Today we were visited by a charming thirteen year old girl and I found her fascinating.
I write a lot of short stories, mostly about people beyond the teen years. Two of my stories last year were about teenage boys. I see a lot of these boys at our fitness center. I eavesdrop on their conversations so I think I can get their "voice" right when I write dialogue. And of course, I raised a son.
I've never written a story with a young girl in it. Teen girls don't seem to talk to me much. At that age they seem to be in giggle mode, glued to their cell phones. Here I had one captive. She told me what she was reading and how much she wanted a Nook like mine. We talked about our travels and where we wanted to go next. I showed her my photo in front of the Sydney Opera House, a place she yearns to visit. She hates camping and told me why. She is a gymnast and we both gloried over Gabby Douglas's triumph at the Olympics. She plays percussion and I play the piano. There were games she and her friends play that I've never heard of.
I would never use things she told me in a story, but I liked hearing the cadence. Conversation is never easy to write, so we writers listen all the time wherever we are. We are the world's nosiest people.
Meanwhile, I have a short story due tomorrow. I know what I want to say but I don't exactly know how to finish the thing. I will get up early and do my best to get it to final draft state when Gary's nephew comes to finish painting our bathroom. At that point, I won't be able to write unless I grab my notebook computer and work on the deck.
At noon I present the story to Wade and Betty for critiquing and head to Shawano to do a performance at Birch Hill Nursing Home. I'll be home by 3:30 for last minute corrections to the short story and post it by at least 4:30 p.m.
Then it's off to the bank to do some re-financing. Then comes the Burgerfest balloon rally with grandson Evan and his parents.
Gary removed the bathroom door so no privacy for us until tomorrow night. We will avert our eyes, I guess.
I write a lot of short stories, mostly about people beyond the teen years. Two of my stories last year were about teenage boys. I see a lot of these boys at our fitness center. I eavesdrop on their conversations so I think I can get their "voice" right when I write dialogue. And of course, I raised a son.
I've never written a story with a young girl in it. Teen girls don't seem to talk to me much. At that age they seem to be in giggle mode, glued to their cell phones. Here I had one captive. She told me what she was reading and how much she wanted a Nook like mine. We talked about our travels and where we wanted to go next. I showed her my photo in front of the Sydney Opera House, a place she yearns to visit. She hates camping and told me why. She is a gymnast and we both gloried over Gabby Douglas's triumph at the Olympics. She plays percussion and I play the piano. There were games she and her friends play that I've never heard of.
I would never use things she told me in a story, but I liked hearing the cadence. Conversation is never easy to write, so we writers listen all the time wherever we are. We are the world's nosiest people.
Meanwhile, I have a short story due tomorrow. I know what I want to say but I don't exactly know how to finish the thing. I will get up early and do my best to get it to final draft state when Gary's nephew comes to finish painting our bathroom. At that point, I won't be able to write unless I grab my notebook computer and work on the deck.
At noon I present the story to Wade and Betty for critiquing and head to Shawano to do a performance at Birch Hill Nursing Home. I'll be home by 3:30 for last minute corrections to the short story and post it by at least 4:30 p.m.
Then it's off to the bank to do some re-financing. Then comes the Burgerfest balloon rally with grandson Evan and his parents.
Gary removed the bathroom door so no privacy for us until tomorrow night. We will avert our eyes, I guess.
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