Before I was a writer, I was an acrobat. Not the kind that flips through the air–the kind who holds up other smaller, younger acrobats who look better in the same spandex costume. A “base.”
I loved it. I loved being the one who makes sure everyone is ready, calls the move, Hup!, then adjusts while the flyer holds still. Stay straight, tight and trusting. Don’t balance yourself, let me balance you.
I loved that I could lift men bigger than me and women in acrobat class who were also bigger than me and had spent years not letting anyone lift them because they felt “too heavy.” That I could grab someone the right size and move them through a basic routine right away, as long as they did exactly what I said. I got really good at giving directions, verbal cues, nudging with…
this is a comfortable life,
the repeating of words
did you brush your teeth?
please pick up your shoes
the toilet’s still broken
please, pick up your shoes!
tasks and outcomes
faucet still leaking
more piles to pick up
it’s fine, really
we take on titles
our names irrelevant
with each metamorphosis
this is a satisfying life,
the repeating of words
why don’t you buy a wallet?
please fix the gazebo
the wipers are broken
seriously! pick up your shoes
brake-fluid still leaking
more hats to pile on
we take on roles
our names irrelevant
with each version
At least not from a worker’s point of view. This year Thing 2 (my youngest child) wanted to see what all the hoopla is about. I scheduled our departure right on time–AFTER the sales frenzy 🙂 We still got everything we wanted–sheets, cheap movies, toys, socks, PJs–without getting pepper sprayed or socked in the face. In the meantime, here’s a blast from the past. Actually, it wasn’t that long ago. Last year I had the pleasure of guarding the 50-
inch televisions. Imagine a 4’10” chic, a quite, introverted keeper of peace who loathes crowds attempting to keep a mob in order. I’m laughing as I replay in my mind how that turned out. Here’s a brief summary:
How about you? Did you find everything you were looking for and needed during Black Friday? Do you dare to venture out on that day? Why or why not? Do share! Oh, and what is the worst experience you have witnessed or encountered during the event?
My aunt is one of those folks with books everywhere. In the kitchen. On the couch. In the bathroom. Basically, in every corner and crevice of her apartment. Often, I’ll drop by and find her reading one novel while stashing a sheet of folded paper in another.
“How do you do that?” I asked one evening.
“Read more than one story at a time without getting lost.”
“Easy,” she replied.
Let me be the first to tell you, people. It AIN’T easy!
I bought an electronic reader with part of my short-story winnings (which is a story in itself), but my new-found toy had no books, no magazines, and very little else other than what came with it out of the box. So, I began shopping. And I chose several novels and magazines, which I determined I’d peruse later, like when stuck at the doctor’s office, suffering from insomnia, or waiting on Thing 1 and 2 to wrap up practice. Meanwhile, I also checked out reading material from the library. (Why go on a buying frenzy when you’re on a budget)
Here’s where the problem started: I began Southern Comfort, also by Fern Michaels, but it was too depressing for my light mood. The guy’s family is murdered two or three pages into the story. So, out of restlessness, I began a book I’d downloaded by Debbie Macomber called Starlight. Not one of my usual go-to authors, but hey.
Then, yesterday, I added Save Me, by Lisa Scottoline. (Talk about gripping!)
Freestyling makes for a natural feel and is often used in poetry. I myself prefer freestyle as opposed to confined, traditional poeming. However, when it comes to story writing, this method may turn out to be…not so fun.
Sure, initially, the freedom of letting one’s story drive recklessly in the wind, with no destination what-so-ever is cool. Then, perhaps somewhere down the line, chapter seven or eight maybe, one realizes the entire novel has drifted precariously into No Man’s Land without so much as a road sign leading the way out.
When it comes to writing (anything other than poetry, and sometimes even then) an outline is a must. (Unless you want to revise your manuscript 10 or 15 times. Okay, maybe 30…)