Ten years ago today, I was standing in a pizza place in downtown Ann Arbor, Michigan grabbing a bite to eat before French class. I overheard on the radio that planes had flown into the WTC towers. French class was cancelled and I went home to 1518 Golden Street to watch the events unfold with my college roommates, one of whom had friends and/or family in New York City.
Author: Chris
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First Tee
Chris teed off from the blue tees on the first hole of the TCGCC. He plucked his tee from the soft turf, stepped down the grass that his two iron brushed up, and then slid his club back into his PING carry bag. His shot was still in the air while he completed this tasks, but it had felt solid and left on the right trajectory and line. His Titleist ProV1x would be in the fairway and he would have a good shot to the green. Just as he was about to shoulder his bag, he heard a crack behind and to his right. It sounded as if a full grown hardwood tree had been snapped in an instant.
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Writing Tips
Never open a book with the weather.
Avoid prologues.
Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue.
Never use an adverb to modify the verb “said.”
Keep your exclamation points under control!
Never use the words “suddenly” or “all hell broke loose.”
Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.
Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.
Same for places and things.
Leave out the parts readers tend to skip.Source unknown.
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I’m 30 Years Old Today
From my first memories as a small child through high school graduation, life was about exploring the unknown – opening doors to new adventures. I was taught that I could be anything – do anything – discover.
Then it felt like I was closing doors. I picked a college – eliminated the rest. Majored in economics. Specialized in law. Took the bar exam for one state. All the while I’m thinking, ‘is this what I’ll be? is this my dream? what have I discovered?’
And I’m beginning to settle into what I’ll be – husband, attorney and amateur golfer. I’m living my dream, set in beautiful Traverse City fully stocked with friends and family. And although I haven’t discovered everything in my first 30 years, I’ve discovered enough about myself, other people and other places to know that, as I sit here in my office with one door closed and one open, I’m in a good place.
Happy Birthday to me! Here’s to 30 more!
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Above. Before.
Most nights, on my walk back to the front door of our condominium after letting the dog out, I turn left around the eastern edge of our building. As I do so, I usually look up at the dark sky. Tonight is no different. The big dipper hangs in God’s kitchen, it’s Pole Star shines down on the earthly heavens around me. The other constellations – those Greek gods and goddesses – the names of which I don’t know nor have ever cared to learn – follow my careful steps along the rough sidewalk. They know of my ignorance, yet they keep their distance. I know of there distance, yet I keep my ignorance.
During each return walk, I recognize that I’ve made the short trip before. That I’ve fallen asleep and been jolted awake before. That I have dreamed before. That I’ve lived life before under these very stars that outline my existence with their outdated explosions.
Written from 10:45 pm to 11:05 pm on Thursday, August 25, 2011 at home in Traverse City, Michigan.
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OneWord: Transport, Sinking, Silk, Umbrella, Force
Transport:To transport oneself into the shoes of another takes more effort than simple observation. One must not only be able to appreciate the struggles and triumphs of that other person. Those are easy and visible. One must also be able to . . .Sinking:I have this sinking feeling about the red blinking voicemail indicator light. ‘Who left the message,’ I wonder. My sweaty palms stick to my coffee cup as I try to lift it to the dry lips of my already over-caffeinated body. It gets this way at work. Sometimes. Not always.Silk:The seam of her black silk stockings caught my eye. The grip of the delicate lace on her thigh. From her heel up her leg, the vision made my heart beg, just a little, to be bigger, to pound faster, to outlast her. Her silk legs. Her lace flesh. She was a delightful sight.Umbrella:The dark green golf umbrella that spanned six feet above her damp ponytail created a small haven of calm. Her feet were wet, she was running out of good gloves and was worried that her bra was showing through the light colored shirt she thoughtlessly chose to wear on this predictably rainy day.Force:The force with which the wave hit my broad hairy torso stung like a giant had was slapping my cold naked flesh.Link to OneWord.com, which prompts me with each of the words and provides one minute to write about that word. Sometimes I run long.
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OneWord: Punishment, Thread, Repeat, Succeed, Deer, Missed
Punishment:The self-inflicted punishment was not worth the mental (and sometimes physical) toll taken by the extraneous actions. I would have played better if I could have kept an even keel – taken the bad with the good – brushed it off.Thread:A single thread of string dangled from the hem of her skirt as she sat, legs crossed, in a green metal chair eating lunch on the porch of her favorite local diner, “Dalmatian’s.”Repeat:The show was a repeat. What a letdown for the over-stimulated group of teens that had planned their night around the show. Snacks had been purchased. Drinks poured. Couch seating reserved – tentatively, of course.Succeed:“In order to succeed in this little world,” he said before pausing to take a drag on the cigarette he found on the edge of the fountain, “you have to . . . ”Deed:The deer dashed from the dense shrubbery along the right side of Highway 2 in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. The night was dark and rainy, and the deer was but a brief silhouette of life frozen in my dim Ford Explorer headlights. Then, we were both gone as quickly as we had crossed. My heart thumped with the weight of what felt like the iron-ore-mine-explosions I have felt while sitting on the living room floor of my grandparents single-story ranch house in Ishpeming, Michigan.Missed:*The baseball skidded on the pavement and then continued along a trajectory that would eventually lead it directly into the side of Chris’ head, which was only slightly higher than the level of the road because he was standing in a ditch. Todd had thrown the ball hard, just as Chris’ attention was drawn elsewhere – by a bird chirping? a garage door opening? an itch calling? After the fact, when Todd looked closely at the skin on the left edge of Chris’ forehead, he could see that it had left a mark in the shape of baseball stitching. ‘All in a summer day’s work,’ the two muttered as they eventually went back to playing catch – Chris then more attuned to what the baseball was doing and less so about anything else around him. Perhaps this could be taken as a hard-earned lesson to focus on the task at hand.*I neglected to actually use the word, “Missed” while writing this entry. That is the first time it happened. However, one can gather that the baseball missed Chris’ glove, which may have been where I initially was going with my story.
NOTE: Although the OneWord.com website provides a one-minute time limit for writing these entries, I do not always adhere to the time limit – especially if I like what I am writing, which is happening more frequently, as I get back into the flow of writing in general. Thanks.