Trisha Sugarek's Blog, page 121

Looking for your child’s next book?

Excerpt from “Bertie, the Bookworm and the Bully Boys”  (c)  A very large, beautiful sea turtle came down the path.  He wore a bright red kerchief tied at his neck and a captain’s cap on his head.

“A-hoy there, mates.  It was a fair wind at my back that blew me to my home port.”

Donald and Emma rushed forward and hugged Thomas almost knocking him over.

“Steady as she goes, mates. You’re about to knock me off me’ pins.” Thomas laughed.

“Oh, Thomas, we are so happy that you are home.” Emma cried.

“How was your voyage?” Donald asked.

“Rough seas around Cape Horn but that’s the way the ’horn’ is.  We came back with a hold full of spices and teas from the Orient. I have to tell you that I miss the constellations in the southern hemisphere. But, all in all it’s good to be at anchor and  to see my friends again.”

“We could have a reading circle about the stars in other hemispheres.” Bertie said.

“Oh!  Excuse me, Bertie, for not including you.  Do you know our friend, Thomas the sea turtle?”

“I can’t say as I’ve had the pleasure, Emma.”

“Thomas, this is our dear friend and teacher, Bertie, the bookworm.” Donald said.

“Well, blow us over and wet me sails.”

Thomas looked Bertie over. “You’re an old one, ain’t ya?”  Thomas declared.

“I’ve lived some years, it’s true,” Bertie replied.

“Thomas! I know you didn’t mean that as rudely as it sounded.

Bertie is a respected elder of the forest. He teaches all of us how to read and spell better.

He introduces us to many new words. It’s very exciting.” Emma scolded.

“No harm done, Emma. I know that Mr. Thomas didn’t mean anything by that. It’s true, I am old.”

“It’s Captain Thomas, if you don’t mind.” Thomas told him.

“Sorry, of course, Captain Thomas.” Bertie smiled.

Thomas turned to Emma. “So, Emma, what brings you so far? You’ve set your sails a far league from your home port.”

“Slam and his gang took Bertie’s eye glasses and hid them somewhere here in the deep forest. We’re trying to find them.”

“Free booters, the lot of ‘em!” Thomas exclaimed. “Slam’s gang is a bunch of scurvy picaroons, every last one of ‘em!”

“Huh? Excuse me? What was that, you say?” Bertie asked. He had never heard someone speak in what appeared to be a new language.

Emma laughed. “Those are sea-going expressions, Bertie. Thomas has been at sea his whole life. You’ll get used to it. ‘Picaroon’ is a rascal and ‘free booters’ are pirates.”

“Ah, I see. Aptly put, Captain Thomas. I fear I will never see my eye glasses again.”

“We aren’t going to find them standing here talking.” Donald said. “Thomas, do you want to join us in the search?”

“Aye, I’ll set sail back to the clearing charting a course to the south and meet you there.”

“Wonderful. We need all the help we can get. Thank you.” Emma said.

“Who?” Stare asked from high in a tree.

Thomas looked up through the branches to where Stare was perched.

“Captain Thomas, at your service, matey,” he told the owl. “Keep a sharp eye out from the crow’s nest, swabbie,

and we’ll find Mr. Bertie’s glasses in no time.” Thomas called as he wandered off to the south through the trees.

“Raise all the rag we’ve got. Full speed ahead. Set a course for twenty-nine degrees longitude and hold steady,” he cried as he left the trail………………’

Available now. Click here to purchase! [image error]

Bertie, the bookworm is the fabled forest’s elder and teacher. Every week he has a spelling and reading circle where everyone is welcomed. Slam and his gang of bully boys are forever teasing, disrupting, and bullying Bertie and the group of faeries and woodland creatures. Pansy, the pixie is a new character in this third of the Fabled Forest series. She is a defender of reading, truth, and Bertie. Cheets, our beloved elf from past books gets in with the wrong crowd and his friends are worried that he will become the newest member of the Bully Boys. Best friends with Cheets, Pansy is determined to save her friend.The story teaches gentle lessons about literacy, bullying and ageism.

The book pays special homage to the classical fairy tales with appearances by little red riding hood, the wicked stepsister, the three little piggies and many more as they wander through the Fabled Forest. Variations of these classic stories, such as Cinderella, Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White, and many others, have been recorded throughout the world since the first century. The French tale of Cendrillon [Cinderella] was written in France in 1697 by Charles Perrault. Later in the eighteenth century the Brothers Grimm in Germany adapted the tale again. During his life time the master animator, Walt Disney adapted the ancient fables to film.

Coming Soon!  The re-release of “Stanley, the Stalwart Dragon” with full color

illustrations by Jefferson O’Neal

Preorder and use your $2.00 coupon NOW!

 

 

 

 

Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 10)

……………… “It’s all in what you don’t take off, Sal.” Alma laughed.  “I keep tellin’ you girls that.”

“But Ernie makes us go down to skin, you know that.” Sal replied.

“Not this girl he doesn’t.  He knows better than to tell me how to dance.”  Alma snorted.

Suddenly the back door to the alley flew open and banged against the back wall.

“Holy shit!” Sally jumped up, knocking her chair over.

 “Alma! Alma Gaynor!  What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” Charlie stood in the doorway and yelled.

Alma rose and faced the back door. Her face was ashen and her mouth opened but no words came out.  ‘Can this really be Charlie standing here in front of me?  Three long years with no word and here he was like he had been gone a week.’ Charlie stomped over to her and, none too gently, grabbed the gaping sides of her robe and pulled them closed.

 “Cover yourself, for God’s sake! You’re gettin‘  outta here right now!”  Charlie shouted.

“Alma, who is this guy?  Should I call Ernie?” Sal asked.

Alma finally found her voice.  “No, it’s okay, Sal, he’s an old friend. Can you give us a minute?”

Sally hesitated.  “Sure, honey.  If you think it’s okay for me to leave.”

Alma stood gazing up at Charlie’s face.  “Yeah, it okay, really.”

Her friend grabbed her purse and left.

Charlie frowned at Alma. “Get dressed; we’re leaving.”

“Says who?” Alma said, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Says me,” Charlie shouted into her face.  “You’re leaving if I have to put you over my shoulder and carry ya outta here.”

Alma shouted back. “Yeah? You just try it!  I work here and you got no say in what I do.” Her curiosity got the best of her. “How’d you find me anyway?”

“I was sittin’ out front, you little idiot! Christ! I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. There I sat with my buddies and out you prance naked as the day you were born! I almost clocked one of my friends for what he said when he saw you shoot off those ridiculous guns.”

“I was not naked!”

Charlie went on as if she had not spoken.  “What the hell are you doin’ in a sleazy joint like this?  My God, you’re just a kid!”

“I am not!  I’m nineteen and in Nevada that’s way past legal. And for your information I am one of the stars of this ‘sleazy joint’ as you so colorfully put it. Which, by the way, is untrue. The Pussy Cat is in the top three grossing clubs in Reno.”

“My God, are you bragging?” Charlie said.  “I won’t tell you again, get dressed, we’re getting outta here.”

“We are not!  You think you can waltz in here three years later and tell me what to do?  You left without saying goodbye…”  As Charlie opened his mouth to contradict her, she held up her hand to stop him.  “….that letter doesn’t count.  You should have told me in person.  Over three years, Charlie, all that time without a word from you.  I didn’t know whether you were alive or dead!”  She stamped her foot. “You can just get lost!”  Alma’s eyes filled with tears.

Charlie glared at her.  “You…you…” he sputtered.   He had no words to tell her what it meant to see her again.  How beautiful she had become, how sexy.

A man of action and few words, he let his heart lead him and he crushed her to him, capturing her mouth with his.  Alma struggled for a few moments then melted into him, her arms snaking around his neck. After several minutes, Charlie raised his head to look into Alma’s eyes.    

“My God, I did my best to forget you, girl, tried to forget that first kiss.  Then I get dragged here by my buddies and what happens?  You come dancin’ out on stage and throw a goddamn red ribbon right into my lap.”  Groaning, he lowered his head again and took her mouth in a deep, passion filled kiss.

After several moments, Alma ended the kiss, breathing heavily. “Charlie, why did you go?  Why did you leave me behind?” she asked.

Charlie gently wiped a tear from Alma’s face and sucked it off the end of his finger. “You were too young.  I was too old. You were too innocent and I was….”

Alma pressed two fingers against his mouth.

“Shh.  None of that matters now, does it?  You’re back.”  She thought a moment.  “Why are you back? Why now?” she asked.

“My Mom,” Charlie replied. “She’s sick…bad sick.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You do? How?”

“I been to see her a few times since you left. She’s a nice lady.  Too nice to never hear from her only son,” Alma reprimanded him.

“I know but I’m back now. Are you finished here for tonight? Charlie asked.  “Will you come with me?  Are you hungry? Where do you live?  Not still with your mother?”

“God, no, Ma took off with a new guy shortly after you left.” Alma said.

“And she just left you here?” he said.

“Well, you know Mama-Dearest. The new guy said a teenage kid cramped his style. You know what my Ma always said, ‘a hard man was good to find’,” Alma laughed.

“So, where do you live?” Charlie asked.

“Not far from here. And yes, I’m starved.” Alma’s smoky, intense green eyes gazed up into Charlie’s. “Buy me dinner, will ya Charlie?”    

*****

The next segment will appear Wednesday .  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.

 

Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 9)

Chapter 6

Alma ~ seventeen years earlier

Alma sat in the dingy, smoke filled dressing room of the Pussy Cat Gentlemen’s Club. The walls throbbed with the beat of the music as her friend, Sally, finished up her number. Alma could faintly hear the crowd’s roar as Sal did her famous upside down splits on the pole.

As she rubbed her feet, she gazed into the cracked mirror above her dressing table. One more dance, she thought, and I’m through for the night. God, my feet hurt like hell. Oh well, where else am I goin’ make this kind’a money? If those drunken fools out front are dumb enough to stuff their hard earned cash into my g-string I’m smart enough to take it.

“Five minutes, Alma!” a voice shouted behind the closed door leading to the stage.

“Yeah, okay,” Alma hollered back.

Alma rose and adjusted her costume. She was dressed in a western theme; red leather with white fringe that fit her like a second skin, a white cowboy hat, and white boots. Her vibrant hair was braided and tied off with red bows.  She checked her six guns to make sure they had caps in them and stuffed them back into the low slung holsters at her waist. It’s all about the fantasy with these rubes. She mused to herself. The secret was to not take everything off. Leave a little mystery and they kept comin’ back and givin’ me their money, in the hopes that one day I’ll take it all off.  As she walked across the room Sally came through the door.

“Pretty good crowd out there for a Thursday night,” she told Alma.

“Yeah, I could hear through the walls that they approved of your splits,” Alma laughed.

Sally began taking money out of her costume. “Keep ‘em happy, that’s my motto.”

Alma laughed over her shoulder as she walked out the door. She stood in the dark, at the bottom of the steps that led to the stage, waiting for her music cue. These few minutes, alone in the dark with the smell of the place all around her, was the only time she allowed herself to wonder how she ended up here. ‘I had such big plans a couple of years ago. Where did it all go?’  She mentally shook herself. ‘Okay, Alma, stop feelin’ sorry for yourself and get on with it. Your savings is growin’ and as soon as you got enough you’ll be outta here.’

The theme music from ‘Annie Get Your Gun’ started and Alma ran up the stairs and burst through the curtains. Wild applause and yelling greeted her. She danced and swaggered around the stage like a Wild West rodeo star.  Slowly the red leather, fringed mini-skirt and halter top were stripped off. The red bows in her hair were always thrown out to the crowd as keepsakes. It was a trophy that some of the men would fight over. Now clad in nothing but a g-string and a tiny strip of fringed leather that covered her breasts Alma drew her six guns and bent over with her rump to the audience.

This was the climax end of her routine and she relished the reaction she always received. She bent over and aimed her six shooters at the audience between her legs. The caps always made a loud crack. The men who frequented the club on a regular basis anticipated this finale and showed their approval by throwing lots of money on to the stage. When new-comers realized the symbolism of the guns going off they quickly followed suit to show their appreciation.  Alma whirled around and fired the guns off again, then raised each barrel to her mouth and sucked suggestively on the end of the barrel.

She winked at the men, sitting in the first row, and blew the smoke out at the cheering throng. She holstered the pistols, turned and sauntered off the stage. Yelling, clapping, and wolf whistles followed her as she disappeared behind the curtains. Being one of the stars at the club, someone else would pick up her tips from the floor of the stage and deliver them backstage.

Alma walked into the dressing room, sank into her chair and pulled off her six inch heeled boots. She rubbed her feet and moaned. She stripped the eye lashes off her eyes and carefully placed them in their case. She began to cream the makeup off her face. She rose and stepped over to the sink and splashed her face with cold water. Drying her hands and face she took a silk robe off a hook and put it on, not bothering to tie the front. A stage hand knocked on the door and stepped through with a wad of cash in one hand and an iced drink in the other. He crossed the room to Alma and set the money and the drink down in front of her.

“Thanks, Scotty,” Alma said. “You’re a sweetie.”

He blushed and murmured, “Any time, Miss Alma. Lots of ice with your Coke, just the way you like it. It was a good night for you.”

Alma took a twenty dollar bill out of the pile of money and gave it to him.

“Thanks, Miss Alma, but you know you don’t have to tip me.”

“Sure I do, sweetie.” She laughed. “You’re my number one guy, ain’cha?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Scotty backed away and dashed out the door.

Next to Alma, Sally wiped the last of her makeup off and eyed the pile of cash. “Someday, I’m gonna’ make as much as you, Al. Soon as I learn your secret.”…….

 *****

The next segment will appear Monday .  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.

Writers, do you research enough? (4of4 Fairy Tales)

        While writing another short play, “Daughterland“,  I wanted a whole new spin on Disney’s Tinker Bell.  So more research.  This is what I found:   James Barrie’s first draft of his famous story  (1924) of the magical boy who never grew up originally christened the world’s most famous female fairy as “Tippy-Toe.”  By the time the play was first performed, the little pixie had been renamed “Tinker Bell” and has remained so ever since.

Probably most readers know that a tinker was an itinerant tradesman who mended pots and pans. He rang his distinctively high pitched “tinker’s bell” to announce he was in the neighborhood

Barrie pictured the fairy with fiery red hair because she was so small she could only have one emotion at a time, and the red hair seemed to reflect her most common emotions. From Barrie’s unpublished screenplay, here is the description of the first appearance of Tinker Bell:

“The fairy, Tinker Bell. Swallows perched on the outside of the window. The fairy music comes up. The fairy, Tink, flies on and alights on the window sill.  She should be about five inches in height and, if the effect can be got, this should be one of the quaintest pictures of the film, the appearance of a real fairy. She is a vain little thing, and arranges her clothes to her satisfaction. She also keeps shoving the birds about so as to get the best place for herself. Finally, she shoves all the swallows off the sill.”

When the animated feature was first released, the Disney publicity department insisted that this would be the first time that Tinker Bell would be visible as more than just the little spot of light flitting around the scenery. In actuality, a silent movie version of Peter Pan released by Paramount in 1924 had a live actress appear briefly in some close-ups as Tinker Bell.   Courtesy of Wade Sampson                                                                                                                                                               My research changed the way I thought of Tinker Bell, the Disney version. In doing so, my ‘Tippy’ (yes, I went with her orginal name) is quite different.  But the play is really about a father and daughter trying to find new ground in their relationship after divorce.

 

Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 8)

Chapter 5

                                                                             Hattie and Kitty

………“Well, ya’ll get used to it. Miss Anne there she a decent lady. She jus’ doin’ her job.”

Kitty didn’t reply but just stared straight ahead as Hattie continued. “All us gets searched. It’s them rules, ya know?”

Hattie pointed to the far wall where there appeared to be an ATM machine. “That there machine gives you a credit card to take in wit’ ya. Jus’ put some money in it and you get credit. That way ya can use the pop machines or gets yo’self a snack inside. Then what I do if there’s any extra left on it, I leaves the card wid’ my Joe for after. Joe’s my husband.”

“Thank you but I shan’t have any need for that,” Kitty replied. Just then Anne’s voice called out. “For Washington, you can go in now.” Hattie rose and started across the room. She paused and turned back to Kitty. “Al’righ then. I’ll see ya’ll in there.”

Kitty did not respond but watched Hattie go to stand in front of a set of heavy doors. The black woman was tall and raw-boned but walked like African royalty.  Her hair was tightly braided and then wrapped in a coronet on the top of her head.  She wore an off-the-rack dress probably from Target and cheap faux-leather flats. She wasn’t beautiful exactly but the word ‘regal’ popped into Kitty’s mind.

‘How do these other women tolerate coming here?’ Kitty wondered.  ’The black woman, obviously blue collar, had spoken with empathy and resignation. I’m just so much better than these women, Kitty thought to herself, richer, better educated, bigger house, and God knew, better clothes, How did they do this year after year? All I want to do is run screaming from the building.’   She shivered as she watched the doors slip open and, in one swallow, seemed to consume the black woman.

As Hattie waited in the security pod that led to the visiting room, she marveled once again at the smell. ‘I never will get used to this smell.  It’s a combination of Pine Sol, fear, hatred and hopelessness.  I can’t do anything about the smell of fear and anger, but I could shore teach them cleaning crews a thing or two about cleanin’. Who used Pine Sol anymore?  There are products out there that left a room fresh and sweet smellin’.’  She shrugged her shoulders and walked up to Brad at his desk.

“Mornin’, Mr. Brad.”

“How’re ya doin’, Ms. Washington?” the guard replied.  “Pretty spring mornin’ out there. Take table four.  Joe’s on his way down.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brad.” Hattie walked straight to her table and sat down.

Across the room was a door that bore a large sign with red lettering. ‘Personnel and Inmates ONLY.  NO ADMITTANCE by Unauthorized Persons.’ While she watched the door for the first sight of her husband Hattie had often wondered why anyone, unauthorized or not, would want to enter that door.

The door suddenly swung open.  ‘There! There he was.’  Hattie got chill bumps just looking at him. ‘It don’t matter that we been married seventeen years or that he has been in this awful place for two of ‘em, I still get chill bumps when I sees my man.  He’s so big and strong, and handsome in a craggy kind’a way. I never gets weary of seeing that face carved outta black granite. Only the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes, she observed, save him from lookin’ stern and scary. Lord Jesus, I don’ know what I done to deserve this fine man, but every day I thank you for ‘im.’

Grinning at her, Joe walked to the table. Hattie rose and they embraced for the maximum two minutes allowed in the rules.

“Hi, wife.” Joe spoke in a deep, melodic voice.

“Ah, Joe, I sure has missed ya.”

“Missed you too, Hattie-girl. Where are the kids?  Didn’t they come with you?” Joe asked.

“No, none’a dem could come today. Dey just scattered to the wind like a bunch ‘a dan-do-lion weeds.”  Hattie laughed up into his face. “Ruby had cheerleadin’ practice, and Stella wanted to go with her big sister.  JJ’s got the flu bug so he’s stayin’ wid’ your Mama.  Lamar…well you knows Lamar. He got his nose into that there computer way too much.”

“I understand the kids got activities but…”

“But what, baby?”

Joe guided Hattie back to her chair and sat next to her. “Well, I only get to see them once a month.  I miss ‘em.”

“I knows, honey-bun.  I jus’ can’t get down here more than that. That ol’ car getting’ more cranky by the hour.  And the price of ‘dat gas-o-lean, Lordy, it’s sumpin’ fierce.”

“I don’t want you to try and come more often after you worked all week.  It’s too much.  But it’s hard when I miss a visit with my young’uns.” There was pain in Joe’s voice.

“I know, Joey-boy.”

After a moment, Joe suddenly grinned. “Anyway, you was sayin’, ‘bout the kids. Lamar stayin’ outta trouble?”

Hattie smiled and took his hand. “Now, don’t ya go worrying ‘bout ‘dat chil’.  He knows his Mama knows what’s what.  Besides, he don’t have no time to be bad no mo’.  I got his little butt so busy with the swimmin’ at the YMCA and bowlin’ in the junior league af’ta school, he fall right in’ta the bed at night, half dead.”

Joe laughed and kissed Hattie’s fingers. “That’s my girl. How’s his grades?”

“They’s  sneakin’ up, in spite of Lamar. He be okay, Joe. I don’ want ya ta worry.  There ain’t goin’ be no more trouble with ‘dat ‘der Juvenile Hall business ever again.”

“I can’t help worryin’, girl. It’s too much for you by yourself.”

“We doin’ jus’ fine, Joe.  But, Lordy, those kids is growin’ up in a hurry, ain’t they?”

*****

The next segment will appear Friday .  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and Charlie, Kitty and Hattie and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.

Haiku Poetry and How to Write It

Haiku Poetry, an ancient form of writing poetry from Japan, is very strict in its structure. Three sections of three lines each. The first and  third lines must be five syllables. The second line must be seven syllables. Haiku usually refers to nature somewhere in the poetry. My Sumi-E ink and brushwork you see below is an ancient Japanese technique. “The World of Haiku” a book of poetry coming soon!

Tip:  When I am writing haiku I don’t worry so much about the structure on the first draft.  I get my thoughts down and then start editing words (syllables) until I have the correct structure  of   5-7-5.  This works best for me.

Tip: Over the centuries (and certainly in the US) Haiku has been reduced to one section of three lines.  In ancient Japan culture (11-12th centuries) a haiku had three sections of three lines.  I prefer to write in the ancient style but it is acceptable today to write a complete poem in three lines.

Hope you enjoy these samples of  my Haiku…

Spring Birth ©

one twig, two twigs, three

soft down plucked from mother’s breast

the perfect bower

three tiny blue eggs

under warmth of mother’s love

they stir, they hatch new

three urgent beaks open wide

insistent, burning, they beg

speckled downy fuzz

Fall Opens the Door   ©

morning sun dapples

trees in a polka-dot dress

shines soft green and light

chill hint of autumn

smells of summer, loam, and pause

visions of winter

sap returns from leaves

to store deep in the tree heart

yellow, red, orange, burnt

Roar of Silence  ©

to live in the woods

listen to the sheer quiet

so weighty and loud

the morn silent, still

not a whisper of sound stirs

deafening stillness

weighing on the ear

silence roars loud in the brain

the bird’s shrill cry brays

and from two masters….Yukio Mishima and Miyamoto Musashi,  a 15th century Japanese swordsman and ronin (the term for what we now know as Samurai) became renowned through stories of his excellent swordsmanship in numerous duels, even from a very young age. He was the founder of the Niten-ryū style of swordsmanship and the author of The Book of Five Rings, a book on strategy, tactics, and philosophy that is still studied today. Miyamoto Musashi is widely considered one of the greatest warriors of all time. Samurai were expected to explore their artistic and philosophical side and most were known for their beautiful poetry.

The sheaths of swords rattle

As after years of endurance

Brave men set out

To tread upon the first frost of the year

A small night storm blows

Saying ‘falling is the essence of a flower’

Preceding those who hesitate

—Yukio Mishima

……and by Miyamoto Musashi



A crow has settled

on a bare branch

Autumn evening

On a withered branch,

A crow has stopped

Autumn’s eve

A lone crow

sits on a dead branch

this autumn eve

 (Note: translated, the poetry does not keep to the required structure. Japanese poets used ‘sound units’ rather than syllables.)

Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 7)

Chapter 4

Kitty

Kitty stood ramrod straight and stared silently at Anne while she shuffled through the forms that Kitty had handed her. “Relationship to inmate?” Anne looked up.

“I believe that I’ve already provided that information,” Kitty sniffed.

“Well, you missed it on the form,” Anne said, waiting.

“Oh for heaven’s sake! Wife! I’m Edward’s wife.”

Anne entered it on the form, ‘Wife’. Okay, then. Remove all belts, jewelry, purse… furs.” Anne sneered. “Coat, hat, gloves and hand them over.”

Shocked, Kitty stared at Anne. “I most certainly will not remove my jewelry or my clothing!”

“You can’t take any valuables in with you, lady, especially your jewelry or money. They’ll be stored in a locker and you’ll get a key. You can buy a debit card at the machine.”

“I will not put my furs and jewelry into a locker,” Kitty sniffed.

“Okay,” Anne sighed. “Your call. But I gotta warn you, you won’t be seeing your husband today.”

“How dare you?” Kitty said.

“Your choice,” Anne said as she turned away to continue with her work.

“But, but…” Kitty sputtered.

Taking pity on her, Anne turned back. “Sorry, but them’s the rules for everybody.”

“For heaven’s sake, alright!”

Kitty began to take off her coat and her belt. She removed a diamond broach from her dress and the matching earrings and tucked them into her purse.

She laid everything on the counter. “Satisfied now?” she asked Anne.

“You forgot your watch.”

Kitty removed her watch and put it into her purse. “This is from Tiffany’s. I hope your lockers are safe.”

“Safe as a vault,” Anne laughed and gestured around the room. “After all, look where you are.”

Anne gathered up all of Kitty’s belongings, turned to the back wall and opened a locker, shoved it all in and slammed the door. She locked it and handed Kitty the key.

“Here’s your key. Come with me, please.”

Anne walked down the length of the counter and Kitty kept pace with her on the other side until they reached a small cubicle. Three sided, the front was open. Anne led the way in while giving Kitty instructions.

“Remove your shoes, turn around with your back to me and face that wall….”

“Excuse me!? Kitty interrupted.

“I said, remove your…” Anne began again.

“I heard what you said. I’ll do no such thing! Who do you think you are?”

Anne sighed. “Look, this is my job. Don’t make it so hard. Now remove your shoes, turn around and raise your arms.”

Starting to turn Kitty asked, “What do you propose to do?”

“Search you.”

Kitty whirled back around, staring at Anne. “You most certainly will not search me!”

“Look. If you want to see your husband, you get searched. Every time. It’s no big deal. What’s it going to be? You’re not the only visitor I gotta process, ya know.” Anne’s patience had finally run out. “For the last time, do as I say or go home.”

Kitty and Anne stared at each other. Finally Kitty sagged in defeat and reaching down, she removed her boots. Slowly she turned and faced the wall.

“Raise your arms straight out, please,” Anne directed.

Anne’s hands skimmed Kitty’s torso and felt around her waistband and then her bra.

“Is that really necessary?” Kitty fumed.

“Yeah, it really is.” Anne chuckled. “You’d be amazed at the stuff I find in a woman’s bra.” She then reached down and inspected the inside of Kitty’s boots.

“Nice shoes. You can put them back on now. We’re all done. Go back out and have a seat. I’ll call you when it’s time to go in.”

Kitty stepped into her boots and walked back out into the reception area. Head held high, she refused to let anyone see her cry. ‘How did I end up here, on a beautiful Sunday morning, in a prison waiting to see my husband who’s an inmate? Heaven help me! She inwardly groaned.  Just a few short months ago Edward and I would have been on our way to the country club for a leisurely brunch with friends.’

She still wasn’t clear on how trading stocks could land Edward in prison. Their attorney had tried to explain it to her but it just didn’t make any sense. It was Edward’s money he had been using; it wasn’t like he stole from someone. Kitty sat on the far end of a bench and waited, trying to ignore all the stares from the other women.

* * * *

Hattie had watched the rich lady from the moment she walked through the front doors. She knew that the lady had no idea what was going to happen to her. The humiliation, the shame, the fear a person feels in a place like this. And she hadn’t even gotten inside yet. Oh, yes, she knew because this sheltered, polished woman was just like the ones Hattie worked for six days a week, scrubbing floors and toilets. Wealthy women surrounded by people who took care of them and answered to their every whim. She watched as Kitty left the cubicle and walked to the bench that Hattie sat on. But the rich lady was careful to sit at the far end, away from Hattie.

Hattie turned to her with a sympathetic smile, “You ain’t been here before.”

“No.” Kitty didn’t look at Hattie…..

*****

The next segment will appear Wednesday .  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and Charlie, Kitty and Hattie and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.

Haiku Poetry and how to write it….on Tuesday

Please visit my blog on Tuesday for samples of Haiku poetry and tips on writing it. Also, some wonderful samples from the masters: Yukio Mishima and Miyamoto Musashi

A small night storm blows

Saying ‘falling is the essence of a flower’

Preceding those who hesitate —Yukio Mishima

Blogging my Novel…”Women Outside the Walls” (part 6)

 …….Cassandra poured the hot steaming coffee into them and, carrying both mugs, walked to the dinette in the corner.

“Come over here and sit.” She instructed Alma.

Sighing,  Alma got slowly to her feet. She walked over and slouched into one of the kitchen chairs. “Ya want some milk for your coffee? I think it’s still good.” Alma waved her hand at the refrigerator. “Naw, I like mine black. Thanks anyway.”

“Yeah, me too. My Ma always said she liked her coffee and men the same way; ‘hot and black’. But she never dated black guys as far back as I can remember.”

“It’s just a jokey expression, Alma, and highly inappropriate to say to you.”

“Whatever.” “You got a fresh mouth on you, ya know that?”

“So?” “So if we’re gonna be roommates, you’re gonna have to watch your tone. I don’t put up with fresh kids.”

“Roommates?!” Alma exclaimed. “What’re you talking about?”

“You can’t stay here and be on your own. It’s not safe. Hell, you can’t even remember to lock the doors.”

“It’s none of your business what I do.”

“Well, I’m makin’ it my business. Here’s the deal so listen carefully. You’ll move in with me. I got two bedrooms and two bathrooms. There will be rules. You will not skip school.” She paused. “What grade are you in anyway?”

“I’m a junior.”

“You will finish school. You can’t have any failing grades. You will have a reasonable curfew. Since I work at night sometimes you will be on a honor system. You will not lie to me, ever. If you break the rules you will be grounded. In exchange I pay the rent, food and clothes for you. If you want spending money you’ll have to get a part time job. If you do get a job I expect you to save part of your pay.”

Alma stared at Cassandra, in shock. ‘Why is this broad doin’ this for me. I don’t get it. She’s gonna take me on?  She can’t ever find out how relieved I am. How much she’s saving me.’

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” Cassandra asked.

“What if I say no?”

“Then I’m callin’ child protective services and they’ll put you in foster care until you turn eighteen.” “You wouldn’t!”

“I would and will.”

“Well, that’s not much of a choice.” Alma sulked. “You sure got a lotta rules.”

“Oh that’s just half of them. I’ll make up more as we go along.”

“I’m not goin’ into foster care.”

Cassandra stuck her hand out. “Okay, then, do we have a deal then, roomy?”

Alma stared at her hand. She tentatively took Cassandra’s hand and shook it. “Yeah, I guess so.” “Try not to be so enthusiastic, will ya? Your obvious joy is gonna make me cry.”

Alma gave Cassandra a tiny smile. “And you call me ‘sarcastic’.”

*****

Two days later Alma sat in the living room amidst a few boxes, all her clothes on hangers, and two suitcases. The trailer had come furnished so she didn’t have to worry about getting rid of the old tattered furniture. She sat and thought about the last few days. Cassandra had given their landlord notice that she, Alma, was vacating her trailer.

She informed him that she would be moving in with Cassandra. She’d also met with Alma’s school and explained that Alma would be living with her. That any school notices or correspondence should be sent directly to her. Since she had left the school with the impression that Cassandra was Alma’s aunt hopefully CPS would not get involved.

‘I can’t believe I am moving in with such a cool lady.’ Alma thought. ‘I gotta figure out a way to get her to lay off so many rules. Geez, school every single day? And she’s got a smarter mouth than I do and that’s sayin’ somethin’.’ 

There was a knock on the door and almost immediately the door opened and Cassandra walked in. “Hey, kid, you ready?”

“Yeah, let’s blow this joint.” Alma grinned at her.

“I parked my car out front so we can load these boxes and the suitcases into the trunk. We can lay your clothes on the back seat.”

Alma picked up two handfuls of hangers while Cassandra picked up a box.  “What ya got in here? Bricks?”

“Some books, some other junk.” Alma frowned. “But we can leave anything you don’t want to be bothered with.”

“I was just joking with ya, Alma. You can take anything you want. We got plenty of room over at my place.”

“I can’t believe you gave me the big bedroom.” Alma said as they walked out to the car. “Why not? Is all I do is sleep in there. Besides young girls have got a ton more stuff that I do.” She laughed. “Believe it or not I was a ‘young girl’ once myself.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Gee, thanks.”

They trooped back into the trailer for the rest of Alma’s things. “Better take a last look around. See if you missed anything.”

Alma stepped into the kitchen and opened the cabinet door above the stove. “I almost forgot the quarter jar.” She shook the jar and the quarters jingled merrily.

Cassandra looked over Alma’s head and spotted the mug with the “World’s greatest…” on it. “I think you should take this along.” Cassandra said as she reached up and took down the mug.

Alma stared at the mug, “I don’t care about that. It’s just a stupid old mug that I bought my Mom on Mother’s Day.”

“Well, I’m taking it with us. I kinda like it.” “Whatever.” Alma glanced away and pressed her fingers to her eyes.

Cassandra turned away to give Alma a minute. She opened a box and pushed the mug inside. She straightened up and glanced around the room.  “It’s funny, you know, how life works out.”

“What’d ya mean?” Alma asked.

“Well, here we are two girls on our own being roommates and all. And both of us had crushes on the same guy at the same time.”

Alma gasped. ‘She knew I was in love with her boyfriend? How did she know?‘

“You knew?! How did you know?”

“Baby-girl, Cassandra knows everything so you better be careful.”

Alma stood and gazed at her in awe.

“Oh! That reminds me. Ever bussed tables?”

“Uh…no.” What’s Cassandra up to now? Alma wondered. There’s no keepin’ up with this chick. “Well, you can learn. The diner lost their bus boy and dishwasher and I put in a word for you. It would be the evening shift three nights a week and weekends. No Sundays. What’d ya think?” “Really? A real job like you have?” Alma asked.

“Yep. But here’s the deal. Your grades can’t drop at all and you can’t quit the cheer squad. Curfew still applies.”

“Everything’s a ‘deal’ with you.” “Take it or leave it.” Cassandra grinned at her.

“What’s it pay?” “Minimum wage.”

“I’ll take it!” Alma crowed.

The next segment will appear Monday.  Hope you return to find out what happens to Alma and Charlie and the rest of the women living outside the walls…..

To receive each segment sign up for my blog.  Go to the home page; Scroll down to a box where you can enter your email address. Click on “join my blog”. When you get an email from ‘Writer at Play’ be certain to confirm.  Thanks!

PS. my blogs about writing will continue on Tues. and Thurs.

 

 

 

 

Inspiration in the check out line…really? (part 5)

Do you remember when I wrote, ‘when something or someone inspires you, grab hold and don’t let go?   

     The other day I was standing in line at the grocery store, minding my own business…preoccupied that I was leaving my dogs in the car too long….when I suddenly became aware of the man in front of me being checked out.  I had picked that line because it appeared that he only had maybe six items, (boxes of something) and I was eager to get checked out.  (the dogs…remember?)

Well, it turned out that in front of the ‘boxes’, and out of my line of sight, were two dozen very tiny cans of dog food.  It seems that you can buy three tablespoons of dog food in individual cans for your darling pet.  Two bags of doggie treats and then we were ready to ring up the boxes.

Those six boxes were actually fifteen (yes I counted every one of them; the dogs in the car, remember) boxes of Healthy Choice ‘nutritious, packaged dinners; microwavable, ready to eat  in just twelve minutes’. 

Fifteen boxes of over-processed, heavily salted, flavor enhanced, empty food.  The nutritional value in the dog food was probably better. I wanted so badly to take my bag of fresh spinach out of my cart and give it to him with my best wishes. But, wait, he wouldn’t know how to steam the spinach or for how long.

Well!  That made me take a closer look at the customer.  And by the time he paid ($86.13 for the dog food and the TV dinners, OMG!) I had half of a short, one act play written in my head.   

The man in my story is a newly widowed senior who was married for forty years and never cooked a meal in his life. 

He goes home with his sad little boxes of food.  He puts his delicious, processed dinners in the freezer to be enjoyed later in front of his fifty-two inch high definition television.  Speaking baby talk he rips open the doggie treats and gives his overweight  shiatsu a goodie.

If this sounds as if I am making fun…..no, no, no…it’s written with love as this is the typical existence of the widowed male.  A snapshot of life that gave me a great little story. And  the lesson to be learned, fellow writers, is to keep your eyes and ears open.  You never know when inspiration will strike!