Guilty Pleasure

Another exercise from the writing class tonight was a timed writing of 10 minutes on a guilty pleasure. Here's what I wrote:

When I'm feeling sad and lonely I crank up the tunes and become the dancing queen. I sing to the rafters and perform my best moves from the Flashdance movie. While I'm hustling like Travolta and working up a sweat, I hope nobody comes in the room . . . or even the house . . . because I don't think just anybody would understand my obsession with ABBA.

I may have missed Mama Mia but it doesn't matter at all because at least once a week I create my own performance using my bed for a stage and my hairbrush for a microphone. I'm new in town so Sackville has yet to experience this ABBA phenomenon . .. but if you hear someone asking, "Does your mother know?" in the middle of the night, chances are I've moved into your neighbourhood.

People got a kick out if when I read it out loud. I volunteered to read a lot of stuff out loud tonight, just because some people seemed so very uncomfortable. I remember being that uncomfortable quiet one, afraid if somebody else didn't volunteer I'd be chosen and made to read mine. Hopefully, they'll get some confidence and trust as we go on.

The last writing exercise we did was kind of fun. She gave us a list of seemingly unrelated things and we had to use them in a story. This exercise is always tons of fun. Try it! Here's the list of things: a rare bird, a ringing phone, an indistinguishable sound, a broken alarm clock, a sealed envelope, and two men wearing orange sneakers.

Here's what I wrote:

James rolls over in bed and grimaces as the sunlight strikes him between the eyes. His temples throb and his tongue feels thick and fuzzy. The phone rings, sending bright rays of electric light off the edges of his skull. He groans and answers.

"Yeah."

"James, two men in orange sneakers just ran past my window," Sheila whispers. "I think they're here to rob me."

"Did you take your medication today?"

"Yesss," Sheila hisses. "This is serious, James. I can hear a sound from outside. It's coming closer to my apartment but I can't make out what it is."

"Okay. Um, is this like that time you saw that rare bird outside your window? You know, the one that had a sealed envelope clutched in its beak? A summons from Hell I believe."

"James no, it's nothing like that. This is real. There are two guys coming to rob me and lord only knows what else. You have to come over. Okay?"

"Now?"

"Yes. Before it's too late."

James groans again as he sits up in bed. He looks for the time then remembers his clock is broken.

"What time is it?" he asks.

"6:30."

"Sheila, do you really think someone is breaking in this early? Must I really come oh--" The words stall in his throat and he cants his head to one side, listening. A low keening sound hums on the line, followed by static and Sheila's voice cutting in and out screaming.

"OH . . . JAMES . . . GOD . . . BIRD . . . HELP!"

Mood: Starting to calm down and get sleepy
Drinking: Cold tea
Listening To: Bachman Turner Overdrive, Lowland Fling
Hair: The same as an hour ago . . . but I've put something on my face that may have tinted me orange . . . the lighting is so terrible in my apartment it's difficult to be sure.