On Writing

Like most women in my family, I write. Some of us write short stories, some of us write poems, and some write term papers for their kids (not naming any names or anything). I think we write because we are natural storytellers, exaggerating most of what occurred. We can take an ordinary visit to the drive thru and make it a heart stopping tale of adventure, courage, and survival. No kidding, spend time with a Smith woman (and maybe even a Smith man) and we will spin some real whoppers. Now there is truth in all of the stories, but you should learn to question us and question often. I do guarantee you will enjoy most of them, that is until like some of our spouses and significant others, you have heard the stories multiple times. Then you learn to tune us out.

My actual point to this blog is that I have been toying with the idea of writing a novel for years. I took some writing classes in college, like everyone else. Then I took a creative writing class at UALR a couple of years ago and enjoyed it. Mostly I liked stirring up trouble by writing some controversial items that sort of freaked out the older ladies in the class. What I did discover about myself is that I do have the ability to write, although from my blogs you wouldn't be able to tell. Blogs are very stream of consciousness for me. I think my first attempt at writing is going to be a book of short stories. I know they are not so fashionable these days, but I do love a good short story and it is not like this is my day job, so what the hell?

I did decide I would post a couple of my pieces from that class and see what kind of feedback I get. So feel free to comment.

Push

The air was still on this December morning.
Light shone through the plate glass window
Scattering diamonds across the red carpet.
I could see my breath in front of my face calm and steady.
Standing in line were mostly housewives at this early hour;
Lined up like dominos on a card table in the park.
I tossed my coffee cup in the trash outside in the entryway
Passing the automated teller machines and the service table.
I avoided eye contact with the guard – stayed out of the camera path.
Slipping my hand inside my jacket as I walked,
I caught the eye of my compadre entering the other door.
As I prepared to begin another business day,
I pictured the man in the park crying out “Domino,”
As his opponent scattered dominos across the table.
I prepared to do the same.

NKR - 2008