Shifting Gears

Two months. Sixty days. It doesn't sound like a lot, but it is. At least to me. After pushing aside my interest in fiction writing for months and years at a time, I have managed to write something new every single day for 60 days.

So what does this mean? It means I've maintained a daily writing habit. Not only does this thrill me in and of itself, it makes me anxious to keep up what I've started. I am determined not to break this habit. I also recognize small improvements in my skills, which means I've achieved another of my goals for this exercise. But most of all, I have seen that I'm capable of being creative every time I face a blank page, whether I feel like being creative or not. It's inspiring and liberating. Writer's block can't rule me any more.

Now I'm beginning to feel a desire to focus my writing on something longer and more complete. And so, I've decided to shift my daily writing in March from the DWD exercises to a complete short story. To that end, I will continue to write daily, but I won't be sharing the work for a bit.  (Sorry!)

When I need a break from the longer piece, or when I am between pieces, I will return to creating Daily Writing Disasters. In the meantime, I hope to accomplish something new. Wish me luck!

2016 – Day 60

Sarah rode on her dad's shoulders as he moved through the crowd. The fourth of July fireworks had finished seconds before, and she could still picture the colors appearing and dissolving in the nighttime sky. Her favorite moments were when the fireworks stayed lit as they fell toward the Charles River, illuminating the boats packed in tightly beneath them.

The crowd pushed and jostled, and Sarah grabbed tighter to the top of her dad's Red Sox cap and dug her legs into his sides.

"Ow, pumpkin!" he said. "Ease up on that grip."

Sarah loosened her hold slightly, but she felt uneasy and unsteady above the sea of bodies flowing to the roped off exits from the Esplanade. She turned to the left and saw her mom walking just behind them carrying the blanket and backpack that had been full of snacks hours before, but now just held trash. The thought of the snacks while weaving above the crowds made her queasy and she called out to her dad below.

"I don't feel well," she said.

"We'll be out soon," he said, patting her on the shin with his right hand.

The crowd surrounding them grew loud and boisterous. Kids excitedly recounted the biggest explosions while their parents gripped their hands and pulled them along. Older teens casually swore and shoved each other out of the way as the flow of bodies packed them closer together. Although she was mostly above everyone, Sarah felt packed in and stuck. She suddenly needed to feel the firm ground beneath her feet.

"I want to get down," she said.

"It's too crowded," her dad said.

"No, I have to get down."

"Honey, there's no room for me to swing you to the ground. It's too packed."

"I have to!" The panic started in her chest and moved up to her throat where she felt unable to swallow her own saliva.

"Sarah, please behave," her mom called from behind. "We'll be out soon."

Sarah wanted to behave, but the anxiety felt ready to burst from her chest.

"Now, daddy! Get me down now!!"

Sarah felt her dad's arms on her legs then a quick lifting motion as she was brought over his head and down to the ground. The people directly around them turned to stare at the source of the screaming, but soon turned back to move in the direction everyone was pushing toward. Sarah grabbed her dad's hand and began to walk with the crowd. She liked the firmness of the ground beneath her feet. But the pushing was firm too, and she narrowly avoided being stepped on by one person, then another. 

The closer they got to the exit, the tighter the crowd became. A man in front of Sarah dropped a miniature cooler, and Sarah had to let go of her dad's hand to avoid tripping over it. At that moment, the crowd surged forward in a new attempt to break free of the ropes setting off the fireworks viewing area. Sarah was swept to the right, away from her parents.

2016 – Day 59

They sat on a park bench, new and gleaming in the sun from a protective glaze that coated the wooden seat and back. Bella pictured the old benches that creaked from years in the sun and rain, and grew to feel too soft for what one expected when sitting down on them. She and Edgar had sat on the benches when they were first dating and growing brave enough to make it public. They would sit close together, facing each other and talking in endless streams about nothing of importance and then kissing anytime the conversation took a quiet pause.

Now they sat at opposite ends, bodies facing forward, their heads turning only to talk. The breakup had already happened the week prior and Edgar had gone to stay with his brother Leonard. But he had not moved out his stuff and Bella took that as a good sign. He agreed to meet on a lunch break, now half over with hardly any conversation.

"I talked to my father yesterday," Bella said.

"Oh, yeah?"

"He asked if I'd returned the ring. Funny that's the first thing he wanted to be sure of."

Edgar nodded and chuckled.

"You didn't have to return it, you know," he said. "Our finances are so intertwined, it's probably half yours."

"I don't think I could sell it. Probably would stick it in a drawer. Bring it out anytime I needed a good cry."

"Don't say that," he said.

She saw him look at her then turn his head down to stare at his feet. She had read once in a magazine about body posture and how to know when someone is interested, simply by the way he stood or sat. Legs crossed toward you was a sure sign of interest. Bella watched Edgar shift in his seat. He crossed his right leg over his left, sending it pointing away from her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's hard for me to explain what changed. I know it's confusing. It is for me, too."

Bella nodded. She wanted to point out that nothing was the same for him as it was for her since he had made the unanimous decision to call off their engagement. Regardless of how confused he was, or said he was, he'd made the choice for both of them. But she wasn't interested in putting him on the defensive and starting a new fight. She wanted to hold onto her hope.

"What if we tried again?" she asked. "Maybe the week apart is what you needed. Your things are still at home..."

"I was actually going to email you today, before you called. I'm arranging for movers to come on Friday for my things. I can come pack up on Thursday while you're at work. So I don't disturb you."

It was her turn to look down at her feet. She saw that she was sitting with her legs crossed at the ankles, toes pointed toward Edgar. She uncrossed them and crossed them again to point in the other direction, but she felt no comfort or relief in trying to reject him back. Her shoulders slumped over and she felt the crying erupt deep within then travel slowly from her core to burn a path down her cheeks.

2016 – Day 58

Mila trudged through the trees behind the new house. Tired of crying about the 2,000-mile move cross-country and unwilling to listen to her parents argue about where to place the divan, she had wandered out the back door, through the backyard gate, and into the forest that stretched for miles beyond. Sunlight broke through the trees, causing her to squint and throw up her hands for shade. She pressed on, pushing aside small branches and wading through the deepening pine needle cover on the forest floor. Behind her, the house was no longer in view.

Soon she came upon a large fallen tree. It had no leaves but the trunk was still solid, so she hauled herself up and reached her arms out for balance as she looked around. To her left and right she saw nothing but more trees, but straight ahead, barely visible through the dense branches, there was something else. Something bright blue. Mila looked up at the sky, trying to judge how much longer the sun would light her way. Then she climbed down and began walking in the direction where she had seen the blue.

As she walked, she sometimes got glimpses of it through the trees, though she still could not tell what it was. Other times, she lost sight of it and had to trust that she was still going in the right direction. After what seemed like hours, though likely it was less, she pushed aside a large branch and found herself in a clearing. And there, at the center, was the bright blue color she had seen. It was a house, small and well-kept, with bright blue walls and white shutters on the windows. A garden stood just beyond the front door, and Mila could see cucumbers and carrots growing in neatly laid out rows.

Just then, the front door opened and a woman appeared. She wore overalls, a wide-brimmed sunhat, and gardening gloves and she carried a spade. As the woman approached the garden, she looked around and, noticing Mila, gave a slight cry of surprise. Then, just as quickly, a broad smile spread across her face and she ran back to the door.

"Put on the kettle, Clarabelle!" she shouted into the house. "We've got company!"

2016 – Day 57

Micah tried to follow the lawyer's words, but the many questions, repeated and restated, were giving her a headache. They had spent the past two hours reviewing her testimony, going over everything she had reported to the police about what happened the day the cashier was killed at McDonald's. Micah had wanted to help the moment she learned that Toby was accused of the killing and she had immediately contacted the police to say that the boy who was her neighbor and classmate for 10 years could not have done it. Now Trudy Hanover, Toby's lawyer, was grilling her, supposedly testing to see how she'd do in the courtroom, except Micah wondered if the lawyer didn't actually believe her.

"Ms. Landis, did you contact the police before or after you knew they had Mr. Eliot in custody?" asked Trudy.

"After," Micah said, shifting in her chair to sit straighter.

"And what inspired you to reach out to them? Did you know anything about the crime?"

"No, I was with Toby that afternoon."

"But Toby said he was alone that afternoon. If he had an alibi witness, why wouldn't he just say so?"

"We didn't want it to sound bad." Micah furrowed her brow and tried to look concerned.

"An alibi is a great thing, Ms. Landis. Why would it sound bad?"

"Because he was dating Kelly, except he was with me."

"Kelly, the young woman killed at McDonald's that afternoon?"

"Yes. He was protecting me. He didn't want me to sound like a bad person, cheating on a dead girl with her boyfriend, though I didn't know she was dead at the time. It's terrible that she died, but he shouldn't go to jail for it. He was going to break up with her anyway."

Trudy stared at Micah then slumped down in a chair across from her. She pulled her hand through her hair and sighed.

"Micah, you need to just stick to the facts," she said. "You can't keep embellishing."

"I'm not. It's all true!"

"I didn't say it wasn't. But it sounds less true the more you say about it."

"You believe me, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter if I do. Only that the jury does."

"Of course they will!" Micah lifted her hand to her mouth and chewed on her index nail. She had never been involved in a trial before, and it wasn't as glamorous as she'd imagined, but she still had her testimony to give tomorrow. It was all she'd ever wanted after watching years of crime shows and mysteries. The moment she heard about the murder in her own small town, and that someone she knew was one of the suspects, she could hardly contain herself. She called the police immediately, then went to see Toby to explain the alibi she had created for him.

2016 – Day 56

The cave loomed large ahead, its mouth wide and dark, offering a respite from the torrential rains.

"Thank god," Trevor said, then shouted over his shoulder. "There's a cave ahead!"

The line of six hikers behind him was not unified in their excitement, but they followed him up the hill and approached the cave. As they stepped inside, Jaime pulled a lighter from her backpack and raised it across the entryway to help them get their bearings.

"Does anyone see any wood? Or straw?" she asked. "Something we can light?"

"How about the team manual?" Rick said, and there was light laughter among the group. "I'm not entirely joking. I'm freezing wet."

He dug into his backpack and pulled out the 200-page document and tossed it onto the cave floor. It landed with a soft thud among a thin layer of leaves.

"Have at it," he said to Jaime.

Jaime looked around for confirmation then turned toward the manual.

"No, we are not burning the manual," Trevor said, stepping between Jaime and the papers. "I'm sure we can come up with a better team solution."

"Oh my god, Trevor!" Rebecca shouted from the dark. "The team building exercise is OVER. You got us fucking lost in the woods and now we're wet and cold and hungry and sitting in a fucking cave. Light the damn manual!"

"Hear, hear! You tell him!" came other voices from the darkness.

Trevor shook his head and looked down at his shoes. Jaime looked around at the dark then leaned down and held the lighter to the stack of papers. It hissed and popped, then finally flared up, bathing the cave in a small burst of light. Everyone instinctively moved closer to the fire. Rick leaned down and tossed the nearby leaves on top of the flames.

"This won't last long unless we find wood," he said.

The group reluctantly pulled away from the fire and wandered around the perimeter where they now had light. The mouth of the cave didn't feel as large as it did from the outside, and they quickly covered the area. Piles of leaves and twigs were tossed atop the blaze. It sizzled with each new addition. Soon everyone was surrounding the fire again, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, arms extended toward the flames.

2016 – Day 55

The lights flickered and went off, then came back on briefly, only to go out once more. Magda waited, listening for signs that the lights would turn back on, but there was nothing. She started to feel dizzy and realized that she'd been holding her breath. Inhaling and then exhaling deeply, she felt her way to the window and stared outside into the pitch black night. The moon was under cloud cover, so hardly any light fell onto the yard. She could almost make out the movement of the trees as they bowed deeply to the left then to the right under the intense winds. All she could hear was the rustling of the leaves.

As Magda continued staring into the darkness, her eyes began to adjust to the low light and she could make out the movements of the trees more clearly. She tried to see if there was a knocked down wire, but the yard was still too shadowy to tell.

Elsewhere in the house, two boys slept, dreaming and murmuring, unaware that the power was out and their mother was tense. Magda began to see more movements among the shadowy trees and, afraid of what may actually be outside, decided ignorance was best and drew the curtains tightly against the glass. She then made her way along the wall to the kitchen, tripping over toys and jamming her toes into dining chairs until she finally felt the cabinets on her right. Digging into the miscellaneous stuff drawer, she felt around for anything that could be a flashlight. After what felt like hours, but was likely five minutes, her hand closed around the thin base of a tiny keychain flashlight. She knew she had a bigger one somewhere, but she was thankful to have anything in hand that could push away the darkness.

Clicking on the flashlight, her second prayer of the night was answered when the light instantly turned on. A narrow beam shone across the room, illuminating the fridge and cabinets. Magda turned toward the hallway and walked to the boys' bedroom.