This week was a bit of a bust. I tried, but I couldn't come up with an idea that had any legs.

I did write one complete story, but it was only about 1000 words, so I decided to include some snippets that I'd worked on before, but which didn't go anywhere. Also included is a brief description of where I thought the stories might go.

I'm hoping for a quick turnaround on the next story. Hopefully it will get posted Tuesday or Wednesday.

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This was going to be the story for this week. I kind of like it. It was fun to write anyhow.

The Woman Who Fell From The Sky One Day

The woman crashed into Marvin Schultz's life at around eight on a Tuesday. He'd been in the bathroom, yanking out nose hairs with tweezers; nose hairs were the thing he hated most about being in his thirties. He tolerated not being able to touch his toes anymore, and was merely wistful when he realized he had no business whatsoever ogling even girls in university. But there was something so insulting in how the rest of his body was beginning to show the earliest signs of wearing out, it was starting to grow hair in new places. Useless places. What was the point the nose hair? It almost made him begin to doubt evolution — what possible survival advantage could there be for a thirty-six year old man to grow nose hair?

That's what he'd been thinking when he heard the enormous crash; he'd been so startled that he almost jammed the tweezers deep into his nose.

"What the hell are you doing Marvin?" his wife Lucinda shouted. She was in their bedroom, getting ready for work. Marvin had a job interview that afternoon, which was why he was plucking out nose hairs. He could have still been asleep but Lucinda wouldn't tolerate him sleeping in during his unemployment.

"I didn't do anything. I think it came from the backyard," he shouted back.

"If some asshole ploughed his car through our fence get his license plate."

Marvin pulled on his bathrobe and hurried to their patio. He didn't find a car accident, instead he saw the woman who had fallen from the sky and landed on their gazebo, shattering it to splinters.

"Holy shit!"

He was in fact rather ambivalent about the destruction of the gazebo. He'd bought the kit from Home Depot, thinking it would be nice to have a place to sit and read in the evenings, enjoying the fresh air while being sheltered from Winnipeg's annual invasion of mosquitos. But by the end of the afternoon, he was sick of the thing; his back was sore from bending over and hammering in nails. Lucinda hated the colour he had painted it and its presence made mowing the lawn a pain in the ass.

And now it was gone.

She sat blinking amongst the shingles and splintered boards, an expression of, "What was that gazebo doing there?" on her face. She was wearing jeans and a ribbed blue sweater.

"Are you alright?" Marvin asked. There were better to questions to ask but he wasn't, at the moment, able to form them.

"I think I've lost my glasses," she responded.

"I can help you look for the them." But he stayed standing still on the patio, holding onto the railing with both hands.

"I only really need them for reading."

"Were you reading on the plane?"

"Come again?" She got unsteadily to her feet.

"On the plane. You must have fallen out of plane or," he paused to think about why else people are in the sky, "A helicopter?"

The woman looked annoyed for a moment, a wrinkle of her forehead and pursed lips, and then said, "I can't find my cellphone, either."

She bent down and moved aside some of the rubble.

"Are you hurt? Do you want to come inside?"

While rubbing her bum she said, "I don't think I'll be able to sit down for a week."

She took careful steps through the remains of the gazebo, then walked across the yard and over to Marvin.

"I could sure use some coffee."

"I have some on."

He held open the screen door for her.

After the woman had sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar in their kitchen, and had taken a few sips of her coffee (after adjusting its sugar level), Marvin asked, "So, uh, what's your name and how did you end up in my yard?"

"Alice," she answered, "And I'm not entirely sure. There was storm. A tornado I suppose. Or maybe just a twister."

"It's a miracle you weren't injured."

"I'd just call it luck."

"Who's this?"

Marvin turned to see Lucinda standing in the doorframe. She was tying back her hair, but otherwise completely dressed and ready for work. Although her tone didn't sound overly hostile, Marvin knew she was annoyed, and hovering close to angry. You could tell by her very slight squint.

"Her name is Alice. You won't believe this. A tornado picked her up and dropped her in our backyard. She completely flattened the gazebo. It's a miracle she wasn't killed."

"You're right. I don't believe that."

"Stop calling it a miracle."

"Listen," Lucinda lowered her force to a harsh stage whisper, "I've tried not to be on your case while you've been unemployed, but inviting strange women into our house — my home — is beyond the pale."

Alice responded before Marvin could, "I'm just finishing my coffee while I get my bearings and then I've got to get to work."

"Is that what they're calling it these days."

Alice took another slurp of her coffee.

Lucinda shot them both a glare as she walked across the kitchen and out onto the porch. She would have to pass by the remains on the gazebo on her way to the garage.

Marvin heard her shout from the backyard, "I hope this will be cleaned up before I'm home tonight."

"Do you have a phone I could borrow?" Alice asked. "I better call a cab."

"Should you really be going to work, after everything that happened?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "I feel fine. And don't call it a miracle."

"So you're going to just go?"

"What else would I do?"

Marvin leaned against the counter across from his guest.

"Well, it's just that — I don't — can it really be a coincidence that you landed in my yard?"

She shrugged.

"I had to land somewhere. And I am sorry about your gazebo. I'll pay you guys back."

Marvin took the cordless phone from its base hanging on the wall and passed it to Alice. She called a cab and Marvin couldn't think of anything to say while she waited for the cab to arrive.

"I was thinking I might take up sky diving," Alice said, to break the silence.

When the cab came, Marvin walked to the front window and watched her drive off. He went back to the kitchen and rinsed out their coffee cups and when he was done, he couldn't remember what he had to do that day.

This next bit was going to be about a guy who becomes obsessed with his new couch, to the point where his friends need to hold an intervention and drag him physically out of his apartment. I think the main motivation for starting it was so I could use the word 'chesterfield'.

Albert Johanson's Couch

Albert Johanson's life became, well not perfect, but much, much better on April 17th, 2008, at about four in the afternoon, a short while after the two men from the furniture store delivered his new chesterfield. The name of the furniture store is lost to posterity; Albert threw the receipt into the recycling bin a few days later. He'd offered the delivery men each a beer by way of a tip. They settled instead for forty dollars.

After they were gone, he stood in the middle of his living room, arms crossed and stared at his new sofa for a long time. It looked even nicer than in the furniture showroom, where the light had been dim and everything look sort of dingy. He stepped up to it, and ran his fingers over the tan micro-suede. He applied a bit of pressure and the cushioning gave way just the perfect amount.

A new chesterfield may not seem like so big of a deal. Albert still had to go to his boring office job. He was still single. He was probably going to have to have his wisdom teeth out in the near future. But now at least he could come home to the sofa he'd been looking for all along. For the last five years, he'd been using the same lumpy futon he had in university. His friends would complain about how uncomfortable it was, and Albert hated it too. But he had been resolved to not get rid of it until he'd found the perfect couch. He wasn't going to settle for something mediocre. Not when it came to lounging comfort.

The main character for this was going to be a bitter English grad who's stuck writing greeting cards. I think my idea was to have her get bored and start putting coded messages into the greeting cards and eventually meet and maybe fall in love with a guy who found them.

But (1) I didn't study enough English in university to effectively write an English major main character, and (2) didn't want to come up with an encoding system for her to use.

Untitled

Caitlin and Mr. Radwanski sat facing each other, with Mr. Radwanski's desk forming a demilitarized zone between them. With the desk there, Caitlin couldn't leap at Mr. Radwanski and throttle him. Well, she could, but Mr. Radwanski hoped the extra effort required was enough to hold her back for the moment.

Being strangled by Caitlin was definitely a concern of Mr. Radwanski; they'd been working together for close to two years and he'd come to know signs of trouble quite well. Her face was calm, and her forehead was smooth, but she was blinking far too rapidly and her hands were clenched together on her lap, her knuckles had gone white.

"I'm not saying it's poorly written or anything," Mr. Radwanski held up his hands in a waring gesture, "it's just that Jake says you haven't given him much to work with."

A few strands of hair had slipped from behind her ear, swinging down until they must have been tickling her upper lip. Caitlin made no move to brush them back, but her eyes narrowed very slightly.

"If Jake can't come up with anything, maybe the problem is with our artists, and not my copy."

DJ said I should write about monkeys, and the idea I came up with was about two guys trying to track down monkeys who'd escaped from a zoo, but I couldn't think of anything compelling to do with the idea.

I'll try to come up with a better monkey story, DJ!

Untitled Story About Monkeys

"That's the thing about wild animals," Oscar says to me, "When they're on TV or behind bars, and acting all goofy, people just lap it up."

Oscar yanks the wheel of the van we're driving in hard and everything lurches hard to the right. I hear stuff crash around in the back and hope none of the tranquilizers have shattered. You just know I'll be cleaning it up, not Oscar. Glad I already finished my coffee.

"It's just like criminals. Criminals on TV make for great entertainment, but no one wants anything to do with them in real life."

"They're not really criminals, though, they're just doing what comes natural to them," I say. "I wouldn't want to be looked up all the time either."

"But that's my point!" He takes off his baseball cap and slaps the steering wheel with it, right at the twelve o'clock position. "People watch monkeys all the time on TV, but one of them climbs through their kitchen window looking for a little snack and they freak out like it's King Kong come knocking on their door."

I don't want to antagonize Oscar, because it just results in his driving becoming even more terrifying, but I respond, "Well it's gotta be a bit startling, right? They're not expecting a monkey to show up in their house. This is Canada."

5 responses to "Week #32 - B-List Material "

Debs wrote: Thursday, 04 Sep 2008 22:08 It's interesting to see some stories in progress. I hope some of these find their direction eventually!

Erinn the Bold wrote: Saturday, 06 Sep 2008 09:00 "He was rather ambivalent about the destruction of the gazebo" reminds me of one of my favourite authors, but I can't for the life of me put my finger on who. Anyway, that was a stellar paragraph.

Karen wrote: Monday, 15 Sep 2008 11:19 Best last line ever: "This is Canada." I loved them all, especially the woman falling out of the sky.

Marie wrote: Tuesday, 30 Sep 2008 02:19 The woman falling out of the sky made me think of Stardust. Did you read that novel or see the movie?

Dana wrote: Tuesday, 30 Sep 2008 07:00 I did not. My roommate informs me it's a Neil Gaiman thing?

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