I have a huge family. My mother has nine brothers and sisters and my dad has eight. So, you can imagine how many first cousins I have. And we're close. All of us.
Growing up, this could sometimes be difficult. I'd see my family at least once - if not five - times a month for some family occasion. As a teenager, I wondered when I would ever get a weekend to myself! But, as the years have gone on, I'm grateful for the support my family members provide ... and what better place to use support than for resolutions!
Of course, my family members don't provide support the regular way. We are a creative bunch. So, we decided to model our own reality TV show. A supportive (not cut throat) - reality TV show.
The goal: being healthy (aka weight loss).
The incentive: money and maybe family pride?
I know more than most people about healthy living. I've worked in chronic disease prevention for years. When I first started working in the field, I probably lost 30 pounds just from learning to adopt simple healthy behaviors. But, then a previous stressful job had me skipping lunches and eating dinner at 9pm at night. I quit the job, but still haven't gotten back to my former healthy self.
I try to remind myself of future heart disease, high blood pressure etc. etc. ... but it wasn't enough motivation for me.
And then I realized, money would be.
So, here's the deal:
9 of my family members (cousins and siblings) throw money into a pot, either 100 or 200 dollars.
We each also give 10 dollars to a "bonus prize".
We weigh ourselves on March 1.
And we each have our individual weight loss goals between 10-20 pounds.
IF you meet your goal in six months, you get your money back!
If you don't, your other family members get the money.
Plus, the person who loses the most body percentage of their weight gets the bonus prize.
When I first thought of the contest, it was the money that I thought would be the motivation.
When you know a second helping might cost you 200 dollars - the cost of a weekend trip ... a writing workshop ... a pair of strappy summer sandals and a pedicure (hey, we all have our vices, ok?) I knew I would think twice about that second helping.
But, I find what I'm looking forward to is knowing that I have eight other family members trying to achieve the same goal.
In my field of health promotion, we are always learning about the incredible power of "social support" ... but wow-ee. I can feel its power now.
Tomorrow is Day One of my Six Month Challenge. It will be fun :)
(however, I am still going to have my piece of apple pie tonight. Maybe two!)
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Put it out there ...
In my year and a half of blogging, I've only posted my horoscope once.
Now make that twice.
Rob Brezsny's free will astrology sometimes hits it so right on the mark, I feel compelled to put it out there to remind myself about the power of thought.
And - since one of my resolutions is to listen to my instinct this year -- without analysis, without doubt -- I'm going to follow this strange urge of mine to declare the message within this message - waiting for me, and maybe waiting for you?
Who knows. I just know the words need to be repeated.
**
I've been asked by the leaders of the Piscean Support Group to pat you on the back -- and add a tender, friendly kick in the butt while I'm at it -- in celebration of your recent promise to leave your safety zone. They're a bit worried that you'll be so enamored of the new reserve of courage you've discovered lurking in your depths that you won't muster the incentive to actually use that courage to its hilt. Please prove them wrong. Show us all what it's like for a sensitive soul with a lyrical heart to seek raw adventure in virgin territory.
**
Sensitive soul with a lyrical heart. Hmm -- I like that one.
Now make that twice.
Rob Brezsny's free will astrology sometimes hits it so right on the mark, I feel compelled to put it out there to remind myself about the power of thought.
And - since one of my resolutions is to listen to my instinct this year -- without analysis, without doubt -- I'm going to follow this strange urge of mine to declare the message within this message - waiting for me, and maybe waiting for you?
Who knows. I just know the words need to be repeated.
**
I've been asked by the leaders of the Piscean Support Group to pat you on the back -- and add a tender, friendly kick in the butt while I'm at it -- in celebration of your recent promise to leave your safety zone. They're a bit worried that you'll be so enamored of the new reserve of courage you've discovered lurking in your depths that you won't muster the incentive to actually use that courage to its hilt. Please prove them wrong. Show us all what it's like for a sensitive soul with a lyrical heart to seek raw adventure in virgin territory.
**
Sensitive soul with a lyrical heart. Hmm -- I like that one.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
It'll Kill You
- short fiction on sin # 5 -
The court reporter usually found it hard to stay awake in sentencing hearings, but the next witness looked like he had something interesting to say.
The witness was a thin Chinese man who would have looked twenty-two if not for the grey hair at his temples and the slight folds at the edges of his mouth. To the untrained eye, you might have thought there was a resemblance between him and the young man being sentenced. The young man was dressed in drab grey overalls and stared straight ahead, his mouth slightly hanging open. But the court reporter had spent two years in mainland China and while the two men might have been from the same region, she knew they were not related.
“State your name, sir.” The defense lawyer started right in, sweeping her blond hair behind her ears in a business-like manner.
“Pin Chang.”
“And your profession?”
“I am a – ” he paused, “ – what you would call a doctor.”
“A medical doctor?” the lawyer asked.
“A medical doctor, yes.” Chang nodded. “In Chinese medicine.”
“Have you met Mr. Tsen before?” She pointed at the young man.
“Yes,” Chang agreed. “His parents brought him for a consultation. He was pale, suffering from dizziness, pain in his abdomen. Red eyes. All typical symptoms.”
“Typical of what?”
“Stagnation of chi. He needed to restore the flow of his energy. He needed to tonify. Especially –"
The lawyer from the prosecutor’s office stood up. “Your Honor, I object. What relevance does this have to Mr. Tsen’s sentencing?”
The court reporting was wondering how long it would take for him to interrupt.
The defense lawyer turned on her heel to look at the prosecuting lawyer, though she addressed the judge. “Your Honor, this witness’s testimony will show that Mr.Tsen’s life is threatened by an illness and should be accounted for in his sentencing for this homicide.”
The murmuring in the crowd grew quickly into loud discussion. The judge had to bang her gavel at least three times before she succeeded in bringing order to the courtroom.
“Continue, please, Mr. Chang,” the judge pronounced.
Chang took a deep breath before he leaned forward into the microphone. “I was concerned by the amount of stagnation I saw. Any kind of treatment, if started, needed to be followed through with properly. Or if it isn’t completed, it might cause even more harm.”
“Again!” the prosecutor interrupted. “What relevance is this?”
Chang looked up at the judge. “You see, the dysfunction of every organ is associated with a mental or emotional state of well-being. The spleen is associated with anxiety, the kidney with depression. In our medicine, the mind and body are whole. They are one.”
Chang paused before looking back at the people gathered in the courtroom. “This young man grew up in rural China. His father was a journalist. It is likely he suffered many human rights abuses.”
“And did your examination find that he suffered from this kind of trauma? Did you find some evidence of post-traumatic disorder?” the defense lawyer asked.
“Not exactly.”
There was a silence in the courtroom. Even the Court Reporter stopped so she could look at Chang’s face to see what the next words would be.
The Court Reporter grew irritated. The prosecutor was going to speak again. “Chinese medicine is not a real science, your Honor. How can we take Mr. Chang’s testimony as valid?”
Chang spoke. “Chinese medicine has been around for thousands of years, sir. Just because the Western world has not used it as evidence in your legal systems does not diminish its validity.”
The prosecutor turned red and sat down.
“Your Honor,” Chang said, “the evidence was actually Western. And Eastern. My assessment showed problems with his liver.
Everyone leaned in to hear Chang’s words, even the prosecutor.
“Which is associated with what?” pressed the defense lawyer.
“Anger. Wrath. He was holding it in. Not letting it through his system. His body was not processing it either. Which accounts for the remarkable results of his physical tests, but results not unheard of. At least in my country.”
“And these results were?” she asked.
“His liver cells are degrading,” Chang replied. “Toxicity levels are high.”
“So, what you’re saying is that he’s dying,” the lawyer stated.
“Oh yes,” Chang replied, looking with sad eyes at the young man. “It is a shame. If we had gotten him treatment earlier, we may have been able to save him. Save that poor other young man too.” Chang looked up at the judge. “But now it is too late. He is literally being eaten by his anger.”
The court reporter usually found it hard to stay awake in sentencing hearings, but the next witness looked like he had something interesting to say.
The witness was a thin Chinese man who would have looked twenty-two if not for the grey hair at his temples and the slight folds at the edges of his mouth. To the untrained eye, you might have thought there was a resemblance between him and the young man being sentenced. The young man was dressed in drab grey overalls and stared straight ahead, his mouth slightly hanging open. But the court reporter had spent two years in mainland China and while the two men might have been from the same region, she knew they were not related.
“State your name, sir.” The defense lawyer started right in, sweeping her blond hair behind her ears in a business-like manner.
“Pin Chang.”
“And your profession?”
“I am a – ” he paused, “ – what you would call a doctor.”
“A medical doctor?” the lawyer asked.
“A medical doctor, yes.” Chang nodded. “In Chinese medicine.”
“Have you met Mr. Tsen before?” She pointed at the young man.
“Yes,” Chang agreed. “His parents brought him for a consultation. He was pale, suffering from dizziness, pain in his abdomen. Red eyes. All typical symptoms.”
“Typical of what?”
“Stagnation of chi. He needed to restore the flow of his energy. He needed to tonify. Especially –"
The lawyer from the prosecutor’s office stood up. “Your Honor, I object. What relevance does this have to Mr. Tsen’s sentencing?”
The court reporting was wondering how long it would take for him to interrupt.
The defense lawyer turned on her heel to look at the prosecuting lawyer, though she addressed the judge. “Your Honor, this witness’s testimony will show that Mr.Tsen’s life is threatened by an illness and should be accounted for in his sentencing for this homicide.”
The murmuring in the crowd grew quickly into loud discussion. The judge had to bang her gavel at least three times before she succeeded in bringing order to the courtroom.
“Continue, please, Mr. Chang,” the judge pronounced.
Chang took a deep breath before he leaned forward into the microphone. “I was concerned by the amount of stagnation I saw. Any kind of treatment, if started, needed to be followed through with properly. Or if it isn’t completed, it might cause even more harm.”
“Again!” the prosecutor interrupted. “What relevance is this?”
Chang looked up at the judge. “You see, the dysfunction of every organ is associated with a mental or emotional state of well-being. The spleen is associated with anxiety, the kidney with depression. In our medicine, the mind and body are whole. They are one.”
Chang paused before looking back at the people gathered in the courtroom. “This young man grew up in rural China. His father was a journalist. It is likely he suffered many human rights abuses.”
“And did your examination find that he suffered from this kind of trauma? Did you find some evidence of post-traumatic disorder?” the defense lawyer asked.
“Not exactly.”
There was a silence in the courtroom. Even the Court Reporter stopped so she could look at Chang’s face to see what the next words would be.
The Court Reporter grew irritated. The prosecutor was going to speak again. “Chinese medicine is not a real science, your Honor. How can we take Mr. Chang’s testimony as valid?”
Chang spoke. “Chinese medicine has been around for thousands of years, sir. Just because the Western world has not used it as evidence in your legal systems does not diminish its validity.”
The prosecutor turned red and sat down.
“Your Honor,” Chang said, “the evidence was actually Western. And Eastern. My assessment showed problems with his liver.
Everyone leaned in to hear Chang’s words, even the prosecutor.
“Which is associated with what?” pressed the defense lawyer.
“Anger. Wrath. He was holding it in. Not letting it through his system. His body was not processing it either. Which accounts for the remarkable results of his physical tests, but results not unheard of. At least in my country.”
“And these results were?” she asked.
“His liver cells are degrading,” Chang replied. “Toxicity levels are high.”
“So, what you’re saying is that he’s dying,” the lawyer stated.
“Oh yes,” Chang replied, looking with sad eyes at the young man. “It is a shame. If we had gotten him treatment earlier, we may have been able to save him. Save that poor other young man too.” Chang looked up at the judge. “But now it is too late. He is literally being eaten by his anger.”
Sunday, February 1, 2009
No more and no less
- short fiction on sin #4 -
“I’ll give you twenty minutes,” he said.
Gabriel the Archangel looked nothing like Madelyn expected. His faded jeans were a bit on the tight side and his leather jacket was outdated – the old baggy style from the 80s. His outfit, though, didn’t decrease how intimidated she felt. He stood at over 7 feet tall and seemed to have a propensity for chains.
“Twenty minutes,” he said. “You know how long that is, don’t you? You’re a writer. It’s about as long as it takes to write 800 words.”
With a lot of practice, she thought wryly.
“What am I supposed to do again?” Madelyn asked.
The whole death thing had been a blur. One minute she was in traffic, shouting at the driver ahead of her, then everything went fuzzy and all of a sudden she was looking at herself through the windshield. She watched herself clutch her left arm, the car swerve and she found herself stuck in a grey fuzzy cloud.
Until Gabriel walked out from the shadows and the air cleared for a bit.
“You’re getting a great opportunity here, Maddy. Don’t blow it. Most people would kill to spend twenty minutes at their own funeral. You’re getting that for free. The Big Lady seems to think you deserve a second chance. Listen in … figure out what sin you really need forgiveness for … and she might be feeling good enough today to let you into the land of milk and honey. Ice cream. Chocolate. Neck massages. Body wraps and all those good things.”
Gabriel raised one hairy eyebrow at her. He looked annoyed. “Go!” he said.
Madelyn found herself in a well-lit room with green thick carpets illuminated by yellow light from dusty chandeliers. At least they followed her wishes. They buried her back in Edmonton, where she had grown up.
Ahh, she liked this feeling. Being able to breeze in and out of conversations without having to partake in the small talk. At the entrance sat her two great-nephews. For some reason, there were blown-up copies of the covers of her latest books right propped up on an easel beside the guest book. Probably the work of her agent. Trying to get some sales upon the occasion of her death. Joan was good at what she did. Madelyn wasn’t going to begrudge her for it.
She looked for Joan. There she was, in the far corner, talking to her accountant, Sam.
“Ah, well, at least she didn’t suffer. I think it’s always worse when they suffer,” Joan was saying.
Hmmm! Joan actually cared about her.
Sam chuckled. “It definitely could have been worse for Madelyn. She would have gone crazy if she had to lie in the hospital for days before she met her end.” Madelyn smiled. Sam knew her well. “She’d be hating how much the hospital would charge her for each little thing. It would drive her nuts, knowing that she was spending 25 dollars a day just to get a phone in her room,” Sam said.
Madelyn’s smile straightened. What was he saying? That her suffering would be coming from the money she spent?
Joan didn’t laugh. “Ah, come on Sam. You know what her childhood was like. Not to mention the first forty-five years of her life before she published her first book. She just stayed true to who she was, that’s all.”
Thank you, Joan, Madelyn thought. That’s it exactly. Just because she hit bigtime with her series of books – not to mention the film and action figures – was she supposed to become some big spender freewheeler. No way. She promised herself she wouldn’t die a bag lady, and she didn’t.
Madelyn wisped away. Sam was her accountant, not someone personal. She looked for nieces and nephews. She wanted to hear what they had to say. There they were, over by the buffet. Buffet?? Who the hell authorized a buffet?
The twins and their younger brother, Mark were chatting now. Laughing. It was good to see them laughing. She was starting to feel scared, she still hadn’t figured out her sin.
“Ah, Auntie Mads … she was a riot,” Janice was saying, a big grin on her face. “You know, Frank figured it out. We noticed the kids’ Christmas gifts – always money of course – would increase every year, but by strange amounts. Seven dollars here, two dollars there – one time, the cheque increased by eleven dollars and two cents. Then, Frank realized she was increasing it by the inflation rate!”
“What?” Mark responded. “Even after the movies got released?”
“Oh yeah.” It was Jocelyn speaking now. “I’ve watched her. When she gives tips, she calculates it exactly. No more and no less than what would be expected. And, if she’s not happy with the service – she has no qualms about saying nada.”
Madelyn narrowed her eyes. This couldn’t be a sin, could it? She was just good with her money.
“Well,” Mark sighed. “It’s not like she wasn’t stingy. I mean, she sponsored that foster child and everything.”
Jocelyn paused. “I know … but remember when Uncle Tim needed some money because of the economic crisis in 2008?”
“Oh yeah,” Janice jumped in, finishing her twin’s thought. “He had worked for the car company, got laid off, and he got a severance package. It was enough to cover the mortgage payments but not enough to pay for Patrick’s university. Naturally he asked Auntie Mads for a loan. Just enough so Patrick could finish school, right?” “
Exactly. And she said no. Told Uncle Tim that he should have thought of that when he decided to drop out of school twenty years ago.”
Mark whistled. “She’s a tough cookie, that one.”
That’s right, I’m tough, Madelyn thought. I worked hard for my money, and why should I share it with those who just want it?
All of a sudden, she found herself in a haze of grey. “Hey!” she shouted. “What the heck … I had at least two minutes left,” she complained. It wasn't true, but who was counting?
“Tchh, tcch… “ Gabriel emerged from the smoke, a disappointed look on his face.
“You can’t be serious, can you? You’re going to send me to hell for saving money? It’s what we all do,” Madelyn found her ears growing hot. “Not to mention, you cut me short … I need more time. ”
Gabriel shook his head, the four chains around his neck clanking a little as he did so. “I don’t think so. We’re just giving you the same conditions that you gave others to operate under. We thought it only fair,” he nodded, as if contemplating his reasoning once more.
Madelyn’s thoughts began to race. “But – that’s not a mortal sin. Saving money is not a mortal sin.”
Gabriel looked downcast. “I told her you’d say that. I don’t like to be right. She doesn’t like it when I’m right. She feels like she’s out of touch with you all.” He lifted one of the chains from around his neck and bent down to fasten it around Madelyn’s legs.
“Hey – you could at least tell me why, what – why?” Madelyn’s voice almost broke.
“You’re a smart woman, Madelyn. It’s such a shame. You’re forgetting that there’s worse things than just keeping money to yourself.” Madelyn watched as he lifted a second chain from around his neck and twisted it around her wrists.
Of course, she thought. I kept everything for myself – not just money, but kind thoughts, forgiveness, a little bit of slack. But I couldn’t be generous with everything could I? You give someone a little bit of room, and they'll take advantage of you. There was no room for kind thoughts, or the benefit of the doubt, was there? I wouldn’t have survived on earth otherwise. These damn angels – they know nothing about the real world. It wasn’t my fault.
“There you go again, Mads.” Gabriel continued, shaking his head as he led her towards a lady in black who seemed to emerge out of the shadows ahead. “Saving everything, even the excuses, for yourself.”
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
What the seasons bring
- thanks for those who commented on this formerly posted piece of work ... i've had to take it down for now ... more to come !! -
Sunday, January 11, 2009
If it could be so sweet ...
He told his wife it wasn’t a big deal, so she was surprised when he presented her with a four hundred dollar gift certificate to Alfred’s, the designer dress store uptown.
Surprised, but not accommodating.
He could see her reflection in the mirror as he straightened his tie. She looked stunning in the purple satin dress she picked out.
It wasn’t a big deal. But, he insisted she wear her mink wrap anyway. There was a chill in the air.
How many of his classmates would remember him? It would be twenty years since they graduated from high school and he had had a small group of friends. Loyal friends.
He leaned forward and turned his head, looking at his profile. He looked good. That trainer of his had worked him hard for his third ironman competition and he could see the results. Even under the broad lines of his Armani suit.
He kept quiet for most of the drive there, nodding to his wife’s usual inane comments. She was a good wife, a beautiful wife, a supportive wife. What a man wanted in every woman. But conversations weren’t her strong point.
By the time they reached the hotel door, he had tuned her out completely. He was busy looking for Joe – yes, by the bar – and Matt, over by the phones. He waved and walked over, holding his wife’s hand.
He had gotten used to the look in men’s eyes when they glanced over at his wife, but that didn’t mean he still didn’t get satisfaction from it. He was a success, he knew it. But he deserved it. He worked hard to rise to the top of his specialty, orthopaedic surgery. He hated the work. But he loved the results.
He exchanged greetings with his friends and asked in an indifferent tone, “So, who’s here?”
Matt and Joe described a couple of people he vaguely remembered. He took it one step further.
“What about that guy – remember – ah, he was on the football team. He had that really tall blond friend and they were always doing something idiotic in our physics class.”
Kevin. Oh yeah, they remembered Kevin. His friends were surprised he forgot Kevin’s name. How could he forget, they asked in surprise. Remember, you got in a fight with him in front of the whole school? He was such a jerk. Everyone agreed upon that. Biggest asshole in school.
“Was it Kevin? Huh, I had forgotten about that. Amazing how that seems like a whole different world.”
But, in fact, the world was very much the same. And he couldn’t wait to see Kevin’s face when he showed up. With his wife. His car. His looks. And when he told him how much he was making, Kevin would be sorry he ever forgot his name. For in Kevin’s eyes, he knew he was a nobody.
Over drinks and dinner, he was surprised at how many people he remembered. And how happy they seemed to be with their very normal, ordinary lives. He sensed their admiration, but it still was not enough. Not until –
“Peter? Peter – hey, man, remember me?”
He turned to see Kevin shuffling over towards him. He would never have recognized him. His frame was thin and he had wisps of grey hair along the crown of his head. When Kevin reached him, Peter recognized him a little despite the gaunt cheeks, only because his blue eyes were bright as ever.
“It’s so great you could come out, Peter.” Kevin grabbed his hand in his, shaking it up and down with great enthusiasm. “You look fantastic.”
Peter nodded and smiled. It was Kevin. Here was his chance. He told him about his job and introduced his wife. He was about to go on about his last holiday, when he noticed that Kevin was genuinely interested. Asking questions with a rare sincerity.
Peter swallowed. There could be no mercy, Kevin was an idiot. And Kevin needed to know how great his life was.
“Sorry, excuse me, I’d like you to meet my wife,” Kevin interrupted before Peter could say another word. Let me call her over,” he beckoned an ordinary looking woman to come over. She placed her hand firmly in Kevin’s.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. She looked at Kevin with devotion. Devotion that usually was created only after a lifetime. “I’ve heard so many stories. Kevin told me you were the smartest guy in high school. He knew you’d go far. It’s great to meet you all, especially since it’s been a personal goal of ours to make it to the high school reunion.”
“A personal goal?” Peter asked. What kind of wackos where these people anyway?
“Well,” she glanced at Kevin again, love in her eyes. “Though we are hoping that the chemo treatments will take this time, we’ve just decided every second is a gift. And every event – like tonight – is like winning a small prize.”
Peter felt nauseous. Kevin and his wife were called away by another classmate wanting to talk to them.
Matt and Joe came over. “Man, that Kevin – what a nice guy. Who would have thought, eh?”
Peter could do nothing but nod. It wasn’t Kevin’s fault that everything he accomplished seemed miniscule now. He hoped the swig of vodka would remove the bitter taste left in his mouth.
**
End.
(Can you guess the sin?)
Surprised, but not accommodating.
He could see her reflection in the mirror as he straightened his tie. She looked stunning in the purple satin dress she picked out.
It wasn’t a big deal. But, he insisted she wear her mink wrap anyway. There was a chill in the air.
How many of his classmates would remember him? It would be twenty years since they graduated from high school and he had had a small group of friends. Loyal friends.
He leaned forward and turned his head, looking at his profile. He looked good. That trainer of his had worked him hard for his third ironman competition and he could see the results. Even under the broad lines of his Armani suit.
He kept quiet for most of the drive there, nodding to his wife’s usual inane comments. She was a good wife, a beautiful wife, a supportive wife. What a man wanted in every woman. But conversations weren’t her strong point.
By the time they reached the hotel door, he had tuned her out completely. He was busy looking for Joe – yes, by the bar – and Matt, over by the phones. He waved and walked over, holding his wife’s hand.
He had gotten used to the look in men’s eyes when they glanced over at his wife, but that didn’t mean he still didn’t get satisfaction from it. He was a success, he knew it. But he deserved it. He worked hard to rise to the top of his specialty, orthopaedic surgery. He hated the work. But he loved the results.
He exchanged greetings with his friends and asked in an indifferent tone, “So, who’s here?”
Matt and Joe described a couple of people he vaguely remembered. He took it one step further.
“What about that guy – remember – ah, he was on the football team. He had that really tall blond friend and they were always doing something idiotic in our physics class.”
Kevin. Oh yeah, they remembered Kevin. His friends were surprised he forgot Kevin’s name. How could he forget, they asked in surprise. Remember, you got in a fight with him in front of the whole school? He was such a jerk. Everyone agreed upon that. Biggest asshole in school.
“Was it Kevin? Huh, I had forgotten about that. Amazing how that seems like a whole different world.”
But, in fact, the world was very much the same. And he couldn’t wait to see Kevin’s face when he showed up. With his wife. His car. His looks. And when he told him how much he was making, Kevin would be sorry he ever forgot his name. For in Kevin’s eyes, he knew he was a nobody.
Over drinks and dinner, he was surprised at how many people he remembered. And how happy they seemed to be with their very normal, ordinary lives. He sensed their admiration, but it still was not enough. Not until –
“Peter? Peter – hey, man, remember me?”
He turned to see Kevin shuffling over towards him. He would never have recognized him. His frame was thin and he had wisps of grey hair along the crown of his head. When Kevin reached him, Peter recognized him a little despite the gaunt cheeks, only because his blue eyes were bright as ever.
“It’s so great you could come out, Peter.” Kevin grabbed his hand in his, shaking it up and down with great enthusiasm. “You look fantastic.”
Peter nodded and smiled. It was Kevin. Here was his chance. He told him about his job and introduced his wife. He was about to go on about his last holiday, when he noticed that Kevin was genuinely interested. Asking questions with a rare sincerity.
Peter swallowed. There could be no mercy, Kevin was an idiot. And Kevin needed to know how great his life was.
“Sorry, excuse me, I’d like you to meet my wife,” Kevin interrupted before Peter could say another word. Let me call her over,” he beckoned an ordinary looking woman to come over. She placed her hand firmly in Kevin’s.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. She looked at Kevin with devotion. Devotion that usually was created only after a lifetime. “I’ve heard so many stories. Kevin told me you were the smartest guy in high school. He knew you’d go far. It’s great to meet you all, especially since it’s been a personal goal of ours to make it to the high school reunion.”
“A personal goal?” Peter asked. What kind of wackos where these people anyway?
“Well,” she glanced at Kevin again, love in her eyes. “Though we are hoping that the chemo treatments will take this time, we’ve just decided every second is a gift. And every event – like tonight – is like winning a small prize.”
Peter felt nauseous. Kevin and his wife were called away by another classmate wanting to talk to them.
Matt and Joe came over. “Man, that Kevin – what a nice guy. Who would have thought, eh?”
Peter could do nothing but nod. It wasn’t Kevin’s fault that everything he accomplished seemed miniscule now. He hoped the swig of vodka would remove the bitter taste left in his mouth.
**
End.
(Can you guess the sin?)
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Dilemnas with Sin
I'm having a hard time with this latest writing challenge of mine.
First of all, there is no way I can write 500 words in 20 minutes.
500 good words, that is.
But, my writing colleagues expressed similar experiences, so we changed the rules so that each piece has 400-500 words instead of having a time limit. And because it's a writing exercise (not a competition), we figured that we wouldn't be concerned with the final product but focus on the process of what evolves in the short writing time (usually under an hour).
Secondly, flash fiction is difficult. Conflict is what pulls a reader in. How does one create and resolve conflict in 500 words? I entered a piece in a flash fiction contest once. I spent hours on the piece, carefully crafting the placement of each word. It's like poetry that way - each word carries more currency.
Thirdly, I am having a dilemna writing about sin. It's so broad. Generic. It's the ultimate of tests -- to take a worldly evil and narrow it to a point where you can partake in it for only 500 words? I find myself having to visualize it more like a biopsy. Take a sliver of the evil, place it on the microscope and focus on it so it until it becomes a world of its own, a story that wraps around your consciousness.
Of course, some of the modern sins (i.e. social injustice, pollution) are things I feel so strongly about that it's hard for me not to rant. Or bring the evil-doers to justice. What better way to ruin a good piece of writing? To be excessively moralistic. Or to keep using adverbs like "excessively".
I didn't think the piece below was quite ready for publication ... barely over 200 words and not concise. And, I wasn't sure if apathy qualified as a sin, but my friend explained that "apathy" can be translated also as "sloth".
To be honest, I *accidentally* posted the piece below -- it was supposed to go on my personal blog with my writing circle. Oops! Good exercise in humility though. Might as well put the rough stuff out in the blogging world as well.
Wish me luck for the next one!
First of all, there is no way I can write 500 words in 20 minutes.
500 good words, that is.
But, my writing colleagues expressed similar experiences, so we changed the rules so that each piece has 400-500 words instead of having a time limit. And because it's a writing exercise (not a competition), we figured that we wouldn't be concerned with the final product but focus on the process of what evolves in the short writing time (usually under an hour).
Secondly, flash fiction is difficult. Conflict is what pulls a reader in. How does one create and resolve conflict in 500 words? I entered a piece in a flash fiction contest once. I spent hours on the piece, carefully crafting the placement of each word. It's like poetry that way - each word carries more currency.
Thirdly, I am having a dilemna writing about sin. It's so broad. Generic. It's the ultimate of tests -- to take a worldly evil and narrow it to a point where you can partake in it for only 500 words? I find myself having to visualize it more like a biopsy. Take a sliver of the evil, place it on the microscope and focus on it so it until it becomes a world of its own, a story that wraps around your consciousness.
Of course, some of the modern sins (i.e. social injustice, pollution) are things I feel so strongly about that it's hard for me not to rant. Or bring the evil-doers to justice. What better way to ruin a good piece of writing? To be excessively moralistic. Or to keep using adverbs like "excessively".
I didn't think the piece below was quite ready for publication ... barely over 200 words and not concise. And, I wasn't sure if apathy qualified as a sin, but my friend explained that "apathy" can be translated also as "sloth".
To be honest, I *accidentally* posted the piece below -- it was supposed to go on my personal blog with my writing circle. Oops! Good exercise in humility though. Might as well put the rough stuff out in the blogging world as well.
Wish me luck for the next one!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Whatever (aka the sin of Apathy)
- sorry - had to take this posting down for now - but more will come in another form :) -
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