Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus. – Enid Bagnold
Dad and I,
we didn't talk on the phone.
But Mom
would put him on.
He'd say
'Hello, son,'
and breathe heavily
like a prank caller.
I breathed back.
This one time,
I jotted down
some
Short Story ideas.
The Last Fare.
A cabby goes to work knowing each dark night may be his last. Can't say why yet.
He may not live to see the end of his shift.
Structure: Clocks in. Gasses up cab and starts picking up fares.
Opening explosive. Don't know how yet. Gets away. Somehow. We continue to pick up riders all night.
Tension builds. Until the last fare. When the cabby dies. Who kills him?
Maybe the cabby takes the killer out with him. Riding shotgun.
Who are the other riders? What are their stories?
Write it so it's easy to film.
“This would be a good place to dump a body.”
Vigilante fiction.
The real estate agent from hell falls for her final client. They meet cute at a Chamber of Commerce brunch with many mimosas.
Think flinty bleached blonde
bangly earrings
in Punta Gorda.
Somebody Is Killing The Poets of Portland.
A poet kills other poets in order to win Slam.
Think I might be on to something here.
No more Mr. Nice Guy. All this time, Dad and I, we didn't talk on the phone. I breathed back. 'Good bye, Dad.'
