Jorge Mendoza was the last man to receive a call. As he picked up the phone, he was still debating whether to go to work or not. If he went, what would the other men think? If he stayed home and lost his job, no one in the valley would hire him. And if he got deported, he would lose everything.
David hadn’t been feeling up to doing a whole lot of anything as of late, so when his doorbell rang, he decided to just stay in bed. Whoever it was would go away after another try or two, and he could go right back to just staring at the wall in so-called peace. But after another dozen or so rings, it was obvious that whoever had come by his apartment wasn’t going to give it up.
“Jeesily H Christ, son of a bitch,” Addie muttered, not exactly under her breath, as she jockeyed her walker through the maze in the dining room. Why’d they have to cram so many goddamn tables into here, I can’t imagine. Heading for an empty one, she banged her walker into a chair, threatening to send both flying, pulled out another, aimed her butt in the general direction, and plonked into the seat with a thud. Sometimes she pushed out a loud fart on the way down, just for the fun of it.
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>Craziness on Westwood Ave
>Hey everyone, hope your day wasn’t as nuts as mine! Stick with me, you gotta hear this one and I need to ask you guys a favour.
We’ve had some great comments regarding last week’s post with the stats. Nik did a brilliant job collating them. We do hope that they offered some useful insight and maybe encouragement to those of you who might have been thinking of submitting again.
But now on to Week 111.
There is a vast difference between a story teller and a story writer. If you are both, well, you are in a minority. It’s a bit like script writers and actors. If you know a comedy and you read the script, you naturally hear the actors’ voice in your head. If you didn’t you wouldn’t find it so funny. It’s very difficult to write timing!
So in that aspect, you think that the story teller is skilled. But get him to read the code of practice from your work place and I guarantee that they won’t be able to make it funny! You need the material and when the two of them come together, there can be something magical.
The reason that I’m mentioning this is because we had a story submitted to us this week that I commented on. I mentioned that it would be enhanced by being read around a camp fire. This is an old dying art as well as conversation, making Paris Buns, and getting on with a fecking job. No-one talks, no-one makes Paris Buns and no-one can do their work for red-tape, recording and analysing the shit out of it.
If you are of a certain age you’ll have sat around a fire as the old yins of the family told a story. You’d have heard it a hundred times, but there was something soothing about your grandfather’s voice. And I am not talking ‘soothing’ as in those creepy Werthers Originals Adverts! I bet that auld guy had some puppies for you to look at!
Even at your first job just after leaving school, you always had some colourful characters who would tell all your workmates a story. Their timing was impeccable as they waited until the laughing died down, silence prevailed and then they would ask in a loud and happy voice ‘Are you still a virgin?’
Oh how everyone else laughed!
The same with a pub. There was always someone holding court telling stories. They were the guys who never had to buy a drink. They could also get out of fights due to their wit. And on the odd occasion that this didn’t happen they had all the locals to back them up.
Ignoring the clergy and politicians – The truly great story tellers are the 17 year old boys who talk about their sex lives. Frequency and exaggeration replace fact. Their brag of ‘The next time I see a ….’ can be interrupted with ‘Don’t you mean…The First Time you see a ….’
I enjoy writing but if I ever had the guts to do it, I would love to do an open mike. But that won’t happen as I am setting myself up for a fall. My material could be good but my delivery could be terrible. My material could be terrible and my delivery good, or let’s be truthful, them both being crap is more than likely. And if I want to be booed, I’ll show my wife my bank balance or my mother, well, basically anything!
Onto some very good story writers.
This week we have a very literal bunch. The topics are all in the titles. That actually doesn’t happen often for the whole five days. But every story we’ve had this week, the clue of what it is, is in the title.
Two newsters to add to our ever growing family of authors. And as always our initial comments follow.
First up was an old friend. The wonderful Tom Sheehan added to his amazing stats with ‘A Soldier’s Crusade‘ which was first up on Monday.
‘When Tom is in full swing, his knowledge or research is awe inspiring.’
‘I was utterly and beautifully lost in this.’
‘The last line was a cracker.’
On Tuesday we had a returning author. Lawrence Buentello had his second story ‘The Kite People Of Ang Thom‘ published.
‘This had the rhythm and feel of an old folk tale.’
‘I loved the imagery of the kites.’
‘I think in the Far East they fly kites to entertain the Gods and have a good harvest – I guess this is what he has based this on.’
Another returning author but for the fifth time. The quirky Ashlie Allen added to her back catalogue on Wednesday with ‘I called My Alcoholic Friend Sad Satan.’
‘A very strong last paragraph.’
‘Ashley does give us some very interesting work.’
Thursday followed Wednesday, so no difference there. We had our first new writer of the week and we extend the usual greetings, pleasantries and appeal for more stories to Mr Tom Roth. His short, ‘A Day In The Life Of A Sandwich Artist’ was next up.
‘Good atmosphere and tone.’
‘This appeals to me and the writing feels real.’
‘Tom captured the hopelessness very well.’
Our next new writer was Debra Brenegan. We hope that she enjoys the experience and also sends us in more stories!! ‘Shaking Hands’ finished off the week on Friday.
‘A powerful piece of flash fiction.’
‘This was full of fear and emotion.’
‘Different and very vivid.’
That’s us again folks. And not a statistic in sight! I actually think we are all the less for that. (Based on a survey of the one person who is writing this! So if that is classed as a statistic, then ignore this paragraph)
Back to story tellers, I may look out for John Laurie as Private Frazer telling the tale of ‘The Auld Empty Barn…
There was nuthin’ in it!’
But I reckon I’ll really spoil myself and dig out an old CD and listen to the greatest story teller who also wrote the material. That’ll be Mr Billy Connolly doing ‘The Crucifixion’
…We are the Romans
…We hate the Christians
It really is murder to try and write timing, but I’m creasing myself as I can hear the words in my head!!
Banner Image: Pixabay.com
April counted the change into his hand – it was shaking. He pocketed the money, then leaned his backside against the smudged glass door, pushing it open, his gloves held against his side with his elbow, all while fumbling out and lighting the Marlboro.
I got up from the floor and glanced at the frozen lake. In the morning, the sunlight streaked across it like bright scribbles of yellow crayon. I saw yellow spots all over the cabin.
“You got a little too mcskunk last night,” Wiley laughed, pressing empty beer cans to his chest. Wiley was big. His body was shaped like a bulb baster.
B was small and just flushed the toilet. “Mcskunkess is up. How ya feelin’, bitch,” he smiled as he walked toward me. B had a patch of frizzy hair that looked glued to the top of his head.
“Um,” I said.