Wednesday, September 28, 2005

NCC Writers

I started a writing class a couple of weeks ago. As you can tell from my erratic posting record, I need the motivation to write regularly. Short of being held at my keyboard at gunpoint, a writing class is the next best thing. Anyway, my best friend, Nic, suggested I post the stories I wrote for my class. I figured it would also be a good way to post more regularly. So, here are the first two. In both cases, we were given a topic and told to write a story in fifteen or ten minutes. The first topic is "banjo", the second is "shooting star."

Banjo Exercise

"Well, I think I woulda been alright, except for the banjo."

"Whaddaya mean, ‘except for the banjo’?"

"When the cops came in and searched the place, I’d already flushed the stuff and cleaned up. Poof. Gone without a trace. So, I figured I was home free. Just as they were about to leave, I was walking them to the door all smug-like. Then, one of ‘em stops and looks at the banjo hangin’ on the wall."

"Why’d you have a banjo hangin’ on the wall?"

"It was the first thing I ever stole. When I was just a kid, twelve or thirteen, I stole it from an old lady who lived in town. She gave piano lessons to my sister. One day I was droppin’ her off for her lesson, and I just swiped the banjo. I hid it on the top shelf of my closet and kept it there until I moved out. I don’t even know why I took it. It was just sitting there in the front room right next to the door. I never forgot that feelin’, that rush of runnin’ out the door with that banjo. So, I hang it on the wall every place I live."

"What kinda banjo was it?"

"What?!"

"What kinda banjo was it?"

"How should I know? It was a banjo. How many kindsa banjos are there?"

"Plenty. There are uke banjos, mandolin banjos, guitar banjos, plectrum banjos, tenor banjos, tango banjos. Then, there’s the 5-stringers: the 5-string zithers, the 5-string resonators, the 5-string open backs. Plus…"

"I get it. There are plenty. It had strings and it looked like guitar for a retarded kid. Can I get to my point?"

"Go ahead."

"Apparently the banjo I stole was some rare antique or something."

"Was it a ‘banjolin’? Because those are worth…sorry."

"The stupid banjo belonged to the old lady’s father who was some famous banjo player who made his own banjos. Who’s ever heard of people gettin’ famous playing a banjo, anyway? A story about the missing banjo had just so happened to been on a couple a nights before on some crime mystery show that just so happened to been the cop’s favorite. So he knew it right away ‘cause the banjo had they guy’s name on the front. I just thought somebody’s punk kid had wrote on it, but it was a signed name. Long story short, it was worth enough to put me away for grand theft."
TIME


Shooting Star Exercise

The shooting star marked the moment that it died. I don’t even remember what made me look up, but I did. I looked up just in time.

It kind of sucks that this moment that I would never forget – ever, as long as I lived – would forever ruin shooting stars for me.

I suppose it could be worse. I could have seen a sunset or something, something that happens more often. It would really be bad if I had to think about this every time the sun set and I was driving or looking out the window or walking. It would really be bad if every night I was reminded of this night, because I knew somewhere the sun was setting, even if I didn’t see it.

But, I guess it didn’t matter, anyway. What would it matter if you were reminded of something you could never forget?
TIME