The Race

-
Chilled, sterile air filled the hotel room. The air conditioning was hardly necessary, and yet she left it on. Over her shoulder, she could see the harbor, and the tops of some palm trees through the gauzy sheer curtain. She sliced into the pink flesh of her steak. Being in Sydney felt good, even alone.

The television was inexplicably tuned to a sports channel. A horse race was in progress until it wasn't. A horse fell, then two more, calling over it, and finally a third stumbled and crashed down. The last seemed to have landed on its neck. She swallowed the unchewed meat in her mouth.  The camera left the track for brief moments to show the tears on the faces of wealthy women in brightly colored hats. One of them was an owner of the third horse. Why the tears? Crystal wondered. Were they for the animal? For the loss of a trophy? Jockeys soothed their charges, to no avail. All four were put down within minutes.

She pushed the plate of food away from her and left it to go cold. Taking up her evening bag and coat, she clicked the television off on her way to the door. Tom Burlinson's live concert awaited her in the Harbor. She heard the unbroadcast screams and cracking of bones for years to come.


Open the door...tell your best story with my workshops.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Paris, She Is My Heart

-
Image
I'ts no secret that Paris is my favorite city in the world. I want to write a whole collection of stories set there. I love the glamour of it, and of course the romance of it. But I also want my stories to have a realness about them. I want to show what the city can be in many aspects, not just one of tourist dreams. I'm still not sure how to accomplish that. And a city like Paris is almost too broad, too full of endless scenes with an infinite number of characters. So one story might take place in a cafe, another in the Georges V, another in an apartment with a distant view of Sacre Coeur. Who knows where my heart will take me. What would be your favorite city for a story to be set in? Open the door...tell your best story with one of my workshops .
Read more

The Voices We Need to Hear

-
Image
Just as there are voices we must not listen to , especially that of our own inner critic, there are other voices we need to hear: those of what I like to call our Soul Posse. These are the people who are always there to listen, who never tell you to give up, and who remind you to remember the best of yourself. In his book On Writing , Stephen King speaks of a time when his mother told him a story he'd written was good enough to be in a book. "Nothing anyone has ever said to me since has made me feel any happier," he writes. I have been blessed with many such moments from friends and loved ones alike. One day my own mom told me in the middle of some pity party I was throwing for myself, that I musn't ever stop writing. An email I received from a friend who is an executive in television production said in of a spec script I'd sent him of New Girls: "If I were hiring for this show, you'd be a staff writer today." And sometimes it's just as sim
Read more

Only in New York

-
Image
I was crossing 9th Avenue in New York City one morning, along with a few other people, including the older woman who was in front of me. Memory tells me that she appeared to be in her 60s and had wispy, mud-brown hair with some gray streaks in it. She may have had on a sweater or a coat, and a dress underneath.  I believe she may have carried at least one shopping bag in addition to a purse. But there was no mistaking, she walked with a cane. As the small group of us moved across the street, a taxi cab made a left turn from 42nd Street in front of us—well, in front of the her. It passed right in front of her, and yet, I never had the impression that she was in danger of getting hit. Still, it made her angry, and understandably so. As the cab passed in front of her, she took her can in whacked the bumper with it! On a different day, in the same general area of Times Square, yet another older woman walked in front of me. I’m not as clear in my mind about what she looked like,
Read more