A year of writing prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit
January 22
Write a 'dear john' letter to your writer's block.
Dear Writer's Block
After our many good years together it's time we see other people. As people tend to do they mature, grow, and want other things from life and I am no different. You are an infantile boob that has stood in the way of my ambitions for too long. I had kindly tolerated it because it was cute but it has grown tiresome.
I could tell you that it's me and not you, but why lie. We both know it's equally our fault. You woo me with your lies and I fall for it every time. This time I have learned.
If you were someone to care about anyone but yourself I would say, "don't you want me to be happy?" "Don't you want me to succeed?" The reality is you do not. You really, really, don't.
For the past two years you have stood in the way of me finishing my book. I've given all the excuse that it's been your fault but the blame comes mainly on my shoulders. I let you.
In time or no time at all you will find some other foolish person that will tolerate your hijinks. But it will not be with me.
Farewell.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Better late than never...
A year of writing prompts
Jan 20
A friend is arrested and asks you to clear their computer files. You come across one with your name.
It’s a part of the unofficial BroCode to clear the internet history and any contraband if one ends up dead. Typically it’s not if your bud ends up in jail, but regardless it still stands. Jeff really didn’t need to ask. I’m sure he’s just panicking.
His house isn’t its usual luster. Cheeto bags are spread across the floor, mixed with Coors light cans, and what I mistakenly looks like a pair of pink lace panties.
“Dude,” I say. I didn’t know that cleaning was also part of the job. Not knowing when or if his parents would arrive at the house i hurry and rid the house of any garbage. Then onto the computer.
A good scrub is going to be tough but he walked me through it once before. Luckily most of the incriminating stuff is on his 1 terabyte external hard drive.
I log into his PC and safely remove external hardware. He thinks you can just unplug it but I’d rather be safe than sorry.
The next logical step is to clear all internet browsing history and do a search for any files with illicit names. It is in my search that the computer populates a file with my name.
I double click on the ‘Bill’ file and browse the PDFS docs within. As it turns out he has not only illegally downloaded files but committed murder as well. Each document details direct orders in ridding himself of all evidence.
My body goes cold and I convulse once.
“It’s all part of the BroCode,” I remind myself and set to work.
Jan 20
A friend is arrested and asks you to clear their computer files. You come across one with your name.
It’s a part of the unofficial BroCode to clear the internet history and any contraband if one ends up dead. Typically it’s not if your bud ends up in jail, but regardless it still stands. Jeff really didn’t need to ask. I’m sure he’s just panicking.
His house isn’t its usual luster. Cheeto bags are spread across the floor, mixed with Coors light cans, and what I mistakenly looks like a pair of pink lace panties.
“Dude,” I say. I didn’t know that cleaning was also part of the job. Not knowing when or if his parents would arrive at the house i hurry and rid the house of any garbage. Then onto the computer.
A good scrub is going to be tough but he walked me through it once before. Luckily most of the incriminating stuff is on his 1 terabyte external hard drive.
I log into his PC and safely remove external hardware. He thinks you can just unplug it but I’d rather be safe than sorry.
The next logical step is to clear all internet browsing history and do a search for any files with illicit names. It is in my search that the computer populates a file with my name.
I double click on the ‘Bill’ file and browse the PDFS docs within. As it turns out he has not only illegally downloaded files but committed murder as well. Each document details direct orders in ridding himself of all evidence.
My body goes cold and I convulse once.
“It’s all part of the BroCode,” I remind myself and set to work.
Winter Wonder Globe
I really wasn't feeling this one, but I wanted to at least finish it. It's an interesting idea. I'll bookmark it for later.
“Craft a story featuring a cell phone, a lost-and-found box, and a blizzard.”
A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary
Petit
January 21 “Craft a story featuring a cell phone, a lost-and-found box, and a blizzard.”
The blizzard fell over Raven, Colorado, in the blink of an
eye, trapping all of the citizens that had felt it safe to venture out into the
cloudy weather. For some it was work. The time spent in bars, using alcohol to warm
their spirit and life, would have to wait until the storm had subsided. For the children it meant a long wait in
class.
The kids of Mr. Flecker’s sixth grade class groaned once
again. Lunch today was going to be a
quick affair.
“I want you all to go and get your hot lunches in the
cafeteria and then report immediately back to me.”
The students formed a haphazard line and meandered to join
the others in the lunch room.
“I wonder if they have to go back?” Andrew Nickle said,
ruefully eyeing the kids seated at the tables, laughing.
“Maybe he’ll play a movie,” Andrew’s friend Eric Blanch
replied. His gaze was firmly fixed on
the buffet of re-heated foods. Today was
chicken nugget day and as bland and terrible as they may have been to some,
Eric loved them.
“I’m not even hungry,” Andrew said.
“What? How can you say that? You don’t know when we’re going
to eat next. Hell you don’t even know
when we’ll be able to leave.”
Andrew shivered nervously and looked around at those
standing close enough that they could have heard Eric swear.
“Do you want to get us into trouble?” Andrew whispered
heatedly.
Eric rolled his eyes.
The two boys grabbed orange trays and brushed them along the
aluminum rails before the parade of edibles.
“Do you want your nuggets?” Eric said.
Andrew eyed them. He
really wasn’t hungry. Regardless of them
tasting like mounds of sawdust, battered and deep fried.
“No,” Andrew said, “I’ll give them to you when we sit down.”
The two boys rounded the end of the line and scanned the tables
for a seat.
“I don’t see anywhere,” Eric said.
Andrew looked over to the exit. The two teachers on duty were deep in
conversation.
“Hey,” Andrew said, “Let’s go find somewhere else to eat.”
“Like where?”
“Just follow me.”
Andrew wound his way through the tables and kids and towards
the door. He set his tray onto the trash
can. Per his agreement he grabbed the
paper tray of nuggets and handed them to his friend, who took them eagerly and
binned the rest of his lunch. Without
any flashy trays they skirted past the teachers and out into the empty
hallways.
While Eric joyously ate each nugget, two bites each time,
Andrew led them through the school. His
ears stayed perked for the sound of any teacher or student. Although, even if they did come across
someone it wouldn’t have mattered in the slightest. But being sneaky made it all the more
exciting for Andrew.
The two rounded a corner and found themselves outside the
boys locker room, next to the lost-and-found bin.
“Oh, hey,” Eric said, “I need to look for my jacket. I lost it almost two months ago.”
Eric shoved the final two nuggets into his mouth and chewed
as he dove headfirst into the bin.
Jackets, bags, notebooks, hats, and other items went flying as he swam
through to the bottom of the barrel.
When his hand thunked against the bottom he had still not found his
jacket. What he did find was a cell
phone and a snow globe that had been turned upside down. He grabbed them both and came up for air.
“And, look at these,” Eric said.
He flashed him the cell phone, which upon further inspection
was dead and offered no secrets. Though
that didn’t stop eric from slipping it into his pocket for later.
“What’re you doing?” Andrew said, furrowing his eyebrows.
Eric shrugged. “If
they haven’t missed it already they’re not going to need it if I take it.”
Andrew shook his head.
Eric righted the snow globe and the two boys watched with
interest as the white flakes and glitter settled slowly onto the cabin, trees,
and lamppost scene.
It was then that the wind that had been howling all day
suddenly went stone silent.
Andrew walked to the door and looked out the strip of window
at the playground covered in thick sheets of snow.
“Great! The blizzard
just stopped!”
“Really?” Eric said.
The boy, still clutching the snow globe, lowered it and
walked to the window. When he got there
though the calm scene Andrew saw was hidden behind fluffy curtains of white.
“What the heck?” Andrew said.
“It’s the same storm that’s been going all day.”
“No,” Andrew said, “it just stopped. I swear.”
A strange thought crossed Eric’s mind. He held the snowglobe up-right and watched as
the snow slowly drifted back around the miniature setting.
The snow flurries disappeared leaving an unobstructed view
of the playground stretched out before them.
Monday, January 19, 2015
@CS_Lewis
I really didn't want to do this prompt. Mainly because I couldn't think of anything. It's hard putting words into the mouth of a hero. Especially one I know only vaguely. I've listened to the beginning half of "The Narnian," but it would seem that even audiobooks can't escape the curse of my only reading a book halfway through. Although the point isn't to have things to say at the word go. This is an exercise to get my literary mind pumping. I want to be good and the only way that is possible is to do this daily. The next few months will be increasingly difficult. I have inadvertently double booked myself with school. For a brief moment I even contemplated adding participation into a theatrical endeavor and then remembered I would go berserk. Below is a pitiful effort, but I got more than I thought I could do. That is, at least, saying something for my imagination.
A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit
January 19
“Write the tweets of your dead hero, a dead historical figure, or a long passed literary great.”
@CS_Lewis How could one believe such nonsense?
@CS_Lewis I’m beginning to rethink this agnostic view I have taken. It can’t all be wrong.
@CS_Lewis I might change my handle to ProgressiveAnglican. Thoughts?
@CS_Lewis Never would have I thought that one day I would be teaching at Oxford. All the more exciting twist of life.
@CS_Lewis A thought has just come to mind, what if two demons were having a twitter discussion about the end of the world?
@CS_Lewis Meeting with my fellow Inklings at The Eagle and Child.
@CS_Lewis The things John comes up with send my mind into a frenzy.
@CS_Lewis No one thought my manuscript was up to snuff. I guess it’s in to the kindling pile.
@CS_Lewis I came across this old bit I’d penned some time ago. Can’t imagine why I’d throw it away.
@CS_Lewis For loathing allegory as much as he does, John certainly pushes a belief in symbolism of legends.
@CS_Lewis After much deliberation I have once again returned to the church of childhood. It feels warm and wonderful in the pew.
@CS_Lewis On this day I have lost one of my dearest friends. He was afflicted with homosexuality, but I did not care.
@CS_Lewis It must be Wednesday if I’m meeting with some grubby chaps at The Eagle.
@CS_Lewis Bloody Americans and their endless thirst. Only one pub open tonight.
@CS_Lewis It becomes increasingly apparent that someone does not know me truly if they call me Clive.
@CS_Lewis I suppose I should write a beginning if I intend to tell an end.
@CS_Lewis To all my fellow veterans, pleasant armistice day.
@CS_Lewis Who doesn’t enjoy a warm pint now and again.
A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit
January 19
“Write the tweets of your dead hero, a dead historical figure, or a long passed literary great.”
@CS_Lewis How could one believe such nonsense?
@CS_Lewis I’m beginning to rethink this agnostic view I have taken. It can’t all be wrong.
@CS_Lewis I might change my handle to ProgressiveAnglican. Thoughts?
@CS_Lewis Never would have I thought that one day I would be teaching at Oxford. All the more exciting twist of life.
@CS_Lewis A thought has just come to mind, what if two demons were having a twitter discussion about the end of the world?
@CS_Lewis Meeting with my fellow Inklings at The Eagle and Child.
@CS_Lewis The things John comes up with send my mind into a frenzy.
@CS_Lewis No one thought my manuscript was up to snuff. I guess it’s in to the kindling pile.
@CS_Lewis I came across this old bit I’d penned some time ago. Can’t imagine why I’d throw it away.
@CS_Lewis For loathing allegory as much as he does, John certainly pushes a belief in symbolism of legends.
@CS_Lewis After much deliberation I have once again returned to the church of childhood. It feels warm and wonderful in the pew.
@CS_Lewis On this day I have lost one of my dearest friends. He was afflicted with homosexuality, but I did not care.
@CS_Lewis It must be Wednesday if I’m meeting with some grubby chaps at The Eagle.
@CS_Lewis Bloody Americans and their endless thirst. Only one pub open tonight.
@CS_Lewis It becomes increasingly apparent that someone does not know me truly if they call me Clive.
@CS_Lewis I suppose I should write a beginning if I intend to tell an end.
@CS_Lewis To all my fellow veterans, pleasant armistice day.
@CS_Lewis Who doesn’t enjoy a warm pint now and again.
Sunday, January 18, 2015
A Pebble in a Pond
A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit
January 18
“Pick and Event from your childhood that you wish would have gone differently. Write it as though it had happened ideally.”
Okay, this is going to sound so phony, but I don’t identify with this prompt. When I look back on my life there isn’t one moment I would want to change. Everything that has happened has made me the person I am. There are overall themes I wish I could change, but are too broad to pinpoint into a single scene or short story. In reality, if I changed certain moments I would have altered my fate entirely. Who knows where I would be.
This isn’t just me being lazy and not wanting to write. Nor is it that I just can’t think of anything right now. I read the prompt last night and have been thinking about it since then. There isn’t anything I would want to change. My husband though seems to think he knows what I would choose. He didn’t want to tell me just in case he was right. Boy, will he be surprised when I tell him. Unless that’s what he thought and then… Well, fuck him then.
To alter my past would destroy my present. Even the most insignificant of moments have a large impact. I love my life. The only things I want to change depend solely on my actions now.
January 18
“Pick and Event from your childhood that you wish would have gone differently. Write it as though it had happened ideally.”
Okay, this is going to sound so phony, but I don’t identify with this prompt. When I look back on my life there isn’t one moment I would want to change. Everything that has happened has made me the person I am. There are overall themes I wish I could change, but are too broad to pinpoint into a single scene or short story. In reality, if I changed certain moments I would have altered my fate entirely. Who knows where I would be.
This isn’t just me being lazy and not wanting to write. Nor is it that I just can’t think of anything right now. I read the prompt last night and have been thinking about it since then. There isn’t anything I would want to change. My husband though seems to think he knows what I would choose. He didn’t want to tell me just in case he was right. Boy, will he be surprised when I tell him. Unless that’s what he thought and then… Well, fuck him then.
To alter my past would destroy my present. Even the most insignificant of moments have a large impact. I love my life. The only things I want to change depend solely on my actions now.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Addicted to You
A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit
January 17
“An Unexpected injury leads to an equally unexpected family discovery.”
The call came late in the afternoon, while Richard was settling into a lunch to entice a new client to use his company. He had been chasing them for months. Wooing them with gifts that consisted of cookies, flowers, concert tickets. Ultimately it would have put him in the back seat of a limo if he had gotten them. Unfortunately life doesn’t stop moving for anyone else either.
“Mr. Massano?” said a female voice after he had answered the phone call.
“This is he,” he said. He held up a finger, stood, and stepped away from he table. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Massano, this is Angela calling from Southwest Medical Emergency, I’m sorry to inform you that your partner, Sean, has been injured and is currently in the ICU.”
For Richard it felt as though the floor had a trapdoor he had just triggered. His mind whirred furiously trying to find words, any sound of the English language, to speak.
“Mr. Massano, are you still there?”
“Yes,” he choked. “You said you’re from southwest?”
“I did indeed.”
“I’ll be over immediately.”
Richard faced his potential clients with a pale complexion.
“Is everything alright?” One remarked.
Richard could only shake his head, his mouth agape.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, this meeting will have to be postponed. I apologize. A family member is in the hospital.”
The balding man, with a snowy Vandyke, held up his hands for a moment.
“We understand.”
Richard excused himself and hurried to the hospital.
Normally the trip would have taken just under forty-five minutes, but Richard managed to do it in under ten minutes. The entire journey was a haze for him. All he could think of were the horrible, graphic, scenarios that would have befallen his husband. How badly was he hurt? How did it happen?
Will he be okay?
He hustled to the information desk and incquired about his husband, who the nurse explained was on the first floor at the end of the hall.
“In room number one hundred twenty-six.”
With his hands clenched into fists, he stormed through the hallway to the room, where he found his husband of three years laying in a hospital bed. His face was puffy and purple. A cut marred his face from hairline to the bottom corner of his left eye.
“Oh my god,” Richard said, “what happened?”
Sean didn’t lift his head. His eyes stayed fixed on the imperfection of his blanket. His slim fingers picked at it incessantly.
Richard walked around the end of the bed and grabbed a chair. It scraped sharply across the pristine linoleum floor.
“Seany,” Richard said, “Baby, talk to me please.”
His husband glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. His frown began to tremble as a tear jumped to the sheet.
“I don’t want to tell you.” He said.
“Why not?”
The sound of the heart monitor filled the silence between the two men. It kept a steady rhythm as Richards quickened.
“When did this happen? Where were you? I thought you were out of town for the day.”
Sean swallowed.
“I was cruising.”
Richard felt like he was falling again. Every muscle in his body tensed and he wanted to scream. He wanted pick the chair up and throw it at the wall.
“This guy, attacked me and stabbed me with a knife. Some kids playing at the park heard me crying for help and got their parents.”
“How could you do this,” Richard said, “Again.”
“I know,” Sean said, shutting his lids. “I deserved this. I am a horrible person. You trusted me, took me back, and all I do is break that love.”
“Yes, you do.”
Sean’s tears ran down his battered and bruised face.
“You didn’t deserve to be beaten, Sean,” Richard said. “But I don’t know how we will be after this.”
Sean nodded his head.
“I just don’t understand. We were doing so well together. Do you not love me? Is it that you just want to cause me more agony? Evidently it’s your goal in life to make sure I never have any happiness.”
“Rich, I promise I love you. This was,” he stumbled over hi words, “this was such a big mistake. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t stop. These places pull me. I love you. I truly, with all of my heart want to be with you. For whatever reason these urges won’t go away.”
“Am I not enough for you?”
“You are,” Sean tried to reach a hand out to him, but the IV tugged at his skin, tethered to his sick bed.
“How long has this been going on?”
Sean covered his face with his hands and sobbed.
Richard couldn’t take the emotion roiling in his chest. It pulled him toward rage. It beckoned him. But that was the last thing he wanted to do. The anger and agony were more than he could bear. The only thing he could think of was to leave, and without another word did just that.
That night his phone seemed to never stop ringing. Eventually he broke down and just turned it off and then unplugged the land line for good measure. The only thing he wanted to think about was his task. He had taken it upon himself to remove every one Sean's belongings from their marriage room into the spare room. Before the dawn of the next day he had managed to wipe all evidence that another person had shared his room.
He took the next day off. The weight of his pain was too great that he couldn't get out of his bed. All he could think about was what he didn't know. How many men had their been? Every line of thinking took him to the conclusion that he was unloveable. Worthless. What other reason could there be?
Then words echoed across his mind. It was what Sean had said, that he couldn't stop. What did that even mean? That lead him directly to the internet to do a search. Top of the list were the tales of celebrity sex scandals. Their reasoning, sex addiction. He rolled his eyes at the thought. Blaming your inability at fidelity on addiction was preposterous. But for humors sake he found medical journals that published extensive data and research. There was even a book written by a one Doctor Patrick Carnes. He himself suffered from the same mental obsession.
All he could do now was to read the book and attempt to understand.
The following day, Richard dressed in his best jeans and t-shirt, the ones Sean had bought him for his last birthday, and took a trip to the hospital. With a bouquet of his favorite flowers, lilies, he entered his husbands room.
"Hi." He said.
January 17
“An Unexpected injury leads to an equally unexpected family discovery.”
The call came late in the afternoon, while Richard was settling into a lunch to entice a new client to use his company. He had been chasing them for months. Wooing them with gifts that consisted of cookies, flowers, concert tickets. Ultimately it would have put him in the back seat of a limo if he had gotten them. Unfortunately life doesn’t stop moving for anyone else either.
“Mr. Massano?” said a female voice after he had answered the phone call.
“This is he,” he said. He held up a finger, stood, and stepped away from he table. “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Massano, this is Angela calling from Southwest Medical Emergency, I’m sorry to inform you that your partner, Sean, has been injured and is currently in the ICU.”
For Richard it felt as though the floor had a trapdoor he had just triggered. His mind whirred furiously trying to find words, any sound of the English language, to speak.
“Mr. Massano, are you still there?”
“Yes,” he choked. “You said you’re from southwest?”
“I did indeed.”
“I’ll be over immediately.”
Richard faced his potential clients with a pale complexion.
“Is everything alright?” One remarked.
Richard could only shake his head, his mouth agape.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, this meeting will have to be postponed. I apologize. A family member is in the hospital.”
The balding man, with a snowy Vandyke, held up his hands for a moment.
“We understand.”
Richard excused himself and hurried to the hospital.
Normally the trip would have taken just under forty-five minutes, but Richard managed to do it in under ten minutes. The entire journey was a haze for him. All he could think of were the horrible, graphic, scenarios that would have befallen his husband. How badly was he hurt? How did it happen?
Will he be okay?
He hustled to the information desk and incquired about his husband, who the nurse explained was on the first floor at the end of the hall.
“In room number one hundred twenty-six.”
With his hands clenched into fists, he stormed through the hallway to the room, where he found his husband of three years laying in a hospital bed. His face was puffy and purple. A cut marred his face from hairline to the bottom corner of his left eye.
“Oh my god,” Richard said, “what happened?”
Sean didn’t lift his head. His eyes stayed fixed on the imperfection of his blanket. His slim fingers picked at it incessantly.
Richard walked around the end of the bed and grabbed a chair. It scraped sharply across the pristine linoleum floor.
“Seany,” Richard said, “Baby, talk to me please.”
His husband glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. His frown began to tremble as a tear jumped to the sheet.
“I don’t want to tell you.” He said.
“Why not?”
The sound of the heart monitor filled the silence between the two men. It kept a steady rhythm as Richards quickened.
“When did this happen? Where were you? I thought you were out of town for the day.”
Sean swallowed.
“I was cruising.”
Richard felt like he was falling again. Every muscle in his body tensed and he wanted to scream. He wanted pick the chair up and throw it at the wall.
“This guy, attacked me and stabbed me with a knife. Some kids playing at the park heard me crying for help and got their parents.”
“How could you do this,” Richard said, “Again.”
“I know,” Sean said, shutting his lids. “I deserved this. I am a horrible person. You trusted me, took me back, and all I do is break that love.”
“Yes, you do.”
Sean’s tears ran down his battered and bruised face.
“You didn’t deserve to be beaten, Sean,” Richard said. “But I don’t know how we will be after this.”
Sean nodded his head.
“I just don’t understand. We were doing so well together. Do you not love me? Is it that you just want to cause me more agony? Evidently it’s your goal in life to make sure I never have any happiness.”
“Rich, I promise I love you. This was,” he stumbled over hi words, “this was such a big mistake. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t stop. These places pull me. I love you. I truly, with all of my heart want to be with you. For whatever reason these urges won’t go away.”
“Am I not enough for you?”
“You are,” Sean tried to reach a hand out to him, but the IV tugged at his skin, tethered to his sick bed.
“How long has this been going on?”
Sean covered his face with his hands and sobbed.
Richard couldn’t take the emotion roiling in his chest. It pulled him toward rage. It beckoned him. But that was the last thing he wanted to do. The anger and agony were more than he could bear. The only thing he could think of was to leave, and without another word did just that.
That night his phone seemed to never stop ringing. Eventually he broke down and just turned it off and then unplugged the land line for good measure. The only thing he wanted to think about was his task. He had taken it upon himself to remove every one Sean's belongings from their marriage room into the spare room. Before the dawn of the next day he had managed to wipe all evidence that another person had shared his room.
He took the next day off. The weight of his pain was too great that he couldn't get out of his bed. All he could think about was what he didn't know. How many men had their been? Every line of thinking took him to the conclusion that he was unloveable. Worthless. What other reason could there be?
Then words echoed across his mind. It was what Sean had said, that he couldn't stop. What did that even mean? That lead him directly to the internet to do a search. Top of the list were the tales of celebrity sex scandals. Their reasoning, sex addiction. He rolled his eyes at the thought. Blaming your inability at fidelity on addiction was preposterous. But for humors sake he found medical journals that published extensive data and research. There was even a book written by a one Doctor Patrick Carnes. He himself suffered from the same mental obsession.
All he could do now was to read the book and attempt to understand.
The following day, Richard dressed in his best jeans and t-shirt, the ones Sean had bought him for his last birthday, and took a trip to the hospital. With a bouquet of his favorite flowers, lilies, he entered his husbands room.
"Hi." He said.
Friday, January 16, 2015
For My Grandmother
A Year of Writing Prompts by Brian A. Klems and Zachary Petit
January 16
“You are given the opportunity to talk to one dead person and tell him/her one thing that you didn’t get to before they passed away. Who would you pick and what would you tell him/her?”
I have to say that I am blessed. Death is something I am not familiar with. At least, not when it comes to someone that is close to me. Sure, I have had the distant relative that I saw on an occasional Christmas or family reunion pass, but no one that was part of my every day. That being said my pool to pull from is rather small. Yet it doesn’t diminish the weight of my choice. If I wanted, I could choose from a dead celebrity who affected my life in a way that they will never understand, but has deep emotional meaning for me. (I’m thinking of C.S. Lewis by the way. If you were wondering.)
If I could talk to one person that has died it would be my grandmother. She lived with my parents and me for a good portion of my life. As I got older I started to be very disrespectful. My parents were good parents but a little lax and my grandmother would step in to take up the slack. She was never one for sitting idle. She bustled around the house, cleaning my clothes, and reminding me to do my homework. We both shared a love of the TV show The Golden Girls and every time I watch it I think of her.
It's strange the things one remembers. For instance, the last thing you ever say to someone will live with you forever. (So make it good. ) I deeply loathe the last thing I ever said to my grandmother. “Do you want the TV on or off?” It was so cold. So empty. Absolutely worthless words. What's worse is, she hadn't been feeling well ever since her surgery, and instead of asking how she felt or spend any time with her I went to bed after my question.
At the time I had been working nightshifts at Best Buy, helping with the store remodel. It was good in the sense that I made a ton of money, but it destroyed any kind of living. I was awake long enough to work and when I got home I slept the entire day. It was a temporary thing, but horrible while it lasted.
On the last night of my over-night shifts my grandmother died. My mother had telephoned while I was working and left me a vague voicemail. It’s still a mystery to me why I never called her back, instead of just rushing to the house. Instead I did 65 on city streets until I pulled into the driveway. I’m certain that, in my heart, I already knew what had happened. Come to think of it, I had started to cry before I even knew for sure.
When I got home there were unfamiliar cars in the driveway. My heart began to go even faster. I could just feel it. I walked into a silent house. A small gathering of people had congregated in the family room. Then my mother told me the news. I wept and crumpled to the floor. It is the first and only time (so far) that I lost someone I really loved.
More than anything, if I could talk to her I would say that I’m sorry for how I treated her. Like I said, as I got older I started to rebel against her parenting. I got to be a dick and I regret that more than anything. More than our final, hallow, conversation. I wish I had said more to her before she died. I wish I could have told her that I did love her, very much. She had such a profound impact on my life. It's because of her that I love to read, play cards, watch the tv show The Waltons. She was the first person to know that I wanted to be a writer. My grandmother read all of my stories and would tell me each time how good they were, even when they were most certainly not. I promised myself that if I ever had a book published I would dedicate it to her. Although, as of late, the project that has been begging to be finished (and very nearly is) would be something she would not read. I don’t think my Southern Baptist grandmother would really approve of a book about a gay boy who gets dumped and then grows wings. At least, one of the chapters she would just skip all together because of its explicit content.
I've heard some before me say that they wish they had told their loved one that had died who they truly were. I never got to say it, but I'm pretty sure she had a hunch. The woman's room was right next to mine and I had a habit of talking late into the night to my husband on my cell phone. It's strange to me that my husband even got to meet her once. He attended my high school graduation and unknowingly sat behind my parents.
My heart tells me she would have loved Charlie. To see how my parents love him... It shows me how powerful love is.
January 16
“You are given the opportunity to talk to one dead person and tell him/her one thing that you didn’t get to before they passed away. Who would you pick and what would you tell him/her?”
I have to say that I am blessed. Death is something I am not familiar with. At least, not when it comes to someone that is close to me. Sure, I have had the distant relative that I saw on an occasional Christmas or family reunion pass, but no one that was part of my every day. That being said my pool to pull from is rather small. Yet it doesn’t diminish the weight of my choice. If I wanted, I could choose from a dead celebrity who affected my life in a way that they will never understand, but has deep emotional meaning for me. (I’m thinking of C.S. Lewis by the way. If you were wondering.)
If I could talk to one person that has died it would be my grandmother. She lived with my parents and me for a good portion of my life. As I got older I started to be very disrespectful. My parents were good parents but a little lax and my grandmother would step in to take up the slack. She was never one for sitting idle. She bustled around the house, cleaning my clothes, and reminding me to do my homework. We both shared a love of the TV show The Golden Girls and every time I watch it I think of her.
It's strange the things one remembers. For instance, the last thing you ever say to someone will live with you forever. (So make it good. ) I deeply loathe the last thing I ever said to my grandmother. “Do you want the TV on or off?” It was so cold. So empty. Absolutely worthless words. What's worse is, she hadn't been feeling well ever since her surgery, and instead of asking how she felt or spend any time with her I went to bed after my question.
At the time I had been working nightshifts at Best Buy, helping with the store remodel. It was good in the sense that I made a ton of money, but it destroyed any kind of living. I was awake long enough to work and when I got home I slept the entire day. It was a temporary thing, but horrible while it lasted.
On the last night of my over-night shifts my grandmother died. My mother had telephoned while I was working and left me a vague voicemail. It’s still a mystery to me why I never called her back, instead of just rushing to the house. Instead I did 65 on city streets until I pulled into the driveway. I’m certain that, in my heart, I already knew what had happened. Come to think of it, I had started to cry before I even knew for sure.
When I got home there were unfamiliar cars in the driveway. My heart began to go even faster. I could just feel it. I walked into a silent house. A small gathering of people had congregated in the family room. Then my mother told me the news. I wept and crumpled to the floor. It is the first and only time (so far) that I lost someone I really loved.
More than anything, if I could talk to her I would say that I’m sorry for how I treated her. Like I said, as I got older I started to rebel against her parenting. I got to be a dick and I regret that more than anything. More than our final, hallow, conversation. I wish I had said more to her before she died. I wish I could have told her that I did love her, very much. She had such a profound impact on my life. It's because of her that I love to read, play cards, watch the tv show The Waltons. She was the first person to know that I wanted to be a writer. My grandmother read all of my stories and would tell me each time how good they were, even when they were most certainly not. I promised myself that if I ever had a book published I would dedicate it to her. Although, as of late, the project that has been begging to be finished (and very nearly is) would be something she would not read. I don’t think my Southern Baptist grandmother would really approve of a book about a gay boy who gets dumped and then grows wings. At least, one of the chapters she would just skip all together because of its explicit content.
I've heard some before me say that they wish they had told their loved one that had died who they truly were. I never got to say it, but I'm pretty sure she had a hunch. The woman's room was right next to mine and I had a habit of talking late into the night to my husband on my cell phone. It's strange to me that my husband even got to meet her once. He attended my high school graduation and unknowingly sat behind my parents.
My heart tells me she would have loved Charlie. To see how my parents love him... It shows me how powerful love is.
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