A Dr. Pepper and a Chick-O-Stick,
Breakfast on the road,
When dress shoes and shirt and tie
Were pushed aside in the closet,
Exchanged for cowboy boots,
And a Wrangler button-down shirt,
Both well worn.
We climbed inside an old truck,
Me and my dad,
To head out to his ranch in Decatur.
To a small herd of Brangus —
To his herd.
I was afraid of horses,
I froze when cows came too close,
I was too skinny to be of any real help
With heavy bags of feed.
But he let me tag along.
Those mornings I woke up easy,
Excited.
Thinking.
It was like going to his office
Only better.
Phone calls and secretaries
Couldn’t interrupt.
I sat on the passenger side
Of the truck’s bench seat
And pulled the door, hard, to close it.
The hinges creaked
Before the door slammed shut,
A hint, I suppose,
That it had been awhile.
He cracked open his drink,
And unwrapped his candy bar.
“Ready?” he announced.
I grinned,
And scooted over, closer to him.
Sometimes, Wednesday is all about using Wordsmith.org’s word of the day as a writing prompt and posting something by midnight. Past essays, poems, and flash fiction pieces can be found under the Wednesday’s Word category.
It’s Humpday, and it’s rainy, and I’m feeling kind of Flashy. I thought I might take on the word of the day – lancinate: to pierce or tear – but that sounded dangerous. Besides, the prompt I really wanted to tackle came from a listen to the radio a few weeks ago.
Through fortunate events, my husband and I wound up with free satellite radio for a whole month. Similar to satellite TV, there’s an overflow of options, most of which (like NASCAR radio) I could do without. One station, though, I quickly fell in love with: The Coffeehouse, a collection of acoustic songs that are really stories woven into musical threads. A writer’s dream. Well, this writer’s dream. Maybe you prefer the Liquid Metal station. Anyway….
The Coffeehouse is where I heard Suzanne Vega’s acapella version of “Tom’s Diner.” This song, like a good story, uses tempo to pull the listener along and incorporates pauses to allow the listener’s mind to wander. Just for a second. Just long enough.
Even if you don’t read the flash fiction piece below, listen to the song. I dare you not to write from it. You might even find a way to squeeze in the word of the day, too.
*****
The Continental
Nostalgia can be hazardous, Jenny thought, as she walked into The Continental. Just look at this place.
The original horseshoe counter had a tinge of antique color to it. The floor was sticky, probably caked in diner grease. A rotary phone hung next to the register. A rotary! And, the griddle sat off to the side, out in the open, where anyone could see the cook flip patties and wipe the spatula on his apron.
This place is neither efficient nor healthy, she figured, but it was the only place around. She grabbed the first open seat at the counter, a metal-rimmed stool with a vinyl cover that – of course – had a crack down its center. When she sat on it, the edges of the broken vinyl fell together and pinched her in a tender place on her thigh. She jumped and cried out. The waitress walked over.
“What can I get for you, honey?” The waitress cleaned the space in front of Jenny with a wet cloth and set a napkin down.
“Coffee,” Jenny said. She dried the counter with the napkin. “To go, please.”
“To go?” the waitress repeated.
“I’m waiting for a tow-truck,” Jenny said. “I won’t be long.”
The waitress shrugged and pulled out a white, ceramic cup. “Tastes better in a cup. And, I know that tow truck. He takes twice as long as he says.” She filled the cup to the very top and walked away. Jenny looked around, but no one else seemed unnerved by the waitress.
Jenny had blown a tire a few blocks down from the diner and ended up calling Information for a mechanic in town. She hated calling a mechanic, but while she knew how to change the tire, she didn’t have the strength. She dialed the number and was told forty-five minutes. She thought a slow walk to the diner and back would kill time. But, after hearing forty-five minutes would be more like an hour and a half, she regretted sitting down.
Next to Jenny, an old woman pulled up her purse and began rummaging. As she dug around, the aroma of Doublemint gum filled the air, and Jenny thought she smelled Aqua Net. She turned away, so she wouldn’t be tempted to peek at the contents of the old woman’s bag.
A bald man with a goatee sat at the end of the counter, next to the coffee burner. He refilled his own cup and worked a crossword puzzle with a gnawed pencil. “What it doesn’t hurt to do,” he said to the man next to him. “Fourteen down. Three letters. Should be easy, right?” The two men stared at each other for a minute.
“Ask,” said the woman with the purse. “A-S-K.” She turned to Jenny. “Men.” Then, she turned back to her rummaging.
Jenny snickered to herself and sipped her coffee, which was now cold. She waved at the waitress, who waved back. The waitress was busy, tapping her pen on her pad, while a young couple at the corner table giggled over the menu. The young man said something, Jenny couldn’t catch it, and held up two fingers. Then, he brushed a piece of hair behind the young girl’s ear.
Jenny’s body softened.
The woman next to her smiled.
The man with the goatee folded his paper and hit his pencil against it.
The phone rang, genuine, and the bus boy answered.
“More coffee?” the waitress asked. Jenny hadn’t noticed when she walked up.
“No. Well…yes. Thank you. I suppose you’re right. I should stay a while.” Jenny ordered a cup of clam chowder and a grilled turkey sandwich. The waitress winked, clicked her pen, and gave Jenny’s order to the cook.
That’s what my friend told me, when I said I was considering an upgrade from my old-school cell phone to an iPhone. “I keep going back and forth, though,” I sighed. “I mean, I don’t really need it.”
“Get it,” she insisted. “You’re a writer.”
My ears perked up, then. I love it when someone outside the circles of writing helps me acknowledge that I am, in fact, a writer. Some days, I still have trouble saying those words out loud. Plus, I was intrigued by how certain she was that an iPhone would complement my other writing tools. So, I bought one.
It is lovely. Even the box it came in is pretty, with its minimalist and sleek design.
(Taken with my iPhone and emailed to my laptop. Just call me Fancypants.)
I’ve already put the phone to good writerly use, too, downloading the Kindle app and buying a copy of Roz Morris’ Nail Your Novel. The other day, when I suddenly had a few hours to sit in a coffee shop, I whipped out my phone, my pen and paper, and read through the beginnings of Morris’ book. I scribbled down notes. I wrote out the first few tasks. I felt productive.
I also purchased an eBook novella by Cathryn Grant, a book only available for eReaders. That “Buy now with 1 click” button on the Kindle Store page is a little dangerous, but I’d be missing out on Cathryn’s novella without this iPhone and that Kindle app.
Technology, be it wireless internet or free apps for a phone, makes a writer’s life a little easier. I’m finally getting that, in bits and pieces.
What about you? How are you using the technology you have on hand to move your writing along? Or, do you have a secret iPhone app I should know about? My son keeps pushing me to download the free Monster Truck game, but I’m not so sure I’m ready for virtual mud-bogging.
While you’re thinking, here are a few other posts on technology and iPhone apps for writers:
