Category: Writing Stuff

Monday Stuff, Writing Stuff

Back to Mom

Karen

Absolutely Bananas’ prompt for this week is: Back to Mom.

I love this prompt because I think moms are too quick to write off their own interests and “down” time all for the sake of achieving perfect mom status.

Which is impossible to do when your kids are small, however, when they get to be teenagers, that perfect mom award? Within grasp.

🙂

Okay, ya’ll know I’m teasing. The whole perfect mom persona? Doesn’t exist – so don’t knock yourself out trying to achieve that goal – it’s impossible.

Instead, concentrate on carving out little pockets of mom time. And don’t feel guilty! Your kids/husband also benefit from time away from you so it’s truly a win-win situation.

Now that the kids are back-to-school full time and we’re heading into the fourth week of school, things are settling down on my homestead and I’m free to start thinking about what I both love and hate to do in my spare time – write.

There is SOMETHING about fall that gets me in the mood to write. I think it’s the crisp, refreshing weather that both invigorates and motivates me to pack my laptop case and head outdoors to write.

OR, it could be that NaNoWriMo is right around the corner and I’m mentally preparing myself to write 50,000 words in 30 days. (This will be my fourth time playing and WILL be my fourth time winning the challenge).

When fall rolls around, I’m mentally ready to face my imagination once again. I have so many story ideas floating around in my head I’m not quite sure where to start. And I have a pretty good idea what I’m going to write in November, which means I need to get on the ball and start (tentatively) outlining my story.

So, back to mom means back to writing for me. I bought a new laptop satchel the other day:

New Writing Satchel

And I can’t WAIT to haul it off to the library, the park, the coffee house or even in our own backyard and into our camper and use it. (I often have to shut myself off in the camper on the weekends in November to get away from my family. I have to have it absolutely quiet when I write. Which doesn’t really make sense when you figure I take it to the library – though I use the study rooms, which are not really helpful considering there’s always some busy body in the next room using his/her cell phone and talking too loudly, or the coffee house where there’s a ton of activity around me, but it’s different when it’s not FAMILY noise – does that make sense?)

And speaking of writing, I’m thinking of starting another writing meme on Thursday – I post a Thursday Thread story anyway, I thought it might be fun to invite everyone to join me. I’ll be posting a variety of things to prompt you – a post card from PostSecret, a crazy (and true) headline, a sentence, a Creative Commons picture from Flickr, a few words, just a variety of fun things to help jump-start your imagination.

Oh, one more thing, in case you’re wondering what that keyboard-looking thing is in my satchel?

Packing Neo

That’s a Neo. And in essence, it’s a word processor without the bells and whistles. I sometimes pull that out when I find myself spending more time surfing the web than actually writing when I’m out and about. It’s expensive, but if you’re serious about wanting to get some writing done, I HIGHLY recommend it. It comes with a USB cable, so when you’re ready to transfer your work to your PC, you just plug it into one of your USB ports and it transfers to your writing program. Super easy, fast and efficient. I love it!

Writing Stuff

Too Scared to Sell Myself

Karen

Every time we go camping in Branson, we hit one particular bookstore. It used to be called “Foozles”, I can’t remember what it’s called now since it’s been taken over by new management.

We loved this bookstore. Mainly because their prices were cheap. Granted, most of their inventory was old, as in months old, but we didn’t care. We usually walked away with bags of books.

The last few camping trips, with the store under new management, we’ve noticed that this bookstore’s inventory was simply not moving. The same books are still sitting on the dusty shelves and they are a few YEARS old. As in, 2006 guides to Disney World old. Granted, I don’t think tourist’s guides really change all that much from year-to-year, but overall, I don’t think people are interested in spending money on outdated material.

I know I’m not.

This makes me incredibly sad because you and I both know, this bookstore will likely not survive. Especially now that a big-time “chain” store has been built and is likely luring all of the bookworms away. I always feel so sorry for the smaller “mom and pop” stores. They’re just trying to make a living, too. You know?

But this post isn’t about the demise of our small-time retailers. But rather about the man who had set up a desk by the front entrance of this bookstore and was trying to talk people into buying his book.

His self-published book.

Now before you get your fingers in a knot, let me explain. I don’t have a problem with the self-published route, per se …

Well okay, I take that back. I think I do have a problem with being self-published. To me, that’s a cop-out. To me, that’s fooling yourself into thinking that you can actually write and heck, no one else wants your treasure so why not take your sub-par material and force it on the public?

Harsh? Yes. But that’s always my initial reaction to anyone who proudly proclaims they are self-published.

BUT … (are you still with me?)

I can UNDERSTAND where these people are coming from. There are a variety of reasons people self-publish their work.

1. They tried the traditional route and were rejected.

2. They don’t care to walk down that traditional route and want to avoid all the BS that comes with traditional publishing and cut out the middle man, so to speak.

3. Even if you went down the traditional publishing route and were lucky enough to be picked up by someone, you are STILL expected to market your own work. You STILL have to do a lot of legwork to get the word out – you might as well do the work yourself and get all the profits, right?

4. They don’t care if their work is widely read to begin with. They are simply interested in seeing their name on a book and if they sell a few hundred copies, well then, great. Life goes on.

I think if I ever went down the self-published route, number 4 is where I’d likely fit.

But then again, some of the crap that the traditional publishing houses choose to print is truly astounding, too. So to be published the traditional way is not just about whether or not you write well, but more about your connections and if you’re a name brand or not. So, just because someone is self-published doesn’t automatically mean their writing is bad, it could just mean their work never made it across the desks of agents/editors who were interested in looking past their self-imposed blinders.

I think that’s my biggest fear when it comes to trying to get anything of mine published – the exposure – the vulnerability. The fear of being told I suck and why am I wasting everyone’s time?

And the rejection.

In essence, I’m trying to sugar coat the fact that I’m a chicken at heart to even try.

Shame on me.

But not this guy. This guy was proudly standing by his table of books and he was greeting (the few) customers who walked through the bookstore’s doors. And once he greeted people, he went right into his spiel about why they should buy his book.

My heart went out to him. I mean, my heart actually HURT because I could so easily see myself in his shoes, desperately trying to get people interested in my work.

And anyone who knows me KNOWS I’m a LOUSY marketing person. I can’t sell a doorknob to a knob-less door. If I even SUSPECT I’m irritating people with my sales pitch, then I stop and give up.

When I was a teller at the bank and that became part of my job – to try and coax customers into signing up for various programs, etc – I broke out in a cold sweat. I can’t push myself on people! I just can’t! It makes me extremely uncomfortable because you know people are looking at their watches and trying to think of a graceful way to say no. I hate putting myself in that position to begin with – I hate putting other people in that position.

So, the fact that this guy had the balls to step out into public to try and sell his book, well, I admired him. I admired him and I felt sorry for him, especially when people politely shook their heads and walked away without giving the guy’s book a second glance.

I’m just not sure my heart could stand the rejection, quite frankly.

I’m ashamed to admit this, but I skirted past the guy. Luckily, the guy latched onto my husband first, who is probably the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, and he stopped to listen, thereby giving me an opportunity to just sort of blend into the nearest bookshelf.

I watched the guy and my husband talk for a long time. And my heart burst with pride when my husband picked up one of the guy’s books, shook his hand and came over to join me.

He was going to buy the guy’s book.

I was dying to ask him all sorts of questions about the guy and the plot of his book, but the place was deserted and very, very quiet, and I was afraid the writer would hear me talking about him, so I kept my mouth shut.

We bought the guy’s book and left.

But my husband later told me a little bit about the guy’s life and why he chose to self-publish (see above reasons), and about the plot of his book.

And I must admit, I was interested. And my respect for this guy went up about ten notches because it sounded like he was an articulate, intelligent man who was retired and giving the writing gig a shot.

What awesome courage. He didn’t have anything to lose – he was already financially set, he was simply riding the tail of his hobby to see where it might lead him.

My husband read the book. He said that it had quite a few typos and probably needed an editor who knew what he/she was doing (the guy had some of his friends edit it for him – don’t do that – ever), but overall, the story was interesting and kept him interested enough to finish it.

The whole episode has prompted my husband to ride my butt about submitting my own work. And he’s absolutely right, I need to at LEAST TRY. But the thought of me becoming like that man, standing by the door of a dying bookstore and greeting people who come in the door and then starting a cold sales pitch about my book makes me hyperventilate.

And that’s a sobering realization. Because I think that tells me that perhaps I really don’t want to be published all that badly if I’m not willing to put myself out there and take a chance.

I’m pretty tough and confident in nearly all aspects of my life – except when it comes to my writing. When it comes to my writing, I’m a quivering, spineless jelly fish and it disgusts me.

Parenting, Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Severing the Friendship Ties

Karen

Thursday Thread
Thursday is the day I post a bit o’ fiction.

I will just tell you, right off the bat, that this story is based on real life. Stick around, I need your input at the end.

_______________________________

Severing the Friendship Ties

Matt clutched his paper lunch bag tighter between his fingers. He hated lunch, mainly because he never knew where to sit.

And it was the only time period in the day when he had to endure Lance.

Matt stepped behind a group of teenage girls and kept a few paces back from them as they entered the lunchroom. Maybe Lance wouldn’t find him today. Maybe he wouldn’t have to listen to Lance’s loud voice or put up with this immature attitude.

He lifted his head a bit to look over the girl’s shoulder in front of him. So far, so good. The girl, sensing him behind him, glanced back and gave him a disinterested once over.

Matt flashed a lop-sided grin and moved past the girls and toward a table at the edge of the lunchroom.

The noise was deafening. But even though it was loud in the lunchroom, it was nothing compared to Lance’s boisterous antics.

He gingerly sat down and opened his bag. He smiled. He loved the lunches his mom packed for him. They were always full of good stuff. He pulled out a crust-less peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Cheez-Its, a can of root beer and a baggie stuffed with mult-colored Twizzlers.

His favorite candy.

He popped the tab on his can and looked around. He didn’t really mind eating lunch by himself. It was a welcome relief from his day – it gave him a chance to unwind and de-stress a bit before he tackled his afternoon classes.

He released a long, soft sigh and ripped open his sandwich. His fingers dug into the spongy bread and his smile grew. He loved the frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, especially when they were soft and gooey. He lifted the circular sandwich to his lips when he heard it.

Lance’s voice, calling out his name.

In the middle of the lunchroom.

People began to twitter in amusement and turned their heads trying to locate him.

Many found him. And to Matt’s utter horror, so did Sarah. The girl he had been in love with since 4th grade.

He sighed and slowly lowered his sandwich, his appetite dissipating into wispy smoke.

“Matt! Dude! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Matt didn’t answer.

“So, what’s up?”

Matt very calmly, and with precise movements, pulled out his book with one hand, and lifted his sandwich with the other.

He took a generous bite and was chewing quietly when it happened.

The temper tantrum.

“What the heck? Why are you ignoring me? What, I’m not GOOD enough for you?”

Matt tried to ignore the stares from his peers, but he knew they were looking – and laughing.

At him, most likely.

“I DON’T LIKE BEING IGNORED, MATT.” Lance crossed his arms and openly pouted.

Matt took a breath. He kept his eyes trained on his book and though he appeared outwardly calm, his heart was hammering so hard in his chest he felt light headed.

“You’re embarrassing me, Lance. I’ve already told you. I don’t want to hang out with you if you don’t learn to control yourself. I’m right here,” he glanced quickly at the boy, “you don’t have to yell.”

“WHO SAYS I’M YELLING?”

Matt just looked at him with raised eyebrows. He shook his head and went back to reading. The words wavered before his eyes and he had no idea what he was reading.

He never thought he would ever think this, let alone mean it, but he was actually looking forward to going back to class.

And away from Lance.

_______________________________

Matt? Is MK. Lance? Is MK’s “friend.” We’ll continue to call him Lance.

Let me explain …

We are now into the fourth day of the school year and MK is miserable. Not because of his teachers, his classes, or even his peers, but rather because of one lone boy – a boy he’s known since second grade.

This boy has always been loud (and in my opinion, obnoxious). And MK has always rolled with that loudness and seemed to like this boy and liked to hang out with him.

Until this year. Apparently, MK has done a bit of maturing over the summer and he no longer finds this boy quite so amusing. In fact, this boy is still stuck in grade school, apparently, because MK tells me that a lot of kids are now making fun of this boy and his loud voice and overly-dramatic gestures and attitude.

In fact, MK sort of thinks the boy acts feminine – if you catch my drift.

But that’s not even the real issue (though that makes him uncomfortable). The real issue is he’s not sure how to handle this. He’s tried talking to the boy, “Dude, you’re embarrassing me. Cut it out.” And the boy gets all bent out of shape, raises his voice and just causes a scene so that it’s just better to endure his behavior than try and confront him about it. (And yes, MK has tried to talk to him privately, but it still escalates into a problem, from what MK tells me).

MK’s other friends are too freaked out to be around Lance, so they avoid him, leaving MK holding the embarrassment. MK doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to hurt this boy’s feelings, he’s tried talking to him but Lance doesn’t seem to get the message.

MK is now thinking about emailing the boy – maybe Lance will actually LISTEN to what he has to say instead of making a scene and getting all defensive.

What would you advise your son to do if you were in my shoes?

EDIT: MK and his friend talked on the phone last night. He told the friend that he’s under a lot of stress this year with all of his music activities and he doesn’t have time to stress about his freinds’ behaviors. I was very impressed with how he handled himself – he was very mature and understanding, “I know you’re like that … I understand … but this is how I feel.”

I don’t know if anything was resolved but it was a very proud momma moment – we are really raising this kid right. It’ll be interesting to see how this kid handles the “truth.” Hey, if you don’t have honesty, then what do you have.

Writing Stuff

A Race To Finish Before November

Karen

Race car drivers are sexy.

And if you don’t agree, then your X chromosome is asleep. 😀

They’re so sexy, in fact, that I’m going to base my NaNoWriMo project on them – well, one of them at least. Well, it won’t actually BE one of them, but based on one …. oh heck, you know what I mean.

In case you’re just tuning into the Internet and you’re wondering what in the world NaNoWriMo is – it stands for National Novel Writing Month and it happens every November. In essence, writers are asked to participate in a writing challenge by writing 50,000 words in 30 days.

And believe it or not, it’s doable. In fact, it’s VERY doable IF you commit to the challenge and write at least 1,667 words every day in November.

And don’t tell me you’re too busy – bah humbug. EVERYONE uses that excuse and if you WANT to do something, then you’ll find the time to do it, period. Get up an hour earlier or stay up an hour later. Write on your lunch hour. Write while little Joey plays t-ball. Tape your favorite TV shows then watch them later. (Think how much time THAT will save you alone!) Or take your laptop and write in your car while waiting for your youngest son to finish his saxophone lesson. (Yeah, that would be me).

I’ve participated in the challenge since 2005 – so this makes my fourth year to do the challenge.

The first year I did this, my novel was pure and utter garbage. But that didn’t bother me because what I took away from the experience was INVALUABLE. It taught me to just release my inner critic – ignore it really – and JUST WRITE. It gave me permission, if you will, to simply write and not worry about whether it made sense, or if I was using proper semantics, etc. I finished the challenge feeling freer than I EVER have as a writer.

I have no idea what I wrote the second year. In fact, I can’t seem to locate the binder (I print off the pages and put them in a binder because it’s SO SATISFYING to see the pages build up). But I’m not overly worried because it must not have been that big of a deal to me if I can’t even find it now.

Last year … I really liked my story idea. In fact, I still think it’s worthy of digging out and pursuing. And that’s saying a lot for me because I’m usually the first to discard anything I write as nonsense but this particular story … I think it has potential. So, I’m definitely keeping that one and may pull it out after this NaNoWriMo and work on it. I haven’t looked at it since last year and I think enough time has gone by now that I’ll be able to read it with an impartial eye.

This year … I had toyed around with the idea of writing a series of short stories, which I’d still like to try some NaNoWriMo, but not this year, I think. I’ve decided to write a fast-paced story around NASCAR racing.

And it’s going to be a romance story. Because I’m DONE trying to deny the fact that I enjoy romance stories – both reading them and writing them. And I’m GOOD at it. I’ve been trying to convince myself that I’m more of a “literary” writer when in fact, I think my writing is strongest when I write romance. So … why fight it. That’s what I’m going with this year.

Why NASCAR? Well, it’s my husband’s fault really. He’s converted me.

Though I wouldn’t say I’m a big-time race fan, I do enjoy watching races. Especially with my husband because he tapes the races and then fast forwards through them until someone wrecks because let’s face it, wrecks are exciting. I feel a wee bit guilty for watching racing simply for the wrecks, but, there you have it.

In the process of watching races, I’ve been paying attention to the kinds of characters these race car drivers are. They are arrogant, self-assured, and cocky, but they are also supremely vulnerable, passionate and completely flawed.

I think those qualities make up a sexy man. Hence the reason I plan on modeling my next hero after a race car driver.

The problem with writing a racing story is that I don’t really know a lot about racing, not really. I mean, I know the basics, but I know nothing about the inside “track”, so to speak. So, I went to Barnes and Noble yesterday after I dropped the boys off at school (and after I took a shower and picked up a coffee from Starbucks – hey, the kids are IN SCHOOL. Isn’t that reason enough to celebrate? *grin*).

I have to tell ya, I felt a TAD guilty indulging in one of my guilty pleasures (book shopping) while the boys were trapped inside new classrooms and having fresh syllabi shoved down their throats.

But then I got over it so … *evil grin*

At first, I picked up “NASCAR for Dummies” because let’s face it – I am a NASCAR dummy. But then “The Girl’s Guide to NASCAR” caught my eye. And when I read that Liz Allison, the author of this book, “has been a veteran of the speedway as a fan, girlfriend, wife, mother and reporter,” I knew this was the perspective I wanted to capture in my story. (And after doing a little research on Ms. Allison, it looks like she’s actually written quite a few NASCAR romance stories herself – JACKPOT!)

I can’t exactly TELL you the plot of the story, I mean, what if I go on to sell this book and make loads of money? Talk about a spoiler. *grin* But I will say that I’m excited about learning more about the sport and about writing this particular story and when you’re a writer? Being excited about a project is always a good thing.

So, I have some research to do. My goal is to have a tentative outline and character sketches drawn up before November 1st so I’ll have a general idea where I want to take this story. And I’m QUITE looking forward to the research part of it so I can impress my husband with all my new-found NASCAR knowledge. hehe

Is anyone else out there thinking about participating in NaNoWriMo this year? If so, do you have any idea what you might like to write? You’ll be hearing about NaNo A LOT on my blog in the coming months, so brace yourself. 🙂

By the way, here’s an amusing time killer: Have an issue? Let a race car driver help you.

Oh, one more thing – here are four race car drivers that I’m thinking about basing my hero on – can you guess which one of the four I have a huge crush on?

Favorite Racecar Drivers

______________________________

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It’s fun!

Prompt Fiction

Picture Fiction: Gemini

Karen

Still busy.

Still INSANELY busy. School starts Monday here and I’m up to my eyeballs posting updates and syllabi on the seven school websites I maintain. Well, actually, I maintain six but I’m uploading a new high school website today! (Ack! Pray it goes well!!)

And I’m finishing templates for a new school website as we speak. (By the way, if your school needs a website, I’m the woman for the job!! Contact me and let’s talk!) I’ll post links to “my” schools soon.

Anyhoo, I don’t have time to write new fiction this week, so I’ll post an oldie (and hopefully a goodie). This was originally published on my self-hosted blog January 11, 2006. It’s what I call “Picture Fiction” – where I take a Creative Commons picture from Flickr and write a short story around it. I should start doing this again – it’s really fun and challenging. *makes note to self*

Catch ya later!

________________________________

Thursday Thread
Thursday is the day I post a bit o’ fiction.

Taking a random photograph from Flickr and weaving a short story around it. It’s Picture Fiction!
null

Gemini

null

There was something wrong with me. I knew it. I felt it. There was a splitting of souls inside the dark, smelly place I called a heart, one good, the other, not so much. I never knew who was in control. The loving husband who doted on his three-year-old son; or the promiscuous thirty-eight year old man who disappeared for hours at a time after work only to collapse on his front stoop, drunk and reeking of urine?

Why can’t I control the blackness? Why do I find myself succumbing to its seductive allure more and more?

I hear Sharon’s cries. I see the confusion in little Anthony. I can smell their fear. I can hear her, I can see him, I can sense their apprehensions, and yet, I do not care. A cold, evil animal lurks deep in my gut and no amount of coaxing will persuade the beast to venture out of his cave and seek the warmth his family offers on a daily basis.

A part of me is scared and dying. It’s as if I’m in a boat, looking toward shore, and see the good part of me sadly waving goodbye. This goodness shrinks with each passing stroke of the oar while the evil monster inside grows in both size and strength hogging the vessel more and more.

I cannot stop it. It has consumed me. The animal has been released and no one dares capture it.

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Sometimes, There Isn’t a Choice

Karen

Thursday Thread
Thursday is the day I post a bit o’ fiction.

This was based on the stranger than fiction headline: Man jailed when daughter fails to get diploma. If you’ve been reading me for any length of time, you had to know this would be the one I chose, right? 😀

____________________________

Sometimes, There Isn’t a Choice

“Dad, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m dropping you off at school,” was his overly sarcastic response.

Leyna released a long pent-up sigh and rolled her eyes. “Duh. I mean, why aren’t you dropping me off at the curb?”

“Because I can’t trust you not to go into the building.”

“What are you kidding me?” Leyna huffed and sank back into the truck seat. “I’m nearly 18. I can do what I want to do.”

“You can do what you want to after you graduate. Right now? I’m making sure you GET that diploma.”

“School SUCKS!” she yelled and chomped on her gum.

Earl’s shoulders slumped and he gave his daughter a wary, side-long glance. “Look Ley,” he began, “you only have six months to go. Six months and you’ll be free to do whatever you want to do. You can get your license …”

She shot him a hateful glance at bringing up that sore subject.

He continued, “You can move out. Get your own job, your own money, live your life however you want to but for right now, for the next six months at least, you have to go to school. And you HAVE to go to class. If you miss any more school, you’re not going to have the credits you need TO graduate. Don’t you understand that?”

“I’m not stupid, dad,” she said succinctly, the words oozing venom.

“That I’m quite sure of,” he answered back despondently.

“I wish mom were here.”

He ran a hand over his tired eyes and returned his gaze to the numerous cars moving at a snail’s pace in the school parking lot before answering. “Well, she’s not, okay? So … we’ll just have to deal with all of this without her.”

“I hate this,” she hissed out while shooting venomous looks toward the school building.

“No one likes high school, Ley. That’s just the way it works, buck up.”

“The teachers are stupid. The other kids are idiots – I’m like surrounded by insanity. Why can’t I just drop out and get a job?”

“And what kind of job are you going to get if you don’t have a diploma? Flipping burgers?” He snorted in disgust.

“Mom didn’t finish high school and look at her.”

“Yes, let’s look at her for a minute, shall we?” he snapped back.

Leyna blinked in surprise. Her father never raised his voice with her. She sat up a little straighter and looked at him with new interest.

“One,” he ticked off on his fingers, “your mother didn’t graduate from high school and in fact, quit when she was a junior.” He shot her a meaningful glance. “Two, your mother has never held a job for longer than three months – ever.” Yet again another quick glance at her as he navigated traffic. “Three, she quit our marriage. She never even gave us a fighting chance.” He said quietly. He paused for long moments before clearing his throat and continuing. “But the one I can not ever forgive her for, the one thing that I think she quit that is truly unforgiveable?” He turned to look at her. “She quit being a mother to you. What kind of person leaves her child, Leyna? Do you think your mother has led, or is possibly leading a better life now? Is that what you want from your life?”

Leyna squirmed and stared with unusual interest at her backpack. She absently fingered the zipper before answering. “Not really.”

“That is exactly the sort of life you’re going to have if you don’t finish what you started. Sure it’s hard. Sure it sucks. But if you don’t finish, then you’re just setting yourself up to fail later. And I don’t know about you, but no daughter of mine is going to fail.”

Leyna immediately stiffened at his words. “I can do what I damn well please.”

“Not on my watch, you’re not,” he answered while pulling up to the door.

“You can’t make me do anything, dad.” Leyna tilted her chin and looked down her nose defiantly.

“Leyna …” he began before issuing a sigh. “Grow up.”

She blinked in surprise at him again. Why was he being so harsh with her? Her chin dropped an inch and doubt began to swallow her confidence. “Why are you making me do this, dad? You’ve never made me do something I didn’t want to do in the past.”

“And I regret that now,” he shot back without blinking an eye. “I’ve been too easy on you, Ley. Mainly because I felt bad about Zoe leaving. But I realize now that that attitude has only hurt you, and not helped you. Look,” he jerked the transmission into park and twisted to give her his full attention. “We have a lot of issues, Leyna. Issues that are actually a lot of my fault. I’d like to talk about these things but,” he glanced around, “this isn’t really the time or place to talk about all of that. But I’m going to tell you something and I want you to listen.”

Leyna slipped on her dark sunglasses and pushed them into place on her nose. This was a side of her father she had never seen before and she wasn’t quite sure how to process the emotional influx that suddenly closed around her heart.

“I got a call from the school board a few days ago.”

Leyna’s spine started tingling and she could feel a headache tickling her temples.

“If you skip any more school, they will be forced to file charges against me. Do you want to see me go to jail?”

Leyna’s eyes widened at the news. “Oh, come on. They can’t do that, can they? How can they do that?” her voice rose with each word until it was hovering just below hysteria.

“It’s a law, Leyna. Parents are required to make sure their children receive an education. You’re not in school, so how can you be getting that education?”

“Dad,” Leyna whined.

“Do it for me, Ley,” he said quietly.

Leyna continued to stare at her father. She was certainly surprised to hear that the school had contacted her father, though she supposed it was bound to happen. She had indeed been skipping too much. At first, it started with leaving after lunch. And when nothing was said about her absence in her afternoon classes, she began skipping a day here and there. And still, when no one called her on it, she began skipping consecutive days – now she was lucky if she made it a full day in a week’s time.

It’s not that she wanted her father to get into trouble, but she just couldn’t stand the whole dull routine of going to class. She felt like a piece of meat being lead by the nose from one stall to another to be closely examined and criticized for her actions and thoughts.

She wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on the fact that she didn’t understand half of what they were trying to teach her and she was too embarrassed to ask for help.

She blinked back the sudden moisture in her eyes and without another word, snatched up her backpack and slid out of the truck. She slammed the door shut, purposefully not meeting her father’s gentle hazel eyes and maintaining a purposeful stride, she entered the torture chamber.

“Whoa Leyna, you’re here!” Her best friend, Peaches, greeted her just inside the door. “What’s up girlfriend? I thought we were going to meet at Starbucks in about,” she glanced at her black, alligator skin watch with the lime-green triangle face before continuing, “ten minutes. What are you doing here?”

Leyna lifted her sunglasses to her head with one hand and thumbed behind her to indicate her father’s truck, still idle at the curb with the other.

“Ah. The old man is watching you, eh?” She gave her friend a knowing wink. “Let’s move in a bit so he can’t see you anymore.” She took her arm and they moved into the sea of students surrounding them. “Give it a few minutes, he’ll take off.”

Both girls glanced back out the doors and when Leyna’s father moved back into the flow of traffic, she released a sigh of relief. “Wow. He was really riding me today,” Leyna complained before rudely popping a bubble.

“Yeah, parents.” Peaches rolled her eyes and then started toward the front door. She glanced back when she realized that Leyna wasn’t with her. “Are you coming?”

Leyna shuffled her feet and looked down at her holey black Converse sneakers. “Um, I’m thinking I might stick around today.”

Peaches burst out laughing and then realizing her friend was serious, immediately sobered. She quickly glanced around before moving to stand in front of her. “Are you nuts?” she asked, the glitter from her lip gloss sparkling in the overhead light. “We’re so far behind now, we’ll never catch up. It’s too late, man. Sticking around is just a waste of time. Let’s go grab a coffee.”

Leyna licked her lips and looked longingly at the front door of the school. Bright sunlight bounced off the sidewalk and shimmered around the bare branches of the trees. It was almost as if it was opening its arms and inviting her to appreciate its beauty.

She didn’t want her father to get into trouble, but Peaches was right. It had been so long since she had been to class, she knew she was several assignments behind. It really wouldn’t do any good to go to class – she had waited too long to listen to her subconscious.

“Right. Let’s go.”

Peaches looked relieved and smiled. She hooked an arm through Leyna’s and fell into step beside her; they headed toward the front door. They had just reached the point where they had exited through one glass door and was getting ready to exit the second glass door to the outside when Leyna stopped cold in her tracks. Peaches stumbled.

“What the … what are you doing?”

Leyna nodded toward the husky, attractive man with a slight limp coming toward them. “My father,” she swallowed and stared at the male moving toward them, his steps determined, his jaw set. “He’s back.”

Prompt Fiction

Fiction: Haircut Hotties

Karen

Thursday Thread
Thursday is the day I post a bit o’ fiction.

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Haircut Hotties

“Oh come on mom, do we have to?” Dustin whined from the back seat of the car.

“Please don’t start on me, Dustin. I’m getting a headache.” Janet leaned forward to look at the overcast sky. Even though she did indeed get headaches when the weather changed, she highly suspected the real reason her head was starting to pound was because it was time to take the boys to get their haircut.

She hated taking her boys to get their haircut.

“But I just got a haircut,” Dustin lamented.

“That was nearly three months ago, right after you got out of school.”

“Yeah, and?”

Janet sighed and pinched her nose to try and ward off the impending pressure. “Seriously, don’t. You need a haircut, end of story.”

“But this makes like the millionth time,” her pre-teen son said while slumping down in his seat and crossing his arms in a huff.

“Right. So what’s one more?”

Dustin mumbled something incoherent – Janet felt it was wiser to ignore his disgruntled mumblings.

“Where are we going?” Her teenage son muttered in the seat next to her.

“Do I have to actually grace that with an answer?” Janet ground her teeth and made a left turn.

“I mean,” Robert said with exaggerated patience, “I thought that haircut place was the other way.” He sat up a little straighter in his seat and looked around with growing interest. “Where the hell …”

“Robert,” she warned and her son issued a long-suffering sigh. She didn’t exactly oppose cursing, God knew she had a problem with it herself, but it somehow sounded more … obscene coming from her children’s’ mouths.

“Okay, where the HECK are you taking us, mom?” Robert smirked and shot her a cheeky look.

“We’re trying a new place.” She braced for the impact.

She wasn’t disappointed.

“What?!” Robert’s deep brown eyes widened in sudden terror. Her nearly 17-year old son abhorred change of any kind. “But I was used to the other place.”

“Yeah, but they take forever and I don’t feel like waiting around twenty minutes for them to get started on you.”

“That’s only if you don’t have an appointment,” Robert smirked.

“We have had appointments every time we’ve gone there, Rob.” She shot him an impatient glance. “Look. The ladies are nice there, and they do a good job, but you have to admit, they are sloooow. I have things to do. I can’t afford to sit around all afternoon while they gab and snip. Wouldn’t you rather get back home so you can bury your nose in your new game?”

Robert shrugged and Janet savored this one small victory. There weren’t many victories nowadays; she would take what she could get.

“So, this new place …” Robert began, his eyebrows disappearing into his shaggy bangs.

“Is different,” Janet answered and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wasn’t exactly sure how her boys would react when they reached the new place.

“What’s it called?” Robert asked.

Janet waved a nonchalant hand and murmured her response.

“Wait, I didn’t catch that. What is it again?” Robert turned to give her his full attention and she sensed Dustin leaning forward from the back seat.

“Uh, well,” she gulped, “I think it’s called ‘Cut by Hotties.’”

Dustin burst out laughing and Robert stroked the peach fuzz on his upper lip. “I think I’ve heard of that place,” Robert said with a grin.

“Yeah well …” Janet wasn’t sure how Robert had heard about the revolutionary barber shop and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, quite frankly, but she was ready to try anything if it meant she wouldn’t be forced to sit and watch testosterone-driven movies for two hours while the boys got worked on at the other place.

The boys had never liked getting their haircut. Even when they were little, they would bicker, cry and generally throw a fit anytime anyone showed up with a pair of scissors in their hand. And though they had mellowed over time, it still wasn’t top on their priority list. They were beyond the causing a scene stage now, but their stony silence and their heated looks nearly always made the stylists nervous causing them to either not take off enough so that Janet had to trim them up when they got home, or they would take off too much and Janet would be forced to listen to them whine and complain until it grew back to an acceptable (and unruly) length.

As a result of the haircut drama over the years, she took them to several different places, always looking for that one stylist who would cut their hair like they wanted or who wouldn’t tremble under their obstinate behavior.

So far, they had all failed to stand up to the boys’ unrealistic expectations.

She had stopped taking them to her stylist years ago simply because she got tired of having to explain her sons’ behavior every time she went in for a color and a trim. She could understand the boys’ reluctance to have anyone touch them or put their fingers in their hair, but enough was enough. Everyone had to have their haircut at some point – it was no big deal.

She pulled into the shopping center and parked the dark blue Corolla in front of the ‘Cut by Hotties’ shop.

No one moved.

The trio sat in the car, all eyes trained on the activities inside the salon. The place was crawling with pretty girls hovering over numerous men in barber chairs. Several men were sitting along the front wall in various stages of having their hair worked on. One man was in a reclined position and was eagerly exposing his neck for a shave. Another man was talking animatedly and using his hands to make his point while keeping his eyes trained on his stylist in the mirror. Yet another man, his back to his stylist was seemingly staring straight at them.

“What’s that dude staring at us for?”

Janet felt a slow flush creep up her neck and cleared her throat. “I really have no …”

She paused as something caught her attention in her peripheral. Two women, both attractive and both wearing what looked like a skimpy uniform, were ambling toward the front door of the salon. One wore comfortable flips-flops, the soles slapped softly on the warm pavement; the other woman wore three-inch backless baby blue heels and looked like she was about ready to topple over trying to walk in them.

“I, uh,” Janet began while pointing to the women. “I’m assuming he’s staring at them.”

The man in the salon wasn’t the only person staring at the women. Robert was staring so hard his glasses began to steam.

“I remember this place now,” Robert said slowly. “It’s like a place for guys to come and get their hair done and,” he jerked his head back to the salon, his eyes greedily scanning over the girls in short red skirts and tight multi-layered black and red spaghetti strapped tunics, “the stylists are supposed to be hot.”

“Yes, well.” Robert’s interest was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable. “It’s for guys and I thought, uh, you might feel more comfortable here,” she finished weakly.

“Cool, let’s go.”

Before Janet could remove her keys from the ignition, Robert and Dustin were out of the car and opening the door to the salon.

“Swell,” Janet mumbled while dropping her keys into her purse. She rolled her eyes and slowly followed her boys into the salon. She noted the “Please tip the girls” sign prominently displayed on the glass door.

Just what kind of a tip are we talking about here? Janet thought as she approached the bubbly brunette behind the counter. “Uh, hi,” she began feeling immediately intimidated by the pretty girl and self-conscious that she was the only female customer in the place. “Robert and Dustin for one o’clock.”

“Right,” the girl responded while chomping on her gum. “We’re all ready for them. Won’t you have a seat?”

Janet looked around but couldn’t see anywhere to sit down. “Where do I sit?”

“Oh,” the girl waved a manicured hand airily behind her, “Just take one of those massage chairs, if you want. They’re quite comfortable.”

Janet slowly walked back to the red leather chairs and sank down, her buttocks perched primly on the edge. She gripped her purse and stared up at the big screen TV – it was tuned to a sports’ channel.

She had never felt so exposed in all her life. Now she knew how men felt when they went into a more traditional salon.

She didn’t like the feeling.

She cleared her throat and tried to look around without actually meeting anyone’s eyes. Maybe her boys wouldn’t like this place either and they could go back to a more traditional-style salon – one that smelled like hair dye and fingernail polish remover.

Janet finally located her boys. They were side-by-side and caught up in a conversation with their stylists.

They didn’t look unhappy. In fact, they looked like they were in a trance, a silly, sappy grin plastered on both of their faces. Robert caught her eye in the mirror at his station and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

Janet carefully schooled her face into a mask of indifference, yet she doubted if anyone would have noticed the lone, frumpy woman in the red leather chair anyway. She gave Robert a little wave as she blindly dug into her bag for her cell phone. As discreetly as possible, she speed-dialed her best friend, Tonya.

“Tonya?” she began, her voice balanced somewhere between amused and worried, “you know that restaurant Hooters?” She waited until Tonya responded before continuing. “Well, we now have a Hooter’s for Hair. Guard your husband, it’s enemy territory over here.”