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A place for Writing 12 students to read each other's writing, to critique, to suggest, to improve.
About Me
- Brad
- Former adult teacher who loves island beaches. Happy homebody and family man; once devoted dog owner, now without Tashi, my Tibetan Terrier. I prefer the absurdity of the imagination to the absurdity of imagining nothing.
LInks
Blog Archive
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2009
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April
(13)
- Dialogue (Patchwork Farm Writing Retreat Prompt)
- To me, a friend is...
- To Me, Spring is . . .
- Rage, Peace, Loss, Evil
- Marc and Beatrice Edited Stories
- Published Pieces and Edits
- To Me, Writing is . . .
- A Favorite Tree (Patchwork Farm Writing Retreat Pr...
- Eve's Story, "Outdoor Cat" EDITED
- The Zeugma Challenge (Just for Fun)
- The Best Least Favorite Food
- Dialogue: Person and an Object
- A Rainy Day Story (Choose a Suitable Design)
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April
(13)
12 comments:
"Come on Steve! Come on Steve!" When my car slows down while climbing a long, steep hill, I always cry out, "Come on Steve!"
Steve was the name of a poet's father's car, a car that survived the big Fraser River flood sixty years ago. Survived, but it wasn't the same.
When climbing a hill, Steve was slow and the poet thought, just perhaps, that the fact that it had been flooded up to the windows might just have explained it.
So, besides my usual "Don't do this to me!" when my car breaks down on the freeway, I love to speak to my car and encourage it, by calling it Steve!
“Get a move on, you piece of sh*t! ” Jim remembers it as if it happened yesterday and that made him so sad.
It was Jim’s 16th birthday, and 1927 Chevrolet was his birthday gift. He was so happy because it was his great- grandfather’s and he wanted to have it so much.
The car’s name was “Buck” because that was his great-grandfather’s name, and that’s his nickname.
As a child, he would sit in front of his grandfather’s lap from the garage, and he pretended to drive “Buck” and he promised he would never betray him.
The two of them were inseparable; two of them went everywhere. Wherever “Buck” went, he went, and vice versa.
But one day, the strangest thing happened. “Buck” wouldn’t move an inch, and that worried him. So, he went to a repair shop to fix him.
“Oh, I don’t know . . . That’s it’s gonna be a big one to fix, and I don’t know how long it’ll last. Why don’t
you go dump him, Mr. Harry?”
Sure, that’s easy for him to say such a thing. For many times, he tried to dump him at the garage, but whenever he tried to do it, he couldn’t do it.
The main reason was that he got his first kiss, got his broken-heart, and gave away his daughter. So, no matter what the other people say, it was so sentimental to him.
At the end, he betrayed “Buck,”and he couldn’t bear to buy another car again.
-252 words.
With the help of the moonlight, I casts my shadow, on my bedroom wall.
"Thank you for staying," I say. "You are very loyal to me."
I wait for a few seconds. But there is no reply.
"Please talk to me," I tell my shy friend. "I badly need someone to talk to. I feel extremely lonely tonight. It seems that no one notices me in this house, no one. Even our dog doesn't like me, I think."
But still, there is no reply.
I close my eyes and just try to feel the presence of my dear friend. I can feel him staring at me- smiling.
"You have nothing to worry about," he finally says. "You can sleep soundly tonight, because I am right here to watch over you.Unlike them, I will always stand where you stand. I will always take every footsteps that you'll make.You will never be alone-never."
"Thank you," I say, as soon as I open my eyes. "Thank you."
Again, I close my eyes. I sleep with very calm heart-beats because of the words of my trusted friend. Because he assures me that even if I shut my window blinds, he is still there, somewhere, hidden in the darkness of my empty room and accompanying me.
After two weeks cloudy and rainy, the mist eventually is cleaned away tonight.
It is full moon again, so round and clear. She shines upon us with her soft silver light. And then she will turn round to the other side of our planet—it is my homeland.
The wax and the wane often cause homesick. Many poets left the famous pieces with their deep emotion.
I am not a poet. I have no poem.
While my soul heavenward, I‘d like to ask the Goddess of moon to transfer a message to my close relatives and good friends in my hometown: “take care of yourselves, so we will admire the full moon together in this Mid-Autumn Festival.”
Words: 117
“Come on! Come on! Co-m-e O-n! You can do it Xiaoqiang, yes you can! Yes, yes, you can! Good boy. I promise I’ll buy you a drink soon.
Xiaoqiang is the name of my printer. It showed Xiaoqiang was running out of ink two months ago after I found my very “intelligent” husband printed thirty-five pages of bank transaction records by mistake.
Xiaoqiang was a crap I brought from a trashy shop named “Future Shop” one year ago. I decided to return when it’s out of ink. But recently, I’ve got some emotional bond with Xiaoqiang for some obvious reason—it still works with a very low level of ink.
I felt guilty since I cheated Xiaoqiang by promising “I’d buy him a drink.” Or maybe I should and wave good-bye later until the last day of my warranty.
Talking To My Coffeemaker
Waking up, I went straight to the kitchen, and looked at the coffeemaker- my best coffeemaker. As usual, I wanted to make coffee, but it was not working. “Come on!” I said, “What happened to you?”
After trying several times of turning it on and off, plugging and unplugging, I said again, “You know I can’t do without coffee! Please!” just then it started pouring coffee.
Sometimes I have the feeling as though objects can understand us. They respond. Typically, I don’t talk to objects; I do when I am really distressed though.
99 words
“keep silent, ok? Don’t make any noise,” I look up speaking to the fire alarm on the wall.
Every time I say it when I estimate stir-frying will take longer. Actually, saying this request is going to be part of my cooking.
The fire alarm in my home is very sensitive. It always likes reminding me of its existence. A sudden loud noise drives me crazy as I am intent on my cooking. “Stop it, please. Stop!” I beg, my hands covering my ears instead of holding the wok spatula.
I plan to change this super smart alarm into a dull one. Before changing it, I still give it a chance. I say my request, beyond surprise, it seems to know its fate, so it works well.
“Why do you have to choose now, stupid old machine?” I asked. “You’ve been working fine since I started and now you want to start your crap just to waste my time?”
Whenever I’m working as a Markdown associate, I talk to the machine when it starts developing some problems—like battery dying, or when it signals that I have to sign in again.
“You know what?” I said, “Let me finish this rack of clothes and you can stay inert forever!” when I say that, the machine slows as if to annoy me. I would bang it on the cart and then punch it on the head.
“That’s why you always have problem with these machines”, a voice said behind me, my co-worker. “Those machines are really old and you have to treat them like babies.”
That sounded right. Except that I didn’t have such patience because it always does that when I’m hurrying to finish the last thing and go home. It always ruins my happy mood and because of that, we can’t be friends—never.
Watching television is most certainly a nightly routine. Nothing more relaxing then curling up with a blanket and drifting away into some other fantasy world. Its an excellent way to escape after a hard days work. Yet sometimes, the unthinkable happens.
"Oh come on! can you please stop doing that!," I looked at the screen in frustration.
The television continued to flicker loudly.
"Please!? All I want to do is relax and you never work for me! Its like your punishing me."
My television is known for only doing this when I want to use it. Whenever my mom or brother want to sit and enjoy it, they never have problems. It just seems that the damn thing hates me. So it continues to flicker.
"Don't make me come over there and beat you! I don't care if I get in trouble over laying the smack down!," I said as it continued to sit there motionless.
"That's it! I've had enough.," I stood up quickly and rushed towards the television with my right hand raised.
Right as I got within a few feet of it. It stopped flickering. I smiled widely.
"Thata-boy"
I opened my closet and my eyes started searching for something.
Oh, thank god I found it. I closed the door.
“You know you are the most important thing for me”, I said to my old velvet box.
“Don’t be proud. You should know why you are so important for me. because you keep safe those letter from my mom.
Today is my birthday, I remembered my mom used to buy me a cake and make some long-life noodle for me. I am six this year, but tonight is a quiet night, it is still my birthday, but my mom is working night shift and my Dad is studying at night school, nobody is inside the house, there is only me and my cat.
My cat is always a wilful pet, she enjoyed her own freedom of roofing climbing and male hunting, but, occasionally, she remembers her little girl and comes back to check me out. When she noticed that I wasn’t happy, she sat quietly opposite me and looked at me with her green eyes.
“You know that, today is my birthday, but nobody was at home to celebrate with me,” tears dropped out from my eyes, “there is only you for me here, sometimes I felt so lonely, my Mom and Dad are always not at home.”
My cat steped her warm paws on my legs and curled up on my lap, she didn’t make any sound, but she was there with me all night; we kept warm for each other on that cold winter night.
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