Writing Archives - Page 3 of 7 - Writing Like a Dancer

INTERVIEWING YOUR FICTIONAL CHARACTER

Posted on November 22, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in interview, Interviewing Your Fictional Character, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing from a detail, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse 3 Comments

Writing Practice and the Muse Who is ALWAYS THERE

Writing Leap #48

Hi Writers,

Thanksgiving is the official time to verbalize “gratefuls.”

What about asking your fictional characters to tell you their “gratefuls?” They may surprise you! Maybe they think they don’t have any, or maybe they will reveal something about themselves that will show you a deeper side, an unexpected layer of who they are. Your character may show you he’s not always dense, or loving or grouchy or intelligent.

Asking your character questions, listening for his answers or “seeing” a new gesture or facial expression emerge is one way to add revealing dimensions to his behavior. It’s a good way to avoid the dreaded “one dimensional character.”

Go ahead and try asking your characters what they are grateful for. Start with a blank page, put the character’s name on top and ask the question! Give them a chance to show you how richly layered they may be. They might reward you by breathing right off the page.

Here’s mine. I asked my character if she were grateful for anything. She revealed something I never knew about her and I realized I had done her an injustice. She wasn’t just one way. She was another way too.

She had to get rid of this dog. He bites, well nips, her ankles, the delivery man’s ankles, guest’s ankles, everybody’s ankles. He whines every hour on the hour at night. Can he tell time? Here’s the worst. Sometimes he goes poo-poo in her husband’s back office, in front of the bathroom door. Right after a long walk outside.

Here he was now, looking up at her while she sat reading, tissues piling up in the basket next to her. Her nose wouldn’t stop running and her throat was sore and her head was hot. She crossed her legs trying to find a comfortable position. Holding the top leg slightly out in front of her felt good.

The dog lay at her feet. He reached his big paw up to her lifted leg and plopped it there, on her ankle. He was very still. She stared at him for a few moments, then a few more moments. She couldn’t help the smile and she ruffled the dog’s ears. She leaned back and felt the warmth of his paw spread through her, landing, she realized, on her heart. The dog looked her in the eye and didn’t move his paw from her leg. She really would be bereft without him. How could she be in her house without that doggie love following her around?

A Very Happy Thanksgiving Writers with many “gratefuls!” As for me, I am so grateful I am a writer because my eyes are always open wide.

LINKING THE ARTS

A Good Word

Trust, as in trusting that your characters know who they are.

I wonder if Dickens or Tolstoy or Edith Wharton had conversations with their characters?

WRITING THE UNEXPECTED JOY

Posted on November 1, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Uncategorized, Writing 2 Comments

Writing Practice and the Muse who is ALWAYS THERE

Writing Leap #47

Happy November to all you Wonderful Writers!

Writing the unexpected joy, in memoir, fiction, a poem, is great writing practice for evoking a moment. It’s a chance to filter everything out except those words, those sounds, those smells, that rhythm that calls up the feeling of the moment—for the character and for the reader.

Have you been startled by something that dazzles you lately? Touched by a kindness? Go ahead all you idea-filled writers out there! Practice evoking a joyful moment. Maybe it will turn into a longer piece or turn out to be a horrible moment. Just start.

Here’s mine.

The old man stared at the picnic table by the sand dunes. The sun was peeking down through the clouds, covering half the table in warmth. Crisp, November ocean breezes blew some dried seaweed off the weathered table top.

“C’mon Finnegan.” He pulled his big old brown dog, a mix of god-knows-what, in close. “Let’s do it.”

Leaning on his dog and with a bit of effort, he pulled one leg up on to the table bench. Oof. He stopped to take a breath. “Bossy Dr. ‘Cautious’ would have ten fits if he saw me now, Finnegan, stiff as I am and creaky as I am.” The old man had dizzy spells sometimes and a hip that annoyed him.

He hoisted his other knee beside his foot. “O.K. O.K. I’m almost up, Finnegan.” Oooof. He pulled himself on to the tabletop and turned himself bit by bit, ouch, ouch. He lay down on his eighty-nine year old back. Aaaaah. The table was hard and the muscles in the top of his back hurt. He scrunched up his scarf and put it under his head. Yes. Better. Finnegan settled on the bench just beneath him.

The old man smiled and switched his awareness to the cloud pictures passing by in the sky that didn’t end. A slow sense of peace and utter contentment began to release his body into the warm wooden tabletop. The smell of the ocean and the lullaby of the crashing waves delighted his senses.

“I miss you Lizzie,” he said to a floating cloud. Was she clucking at him for doing such a darned foolish thing—climbing up on top of a picnic table? No, no, she’s glad I tried and did it. She only wanted me to be happy. Always.

After a nice long stretch he took one last blissful breath and began the trip down from the table top to the sand. Steady, steady, I can do it. O.K. O.K.

“C’mon Finnegan. I think we deserve a nice shot of whiskey.”

Happy Writing,

LINKING THE ARTS

This does look like a lovely spot to dream some new writing ideas or discover that elusive answer to a revision problem.

A Favorite Word: Contentment

Not to push this too far, but for me to feel deep contentment is what I imagine might be a state of grace.

A Favorite Book

The Outermost House by Henry Beston is full of unexpected joys at the seashore.

WRITING HIGH EMOTIONS

Posted on October 8, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing High Emotions, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse, Writing what you mean 3 Comments

Writing Practice and the Muse who is ALWAYS THERE

Writing Leap #46

Hi Writers,

Writing high emotions is tricky. Too much high drama and blatant telling and the emotion is lost in a superficial blur. But if the emotions are high and also deep and written with restraint the reader can feel the intensity as if it were his own.

Try this writers! Imagine or remember an intense experience and write it so that your reader believes you. I think it’s great practice for creating characters who demand empathy from the reader.

For me this requires many revisions. The right phrasing or word can be so elusive. But I find that if I just put myself back into the emotion and quietly breath it in over and over, the words will come.

Here’s mine.

When I hold my infant grandson, Teddy, the son of my much-loved son, next to my heart, his new little body nestled into mine, I close my eyes and an unbelievable tide of love for him flows through me, calm and peaceful. He chirps and I’m delighted. It’s almost like holding his father, when my son was an infant, all over again. Memories of those same, first bolts of love surge up once more.

And now, just a few weeks later and 24 hours ago, Layla and Sadie, my daughter’s twin bundles are here too. It’s hard to breath with so much happiness in my soul.

I put together a bunch of pink balloons, three dark pink and three light pink since my daughter wants her twins to be individuals, with lots of flowing ribbons and tiny white flowers.

“I’m sorry, you can’t bring those up to the room. They’re latex and not allowed in maternity.” The receptionist behind the front desk at the hospital was apologetic.

I looked at her. She couldn’t mean it. My daughter just gave birth to twins! I have to bring them up.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll keep them for you.”

No. My disappointment magnified inside me out of all proportion. But I want her to have them! I thought.

“Wait here,” her colleague said. She returned and gave me two non-latex balloons from the gift shop that said ‘It’s a girl.’ Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers. These balloons were not my lovely pink creation but they were filled with warmth and understanding from one woman to another.

What can I say about holding my little granddaughters two hours old? I can’t quite tell them apart yet. I just look at them and they blur into beauty, daughters of my much-loved and beautiful daughter. I snuggle them next to my heart, one at a time, and the profound love I feel is so deep and so magical that I close my eyes and feel sure that I am in heaven. My own baby daughter again times two.

Now I must figure out a way to hold all three little ones in my arms at once.

Many writerly blessings for your work,

LINKING THE ARTS

Elizabeth Gilbert in her new book, The Signature of all Things writes a scene of intense emotion for her main character, Alma. Alma learns that her secret and unsuspecting love is to marry a ninny. I felt the hurricane inside her so intensely I clutched the sides of the book, yet the author’s depiction was measured, albeit tense. Alma’s outward demeanor was a mask.

WRITING THE GESTURE

Posted on September 20, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse, Writing the Gesture Leave a comment

Writing Practice and the Muse who is ALWAYS THERE

Writing Leap #45

WRITING THE GESTURE

Hi Writers Out There,

A small organic gesture can be a microscope into a character’s larger inner world. Like the guy who nudges you aside without looking at you so he can get on the elevator first. Or the child who fixes her grandpa’s crooked glasses. The reveal can be for those characters who observe the gesture, sometimes for those who make the gesture and always for the reader.

Here’s my gesture story.

I had never been 12,000 feet up in the Colorado Rockies where the air was thin and pure and the untouched alpine wildflower meadow stretched lavender in front of me. I wasn’t at home there yet. But I so wanted to be.

Hiking up the pass with two locals, Karen and Bruce, I could feel how familiar and bonded they were with the rocks, sparse grasses and shifting expanse of clouds and blue,blue sky. As we hiked higher I began to feel my fascination inspired by theirs.

A little brown bug landed on my shoulder. As Karen mused to us about the sunset, she flicked the tiny bug off my shirt into her hand with great tenderness, without appearing to notice it. It was like a reflex. Killing it was as odious an idea to her as eating it. She sent him off on his way and continued with her thoughts on the orange clouds.

A tiny unconscious gesture can be so full, so revealing. In that moment I saw into Karen’s soul. I understood that she revered everything that lived up in those mountains with a tenderness that spilled over to the rest of her life. Even a tiny bug.

This story took place a long time ago but I have never forgotten it. In one moment my pleasure in mountain spruce, red coyotes and purple columbine deepened into reverence and wonder and I have gratefully become over the years ever more intimate with the natural world around me wherever I am. It has been testimony to the strength of Karen’s gesture

So Writers, I find “gesture-observing” fun. Conversing casually with strangers, watching people interact in public places. Noticing something an actor does in a play or movie. Try it. See anything you can use for your characters? It’s great writing practice for revealing your character without his even knowing it!

Happy Writing and People Watching Everyone,

LINKING THE ARTS

About bugs, I find Charlotte the spider in E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web irresistible.

WRITING ABOUT YOUNG CHILDREN

Posted on June 25, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing about Young Children Leave a comment

Writing Practice and The Muse Who is Always There

Writing Leap #42 Writing About Young Children

Hi All You Writers Out There,

Young children love to look up to you and announce the most surprising things; little bursts of observation that can be funny, troublesome, endearing or savvy. We are often charmed because they are small and new to this world.

Capturing a ‘child moment’ is sometimes a challenge for writers. We are not three years old and unless we have young children around us we may harbor pre-conceived notions about what childhood feels like. Our memory may not be reliable and cliches about children like to insinuate themselves into our writing.

Cliche is a place we do not want to be. As much as possible I try to creep into the child’s experience and write that. With adults reacting to children I try for a spontaneous response.

Go ahead writers and create a story around a child. You may feel refreshed by this work, as I do.

Here’s my attempt.

The outdoor arbor of branches and twigs was bedecked with small flowers and ribbons. The light scent of roses wafted among the seated wedding guests and you could feel the buzz of anticipation and excitement in the small grassy meadow. The groom and minister were in place under the arbor and the processional was about to begin.

All eyes were turned to the back where Oliver, the five-year-old ring bearer, held fast to his satin pillow that cradled the two gold rings. He was standing with the groomsmen ready to walk down the aisle. Light music from the musicians’ violins began to fill the meadow.

Oliver pushed his round glasses higher on his nose, looked up at the best man and whispered, “Don’t you think this is so romantic?”

The whisper was a loud whisper and it floated down the aisle bringing on many soft chuckles.

Halfway through the service, during a relative’s recitation of “How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways,” a small voice whispered to the best man, “I have to go to the bathroom. Badly.” It was again a loud whisper and again amused, delighted titters spread though the gathering.

The minister paused and grinned down at Oliver. The relative stopped reciting.

“Me too,” one of the little flower girls piped up.” “I have to, too.” The other flower girl, a toddler, stepped out of line.

Oliver’s mother rushed up and escorted the three to the house. They were squeezing their legs together.

There were only one or two “shouldn’t the mother have taken care of this beforehand?” Haven’t they ever had a similar emergency?

Happy Writing Everyone,

LINKING THE ARTS

A Huge Responsibility. Must arrive safely to the alter.

Children’s Writer’s Word Book by A. Mogilner and T. Mogilner

When writing from a child’s P.O.V. I really like to consult this vocabulary book organized by grade in school. If the child is a genius (and most mothers’ children are geniuses) you can skip a grade or two.

MAYA ANGELOU

Posted on June 1, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Maya Angelou, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing Inspiration 1 Comment

Maya Angelou died on May 28, 2014, four days ago. When I heard the news, a moment from “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” a book of hers I had read a long time ago, rose up into my memory. The jolt it created was as strong as it was back then. Here’s how I remember it.

She wrote of the night when she and her mother snuck into the office of the town’s white dentist; round to the back and ever so quiet. Both shaking. It was after hours, of course, and close to midnight. No coloreds allowed anywhere near there. Her toothache was splitting her head in half but if they were caught–oh, boy. The two of them, and possibly the dentist, would have been tossed in jail to face unthinkable brutalities.

Just last year in 2013 Maya Angelou appeared before an audience filled with respect for her, a woman whose strong soul reached far beyond itself to enfold all of us, everywhere. Accepting the Norman Mailer Lifetime Achievement Award, she said, “Just Imagine.” And after a pause she said, “Just IMAGINE.”

Her warm, low, heavy voice resonated right out of the video into the center of my being.

Yes, Maya Angelou, a little girl in the 1930’s raised in Sparks, Arkansas, a dot in the deepest of the deep south, was now receiving another in a litany of high honors for her poetry, autobiographies and speeches; work that illuminates the way to decent, moral, O.K. behavior amongst human beings.

If I had been her friend, and oh how I wish that could have been, I would have tried to absorb her unique humanity into my psyche. How extraordinary that would have been. It tickles me that she fudged about how many husbands she had during her lifetime. She didn’t want to project a flighty image. I love her.

WRITING THE LITERARY SNIPPET

Posted on May 30, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing and Editing, Writing Muse, Writing the Snippet, Writing what you mean Leave a comment

Writing Practice and The Muse Who is Always There

Writing Leap #41 Writing the Literary Snippet

Hi Writers,

A literary snippet is just what it sounds like; a snip of a moment captured on the page. It’s immediate, just a few sentences and complete in and of itself.

Ideas for snippets can pop into your imagination from anywhere; a memory flash from your childhood, an observation on the train, a glimpse of something moving in the natural world.

Want to try it? Snippets challenge our ability to write what we really feel and what we really mean with no extra words. I think distilling thoughts is harder to do than it may seem. It takes deep pondering as we revise and delete in our heads. But it’s what we all must do in all our writing. Offer moments to our readers that toll like a steeple bell and appear effortless.

Here’s my attempt.

Once, when I was four, I held my mother’s hand and lifted one leg after the other up the high stairs to get on the bus. She let me reach up and put the change in the money collector.

I stared at a lady who sat up very straight, hands folded in her lap. There she was. Hair rolled up under a brimmed hat with flowers sticking up in back. A mouth that was a thin, straight line. An umbrella by her side. The lady frowned at me.

“Mommy.” I pulled my mother down and whispered loudly in her ear. “Is that Mary Poppins?”

My mother’s cheeks flushed. She directed an apologetic smile to the lady and led me to a seat. She winked at me and gave me a hug. Then she said, “Maybe.”

Happy snippet writing everyone and Happy Spring

LINKING THE ARTS

Original drawings by Mary Shepard for Mary Poppins and Mary Poppins Comes Back, by P.L. Travers

A Book I Love

Recommending Again: Several Short Sentences About Writing by Verlyn Klinkenborg, former op-ed writer for the New York Times. I would sleep with this book under my pillow if I believed I would absorb all of his insights permanently in my creative unconscious. It’s about writing sentences that say what you want them to say.

A Word I Love

ponder, as in relaxing into finding the right tone, the right rhythm, the right word in your writing

WRITERS WHO READ POETRY

Posted on May 12, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Reading like a Writer, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writers and Poetry, Writing, Writing Inspiration, Writing Moment to Moment, Writing Muse 2 Comments

Writing Practice and The Muse Who is Always There

Writing Leap #40 Writers Who Read Poetry

Hi Writers,

Take a moment away from your writing time, find a comfy place to sit, open a poetry collection and read a poem at random. Breathe in the poetic lushness of the phrases, the evocative images and the essence of the words that open up to a larger universe. Close your eyes for a moment and let it all swirl around inside. Then read it once more, to be enchanted all over again with what words can do.

The poet is the writer’s muse, no matter your genre. A poem can show us how to cluster words together so they say what we mean, a lightning bolt from writer to reader.

I read this poem from time to time. It kind of haunts me. The perfect word in a perfect phrase is a lovely thing.

Picking Blueberries, by Mary Oliver New and Selected Poems, 1992

Once, in summer

in the blueberries

I fell asleep, and woke

when a deer stumbled against me.

I guess

she was so busy with her own happiness

she had grown careless

and was just wandering along

listening

to the wind as she leaned down

to lip up the sweetness.

So, there we were

with nothing between us

but a few leaves, and the wind’s

glossy voice

shouting instructions.

The deer

backed away finally

and flung up her white tail

and went floating off toward the trees—

but the moment before she did that

was so wide and deep

it has lasted to this day.

I’m stopping at these last three lines (there is more to the poem) because they are the ones that linger for me and the ones that have often affected my thought processes as I’m writing.

Happy Writing all you Wonderful Writers out there!

LINKING THE ARTS

A Visual of the deer/blueberry experience

A Good Phrase:

the expanded moment

A Story Poem for children, grown-ups and writers: Words with Wings by Nikki Grimes, 2013. For me the story shines behind and beyond the words.

RE-WRITING THE PROLOGUE

Posted on April 18, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in The Prologue in Fiction, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Uncategorized, Writing, Writing and Editing, Writing Inspiration, Writing Muse 6 Comments

Writing Practice and The Muse Who Is Always There

Writing Leap #38 Re-Writing the Prologue

Hi Writers,

With rare exceptions it seems the eyes of literary agents and editors glaze over when they open a fiction manuscript and see Prologue. They may groan.

I’ve heard:

It’s just an attention grabber, a “look at me I’m a fabulous writer.”

Unnecessary background that could be weaved into the main story.

Not crucial to the understanding of the plot.

If you’ve written a prologue and it’s your “darling,” you might just ditch it. It’s hard to ditch it. But your real story will start with your first line in Chapter One. Then you can turn the prologue into a short short. Or expand it into something longer that veers in a different direction from your manuscript.

The same principles of good fiction writing apply to scenes, chapters, short stories and novels: An opening that captures the reader, a smooth story arc from conflict to resolution and a strong golden thread that holds the basic premise together throughout.

To re-write a prologue into a short short, for example, may just require a few tweaks and shifts. Great practice for your craft.

My prologue to my middle-grade novel was guilty of every prologue no-no. Full of literary self-indulgences. I loved it. I reinvented it into the short short that follows. (for more on the short short: www.writinglikeadancer.com/theshortshortstory)

Two Lizzies But Really Just One

If anyone saw Lizzie twirling round and round along the ocean’s edge, clutching a letter high over her head, they might think she was showing off for the seagulls. But she was protecting her letter from the salty spray of the summer waves as they thundered on to shore.

Imagine, an invitation from the Head of the Art Department at college.

YOU HAVE WON THE STUDENT ART COMPETITION AND ARE INVITED TO EXHIBIT YOUR WORK IN A ONE-WOMAN SHOW THIS OCTOBER.

CONGRATULATIONS!

Lizzie was alone on the beach and headed towards her small cove, a sanctuary since childhood. She rested on the silvery driftwood log, her dreaming place. The sun warmth of the log melted into her bare thighs. A seagull swooped by her. Surely his flapping wings said, “Take a bow Lizzie!”

This driftwood log has survived storms and gales, she thought. Like me. I’ve survived storms, personal storms.

She stretched her legs out onto the warm sand and fanned her feet back and forth like a windmill. Happy, she thought. I’m happy.

It surprised her to see a young girl way down the empty beach walking her way. The access to this beach through the salt marsh was a local secret.

She’s beachcombing. She watched the girl crouch down, gather stuff, examine each find, throw some back and drop some in her beach bag. The young girl walked closer.

Lizzie’s heart clenched. It was herself, her nine-year-old self. Yes, yes. There she was. The blue bathing suit with the white stripes, the red baseball cap, the sad look in her eyes as she raised her hand and waved a shy hello.

A tidal wave of love and compassion swelled in Lizzie’s heart, almost breaking it. She opened her arms wide and ran towards her younger self, enfolding her and whispering in her ear with a tenderness that made her voice shake.

“Lizzie, it’s me. I’m you when you are nineteen. It’s O.K.” She rubbed the young Lizzie’s back with soft caresses. “It’s going to be O.K.” Young Lizzie sniffed back tears.

“See what you are going to become? I’m painting. I know I’m, we’re, really good. This is how you will feel at nineteen and you will be proud of who you are inside and out, I promise.”

“But I don’t feel that way right now,” young Lizzie whispered through tears.

“Oh Lizzie. How I remember those feelings.” She touched Lizzie’s legs. “Dad calling our legs toothpicks in front of people. The teasing all the time that hurt so much. How he squelched our ideas. Fears that maybe drawing all the time was strange. But Lizzie, despite all that Dad loves us. He really does. He can’t help how he is.”

Young Lizzie managed a smile. “You are beautiful and nice,” she said. She hugged older Lizzie for a long time, then began to fade away down the beach leaving footprints in the sand.

“Please remember this moment, Lizzie,” older Lizzie called out. “If only you could. Aches would melt in your heart. You would begin to love yourself so much earlier. You wouldn’t have to wait.”

Older Lizzie sat on the driftwood log, shaken by the vision of her nine-year-old self in pain. Her tears felt hot. She took out her invitation to exhibit her artwork. She read it again. She was still happy. But mostly grateful.

Happy Writing all you writers out there!

LINKING THE ARTS

The Outermost House by Henry Beston

To get a feeling of Lizzie’s beach and to actually breathe the salty ocean air.

Creating magic on the beach

article-2271713-17440467000005DC-650_634x422

Lizzie’s Cove

A Good Word: Deepen. As in deepening a happiness by remembering the now-altered pain behind it.

WRITING FROM A DETAIL

Posted on March 15, 2014 by writ7707 Posted in Literary categories, Literary Genres, The Writing Life, The Writing Muse, Writing, Writing from a detail, Writing Inspiration, Writing Your Highlights Leave a comment

A Writing Blog About Playing Around with a Story Line in Different Literary Genres and Different Literary Techniques

Writing Leap #37

Hi Writers, O.K. You’ve created a list of highlights from an observation of yours. Or an event, movie or meeting you’ve attended. (www.writinglikeadancer.com/writingyourhighlights)

Is there one small detail from your list that intrigues you? Grab it! And create a story around it.

A detail can trigger your storytelling imagination and send you plots, characters and situations you had never thought of. This is great writing practice for putting a detail you have observed in one context into another context.

So what about the stranger’s large bow tie at the banquet table? What about the odd picture on your colleague’s desk? What about the sweet kiss a child plants on a flower in the park? Go!

Here’s mine inspired by the shower head in my hotel room.

The Storyline is: What I Noticed

This was fun. She was home. The back seat of Tommy’s old VW Beetle was packed high with stuffed duffles, laptops, Tommy’s sax, three pairs of ski boots. She laughed and laughed with her two best friends up front, Dan and Tommy. It was great to be driving back up north to college after winter break. Dan was turned sideways in his seat so he could talk to her.

The roads were slick with ice, but Tommy was a great driver, very cautious, and she knew she was safe driving with him.

The nightmare happened in a breath. A huge monster truck heading south careened over the snowy highway divider. The impact sent the Beetle spinning. A wail came out of her stomach up through her throat and out her mouth. It seemed distant. She managed to open the car door and fall out.

Sirens, an ambulance with the back doors open, clusters of police huddling around Tommy’s Beetle. She stumbled to the edge of a gathering crowd, grabbing on to a bush, trying to focus her eyes. Blurry, whirling red lights bombarded her from the tops of the police cars. Men in white pants carried a stretcher to the ambulance. She made out Tommy’s dirty sneakers sticking out from a sheet that covered his body and face. She felt herself floating. There was Dan on a stretcher too, touching his eye that was gushing blood.

Her head throbbed. Pounding against her eyes. She found herself wandering further away from the crowd. She clutched her throat, leaned over and threw up. She kept walking. A big hotel with lots of softly lit windows loomed ahead. She walked into the lobby, pulled out the credit card that was, thank god, in her pocket and booked a room.

“Mom, Dad.” She telephoned her parents and choked out what had happened. “I’m O.K. I promise.” Why did she say that? She wasn’t O.K.

“Lie down, darling, lie down,” her mother sobbed.

“We’ll drive up there as fast as we can, pumpkin. An hour and a half tops. We’ll be right there,” her father said.

The room tilted up and down. During the first five minutes in the warm shower she just shivered and clung to the towel bar. The shower head was huge, maybe ten inches square and she stuck her face right into it. As the warm water cascaded on her head it seemed to her she was in the middle of a light-filled waterfall spilling down all over her, slowly diminishing the throbbing pain. She took slow breaths. She turned her back into the deep permeating heat of her waterfall and turned again to let the caresses splash over her, drenching her hair, seeping into her eyes. Time disappeared. Why wasn’t she sobbing? Some dim voice in her brain said, “This is what shock is.”

When her parents let themselves into the hotel room she barely heard them. Her waterfall splashed on and on and she was rooted there. She didn’t want to leave her soothing friend.

Dressed and now sobbing, she said to her parents, “I want to go to the local police. They need to ask me questions about Tommy and Dan.”

“First we take you to the emergency room to be checked out,” her father said. Her mother couldn’t let go of her.

Happy Writing Everyone,

LINKING THE ARTS

A Favorite Quote: “To see is to forget the name of the thing one sees.” Paul Valéry

The Girl’s Shower Image