JenJer's Notes: January 2011

As friends go I am an awful one. I’m selfish, I forget important anniversaries, I missed appointments, and I sleep through planned events. I am never the one to bring over a dish during a crisis. I am not the first to visit if you are sick. But I have been told that my skill is to listen and to inspire. Me, Nya March, inspiring! I know! That is hardly believable to me either, but that is the term I have heard over and over again. I am the one who says go for it! And I listen without trying to make it ‘about me’ or trying to ‘fix it’. I just listen, offer Kleenex, and make tea. Or so I’ve been told. Ok, so maybe not a ghastly friend, but certainly not as heroic a friend as I would like to imagine myself.

This being said, it is no wonder that I spend a lot of weekend’s home with old movies, trying to avoid phone calls, mostly the calls from my mother. Of course I answer, or at least return, her calls at least once a day but to answer all of them would send me leaping from my sixth story window to my certain and eagerly awaited death. The call I took that afternoon from Margo March, my daughterly debt paid for the day, was 45 min of slurred weeping over her varicose veins and being unable to fit her favorite cowboy boots since her bunion surgery.

“Mom, how about if you started line dancing again with your club, the exercise would help with the bulging veins… well the drinking sure doesn’t help either…you’ve got insurance, mom, go see a podiatrist…don’t say stuff like that, Mom! Dad died in the line of duty. What?! Do you honestly think he jumped in front of a bullet just because YOU gained 15 pounds?!… I gotta go Mom. I love you…Yes, I know you really, really miss Dad." A I did to.

“Ben and Jerry, meet Alfred Hitchcock.” I mumbled into my empty apartment once I hung up. My rear is going to be as big as Alfred’s again if I don’t get a date sometime soon. Since this was a working dinner I had one eye on the screen and one eye inside a claims binder. There were discrepancies all over the place between the police report, the info given on the claim form, the photos and descriptions of insured items. Someone was trying to pull of a scam for sure and the company paid me well to be sure they didn't succeed.

I woke up abruptly to an empty ice cream tub, my file folder on the floor, an info-mercial on the TV and my cell phone chirping a reggae rhythm at me from my pocket. At least I knew it wasn’t Mom. I didn’t give her my new cell number.

“Yeah, this is Nya” I answered, a little too brightly; trying not to sound like the caller had just awakened me. I looked over at the clock. 11PM, Not too late to go out!

“Hey Nya. It me, Terri.” At 11:3o at night ? “I need your help with something.”

* * *

Terri Hanson twitched incessantly. By twitched I meant she bounced, hopped, tapped, shrugged, grimaced, wiggled and blinked. This motion in turn caused her hair to sway, breasts to jiggle and her iconic long flowing skirts to dance. The more excited or agitated the more rapid and pronounced the movements. There seemed to be nothing motionless on her entire person. Sometimes you could just block out all the movement but other times it was mesmerizing; like watching a humming bird in flight or a crowd of small, hyper children at play just after consuming copious amounts of cake candy and soda at a party.

Terri, my mentor and friend. With all her quirks and oddities she is the most thoughtful and kindhearted person you could meet. And she is honest. More honest than most, including I at times, could handle. With Terri there was no pretence. What you saw is what you got. And to have her on your side was to say you never had to stand alone. If she needed my help, that I could give. Be on time for a movie? Probably not. But help? Yes.

“What’s up T?” She had sounded a little distracted and didn’t answer immediately. “Terri?” I prodded. “Mel and the twins, ok?” Melvin and Teresa Hanson had 10 year old twin boys, Alvin and Ali. Fraternal, looked nothing alike, they were often sick.

“Yeah, yeah they’re good. It’s nothing like that. This is gonna sound a little weird though.” I could hear an involuntary grimace twist the corner of her mouth. She was nervous.

“Well?”

“I think something has happened to Prater.”

“Prater?! You’re not really calling me about Prater.” I regretted the irritated sound that distorted his name as it left my lips. “I’m sorry. What makes you think something happened to Prater?” I would try to be concerned because my friend was concerned. Yes, sound concerned, Nya!

Prater was an odd, nervous character. There is one in every workplace. He hugged the walls as he plodded along, rarely looked anyone in the face and answered back a ‘hello’s’ just a shake too quick and a few decibels too loud as if shocked that someone actually spoke to him. Prater liked Terri. He would smile at her and hesitate at her desk. He’d say things like: “I’m almost finished reading a new book”... chuckle, and “It’s a sunny day outside today”... snort, or “I had a tuna sandwich for lunch today”…. It wasn’t a crush or anything like that. Terri just always treated him with dignity and respect so he gravitated toward her. I, on the other hand, wondered what sort of nepotism landed him in our office.

“Didn’t you notice that he wasn’t around all week?” Terri scolded.

“People do get the flu or take vacations.”

“Prater has not missed a day of work in eight years. For any reason. He got an attendance award at the last four employee appreciation banquets. Don’t you pay attention to anything?”

Not anything to do with Prater Kellerway. “When was the last time you saw me at an employee appreciation dinner?” Never! “You got his number?”

“No answer.”

“You got an address?”

“Yes. I want you to go there with me tomorrow. That’s the favor. Be ready at 9:30. In the morning!” She emphasized. “I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll be ready.” I promised, flipped my phone closed, unfolded myself from the couch, stripped as I walked to the bedroom and flopped into bed. No date tonight and a Sunday tracking down a lost puppy by the name of Prater Kellerway. What a freakin fantastic weekend.

* * *

An intro to a detective story I was working on some time ago. Still a work in progress.

On Sunday Maxwell Alexander Drake presented a creative writing class on plotting. His focus was structure, timelines and the organization of ideas to build a solid framework for a story.

One point I appreciated during the discussion was that you cannot sell an incomplete work. Writing is a business. For many of us beginning writers who are yet unpublished and who write simply for the love of writing, we often have a fanciful view of the organic development of plots and charters. We feel it is only right to let them create themselves, to allow them unfold from our imagination and enjoy watching them grow. This may be beneficial as an exercise and during the character development stage of fiction writing, however if we do not take a strong character through a cohesive journey to some discernable point of conclusion we do not have a finished sellable product.

This may sound elementary to some seasoned writers but for me it was an ‘ah-ha!’ moment. I knew there was something missing that was hindering me from getting to the finish line on my novel. I have strong characters developed, I have an outline and I know where I want to take the story but Mr. Drake gave offered some tools to build a better structure to support all of the above. I have some work to do.

Jennifer

JenJer's Notes

Thursday, January 27, 2011

A lost puppy

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Wednesday, January 12, 2011

A creative writers class review

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

A Thursday night out.