(no subject)
on a more serious note...i've been trying to really dedicate myself to some writing and publishing this semester, but i'm not really having much luck. i wouldn't call it "writer's block" really, it's more like a stall-out. i'm fucking puttering on paper. i keep coming up with these little pieces of openings to short stories that aren't going anywhere.
read 'em anyway...tell me what you think. tell me where you see some promise...
1.) "I swear Barbie Jean, you could eat offa' your floors."
Barbie Jean would always smile politely when the compliment inevitably came up. She'd turn away and her round face would take on a pinkish shade. Most of her guests though that mousey little homemaker was proud, that she was blushing.
He called the carpet Berber and he'd installed it himself. Crookedly. All over the house. Slices of bare plywood cut the room into shards and sometimes she'd snag a sock on a loose tack. Sometimes it was a toe. It wasn't Berber. It was that indoor/outdoor shit. The kind of stuff they make gas station rugs out of.
Barbie Jean never walked around barefoot anymore. Not like back at home in her Mama's trailer where the world was wall-to-wall shag, cool linoleum in the appropriate places. Her feet got raw on his "Berber". She couldn't sink her long toes in with a sigh.
(this is going in a morbid direction, the floor is so clean 'cause the vacuum noise covers up her crying.)
2.) Flora wiggled through the crawlspace like a fat night crawler. She was looking for her left shoe.
3.) By the time they saw the gray, industrial clouds of Detroit, the smoke stacks on the horizon, Violet could feel warm piss pooling in her white cotton panties. She squeezed her eyes closed tight and tried to imaging all things dry - a desert landscape, the crunch of the backyard during last year's drought, Aunt Stella's "world famous" fruit cake. She tried to ignore the jab of elbows in both of her sides. Daddy had no time for pit stops on this trip north. She hadn't even packed a change of clothes for herself, just crammed a few things in an overnight bag for Phillip and Little Ray. The fish had been biting down at Caney Creek that day. And between the five of them, they'd caught a whole mess of bluegill and three fat cat fish to fry.
"I'm sorry, but my bladder's about to bust." It was a genuine apology, no trace of teenage sarcasm. And Violet hated her own bodily flids for interrupting her mother's tears.
"I know it, Vi." Daddy muttered, eyes on the road. "We're almost there, I swear."
read 'em anyway...tell me what you think. tell me where you see some promise...
1.) "I swear Barbie Jean, you could eat offa' your floors."
Barbie Jean would always smile politely when the compliment inevitably came up. She'd turn away and her round face would take on a pinkish shade. Most of her guests though that mousey little homemaker was proud, that she was blushing.
He called the carpet Berber and he'd installed it himself. Crookedly. All over the house. Slices of bare plywood cut the room into shards and sometimes she'd snag a sock on a loose tack. Sometimes it was a toe. It wasn't Berber. It was that indoor/outdoor shit. The kind of stuff they make gas station rugs out of.
Barbie Jean never walked around barefoot anymore. Not like back at home in her Mama's trailer where the world was wall-to-wall shag, cool linoleum in the appropriate places. Her feet got raw on his "Berber". She couldn't sink her long toes in with a sigh.
(this is going in a morbid direction, the floor is so clean 'cause the vacuum noise covers up her crying.)
2.) Flora wiggled through the crawlspace like a fat night crawler. She was looking for her left shoe.
3.) By the time they saw the gray, industrial clouds of Detroit, the smoke stacks on the horizon, Violet could feel warm piss pooling in her white cotton panties. She squeezed her eyes closed tight and tried to imaging all things dry - a desert landscape, the crunch of the backyard during last year's drought, Aunt Stella's "world famous" fruit cake. She tried to ignore the jab of elbows in both of her sides. Daddy had no time for pit stops on this trip north. She hadn't even packed a change of clothes for herself, just crammed a few things in an overnight bag for Phillip and Little Ray. The fish had been biting down at Caney Creek that day. And between the five of them, they'd caught a whole mess of bluegill and three fat cat fish to fry.
"I'm sorry, but my bladder's about to bust." It was a genuine apology, no trace of teenage sarcasm. And Violet hated her own bodily flids for interrupting her mother's tears.
"I know it, Vi." Daddy muttered, eyes on the road. "We're almost there, I swear."