Well.... here's the most recent story I've written. I apologize to all of you who actually get through it, ahead of time. I'm not sure I've ever had a case of writer's block like I've had the latter half of this semester. Basically what happened with this story is that I started writing and forced myself to keep going until I felt like maybe I'd found a point. Obviously, this is a first draft, so what's ahead of me now is to take this block of earth and separate out any precious stones I might find.... I might have to alter my perception of 'precious' though, for this one.... lol

Emancipation

She heard the wood splinter as she lowered her weight onto the wrong side of the balcony. Below her was thirty feet of nothing before a bed of rock and scree covered a steep decline. She adjusted her position, feeling the dry boards scratch the soft skin of her palms. At nearly 8,000 feet above sea level the view was spectacular. The mesa spread halfway to the horizon, interrupted only by canyons that cut through at unpredictable intervals until the jagged edge. Past that distant point lay the desert, part of the Navajo res, and the morning sun.

With a few sidesteps she was positioned in front of the next room. She let one foot sink into the empty sky below the wooden supports of the balcony and considered the consequences of placing the second regulation black sneaker next to its mate.

“Alex?”

The muffled voice startled her so that she jerked and pulled her body closer to the balcony. With a groan the old timber of the railing detached itself from a leaning post and she was forced to throw one leg and then the other over the side or risk a forced fall.

“Alex!”

She spared an amused glance at the leaning railing before turning to the sliding glass doors. Through them she could see the two snarling Dobermans in the frame of the front door. Alex knew Jake was somewhere just beyond them, probably wondering whether this would qualify him for workman’s comp if things went badly. She pounded on the glass and the two dogs lost interest in Jake to come galloping her way. Jake’s hand reached into the room just long enough to snatch the knob and pull the door firmly shut. The dogs were forced to stop just short of Alex by the glass. They barked and howled as she turned her back on them and gingerly climbed over the railing once more.

“ Dear Jesus, Alex, what took you so long?” Jake was waiting in the room next door when she climbed onto the safe side of the railing, one balcony over.

She slid the glass door behind her as she entered the room and picked her way around luggage. From the pocket of her khakis, she retrieved the room key and ushered Jake ahead of her so that she could relock the hotel room.

“Sorry. The railing kinda fell apart.” She rearranged her uniform, tucking the polo more firmly into her belt.

“Jesus! These buildings suck. You gonna tell Amelia?”

“Umm…” Alex checked the door, and then squinted across the parking lot. In the distance she could see Jim’s four-wheeler headed her way. She waved at him until he noticed and waved back. Jake followed as she jogged to meet the balding repairman.

“Whatcha need Al?”

“As soon as you can, room 314’s balcony is coming apart.”

“Sweetheart, this whole property’s comin’ apart.”

“Don’t need to tell us Jim,” Jake said, “But this one doesn’t even look like it might maybe stop you from falling through.”

He scratched his chin. “Well I’ll go look at it soon as I get back from the laundry. Rosie radioed me in ‘cause the drier’s ain’t workin’.”

“Any of them?” Alex raised a brow.

“Two.”

Jake cursed.

“Aright. Well thanks.” Alex turned to head back to the Lodge and then spun around again. “Hey, do you know where Terren is?”

“Haven’t seen him since around 7 this morning. Why?”

“He said he’d get around to installing a proper ceiling at my place. I was hoping he could do that today.”

“We all have dreams, sweetheart.” He said and then gunned off in the direction of the laundry, chuckling as he went.

“Well, shit.” She muttered to no one in particular.

“Aren’t your parents coming today?” Jake held open the oversized door to the lodge while Alex passed through.

“There they are, Amelia.” Kaylee pointed an accusing finger. Amelia looked up from a computer behind the front desk.

Jake stepped away from Alex as Amelia rounded the desk, into the empty lobby.

“Where were you two?” She asked.

Jake was silent so Alex answered. “There was a dog problem. Door probably wasn’t closed properly when the guest left and it blew open. The maids couldn’t get near the place to clean the next rooms because they were afraid they’d get bitten.”

“Well how the hell did you get it shut?”

“She climbed over the adjoining balcony and pounded on the glass.” Jake volunteered.

Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “Which rooms were these?”

“The cliffside ones in the 300 building.” Jake continued.

Alex stared hard at Jake. He didn’t seem to notice.
“If Alex would’ve died, would you have made me Supervisor in her place?”

Amelia stared at moment at Jake, then gently steered Alex away from desk, lowering her voice.

“Look, Alex. You’re a smart girl. And I know you don’t think anything’s going to happen to you at your age.” Alex opened her mouth, but Amelia shook her head and kept speaking. “But, look. You aren’t indestructible and we need you. You should have let me known what was going on. We could have dealt with it differently.”

“How?”

“Well for one, we would have called –“

“We did.”

“What?”

“We called the numbers we had on file. They didn’t answer. We left messages. Waited as long as we could. Then the cleaning ladies called to say that they thought the dogs were getting more aggressive. Possibly about to leave the room altogether. So I made a decision.”

Amelia repeated the words slowly, knowing she’d created a monster. “You made a decision.”

Alex nodded. “What would you have done differently?”

For a moment Amelia was quiet. “You left Kaylee by herself. You know you can’t do that. Aren’t your parents coming today?”

Alex thought about how her foot had looked hanging over the edge of the balcony.

“Next time I’ll take Kaylee with me and leave Jake.” Alex stepped gently away from Amelia. “I’ve got key packets to make. Oh, and Jim told us earlier that two driers in the laundry are broken. He’s at them now, but you know how it goes.”

Amelia sighed and raised her voice to a normal volume once more. “Let me know if you need any more free breakfast vouchers for the malcontents.”

Alex nodded and Amelia headed for her office.

“Hey, Alex. What’s it like?” Kaylee leaned against her computer

Standing at the computer on the other side of Alex, Laura rolled her eyes and checked the clock. 2 PM.

There was a moment of silence and then Alex reluctantly said, “What’s what like, Kaylee?”

The phone rang and Laura answered. “No, I’m sorry. We don’t have television up here. No. I’m very sorry, no, most cell phones don’t work either. Sir – Sir. I wish there was something I could do to assist you, but I have no control over local cell reception. Have a good day sir.” The phone hit its cradle with a crack.

“What’s it like to be graduated from college with your whole life ahead of you?”

Alex sighed, and knew better than to respond. The phone rang again. Reluctantly Kaylee picked it up. “No ma’am. We don’t have rats. You may be hearing a squirrel.” A pause. “Unfortunately we’re not allowed to do that. We only have no-kill traps. No ma-am, I don’t like it any more than you do. Unfortunately that’s national park policy, not my personal preference. Sorry I can’t help you ma’am.” She set the phone down and pushed it closer to Alex. A moment later Kaylee continued her familiar speech.

“It’s just that, it’s so hard being married you know? Especially when you’re Navajo and you made the mistake of marrying such a good-for-nothing Ute.”

Alex inhaled a deep, calming breath.

“I mean, my mother warned me. “Don’t marry that Ute!” She said. “They’re strange people. All inbred over there.” But did I listen?”

“No, Kaylee. No, you didn’t.” Laura muttered.

“No I didn’t.” Kaylee pounded a fist on the table, eyes shining. She was opening her mouth to continue the tirade when the over-sized front door creaked open. A woman stepped from behind the door with a child clinging to each hand. Pleasant smiles already plastered on the three women’s faces, Alex asked, “May we help you with something ma’am?”

The woman looked hopefully towards the dark and vacant dining room across the empty floor. “Um. Lunch maybe?”

“We don’t serve lunch. If you come back at 5, they’ll start seating for dinner, though.”

Hauling her children behind her, the mother turned around, muttering, “I told your father this place was a dump.”

The door thumped shut and Kaylee spoke again.

“You should listen to your mother. Mothers always know best.”

At 4 in the afternoon, the phone rang and Alex picked up. “Canyon View Lodge, this is Alex speaking, how may I help you?”

“Hey, sis. We just landed.”

“Allen?”

“Yeah. Mom and Dad are renting a car as we speak. It’s supposed to be like three hours until we get over there. Might be longer though. Dad’s insisting on a Hummer. We might have to stop for gas like, a million times.” Alex waited for a break in the stream of thoughts. “Man, is this the same airport you flew into? It’s like… a hangar. They made the lucky bastards flying outta here throw all their luggage through a scanner and go through security. Then they just walked out onto the tarmac and hauled their asses into a plane! Believe me, though, if our parents don’t get their asses moving quick I’m bypassing this high-tech system, walking around the damn building and hopping onto a plane. I can already tell this place is shit. I love it. Hey, are you still there?”

“Yeah. I have to go.” She hung up the phone before he could say anything more.

“What was that about?” Amelia stood at the computer Kaylee had vacated when her shift ended.

Alex shrugged. “Wrong number.”

Amelia shrugged. “Alright.” She reached for the phone. “Could you radio in Jim? The pipes have burst again in the 700 building. Meanwhile some idiot working at the over-the-phone reservation center has been telling guests that we have a pool. A pool. Can you imagine? We’d have that stupid bear in the Jacuzzi and the wild horses using it as a watering hole. And the snakes…” She shuddered and began dialing.

Alex reached for the radio. “Lodge to Jim. Lodge to Jim.”

“Jim, here.”

“The 700 building’s pipes have burst again.”

There was a silence which Alex knew was being filled, somewhere, by violent cursing. “We’re going to have to close that building for the rest of the season. There’re only so many miracles that duct tape can perform.” She could hear his groan through the speaker. “Jim, out.”

“Did you hear that Amelia?” Alex turned to find the woman nodding.

“It’s not good news. When are your parents going to be here?”

Alex shrugged.

“Look, why don’t you take off, already? The next shuttle down to employee housing will be up in a minute. You can hitch a ride off the mesa and go make sure all your stuff is ready.”

Alex started to nod, but then stopped and met Amelia’s eyes. “No. I’ll stay here.”

Amelia raised her eyes but handed her a list of guests and room numbers to double check.

The phone rang again at exactly 6:01, for Alex.

“Canyon View Lodge, this is Alex. Wha-”

“You don’t have to go through that crap with me. It’s your father.”

“Hey.”

“Look, I wasn’t sure if your brother had called or not earlier. We’re almost there. I hope you’re ready to go because I heard that place you’re working at is a real shit hole.”

Alex kicked a crooked cabinet door shut. “I like it.”

“Look, I said you should do this, didn’t I? Find yourself? Sure, I said. But I did not pay for four years of very expensive business school for you to answer phones. You took your LSAT’s. If you’re not going to get a real job, don’t you owe it to yourself to pick one of those schools you got accepted to? Your mother and I know you’ll do well. You’ve always been a good student. Just go for a year and see. Or two years. Two, at least.”

Alex’s lips automatically formed themselves as they always did, into the shape of agreement. But this time, what came out was surprising and unexpected. “Turn around Dad. Go home.”

“What?”

A guest waved her pudgy arm at Alex. “Miss…”

“I’m staying. I love this shit hole. It’s my shit hole.” She hung up and grinned at the frowning woman.

“Miss. I need about four complaint forms.”

Alex smiled. “Just give me a second, Ma’am. I’ll give you five.”

I read Soldier's Joy by Antonya Nelson. I'm not entirely sure what she meant by naming the story 'Soldier's Joy'. There's really nothing joyful about it, much less soldierly...

Dear 3,000 word story:

First off, I was not really excited about this story. I've felt very pressed for time lately and a lack of creative ideas really didn't help this poor little narrative out. I couldn't seem to get the tone right, and I really dont think there's any real sense of proper tone at all. The narrative itself seemed like a good idea until I started writing it. By then I realized that if this was going to be a good story, it needed to be novel-length. I don't know what my problem is. I've been writing short stories when I wanted to write novels for forever. And now that I'm only asking myself for short stories, I've got unwanted novels. My character might as well not be there. They are pretty much shadows of real people. This story is a real "tell" rather than a "show" piece. In general, I am completely aware of how much work needs to be done, here. I feel like if I would have been more motivated and excited about this story, it would have come out a lot better. The best thing about this story is how ridiculous it is that I got a deadly bell tower out of a picture with a newspaper in it. :)

Is this the worst thing ever written? Probably not. Is it the worst thing I've ever written? Maybe.

The Bell Tower

Kate Anne Laughtin

17, of Kent. Deceased March 24. Service will be held March 30, at White Hill Unitarian Chapel. In lieu of flowers, contributions can be made to the Bell Tower Family’s Fund.

Kate had been this year’s Wednesday death and just like all the others, had died as the ghostly bell from the ruined tower struck noon. The Laughtin’s lived in the next apartment and June and her mother had heard their weeping through the walls.

Timothy Logan Mills

38, Kent, VA. Service will be held March 29, at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church. In lieu of flowers, contributions can be made to the Bell Tower Family’s Fund.

Through the window of the coffee shop she could just see the remains of the old bell tower, surrounded by modern office buildings and a busy road. For the moment they looked no different than they ever had. The tallest bit was a slice of wall, six feet high surrounded by rubble. No one had touched it since 1975, when a grief-crazed father had undermined the supports, forcing a collapse. Of course that was just the last of hundreds of documented attempts to rid the city of the bell tower’s influence. In 1788, the local blacksmith stole the bell from its tower and buried it at the foot of his wife’s grave. Despite this and the gradual destruction of the tower itself, a ghostly bell still tolled at noon for one week every year.

Until yesterday. Friday, March 26 dawned just as early as any other spring morning. In the fashion of residents during this terrifying week, families awoke well before noon and spent the morning together. June’s family suffered through a quiet breakfast and heard the gunshot quite clearly through the connecting wall.

Richard Laughtin

49, of Kent. Passed away March 26, at home. A private memorial will be held for the family. Donations may be made to the Bell Tower Family’s Fund.

June noticed that there was no mention of Victoria Laughtin. Maybe it was because almost no one needed to know her end. The bells had found her at noon slumped against the remains of the tower, gun in hand. The prevailing theory was that she had given herself to the bell tower. It was an unprecedented move. In the 230 or so years since the bells had begun their dreadful ringing, no one had given themselves willingly to the tower’s fate.

But now the tower was silent and the only noise out of the ordinary was the beeping of a solitary tractor, scooping the old brick, wood, and the remains of the belfry into one big pile. June ordered a coffee to go, and left the newspaper on the table.

Despite how terribly depressing this story is, I think I might love it.

The Idiot President features Alejo, an actor living in a formerly soviet country (I could be terribly wrong here...), who outlines his life as a student, an actor with the theater group 'Diciembre', and later, an out-of-work individual looking for work. Alejo is the name the main character goes by while working with 'Diciembre' performing a play called 'The Idiot President' and we never really learn his real given name. Through his travels with the group we readers learn about the soviet hold over Alejo's country and how this country changes with the times.

This is the first (I lie, it's like the fifth) draft of my 1,000-word short story. I wish I was more excited about it. Instead, every draft brings more ideas about what this is maybe about and where it could go... I wish I had a clearer idea. No doubt reading it to the class will be extremely helpful, since other people usually take what I have and show me a direction that I never would have come up with on my own.

Squeezed into a friend’s civic, Mark and I share the back seat while Angina drives and Lewis sings with the blasting stereo. We are heady with life and impending summer. Colleges have been applied to and answers have been mailed. This is one of those rare times when the decisions have been made and all that’s left is to let them unfold. It’s a strange way to live. Mark pulls a note out of his pocket.

“Someone gave me this at the grad party. But I’d rather give it to you.” I unfold the page and have time to reel at the three words written there: ‘I love you’. I’m shocked. Just glancing up to meet his wide green eyes, Angina screams and my head snaps to the window and the too-close headlights.

It’s strange what I think of.

I am six and Mark just turned seven. Walking home from the bus stop he asks to kiss me. He leans in and I close my eyes. When we pull away I wipe the excess saliva with the collar of my shirt. Mark makes a face and says that kissing is gross. None of this ever happened, but my memory continues to play like a movie as he walks me to my door. Somehow, I know that afterwards we are best friends.

But that’s not how it went. That first kiss was supposed to be magical. So when Mark’s slobbery lips pushed up against my own I hurled myself back with such force that I fell over, a minute and a half before the disgusting smooch. A week later, one of the boys in my class dared me to kiss him. His lips were warm and smooth - an instant of softness I had not expected. Within ten minutes the entire class knew, and for days afterwards I was suspected of cooties.

I’m twelve, cursing unforgivably in front of my parents after a fall. My mother points me to my room and I am left home while my parents and brother bike around the neighborhood. I watch in fascination as my memory continues the lie. Will brings back a rock to show me how much fun I missed. I keep it on my shelf until I move away to college.

Mom’s look of shock was already transforming into disapproval when I made the decision. Time is a fleeting, slippery thing. So, in the instant I recognized punishment was coming, I threw myself backwards and grabbed fistfuls of the recent past. Gummy in texture, the threads of just milliseconds ago are thick chunky ropes of wool. Past that, seconds feel like rumpled bed sheets with plenty of folds to grab and pull towards you. A minute is a silken scarf and anything past that becomes as impossible as rock-climbing up an endless wall of polished marble.

I spilled papers and books everywhere, too late to stop my fall for a second time. Holding my mouth firmly shut, I was not grounded and went along on our family bike ride. While I was calling to my brother to watch me jump a curb he didn’t see where he was going. It was his wheel that slipped over the edge. He had a concussion and a broken arm. There was never any rock on my shelf.

On the Friday before I turn fourteen, Melissa asks me whether she should confront Allen about the upcoming spring dance. He’s shy, so I tell her she should ask him to the dance, rather than wait for an invitation that might never come. Melissa gathers her courage and heads towards Allen’s seat. I can’t see her face, but I can see Allen shaking his head and the gradual slump of Melissa’s shoulders. He was waiting to ask Janet, she told me. To cheer her up we go to the mall and try on all the beautiful dresses we can find.

In truth, I haven’t spoken to Melissa since the eighth grade. I saw Allen shaking his head and fled back as far as I could go. I had only managed to erase two minutes of time, but I didn’t mess it up that time around. I grabbed her hand when she rose from the table and changed my mind. If he wanted her, I had said, he should ask her. On Tuesday, Janet asked Allen to the dance. He agreed and Melissa’s and my friendship was never the same.

Yesterday I handed Mark a note. It was simple – only three words I couldn’t admit. He looked shocked. But he smiled, and then grinned, and finally grabbed my hands and pulled me close.

This one must be a dream. I’m good at reading faces, and I recognized his shock that afternoon. So, what I did was pull and pull until I ran out of finger holds in the fabric. When I opened my eyes I was just reaching Mark. I pocketed my slip of paper and the words written there.

Earlier today, Mark climbed into the passenger seat of the Jeep and I turned the ignition. Immediately my low-gas light flicked on. We were late to the ceremony, but stayed at the after party when Angina left with Lewis before her curfew.

I want to stay in this fake memory but, unbidden, the truth replaces this dream and we stand outside the Jeep again, graduation robes flapping. “Angina asked if we want to ride with her and Lewis. Let’s just car-pool.” I tell Mark.

“Environmentally friendly. I like that about you.” He teased. “It’s not laziness at all.” Moments later Angina pulled up in front of the house. I had thought about how great my time traveling was and all the things it had saved me from.

Now there is no time to wonder if every decision I ever second-made was the wrong one. There’s not even enough time, to make time. It’s slipping away and we are hit by the present before I can grasp it.