Writing Exercises

Some time ago, I cannot remember exactly when, my friends and I started a writing group. We were to meet at least once a month and go through writing exercises, discuss each other’s work and create a safe place to expose ourselves. (not literally of course) We still meet of course, and support each other in our ventures.

These exercises are a result of that. Enjoy and comment if you wish!
Happy writing and may words flow effortlessly beneath your fingertips.

Karen

Imagine you are unable to speak for a year. What would you do to communicate and what impact would it have on your relationships? What would you be saving up to say at the end of the year?

“After the operation, you will not be able to speak for a year. The vocal chords will need that time to heal.” The doctor explained.
“How am I supposed to communicate, to work for a year without speaking?” I asked.
The doctor rose from his chair and reached into a file cabinet passing Nancy a small box.
“What is this?” she asked
“It’s a device that will speak for you. Just type in what you want to say and it does the talking. I must tell you though, it’s a generic voice. It sounds probably more male than female and it takes some getting used to.”
She left the office with her voice in a box and thought about what he had told her. A year is a long time but the alternative was to lose her voice permanently so what choice did she have.
Larry came home late that night and she was still sitting in the living room in the dark, thoughts tumbling around in her mind. He turned on a light and sat down opposite her, searching her face for a clue as to what she was doing there.
“What’s in the box?” he asked.
She still had the package sitting in her lap and she touched it absently as she answered him. “Apparently my voice is in the box.”
He had been drinking, she could smell it on him, so what he said next didn’t surprise her at all. “I thought they were going to get rid of your voice. You’re still talking so it can’t be in the box.”
She sighed and got up from the chair. “You’re an ass. I’m going to bed.”
He shrugged and headed for the liquor cabinet for a nightcap without responding to her and then sat in the chair she had just vacated.
Larry was in sales and spent his whole life talking. In fact, he loved the sound of his own voice and often wondered why people didn’t like talking to him. It wasn’t a thing he thought about often but on those rare occasions when he paused to take a breath sometimes he was surprised that his audience had disappeared and Nancy was the only one left standing.
When she came downstairs the next morning he was still in the chair, crumpled suit askew, loud snores emanating from him and a trickle of drool rolling down his chin. She made coffee and ignored him.
A week later she was waiting in the hospital for the surgery. Larry was working but had promised to drop in that evening to drive her home. She imagined it would be a quiet drive. She had tried the voice box but it sounded strange to her and she wondered how often she would be inclined to use it. She was still thinking about the unnatural computer voice when the anesthesiologist asked her to count backwards from ten. She never got past seven.
She woke up to Larry, yakking on the phone. “Yeah. I’m just waiting for Nancy to wake up now. No, no, we’re still on for poker tonight. She won’t mind.
He hung up and noticed she was awake. He ruffled her hair “Hey babe, nice look. Guess I get to do all the talking. Doc said we can leave soon, so I’m just gonna hit the head and be right back.”
She felt a tightness in her throat and reached up to touch the bandages when the doctor strode in. “Good afternoon Nancy. Everything went smoothly. Obviously you’ll have to come back to have the bandages changed but other than that everything seems good. I’ll see you next month for our first evaluation. You can get dressed now . Is your husband here to drive you?”
She nodded and he patted her shoulder. “Take care and we’ll see you soon.”
The days passed by and then the months as she adjusted to not speaking. Larry made up for it and talked non-stop, trying to fill the void. The more she listened, the more she realized that he never listened to her. In fact he never talked to her, just at her. She had put the voice box in the closet. She didn’t need it and as time passed realized that she had nothing left to say.
The people around her were so wrapped up in their lives they never noticed the absence of her voice. She became like a piece of furniture. There and useful but ignored for the most part. A week into her silence she started putting aside money. Little by little the pile grew. At first she wasn’t sure what she would do with it but as time went on it became more clear and she felt a smile growing deep within her.
One year later, the day came for her to visit the doctor. She would be allowed to speak today. She smiled to herself and spent extra time in the bathroom, curling her hair, carefully applying her make-up. She felt pretty as she got into her little car and made the short drive to the clinic. Larry had forgotten her appointment was today and she didn’t bother leaving a note. He wouldn’t have seen it anyway.
She entered the office and waited patiently for the doctor. He came in and smiled broadly at her. “Well, Nancy, today’s a special day. Everything looks great. I’m going to spray your throat and ask you to speak now.” He sprayed a liquid into her throat and she cleared it a little before speaking.
“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate all your help.”
“You did the work Nancy. How did you manage not speaking for a year? “ he asked.
“It’s surprisingly easy when the people around you talk all the time.” She said
She left the office then and made her way home. She had supper on the table when Larry came through the door, threw his briefcase and suit jacket on the couch and raised an eyebrow when he saw her.
“What are you all dollied up for?”
She just smiled. They ate dinner in silence and she washed the dishes as he settled himself into the couch and turned on the game. She went upstairs, got her coat and her bag and stood before him until a commercial when he finally noticed her.
“You going somewhere?” he asked. “Bring back some beer, will ya?”
“I’m leaving you. I want a divorce” she said.
He hadn’t heard his wife’s voice in a year and the sound of it echoing through the tiny living room made him pause in stunned silence.
She turned then and walked out the door, got into her little car and headed for the airport. The flight to Rome was lovely and she had an interesting conversation with the gentleman who sat next to her especially as he hung onto her every word.

 

You see someone from your past when you are with your present love. What do you do? Do you say anything?

Karma

Sometimes karma is a lovely thing. It knocks on your door with a fistful of flowers and like magic reveals the wonder of the universe in one fell swoop. That was how it all ended and a new life for me began.

I’ve always been careful when I start a new relationship. I watch for the signs. They are almost always there but sometimes I’d ignore them in the blush of the new, I’d push them aside like chores I didn’t  want to do or conversations I didn’t want to have.

I wasn’t always like that. It happened when I met Trevor. He was a disaster of a man right from the start. Cold, uncaring, and wrapped up in a job he didn’t like, to make a paycheque he had spent from the moment it entered his tight fist. His mother must have been a beast of a woman because he certainly didn’t like women. If examined closely, I could only assume he hated them. But I didn’t notice. You see, Trevor was breathtaking. Finely toned muscle rippled when he walked and clothes hung from his body like a second skin. He was so pretty even men gazed at him, wondering how does one get so lucky? He had money. He had privilege. He had everything except a heart, or a conscience or a clue.

Our break-up was the quiet kind of ugly. It was the kind of ugly where self-worth becomes a little puddle for him to step through and curse when his pants get dirty. I hated him in the moment and loathed myself for travelling this far upon a path of self-destruction.

I remember the day. Clear in my mind, projected onto a giant screen to replay in the moments I was never good enough, or smart enough, or pretty enough. But then spring had turned into summer overnight and I felt renewed, excited about the direction my career had taken. I was alive and confident and anxious to share my good news.

I ran up the front stairs of his home, curious that the door was partially open and suddenly worried that something could be wrong.  A crash came from the living room and I ran to investigate.  She was bent over the dining room table clutching at the sides as he slammed into her over and over, his pants around his ankles and headed for orgasm, as I stood transfixed, wondering if I should stay or go. He looked at me then, not stopping but watching me as he climaxed. I think he must have enjoyed the picture show of emotions that played across my face. The woman looked up then and smiled as if she knew who I was and what she was doing.

“This is not a good time.” He said.

I recovered then and found my voice, the voice I had forgotten while entertaining ugly wrapped in a beautiful skin.  “It never was…” I said. I turned then and walked away and with each step felt a lifting, a gladness that I was going, a returning to myself.

I climbed into my car and revved the engine, anxious to leave the wreckage of my life in his living room and return to myself. I reached for the radio and never noticed the truck that slammed into the side of me, rolling me over and over again, in a free fall towards what I thought was oblivion.

I don’t remember the accident. The doctors say I may never remember. I do remember the paramedic who saved my life and the man who stood nearby every day until I had recovered. We married last year, and now I live in a quiet little neighbourhood with a dog and a cat and a baby on the way.

As for Trevor, time has erased much of the damage I experienced at his hands and love has conquered  the rest of it. I really don’t think of him anymore.

Well, except the one day. We had gone to dinner to celebrate the conception of our child and had a glorious time laughing and talking about baby names and how our lives would change. We waited in the setting sun outside the restaurant until the valet pulled up with our car and when he stepped out to hand my husband the keys, I glanced at his face.  I swore it was Trevor.

Lines crossed his face and weight had descended on him like a curse. He avoided my stare and handed my husband the keys.

And I smiled, because karma had indeed come calling and I savoured it. Not for him but for myself because you always get exactly what you deserve, sooner or later.