my body. Ha! No bueno. So, I made the adjustments and finished the rest of the workout.

As we were alternating between crunches and push ups, I heard General Public's 'Tenderness' coming from the spin class below. Made me smile as I realized the next 3 weeks of boot camp will end with an English Beat concert (Canyon Club this week, Brixton & the Coach House next week, Las Vegas the week after that). Dave Wakeling as a reward for a workout week well done? Hell yeah I'll take it! :)

Oh, we have to keep a food journal. Pfftt.

you say you want a resolution, well, y'know...

I stopped making resolutions in 2007. At that time, I chose to set "goals" ~ which made it easier to be vague and somewhat non-commital. "I want to be a better person" was my favorite. What does that mean exactly? What does that entail? I hadn't a clue. It sounded good. It definitely sounded goal worthy.

As 2008 was winding down and talk of resolutions increased, I found myself really wanting to make serious and significant changes. Although these have been rattling 'round my brain for more than three months, this is the first time I've written them down or said aloud.

I want to get out from under my clutter. I so desperately need to get out from under it. I want my things to have a place other than any available flat surface. I want to live clutter-free. I just have to live clutter-free! In no way is it as bad today as it was nine months ago. In no way is it as good today as it was nine months minus one day ago. I've had a few friends offer help; and while I am totally appreciative, the shame is too overwhelming to accept their help, allow them in. Yeah, yeah, I hear you - get over it. The shame is as overwhelming as the task itself. I've proven this can't be handled by me alone. It just needs to be handled.

I need to be healthy. With my high blood pressure + the recent stress at work, I will die if I don't change my habits. I want to get Work Out Rissa back! I was doing soooo well ~ working out 5 days a week, lowering my blood pressure, fitting nicely into those jeans without Spanx. Then *poof* she was gone. I relaixe exercise is a four-letter word to me. I have to dance or move or do something that isn't called exercise or be held accountable to other people. Well, I'm bringin' Reesie back! A couple of weeks ago, the Fitness Center on the Lot announced an 8-week boot camp. I couldn't sign up fast enough! It's an 8-week program, 3 days a week, 8 people in the group and it's on the Lot. Love it! In addition to the boot camp, I purchased a 3-month trial of Sensa, which I will start tomorrow. Sensa is a weight-loss 'program' which involves sprinkling flavor 'tastants' onto everything you eat. The science behind it is that these crystals work with your sense of smell to trigger the satiating part of your brain to signal your body that you're full. We shall see how this works out...I love my food, so this will be interesting.

Writing! I've started session 3 of Creative Writing. I'm excited to find out what our class goal is (short story, essay, what?!). I finally feel okay with my writing; okay in the sense that I don't have to qualify it before reading it to the class. Doesn't mean I don't do it anyway. It's just nice to be in an accepting place with my writing self.

I want to bring more love into my life. Not just romantic love, but love of myself. I don't have much of that. I love pieces of myself. I want to love myself to pieces.

Love. I've tucked that away for such a long time...mostly out of self-protection. It's much easier to have fun while holding him at arms length. Well, my arm is tired. And, I think, I'm a little more open to love now. Not sure why now or what happened to make me say now. There's been a shift, for sure...like I told Chickens - I've told myself for such a long time that I must have this this and this in order to fall in love, but realized how limiting that is; how unfair to me I am being. So, I'm trying to be okay with lowering the walls (how The Bachelor is that comment?!) and being more open to love without my parameters. I will continue to have my fun, maybe with a bent elbow...

Well, there ya have it. Call 'em what you want...I guess they all add up to me wanting to be a 'better person'

Mom. Gotta love her.

Phone conversation I had with my Mom about 15 minutes ago:

My neighbor is so cool! Y'know what she did?

No. What?

Well, she knows I've been crazed the last couple of weeks with the layoffs and stress and work and worrying and all that. So, tonight, she brought me a six-pack of beer and a roll of Nestle Toll House cookie dough with a spoon wrapped in ribbon! Isn't that cool?

You drink beer?

Yeah, I drink beer. The spoon is tied to the cookie dough with curling ribb...

I didn't know you drink beer.

I do. I'm 21, y'know.

I have never seen you drink beer. I'm going to bed. Good night.

Note to self: drink more beer when around Mom.