Those 2,500 Words

Dear Drunk:

Yes, thanks for that, err, uplifting take on my new (very short) short story. Look, I know it’s not perfect. Wow, are you a pain in the you know what. I wrote it in three days, for goodness sake.

[My PC and desk. Potton, England. Photo by me, May 23, 2021.]

The idea for the story just hit me. I recalled her Claudia Schiffer joke and I was off and tapping away about that and other stuff. “B” was always pleasant, so I used her for a story:

[From “A 2006 Moment” short story. Copyright 2021.]

You also know I don’t think I’m a particularly good short story writer. I am a novelist. I just realized that I wanted a new story for free available. It was as simple as that. Hey, nobody can complain about it being bad… after all it is FREE! LOL! I had had another idea for one a couple of months ago, but I just couldn’t get it going; but I may return to it eventually and try again.

This one just came out of me – it was so easy to write. I was a bit tired writing the current manuscript. It is wearing writing in 1700s-1800s English; we don’t talk like that, so a “period English” that is authentic takes a lot longer to write than modern day English. It is not just the dialogue either that is challenging: trying also to keep the scene entirely “two hundred years old” requires narrative be similarly time-consistent; you can’t have characters speaking English as in “1814” then in a descriptive paragraph a line later use the word, say, “dude.”

So with that story I had decided to take a break from the distant past by writing in more or less the “present day” – aside from, for example, remembering the likes of how in 2006 we did not have smartphones yet and we still played CDs. I could write that much as I blog here and as I would in my “real” voice. That is also good practice. Remember, writing is also about practice. Practice. Practice. Practice. Like any other effort, writing improves with practice.

If you would practice, you would get better. (I’m kidding! You won’t get better! 😉 )

A Dad story for you. Ask my father for help and if he can he will do. On Facetime the other day, he told me last week he was approached by a guy in a gas station near his house for a lift – a guy with, Dad thought, a Caribbean accent. He said to my nearly 80 year old dad (who looks about 60, to be honest) that his car was getting fixed and asked my dad if he was going north, that he was desperate to get to work. That is in rural Pennsylvania as you know: buses are few and cabs too. My dad replied by asking him specifically where he was going. When the man told him, my dad said he knew the road. Dad agreed, “Okay, I’ll take you.” Dad added to me: “I figured if he robbed or killed me, well I was trying to be nice. And he was very nice the whole drive. When I got there, I saw: he was really working there.” I know you think old white guys in Pennsylvania are all fascists, but my dad I know is not one: he is still an old union guy who worked hard all his life and sympathizes with anyone who does. So stop painting everyone with the same brush, you Stalinist.

I hope your Mrs. is doing well. As to why she continues to put up with you, I have no idea. My Mrs. continues inexplicably to tolerate me, too. LOL! Get back to you own writing now.

A new week is upon us. Here we go again. Oh, and I hope you are not drinking when you open and read this… given I am emailing this at about 4:30am Vermont time.

Until next time,

R. J.