Becoming a writer, again

I am trying to sell my house again, and so I took a huge stack of books to the library to give away, trying to get rid of stuff. They have this bookshelf downstairs where people give away free books, and many in my stack came from this very place. I am a book addict and I do love to collect them but something just had to go, so I parted with these, promising myself to not take any more home...but then...it called to me.

"Becoming a Writer," by Dorothea Brande, came home with me that day. First published in 1934, her words of wisdom are still relevant today. The most important bit of advice she gives is that, in order to be a writer, one must put the time in and actually WRITE.

Well in the last couple of years I have thrown myself so whole-heartedly into another passion of mine, yoga, that I have neglected to write much at all, except of course about yoga. I have gone through two yoga teacher trainings, and now spend most of my time practicing, teaching, studying, reading about, or talking about yoga.

The other day, while having lunch with a fellow teacher who I went through training with, an aquaintance of ours joined us. We learned that she teaches creative writing classes, for free at the library, just for fun. So naturally I started discussing writing with her, and my other friend, who I have spent a great deal of time with over the past two years said, "I didn't know you were a writer." And then I knew, I have a serious writing deficit in my life.

The definition of a writer is someone who writes. And I have gotten too far away from a regular writing practice to really call myself a writer. This needs to change. I always make time for my daily yoga practice. I need to make time for my daily writing practice.

I also met a new friend (at a yoga workshop, of course!) who had recently written a book and I offered to help her with editing. She gave me her sister's book too - her sister had just written a memoir. Both were interesting but needed quite a bit of editing. And again I remembered, as if waking up from my long strange yoga sleep-dream, that editing is something I am really good at. I am probably much better at editing than I am at teaching yoga, to be honest.

I have gone through many changes and learned a great deal about myself. But I keep coming back to these core parts of my being, these things that call me back again and again. Whether I am scrawling out something in my journal with my favorite pen or clicking away on my keyboard, this is where I feel most at home. This is where I always come back to. This is who I am. I am a writer. Or at least, becoming one, again.

Kale Crisps

While we're sharing recipes, here's one I just tried that is really surprisingly good. It requires kale, olive oil, and salt. Break up kale into bite sized pieces. Wash, dry. On a cookie sheet, drizzle kale with olive oil and sprinkle with salt. Bake in oven at 350 degrees for 10 - 15 minutes. Super crispy yummy yum yum!! And of course super healthy, vegan, gluten free too!

Nothing really

When my computer hard drive crashed AGAIN (yes, the new one that I got last summer), I kind of gave up. Without my computer, my whole organizational system was thrown off. I must say that I think it was good for me in a way, to look at things differently. I started writing things out BY HAND, like journaling in the morning with coffee and actually writing letters to my mother and sending them by snail-mail. I think it is good to get this different perspective every once in a while, and to have that connection between your mind and your writing hand and the pen and paper.

Since I got my latest hard drive, my computer has been slower than ever. I have been very unmotivated to use it for much of anything. But, I am still here. I just feel like I don't really have anything to say.

I have had to focus on basic survival issues so much lately that I have not done a scrap of fictional writing. A great deal of my time goes toward keeping myself and my children healthy, especially my son with Cystic Fibrosis, who has had to do extra breathing treatments lately due to a scary bacterial infection that we are having trouble getting rid of (you'd never know it to look at him, he seems the picture of health, a very active and rambunctious 5 year-old boy). Then there is my persistent anemia, that I thought I had taken care of, but now seems to be resurfacing.

We've been trying to survive winter again, in this crappy economy where my husband's job is pretty much seasonal and I have been having a really difficult time finding work. Then it got really cold, below zero, and our pipes froze. It's my least favorite time of year, contrary to the popular song lyrics, "it's the most wonderful time of the year." Bullshit.

I don't mean to complain, just to explain where I've been. Things are looking up. I got a part-time job, working with some friends who have their own business in their home. It's a great situation. And I've got another job interview coming up. And I've decided to go back to school in the spring, to work toward finishing my masters degree (taking one class).

So where I am at right now is very grounded in survival and reality - heck, I'm not even reading any fiction, just non-fiction lately. And I've been thinking about getting my first tattoo ever. When I can eventually afford it. So, what's going on? Nothing really.

Other people's problems

People like to tell me things. I am not exaggerating when I say that perfect strangers have come up to me and started telling me intimate details of their lives. I've thought that maybe I should go into counseling, because I obviously look like I care. Sometimes I do, but mostly I don't. I do find other people and their problems interesting though. I guess that's why I got that useless degree in Psychology way back when, because I wanted to study people. When it came down to actually working with people and their problems, I found myself wishing that I could be a carpenter or something simple like that, where at the end of the day you could actually see some progress.

So when I start wallowing in my own self-pity (oh, I'm so tired because my son with CF kept me up coughing in the middle of the night...), I think of other people's problems, and I don't feel so bad. Because everyone I know has got them, and I wouldn't trade with any of them. Now, if I knew someone who had the problem of having too much money and not knowing what to do with it, I would be willing to trade problems with them.

One day, when I was feeling particularly tired, a friend of mine sent me a link to a blog, which I have since lost, by this young woman who works a full-time job, has an infant, AND she herself has CF (Cystic Fibrosis). I thought, damn, it's hard enough to take care of yourself when you have an infant, let alone working full-time, then top that with this life-threatening illness...argh. I really wished at that moment that I had the problem of too much money, I would have sent her a boatload.

Then there are the people who you think have it made, but when you really get to know them, you see that they too have problems that you would not want. So what the hell am I getting at? Not really sure. Just wanted to share a thought, since I have been so busy lately and haven't contributed much to our ongoing online conversation.

I have been soooo busy, and soooo tired, but I've been having a great time too. Sure, I've got some serious problems. My son has this serious life-threatening illness. My husband works two random part-time jobs and we never know when or how much money we will have. I don't have a job at all. So I work full-time at being the best mother, wife, and household manager that I can be, and sometimes I still come up short. But I also get to go for long runs in the mountains with my incredibly fit husband with whom I am still in love after 14 years.

So, that's life. We all have problems. We need to be compassionate with others because you never know what kind of shit they are dealing with. And be thankful for those days when the problems are small, or at least manageable, and you get a quiet moment to sit and write or walk outside on a beautiful day. Which is what I plan to do today.

Have you heard the one about...

First of all, I would like to thank Kiki for bringing this news story to my attention. You know, the one about the woman, the dog, the bear, and the zucchini. One of the funny things about this is that it took my friend from another state to tell me about something that happened just a couple of miles from my house. And no, it was not me, but it sure sounds a lot like my life.

We have seen bears on our property out here. One young male got chased up a tree by our dogs, then came down and chased the chickens. My husband went out there with a camera at first (the footage is mysteriously lost) until he realized a gun might be more appropriate. When the bear came close to the house, he shot near it to scare it away. We didn't see him again, but last year a very small  young bear (probably out on its own for its first season) right outside our front gate. When we went outside to look at it, it ran away. And one time my husband nearly ran into a mama bear with two cubs, who actually charged at him. Kind of a "worst case scenario." But he managed to get away unscathed.

Lately I have been spending more time at my lovely home out here in the forest, enjoying the quiet that you can only get here when everyone else is at school or work. We've had beautiful autumn weather, crisp and sunny. I've been harvesting my garden and making lots of great food with the fresh ingredients. Yesterday I made jalapeno applesauce, spicy salsa, and spinach soup. Zucchini bread has become a staple around here for the boys. I also like zucchini baked, fried, grilled, roasted, and in potato pancakes (shredded zucc, shredded pre-baked potato, egg). 

Now I can add "self-defense against bears" to my list of "the many uses for zucchini."

Black bears are pretty common around here, and this time of year they are taking part in the harvest as well, out there trying to fatten up for the winter. It is just their nature. And it is in the nature of dogs to protect their homes, and people to defend their dogs, and bears to defend themselves.

Woman, Uninterrupted

I don't mean to brag, but, my life is awesome. Today anyway. The day that I have dreamed of for seven years has finally come; both of my kids have gone off to school, and I am free to do whatever I want. I don't think I've ever so looked forward to a chilly, rainy, September day.

For so many years of my life I have been programed to start something new in the fall. Elementary school, high school, college. Today I am looking forward to doing whatever I want, UNINTERRUPTED. Sure, I need to start looking for a job. But today I am free.

Today I can listen to morning news on NPR. I can listen to whatever kind of music I want to, really listen, loudly if I want. I can burn incense. I am free to clean, uninterrupted, and not have things get messed up right away. I can take the puppy out for a walk or go for a run and I don't have to schedule it with anyone.

I remember now, I used to be such an independent woman, before I had children. I have come to accept the dependence that our family unit has on each other. It's ok. But this whole time as a full-time stay-at-home mom (FTSAHM) I've been holding back and I can't wait to let my wild horses run free again, if only between the hours of 8:30 am to 3:00 pm, Monday thru Friday.

I sound like a housewife, I think I'm a housewife

I never intended to be a housewife. Shit, I remember a time when I didn't think I'd ever get married or have children. Then I decided that someday I might have kids, but forget about a husband. Then one day I decided to get married, but not have kids. Then, unable to ignore the loud clanging of my freakin' biological clock, I decided to have a child. And after you have one, you may as well have two...

However, my timing was a little bit off. I should have both established my career and had children probably ten years earlier than I did. And so I find myself, over 40 years old, sending my youngest off to school. Hi, nice to meet you. I'm a housewife.

While it is tremendously exciting to think of having so much time off to myself (six whole hours a day, five days a week?!), I know that I need to use that time to find a way to make some money. 

WTF do I do with myself now? Can I find a job between the hours of 8:30 and 2:30, where they don't mind if I take off all school holidays and anytime my kids are sick? Stay tuned and find out...

Domestic Goddess Seeks Part-time employment

The school year hasn't even started yet and already I'm considering cleaning and reorganizing my spice cabinet in order to have some project to do. While mixing ingredients for morning muffins, I searched through the old baby food jars of spices, on the shelf cluttered with bags of nuts and bottles of sauces, a jar of peanut butter and some dried seaweed I never use. I have plenty of thyme. No ginger though. And lots of nutmeg, but that isn't as ironic.

I am excited about the possibilities of the year to come, with both kids in school all day. Now I have time. I can get things done around the house, exercise on my own schedule, work on projects, write, even get a job if I can make it fit with the kids' schedule. They are still my top priority. If I got a job, we could have more financial security, maybe be able to do more than just pay the bills.

But for the past five years I have been out of the work force, a full-time stay-at-home mom. There is a big blank space at the top of my resume. I find myself at parties saying: "I've just been home with the kids," when they ask if I work. I know that it is much more than that. It is a very important and challenging job. I have had to use many of the skills I've learned over the years from previous employment and education.

So I've decided to try to write a comprehensive job description for the position I have held for the past five years, highlighting the skills required. The all-encompassing title for this position is: "Domestic Goddess." Including, but not limited to, performing the duties of mother, wife, lover, friend, Household Manager, Nurse, Wilderness First Responder, Care-giver, Life-skills Teacher, Travel Agent, Secretary, Activity Coordinator, Adventure Leader, Baker, Cook, Gardener, Lawn Maintenace, Maid, Chauffeur, Geisha, Laundress, Waitress, Servant, Animal Caretaker, Conflict Resolution Manager, Toy Repair Specialist, Referee, Hostess. etc. etc.

Can you think of more? I bet you can.

Summer

I love summer: the warm sunny days playing in the river, pond, pool, etc. But how does one get any writing done when there is so much fun to be had? Because I am a stay-at-home mom, my summer is filled with activities to keep the kids busy. By August, I find myself missing the structure that the school year brings to our lives. I don't miss the rushing around in the morning to get there on time, or our short evenings together filled with homework and rushing them into bed so that they get enough sleep. But with the structure, it is so much easier for me to find a place to fit in the things that I want and need to do for myself - like exercise and writing.

I find myself questioning the whole idea of summer vacation. Why do kids need 3 continuous months off? I know the original reason for scheduling this huge break: our agricultural past demanded that the kids be available to work on the farms during the summer. But now kids can't find work - many adults can't either. So then we end up with all these kids out there with nothing to do for the summer. If they are lucky, their parents either don't have to work (maybe they work in the school system?) or can afford to put them in various camps throughout the summer. But a lot of kids are not that lucky. Their parents have to work, but they can't afford to do much for the kids. Looking into our future, I wonder how we will swing it. 

When I was a kid, we spent summers at our grandparents' camp on the lake. We'd play in the water all day, or play games on the screened in porch. We were bored a lot. But looking back now, I see that we were some of the lucky ones. Now I am trying to raise my kids far away from any family and I see how hard that is, and how much easier it would be if my parents lived in the same town, and were retired with a lake house.

Another problem with summer is that Kiki always goes back east to visit her family and I don't hear from her nearly enough! How are your summers going? Do you find time to write? What do you think about summer vacation?

-Lori

For the love of water

Ah the smells of camping: bug spray, sunscreen, camp fires, outhouses, musty old tents you should have aired out before packing but didn't take the time...these smells bring back memories of my youth. And now I get to share these things with my boys. Of course, as an adult I now realize how much work is involved as well.

So we camped out last weekend but it wasn't really your typical camping experience. We were visiting a friend who is in the process of building a house and we stayed out there on his property, in a little travel camper. He has an outhouse and a spigot for water. He even has a refridgerator and a television. But the place is a total bachelor pad. This is the friend from whom I first heard the sayings "Comfort kills the soul," and "pain is weakness leaving the body." So, you can imagine...

The place is way out of town on a (very dusty) gravel road with few trees around, and summer decided to finally strike this weekend. It was blastingly hot, with very little shade. However, it was near a river (hence the massive mosquito onslaught) so we were able to go swim a couple of times. While there, I cleaned out our friend's camper and refridgerator. I felt like it was the least I could do. My husband says I do things like this because I like gross things. (In response I always say, yes, I do like YOU.) On the contrary, I like CLEAN things, THAT is why I clean up gross things.

I am no clean/neat freak, no, not at all. I just love running water and a relatively comfortable place to be. I mean, I have two boys (three if you count my husband), I am used to a bit of mess and chaos. I'm also used to cleaning it up. So, at times like these (camping out in a hot dusty place) it is the running water, the indoor plumbing, that I miss the most.

I didn't even realize (or maybe I chose to ignore) just how dusty and dry we all were until we got home. The first thing I did when we got home was a neti pot. Then a shower, and tons of moisturizer. Made the boys bathe too, fed them and put them to bed. Washed dishes, started on the laundry, watered the yard and garden. I looked around at our lush green yard and all the tall, lovely, shade-creating trees, and I was thankful for what I have. A bit of deprivation once in a while really helps me to appreciate the comfortable life I have created for myself.

So here is what I've been thinking: a comfortable life is all about water. Not only do we need to drink tons of water to be really healthy, but we also need it to grow food or livestock, we need it to stay clean and comfortable...water is life. Water is wealth. The majority of the surface of our planet is covered with water. Water is fun to play in. All weekend I found myself thinking about Aquatic Ape Hypothesis, a theory of human evolution that says we evolved into what we are today not from running across the hot dry savanna after wicked fast prey (competing with huge cats as predators), but through our proximity to water. Living near and often in water, eating fish, helped our brains grow. Looking out at the hot dusty dry land did not make me feel like running. In fact, I had planned to go for a long run in training for a fall marathon, but it was way too hot. If I had ever gotten hungry enough out there to go running after an antelope, I would have passed out from heat exhaustion long before I got close to one.

So imagine two proto-humans, one who runs off into the sun after meat, another who follows the water, eating occasional fish and plant life growing along the shore. Who would survive? Who would be richer and more comfortable? Who is the smarter one? I know what direction I would go in.

Back from the crash

Well, I am finally back. From where? I'm not sure. I just haven't been HERE and I wanted to explain why, if I can. About a month ago (?) my hard drive crashed on my computer and I lost everything. I had to get it fixed - replace the hard drive - and while waiting, I stepped away from the computer and into my life. The truth is that I wasn't really writing for a while before "the crash," letting life seep in and distract me, taking me far away from my writing.

At first, not having my computer was difficult for me. I had begun to rely on it for so much. I'd find myself in the morning with my coffee reading a book or looking at a magazine or just talking to my family instead of playing "Wordscraper" online. I missed my online chat buddies and the blogs I like to read and shopping online. But I found that things felt somehow calmer, slower. Sometimes I would just sit and look out the window.

I was surprised to find that I was not terribly upset about all the writing I lost in the crash. I wasn't all that in love with it. I thought it probably sucked anyway, and this was a great way to start over. Also, I knew that Kelly had saved most of what I'd sent her. It will be interesting to go back through all that old shit and see what I truly want to keep.

But this brings me back to writing. I really want to write. I miss writing. I want to have a project that I'm working on and enjoying and I want to write something really good for once and do something with it. I had hoped that our little writing group and this blog would help, but found, as always, that it is really up to me to get it done, and no one can make that happen for me.

This makes me think of Andi's previous post about the critiques she's been getting and how they vary. When I took that novel writing workshop last year it really crushed my ambition to write that novel, and I think part of the reason was that the particular group I was in was not the audience that I would have been writing the novel for. Their critiques steered my novel in an altogether different and wrong direction than I wanted to take it. I would like to go back to the original idea and follow through on it the way that I want to write it for me, not for them. But it did help me to realize that there is a huge difference in perspective and not every book/story/writing style is or can be for everyone. And my NH novel, frankly, will probably not be enjoyable for certain people. And that is ok.

And so, I am back. Let's get together sometime and talk shit about writing.

- Lori

Solace

Last weekend my dog died. It was a traumatic experience and I don't really feel like talking about it anymore right now, but an interesting thing happened to me because of it. I found myself comforted, surprisingly, by something I've never really had much interest in: Baseball.

Immediately after leaving my euthanized, gunshot dog at the emergency vet clinic, I had to rush the boys to opening day of Little League. The weather, which had been warm and sunny, turned cold, cloudy, and windy. Eventually it started blowing rain around too. But all of us parents huddled around to watch our kids play.

Tom is doing little league for the first time this year, playing t-ball, and he's loving it. It's a great way to learn the game. And it is a friggin' riot to watch. I found myself comforted by the distraction of the game, the sudden shift in focus, the pure entertainment value of watching a bunch of 5 and 6 year olds learn the rules of the game.

Then this afternoon, as I was starting to feel mopey while hanging out at home without my dog, the boys invited me to some batting practice. We used big bouncy balls and a foam bat, a great way to get used to hitting without having to focus on that tiny little ball. As I watched my 6 year old show my 4 year old how to hold the bat, I had to smile. It was a beautiful thing.

Goal for Friday?

OK, so I have a new (old) idea that I want to explore more and see what it can turn into. I need to look back through some old pictures and journals. This is part of what I need to do for Friday. I also would like to come up with a brief synopsis of the story, a sort of outline, and I think I can commit to writing 5 pages of a start by then too. Today was a total loss - in terms of this project - because I was so busy with errands, mom stuff, etc.

Saturday Night at Smitty's, part 12

I’d still have a job if it weren’t for those goddamn environmentalists. Fucking tree-hugging hippie shits. Aint I part of the environment? What about me and my family? I worked at that mill for thirty some-odd years, ever since I graduated from high school, and I expected to retire with a big fat pension. But then they go and claim bankruptcy and leave us poor working class Joes to fend for ourselves.


I was planning my retirement, and now I have to go looking for another job. I know those environmentalist were behind it, with all their protesting against the new logging roads. Company couldn’t survive if it weren’t allowed to cut down more trees. There’s plenty of fucking trees out there. Plus with those new roads we could enjoy the great outdoors even better on our snowmobiles and ATVs.

I swear there’s more of them people around here these days, driving their little rice-burners, opening up foofy little coffee shops. Complaining about our way of living. Aint this America? If they don’t like it they should go move to some other country.

So yeah, me and my buddies had our eyes on those folks and were just lookin’ for any excuse to take out our frustrations on their socialist-environmentalist asses. Looked like a bunch of pussies over in that booth, hell they were probably faggots too. I was starin’ at ‘em, givin’ em the old get-the-fuck-out-of-town eye, and I notice that two of them are actually women. It took me that long to notice. Musta been a couple a butch dykes, short hair and leather jackets. They looked pretty tough though.

I knew they could see me but they were tryin’ to ignore us, till I walked by em and knocked their drinks across the table. Skinny guy stands up and says, “you got a problem buddy?” and I says, “yeah, you.” It was loud in there but I thought I heard other people yellin,’ thought they were cheering me on, so I push the little faggot right across the table. One of the dykes comes up behind me and jumps on my back, trying to choke me, and the guy on the table is kicking at me, so I start punching him. My buddies jumped in and the whole place just turned into a cluster fuck of fists and feet and elbows, blood and beer.

finally gave in to the great snot monster

I have been dealing with an incredible illness for nearly two weeks now - its going around both the elementary and the preschool and both the kids had it. Some of their classmates missed a lot of school, and one even came down with pneumonia. My kids got it but didn't even miss a day of school. I, however, was wishing that stay-at-home moms could take sick days, but, unfortunately for me, that is just not the case. So I skipped writing yesterday. Plus, I'm just getting bored with this assignment. Here's a little haiku for y'all.

Head filled with green snot
bass drum pounding in my ears
virus takes over

Saturday Night at Smitty's, part 11

I knew I shouldn’ta gone anywhere that night. I was sick as a dog, head all stuffed up and ready to go to bed. Just took a big swig of Nyquil when Little Earl comes in my place ranting about Shelly and I thought, now this is a night at Smitty’s I don’t want to miss. So I hauled my sorry ass off the couch and put my boots back on. You can rest when you’re dead, right?


I figure I might as well save myself a few bucks so I toss back a couple of cold ones before we head out the door. He’s got me all amped up by now and ready for a fight. In the parking lot we run into some old guys suckin on a bottle of Jim Beam and I take a coupla hits off it while we shoot the shit, getting restless to get inside where its warm, but feeling no pain. Then we see JD, who’s supposed to be watchin the door, and that scrawny hippy dude smoking a joint and I can’t resist that either – twist my freakin’ arm man.

So we walk in and the joint is a jumpin.’ I head right for the bar for another cold one, maybe a shot of tequila, but Little Earl man he just goes right for the girl, no foreplay or nothing. Then, shit, it musta been the Nyquil I started out with because usually I can handle a lot more before it all fades to black, you know, but the rest is such a blur. I can’t remember shit after the chairs started flyin around. I know I’m in a shit ton of pain and somehow I managed to get myself home, woke up with my boots still on but in my own house, on my old couch, all the lights still on. Yeah, the lights were on but weren’t nobody at home, so they say.

Saturday Night at Smitty's, part 10

I’ve never fit in here, never been one of them, even though I’ve lived here my entire life. I never wanted to be one of them, to be honest. But sometimes, I like to watch. They can be…amusing. I’ve never killed any of them, at least not on purpose, although on occasion I have played with them for a bit of sport, to ease my boredom with this place, like a cat playing with a mouse. They fear me. They fear their own stories of me. The truth, I fear, is much worse.


So I watched them down there in their hovel, trying to drink their fears away. Gathering together as if there actually were safety in numbers. Numbing their already worthless minds with alcohol. I’m not sure sometimes if it is hate or pity that I feel for them.

I have to admit that I probably caused the whole thing. A bit of a practical joke. Then sat up here on the hillside just watching all the pieces fall into place in a lovely display of human fireworks. Most people, these ones in particular, are so stupid and easily manipulated, it’s barely even fun anymore. But, it’s something to do on a Saturday night.

And the moon was so stunning that night, casting fantastic shadows from every swaying tree branch, every moving being. I could see the small creatures scuttling beneath the dead leaves, illuminated as they were by the blue glow of the moon’s smiling face. I watched and watched and watched and then pounced! My long sharp teeth punctured the furry little creature, so juicy with warm blood, I nearly forgot about the people below.

Then I saw her come running out into the parking lot – that frantic look of prey on her twisted face and my instincts took over. I was down there before I realized what I was doing but somehow I resisted the hunt – the human part of me still very much alive and aware - and let loose that wonderful howl that feels so good as it reaches out from my throat into the icy night air.

Saturday Night at Smitty's, part 9

You, and everybody in that place can kiss my hairy ass. That bitch’s been nothing but trouble since the day she walked into this town. Anybody can’t see that needs to get their dang head examined. I aint arguin’ with a hunnert witnesses. Yeah, I hit the bitch. Charge me and let me go home or leave me the fuck alone.


Now Ol’ Jimmy, that one I am sorry about. I wisht the old man had just kept his nose outa things that didn’t concern him. She just made me so mad. You know how she is. But you don’t know what she’s done. Bitch’s been messin’ with me for too long and I’ve about had enough of it.

Fine. I’ll tell you what she did. She went into my cabin and took something of mine. No, I’m not gonna tell you what it was. I knew it was her because she’s the only one I ever showed it to, thinkin’ we had somethin’ special goin’ on. Then I come home from huntin’ Saturday and the cabin’s been tossed and it’s gone. And I just knowed it musta been her.

I heard she took off. Great. I hope she never comes back. Thought somewhere in the back of my mind I heard her scream as I went down, but I don’t reckon I recall too much of any of it. I’d like to get my hands on the motherfucker who smashed me over the head, I’ll tell you that.

Aw, hell. Blame the bitch and blame the tequila. You know I aint a violent man. But every man has his limit and she pushed me to it. Now I suppose Smitty’s pissed at me too. Now where am I going to go for a drink in this town? Goddamn women.

Saturday Night at Smitty's, part 8

No, I don’t know where Shelly is, but she’ll come back. She always does. Oh yeah, she was workin’ it Saturday night. Every guy in the house had a hard-on for her, and probably most of the women too. Me, jealous? Heck no. I know she’s my girl, got her wrapped around my finger, if you know what I mean. Sure, Smitty asked us to keep it on the downlow and that’s cool with me. Says she’s one of the main attractions and what’s good for Smitty’s business is good for my business.


Last time I saw her, except from across the bar that night, was in the ladies room just before things got busy. We got so slammed that night I couldn’t get out from behind the bar. Talk? We weren’t doin’ a whole lot a talkin’, if you know what I mean. Yes, we sampled some of the product. Did a few lines in the back stall then did each other a little bit and I was ready for the night. She was in rare form too.

I didn’t really get involved in the fight, that’s not my kinda work. As you can see, I’m a pretty small woman. I work the bar. My specialty is getting customers to drink more, and yeah, I recruit my own customers on the side. Smitty knows I deal in the blow too but he pretends to be completely unawares. Smitty knows a lot of things about a lot of people, but he won’t tell you a thing. Does a good job of playin dumb, but he’s a lot smarter than he looks, that’s for sure. Knows when to keep his mouth shut, when to look the other way.

Knows when to walk away, knows when to run. That last line’s from “The Gambler.” Gotta love that song.

Saturday Night at Smitty's, part 7

Nah, I don’t remember nuthin’ after I hit Little Earl with my pool cue. I know that he deserved it and Shelly’s always been sweet’r’n pie to me and I don’t abide no man hittin’ a woman like that, ‘specially out in a public place. What happens behind closed doors is a man’s own bidnis, I ‘spose, but what he did that night, well that just aint right. And I said so right before I broke my favorite cue over his big dumb head, and that’s how I ended up here, I guess. We was just minding our own bidnis, havin a nice friendly game until he had to go and show up.


Listen man, my head hurts real bad and I don’t feel like talkin’ no more. Yeah, I heard things got busted up pretty good over there and I guess I’m lucky to be alive today, but it don’t feel like it right now, no sir, it hurts like hell and I don’t like your tone, to be honest. Shelly aint done nuthin’ wrong if’n she wants to take a ride then I ‘spose that’s her own bidnis too.

Hey, you got a smoke? I can’t think right without a smoke and these damn nurses won’t even let a man take a piss without holdin’ his hand, I pert near shrivel up ever time, standin there with stagefright too ‘scart to even let ‘em see the ol’ one eyed monster.

I need one of Smitty’s burgers too. Get me them things and maybe you got yerself some more information, mister. All I did was to defend the lady’s honor, and got my head all busted up fer my troubles. Just let me be, man. You aint gittin nothing more from me. Somebody call me that nurse, the cute lil redhead, cuz I gots to piss like a friggin racehorse.