Take a Deep Breath

Before every performance, I placed bets with Chris, my boss, as to how many patrons would end up crying by the end of my rendition of “Leaving on a Jet Plane”. The last strum of my guitar produced exactly zero tragedy and total comedy as a group of people, not even listening to me, burst into laughter. I owed Chris ten bucks.

Most of the regulars were here today including Mister Jones with his service dog. His hand-carved cane draped casually on the back of the faded, peach toned, hand painted chair. His left leg shaking as he rapidly tapped the heel of his foot on the wide-plank pine floor. I knew he wasn't listening to my set either. Jones usually turned off his hearing aid the minute he walked through the door at Abacus Coffee House.

I got things together for my next song and glanced at the clock. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate Chris letting me sing during my break but I belted out my heart to a total of about five people on any given day. I mean, who goes for coffee at 4:00 in the afternoon? Medical pros and contractors made up our mini 3:00 rush but this was our slowest hour. It's why he gave me the time but obviously that’s a double edged sword.

The door opened and a stocky guy in a heather gray suit entered as I started up my final song. A cover of Jewel's “You were Meant for Me”. Right in my wheelhouse. Also, perfect for the coffee house crowd ignoring my every move. It was one of those songs that could really take your breath away from melancholy if you listened to the lyrics. Or, it could just as easily fade into the background if you were in the middle of formatting a spreadsheet in the corner of a brightly lit coffee shop. Not when Jewel sings it, of course, but for me that was the usual way of things.

I wrapped up with a ‘thank you so much’ and two people actually clapped, a cursory quadruple clap. Hey, I'd take it. I went to stow my guitar and grab my apron from the office. As my foot crossed the threshold into the tiny room, hardly big enough for the desk, chair, and my guitar case, let alone another person, a hand tapped my shoulder. I spun around to face Mister Fancy Gray Suit. A to-go cup in a cardboard hand protector in one hand, laptop case slung across his chest like he was a bike messenger.

He didn't say a word just winked and handed me a business card. Before I had a chance to look at the card he spun around and took a quick clip to the exit. I was confused but looked down at the card in my hand. White cardstock, a photo of him on one side and a shooting star wrapped around the words Talent Agency. As the words sunk in, I noticed an address, name, phone number, and email address. Wait, what?

My knees almost gave out so I sunk into the chair, still holding my guitar. I stared at the card for what felt like twenty minutes. Lincoln Forrest. Talent agent. And he handed this 2x3 opportunity to me. He saw something in my performance. The one song the guy heard was enough to elicit a card. He wanted me to call him. I could have an agent. I could finally be on track to do what I'd dreamed about doing for the last 15 years.

Just then, Chris popped his head back and asked if I was planning to finish my shift. He disappeared before I could answer. Before my mouth found the ability to again form simple words. My eyes filled with emotion as I realized, this shift could finally be one of my last.

Written above, Take a Deep Breath, inspired by this roll of Rory’s Story Cubes.

If you enjoyed this story, in my new flash fiction series, please share the link, leave me a comment, and don’t forget to come back next month for the next story! You can sign up to get my blogs in email so you don’t miss anything.

I post every Friday, flash fiction stories on the 4^th Friday of every month.

Thanks for reading!

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Three Hours in Suburbia

We only left the house an hour ago but it feels like we’ve been driving for a week. Another job out of town. Why can’t these rich people live closer into the city? Closer to my house? Maybe someday I’d know what it was like to live the life of the wealthy suburbanite. Know what it’s like to afford someone like me. I’d be one step closer by the end of today’s job.

My driver caught the song drifting from the door speakers and leaned over to turn up the radio station. “Bridge Over Troubled Water”. My face fell. It felt like a slap. Too kind. Too close a metaphor for my life. I leaned in to turn it back down and, out of habit, glanced at the clock.

The digital clock on the console stopped working at least a year ago. Something else broken in my strange life. I looked down at my watch. Fifteen minutes shy of five o clock. Just a few minutes out now. I ran a mental check of my list of tools in the trunk, trying to remember if I’d packed everything I’d need to successfully pull this thing off. The flashlight. Magnifying glass. Air pump. Everything accounted for.

With a sigh I reached into the backseat and retrieved my shoes. I leaned forward to put the shoes on my bare feet. I hated wearing such heavy shoes in the car but we were running late and I had no choice. I checked my appearance in the visor mirror. Honestly I had no idea why I even checked, things never changed. With a shrug I pushed the visor against the roof. But I still felt antsy. Unsettled.

Though I'd done jobs like this at least a thousand times, today I felt extra fidgety. I pulled the compass out of my pocket and ran a thumb across the warmed brass. Nana's compass. The only piece of equipment she had to get her out of there during the war. Now it was mine. And I never went anywhere without her good luck charm. The arrow pointed Northeast.

My driver leaned over to turn the radio back up and she started singing along with the chorus of some pop song I’d never even heard before. I sighed, rolled my eyes, and pulled out my cell phone to check on things for the final stage.

"Are we cleared for the escape route?"

I received a return text message of just 2 words - "all good" – in less than a minute. The time was near. The getaway was set. We entered the neighborhood. Another swath of beautiful land fallen victim to suburban sprawl. Plant a seed, sprout a house.

As we traversed the streets, I looked intently at each of the homes. Large. Varying shades of tan. Predictable for a developer’s neighborhood. No more than 3 floor plans. Some facades had an inset front door, others displayed a rounded front entrance. Built to look like a castle turret. Cookie cutter. Lame. Every house the same, every neighbor the same, every day the same. But not today. Today was sure to cause some excitement by the end of things.

We pulled over diagonally across the street from my target. A house built on the outskirts of the neighborhood. In the larger plots. It had a turret and at least an acre surrounded the property. Almost isolated. Neighbors would never even hear the screams.

As I got out of the passenger side I spotted the hot air balloon. Splayed out, ready for filling. About ready to carry me out of here. The operator and I nodded at each other as if to solidify the text messages we’d sent just five minutes before. My driver didn't get out but popped the trunk. I pulled out my duffle bag and made my way back around to the window on the driver’s side.

“Three hours. Max. See you at the meet point.”

My driver nodded and sped away leaving me alone in the street with only the hot air balloon to get me out. Everything planned to perfection. I nodded my resolve.

Walking to the front door proved a challenge in my large shoes but I made it, took a deep breath, adjusted my wig and nose then rang the bell. I plastered on my huge, makeup enhanced smile just as the door swung open.

Assaulted by a sea of wealthy nine-year-olds all I could ask was, "Okay, where's the birthday girl?!"

Written above, Three Hours in Suburbia, inspired by this roll of Rory's Story Cubes.

If you enjoyed this story, the first in my new flash fiction series, please share the link, leave me a comment, and don’t forget to come back in June for the next story! You can sign up to get my blogs in email so you don’t miss anything.

I post every Friday, flash fiction stories on the 4^th Friday of every month.

Thanks for reading!

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

New Feature Rory’s Story Cube Inspired Flash Fiction

I realized two things the other day. First, Matt gave me a really cool Christmas gift last year that I’ve been struggling to figure out how to use. Second, I need to get back into short story writing again.

Specifically, flash fiction.

Technically, flash fiction word count ranges from about 300 to 1500 words. That was where I got my start as a fiction writer.

My countless journals are a testament to that fact. And I kinda miss the style of shorter pieces. Words must all have impact. There’s no time for fluff. Dialogue is only there to further a characteristic or a plot point. Nothing meanders.

Luckily, Matt’s gift is the perfect way to inspire myself into some flash fiction.

And thus, a new blog feature was born!

The gift in question, Rory’s Story Cubes, are nine dice cubes, all with six sides a piece. The object is to put them in the bag, spin the bag string around your finger, and smack yourself in the brain with a basic layout for a fun story.

Yes, yes, I know. You’re only supposed to figuratively smack yourself with inspired brilliance.

Roll the dice out of the bag and use the images to jolt a creative burst.

I tried it today and I’m already hooked.

The images are great, multiple definitions and meanings are possible even in the same image. That’s because meanings can be inferred from the context of the cube images as a whole, whatever comes to mind first per image, or any combination of both of those concepts.

Actually, there are endless combinations! (Okay, to be fair, there is a real number and I think it has something to do with “to the power of” or “x is equal to y” but that involves a level of math I don’t feel comfortable trying so I’m just sticking to words.)

So here’s the picture of the roll I’m using to start this up next month. What do you think? What are some things you might associate with the images?

Like I said, I’m already hooked. I’ve got an outline and some story written for this roll already.

I’m going to make a go at doing this as a once a month feature here on the blog and we’ll see where it goes from there.

So if you want to check out some new flash fiction every month, come on over every forth Friday. The first story goes up on May 25, 2018. 

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In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.