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There was supposed to be a blizzard but there wasn’t. Instead there was six inches of snow that shut down the city train lines for a few hours, but not long enough to get me out of work for the day.

“So much for that blizzard,” said my neighbor I never talked to as I kicked the snow of the set of steps that united our apartments. Maybe the weather is the one thing everyone in the city cannot ignore.

I shrugged back at him still too unfamiliar with urban decency to know if I should show anything but apathy about the weather. I wanted to ask him if even New Yorkers feel a little pastoral in the snow, but that seemed to belong outside of the realm of weather, back into the categories of things that people in the city definitely ignore.

Still, the snow in the city made me feel pastoral. Or maybe I always am a country girl and the snow made the city feel more that way. I thought about when there was a blizzard, a real blizzard, at home one year on my birthday. My father, my sister, and I took the dog out into the woods. I remember I wore a hat that ended in a long tail and I must have swished in unison with the dog’s tail and the wind through the tree branches and my father’s strides and my sister’s strides. All in sync because there was a blizzard and we were in the woods and it couldn’t be ignored.

#snow #writing #prose #new york #blizzard

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Henry does not sit on the sofas nor would he ever want to. He steals them. Searches beneath the cushions first for change, inspects (cursorily) the upholstery, then loads them into his van to go back to the house. He begins this now with the floral Lawson.

“Who knew there’d be modernist gems out here,” Henry says about the Lawson’s ex-house. He calls me Clio, although I have told him that I will never be his muse.

“The glass wall works well for a summer house- no need for insulation really- but I have to wonder about flooding.”

#writing #prose #excerpt #sofas #sofas??

The Soft Rock Listeners’ Club met was to meet that evening at the diner off of Bay Avenue, the one most associated with four o’clock in the morning, although it is open every other hour of the day as well. It is called the Tarrytown Diner. Tarrytown is, of course, the township in which Bay Avenue and the Tarrytown Diner are both located and where the meeting of the Soft Rock Listener’s Club was to take place. Henry, although familiar with each Tarrytown, Bay Avenue, and the Tarrytown Diner did not know that this was to be the meeting place. See, it is difficult for a non-member to find out much about the the Soft Rock Listeners’ Club.

#prose #excerpt #at least i've started something #soft rock

hehehe so much for that

been in a rut, going to write and post something every day this month (although I've already missed the 1st). bear with me.

#writing #should i tag all this shit something?#does it matter?

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Laura shaken from the recoil of her shovel meeting metal, tripped over the corpse she was supposed to be burying. Mr. Cheese died late that evening. When she had found him growing stiff in the spare bathroom, she had considered putting the burial off until the morning. But the dead thing looked so natural, posed on the pink bath mat like it had just settled into sleep, Laura knew she would wake up and forget that Mr. Cheese had ever died. When she’d sit down for her morning piss, she’d reach over mindlessly to stroke him.

#excerpt #prose #something i found in my google drive and probably won't do anything with #cat #dead #burying

feeling very anxious because I haven't written anything in a long time.

#a writing blog without writing

God the lover works both with his hands and his mouth.

#writing #this was in my drafts #where was it going? I don't know

afieldofquestions

end of year list

listless less

less lists

#writing #new year

writing classes have killed any desire i had to write

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Tucker’s Island used to have girls. Yeah, they’d sell cigarettes outta boxes they’d strapped to their chests and they’d walk all up and down the boardwalk trying to sell them cigarettes. And we’d be fishing or drinking or carving and those damn girls would walk right up to you, never mind if you were in the middle of saying something, and ask if you’d buy a cigarette. And if you told them you were good, they’d pout and say how bad they’d like a cigarette but the boss won’t let them buy smokes on the job and if you could just buy them one they’d be so grateful. And course we’d buy them a cigarette and they’d give us a little kiss on the cheek, call us all sweethearts and sit til they finished their smoke. Then they’d walk to the next group of boys. Walking and smoking the whole length of that boardwalk. That’s why Tucker’s Island burnt down. Everyone thought the girls were just at work.

#prose #writing #cigarette #smoke

Cloak and Dagger

Steve took off his shoes and kissed his wife.

“How was work?” she asked.

He answered later as they lounged post-coitally on their marriage bed.

“We finished the report on the initial tests today. It’s going to be presented tomorrow, but the results were disappointing, so we’ve already begun brainstorming new compounds. Anderson thinks if we have some alternative to suggest they’ll be happier, but I doubt it.”

“I don’t know what went wrong. In theory, the formula worked.”

Steve held his wife closer and whispered into her ear, swapping the sweet-nothings of twenty years with the names of molecules and compounds. It was just the same though; he knew she didn’t hear them.

But the officer outside did. Hardly able to contain his nervous lover’s excitement, he stroked his dagger and replied, “романтический,”.

#writing #prose #fiction #romance #cloak and dagger

John had just thrown up and was thinking about killing himself, when he saw god through the port-o-john's plastic skylight. This was strange. god had only made himself known on Earth on one other occasion and that was to ask for directions. He had heard what this pitstop had done to the planet through intergalactic gossip, but it was all such trifling matters (the Crusades were merely a back page blurb on most of the tabloids) that god felt no need to go back. That was many years ago however, and god had changed.

"God, is that you?" John asked.

"Well, I suppose it is."

The man, who had sat still, drawers down on the toilet for quite sometime, started to sob.

"Please, god, please tell me why I shouldn't end it right here. I've wanted to die for a long time now, but if you can give me an answer I will keep living."

god hesitated for a moment. "This is no good," he replied.

"What do you mean no good? You are supposed to be the almighty being. Where is the sage advice, the cosmic answers?"

god looked down at the angry man and saw that in his rage, he had gotten up without bothering with his pants.

"It's just that I was told Man has all the answers."

(Note: Thanks praemordeo for the editing suggestion).

#writing #prose #god #answers #fiction

Fifty thousand dollars was injurious, but was door-holding insulting? The attorney wasn’t about to argue the value of teaching social graces to kindergarteners with Mrs. Lapiaf and so he included it in the complaint, one sentencing stating “further, the plaintiff’s son, Mr. Henry Lapiaf, suffered emotional damage from the demeaning role of ‘door-holder’ given to him by persons employed by the defendant,”.

“Well, Mrs. Lapiaf,” he said after the woman entered and sat facing him, “I’ve finished drawing up all the documents. I imagine we will get an answer in the coming weeks and then it’s just a matter as to whether they want to settle out of court or not.”

“Thank you Gabe, I’ve just one question,” she responded.

“When can I bring this to the media?”

He shuffled the papers while he regained his composure (you don’t graduate from Harvard law to have some trophy wife call you by your first name) as if skimming them for the answer. “I’d wait for the answer.”

#writing #prose #excerpt #law #media #answer

A chicken breast stripped of its muscles that peel off in unresisting layers is merely a hollow cavity.

#writing #scrap #chicken

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How bout that night,

you conjured advice

from the stained sheets

you just couldn't get your face out of?

#this is a poem i guess #poetry #writing #advice

afieldofquestions

The deli manager wasn’t born with meat in his heart, nor did he wake up one morning and decide on cold cuts. Rather, he grew into it.

Perhaps it started when he would stay late to sharpen the blades. He knew the slicers as a lover-where they hid their secret dirt, how to make them willingly fall...

#writing #prose #fiction #ahh wrong blog #passion #meat

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