Pins and Needles

I have really never been a very patient person, and I have been doing a lot of waiting lately. I’m not handling it all that well. I become obsessed with thinking about it, check my email incessantly, and grab my phone as soon as I get back to my office to see if anyone called. It’s unhealthy. I know. But I’m not likely to change.

The thing that has me the most nervous right now is the writing workshop I applied for. Yes, I finally made myself sit down and write a short story (this is why I have been MIA for so long – that and a mini-vacation). It was an insightful process. Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve ever written a work of fiction that was that long. I’m sure that I had creative writing assignments in my high school English classes, but I’m sure they weren’t almost 300o words (2,918 to be precise). I am fairly certain that I wrote no works of fiction when I was in college. As a business major I think I had to take freshman English and that was it. It never occurred to me to take a class outside of my major just because I might enjoy it (at least, one that all my friends weren’t taking also, like bass fishing…yeah, true story). So, to actually finish a story of such length is an accomplishment for me, and I am patting myself on the back.

Accomplishment that it may be, I still really want to get into the workshop! I keep wondering how many people applied. Did he get a flood of writing samples at the last minute? The application deadline was yesterday, and the professor emailed me and said he would get back to me in a day or so. I have been trying to define what constitutes “or so” since I got the email (see paragraph 1). But the course starts next Wednesday, so I don’t have that much longer to wait.

I’ve decided, though, that I’ll be OK if I don’t get in. Writing the story lit a fire under me. I wasn’t 100% in love with what I wrote, but as a first attempt, I’m pretty proud of it. The writing process itself was kind of a rush. I don’t want to stop. I’ve already started thinking about other ideas for short stories. I’ll keep you posted on how it all turns out!

Stuck

I have been feeling a bit stuck lately. I’m not sure what my next step should be. After the huge let-down of not getting that job, I have been a bit crabby and depressed. I have been spending more time at work because I need to make up for July’s below-average billables (this was not because I was not working – rather, the law clerks were getting all of the new projects and I literally had nothing to do. Hard to earn any money when you are paid by hour you bill). I did create a website for my photography business, but what I really want to focus on is writing a short story.

One of the colleges in town is offering a creative writing workshop for members of the community. You don’t have to be a student of the university and anyone can apply. A professor teaches the workshop, you are given assignments, and it’s only $200. However, the course is limited to 15 students and you have to apply by submitting a writing sample. While the requirements are “no more than 15 pages”, I know that I probably need only 3000-5000 words. I keep telling myself it should be easy to do, yet I can’t make myself sit down and try writing. I can’t even think of a good idea to write about.

The applications are due September 15. I had hoped to get something started this weekend, but here we are at the close of Sunday and I haven’t even opened my word processing program. I did, however, manage to bill 7.9 hours. Something seems a bit off there, don’t you think?

You are SO Grounded

I really was a pretty good kid growing up.  I rarely got in trouble.  I always made good grades.  I was in sports and other extra-curricular activities.  I was “mature for my age” (whatever that actually means) and found that I had more in common with people older than me than other kids my age.  When I was 16, I started working at a coffee shop in our local mall.  After an afternoon of going into nearly every store in the mall and being told either that they were not hiring or that you had to be 18 to work there, I dejectedly walked into the coffee shop.  I probably hadn’t even considered going in there when I first started on the job hunt because let’s face it, I was 16, I didn’t drink coffee.  I went in there once at year around Christmas to buy coffee beans for my parents.  Anyway, I sadly asked how old you had to be to work there.  Today, I’m not certain whether the answer was 16 or how old are you.  Regardless, I got hired.

Everyone was older than me, and most of them were students at the nearby state university.  I got along with everyone really well and when I was 17, I was the youngest person to receive a key to the shop and allowed to open/close the store.  I was so cool.  A new girl started to work at the store the beginning of my senior year of high school (or around that time).  I was still 17 years old.  I can’t remember how old she was – for some reason I’m thinking 24, but that seems too old.  Probably 22 or 23.

We got along fantastically despite the age difference.  She was everything I aspired to be.  Cute, but not to the point of intimidation.  She was happy, outgoing, fun, uninhibited, smart.  We started hanging out some outside of work.  We worked out together, going on two-hour walks around campus and talking about everything and nothing.  She took me to a few college parties.  How awesome was I?  I felt like the kids at school considered me to be a nerd, straight-laced, uncool.  I was showing them.  (It was high school – I cared what they though.  I often wonder how I will convince my own children that in the grand scheme of things it really does not matter…that’s for another day, I suppose).

It came to be spring of my senior year.  There was a big campus-wide event going on one April weekend.  I think almost every university has something similar to this in the spring.  A campus-wide competition that provides an excuse for everyone to party.  Fraternity parties, house parties, off campus parties.  You name it, it was going on.  Having lived in the town since I was 4, I knew about the event, but it never occurred to me that campus was not a place that an underage person would want to be during that weekend.  I’m not certain I even knew what the excise police was.

I don’t remember what I told my mom we were doing, although I’m pretty sure she knew I was with my co-worker.  Big party weekend or not, I wasn’t supposed to be going to college parties.  My co-worker’s sister and her boyfriend were in town, so I probably said we were just going to dinner or something.  I remember getting ready at her apartment, and I distinctly remember making a conscious decision not to take my ID with me.  I don’t remember why I thought that was a good idea.  We drove over to campus, and drove up to this house party…with a live band!  Awesome!  I’d never been to a party with a live band.  Never occurred to me that the party with the blaring live musing and pounding bass would serve as a beacon to the cops.

I’m not sure how long we’d been at the party.  I recall trying to pass myself off as a college student to this guy who came up to talk to us and giggling uncontrollably.  I remember the band playing Sweet Dreams by the Eurythmics (although it was 1996 so it could have been the Marilyn Manson version).  I remember having to go the bathroom and recognizing that there was no closet to serve as a hiding place if necessary.  I’ll admit it – I’d had a couple of drinks.  I’m guessing wine coolers because I don’t think I could force myself to choke down beer at that point in my life.  (Oh, how things change.) What happens next?  You guessed it.  The cops bust in with their spotlights, the music abruptly dies away, and I was standing there like a deer in headlights.  Shit, I was going to be in trouble.

I quickly looked around but there was no place to hide.  I shuffled into line with everyone else.  My co-worker’s sister, who had been drinking peach schnapps or something before we left, stepped up to the portable breath test and blew…0.00%!  How did that happen?  Hmmm…the wheels start clicking.  It’s my turn and I’ve never been so scared in my life.  The officer asks me if I’ve been drinking.  What comes out of my mouth?  The truth?  Of course not.  For some reason, I said no.  I don’t know why.  It really was not intentional.  Regardless, the breathalyzer kept me honest.  0.03%  Uh-oh.  He asked me how old I was.  17, I stammered.  Seventeen, geeze, he says (the seventeen was all drawn out, so disapproving).  Where’s your ID?  I don’t have it.  Go stand over there.

My friend left to get my ID.  I sat on the front porch.  I had plenty of company, but I was the youngest.  The wheels started turning again.  Was there anyway to get through this without my mother finding out?  I sat on the front porch, shivering.  This guy with long, braided hair with bells and beads at the end of them was dancing around to a tune only he could hear.  I was calling him bell boy in my head.  However, he was kind enough to loan me his jacket.  The officer finally made it to me and took down all my information and filled out a ticket.  I was actually lucky that it was such a big party weekend because the police were too busy busting parties to take people to the station.  Any other weekend and I would have been calling my mom that night.  But this night, I took my ticket, gingerly folded it into my pocket, gave bell boy back his jacket, and we moved on to a fraternity party.  Yeah, I was that smart.

Remarkably, the rest of the night was uneventful.  I went to work the following morning.  My mom was also working at her part-time job at the mall.  She came in on her break.  She could tell by the look on my face that something was wrong.  At first, she was concerned.  I pushed my ticket across the counter to her.  She looked at it, read it, and stormed out of the store, steam coming out her ears.  I drove home at the end of my shift with much trepidation.  I could not imagine my punishment.  It was worse than I expected.  I couldn’t go to prom!  No!  How could she do this to me?!  I had never been to prom!  This was THE high school experience!  AAARRRGGGHHH!

After a few days, she calmed down.  I could go to prom, but NO going out afterwards, and NO day after trip to the amusement park.  OK, I could deal with that (it ended up raining and was so cold, so I didn’t miss much!).  I did have to meet with a juvenile prosecutor and go to this one day seminar about alcohol and drug abuse.  The worst part about that was giving up a Saturday and having to pay the $60 fee out of my own pocket.  But I’ll be honest…I waived that ticket around at school like it was a badge of honor.  Because for a few days (and only a few days), everyone looked at me differently.  I, for that brief period, was a bad ass.

View From My Windows

A Short Story Told From My Neighbor’s Perspective

It is around 7:00 am.  She awakes without an alarm as she does every morning.  This shouldn’t come as a surprise.  She is ninety-three years old and has awoken on more mornings than most.  It is snowing again.  This has been a terrible winter, and the new neighbors all but destroyed the safe harbor for the squirrels and chipmunks that frequent her yard.

She gets dressed, puts on her coat, hat and mittens, and calls to her small dog, Maggie.  She looks out the window to see if Maggie II is out yet.  She likes Maggie II well enough, but she’s very loud and excitable.  Very similar to that big white dog that lives behind the new neighbors.  Maggie is not very fond of Maggie II.  She doesn’t understand why she barks so much.

There is no sign of Maggie II.  She begins to gather up the food for the birds and squirrels.  She crumbles the old bread from yesterday, and looks through the waste from yesterday’s meals, fishing out the rind of her orange.  She carefully shuffles out the door and over to the bench by the garage.  She places the bread on the bench and tosses the orange rind behind the garage.  She scoops out birdseed from the bin next to the garage and fills the feeders.  She looks up in the trees, searching for any sign of raccoons.  She just doesn’t understand why the possums and raccoons keep coming around and getting into her attic, even after the new neighbors destroyed all of her bushes that provided them access.

She walks back to the house, peering into the neighbors’ yard.  It’s hard to see what’s going on over there with the tall fence they put up.  There was nothing wrong with the chain link fence.  It allowed them to see each other better, at least once you pressed your face through all of the over growth.

Maggie II came bursting out of the dog door just before she reached the door.  Apparently the neighbors slept in this morning.  Hello, Maggie II, she says.  She used to generously provide Maggie II with dog biscuits.  Tried to put a little meat on  her bones.  The neighbor lady came out one morning and told her she had to stop.  Maggie II needed to lose weight.  She wondered what uneducated vet they were going to.  Definitely not the one she recommended to them when they first moved in.

She shuffled back inside, and into the kitchen.  She looked out the window and saw the woman out there with her camera again.  What could she possibly be taking pictures of?  She thought again how weird that was.  Although, the woman is weird – always changing jobs, always running – weird.

She wondered if they would bother to shovel the snow off the sidewalk this time around.  She watched them finally clear off the ice yesterday, but apparently they did it only because they were expecting company.  Some people arrived in an SUV around 7:00 and hadn’t left by the time she went to bed.  It also appeared as if they were trying to “save” the parking spot in front of their house so the strange man who always parks in front of their house couldn’t park there.  She wondered about the state trooper that used to stop by their house.  They said they were friends with him, but she hadn’t seen any trooper cars in quite some time.

She walked to her living room, called to the dog, and settled down on the couch.  She turned on the tv and adjusted her position so that she had a better view of the front walk.  Once she was comfortable, she was ready for another day of watching the neighborhood.  Little did she know how very much she had in common with Maggie II.