I have been somewhat willfully practicing the art of avoidance. I have it nearly down to a science but the flair and showmanship with which I practice, keeps it in the realm of art, I believe. I have been avoiding writing. You see, my editor voice is powerful, so powerful that it eclipses my creative voice...you know, the one that actually puts pen to paper and well, writes stuff. The editor is constantly talking, "That stinks. Who told you to write? Your grammar is atrocious and you have quite a limited vocabulary. No one wants to read this junk...you have nothing to say." She is a little obnoxious but I have grown so accustomed to her nearly constant bullying that we are now BFF's. Of course, nothing gets done when she is around, but whatever. Except, Little Brother is also a rather strong voice in my head, and also my phone. He is constantly sending me texts and quotes reminding me to just do it. In an attempt to actually finish something...anything, I decided to write the world's shortest short story, just to have a beginning, middle and end. I am the queen of starting stuff that I never finish. In my defense, Little Sister and Little Brother are the prince and princess of this kingdom. We will get group therapy as soon as we can afford it.
Sally Buckley was nobody’s mother. She was nobody’s wife either. She had been once, but that was over. She was nobody’s anything. Sally Buckley simply was. And today, as usual, she was walking up Highland Street. She walked up Highland Street because down Highland Street was a dead end.
“Good marnin’ Ms. Buckley.”
“And to you, Alfred.”
“Shall I be gettin’ yer usual, Ma’am?”
“Aye. And I’ll be needin’ a roll of Polos as well.”
“Here you are, Ms. Buckley.”
She tucked the Daily Inquisitor under her arm and the mints into her brassiere.
Rube, he thought.
Dullard, she thought
Each smiled at the other. With that, Sally Buckley walked away from Alfred Buckley’s newsstand and down Highland Street. She walked down Highland Street because her flat was one block shy of the dead end.
Quote of the Day: "When it is your time to write, write." Natalie Goldberg writer