Posts tagged ‘story’

Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady (flash fiction)

Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady

Have you ever experienced a moment when you felt beautiful? A moment when you, as a whole, were ready to take on the world? I had a moment once.
The smell of cherry blossoms filled the early evening air, I stood in the middle of a grass field. My white dress blew gently in the wind, the breeze lifted my soft dark curls and threw them lazily around my shoulders. Mark was next to me, intently listening to the band as they began a new song.
The first sultry words slid out, and I recognized it immediately. Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady. I turned to Mark, wondering why they would play my song.
His hand slid around my waist, his eyes full of love. “I’m sorry I was called out of town on your birthday. I hope to make it up to you.” His adoration for me was etched in his face. At this moment he could do no wrong.

————

This is from a Write on Edge Prompt.

Go to This Day In Music, and discover what was number 1 on the charts in the United States, England or Australia the day you or your character was born, or any other special day in your/their life, if you prefer.

Listen to the song(s) and let it inspire you. In 300 words or less.

March 9, 2012 at 3:04 pm 4 comments

Dusseldorf’s Secrets (flash fiction)

the Cologne - courtesy of http://www.sxc.hu

Dusseldorf’s Secrets

It was a rainy night in Dusseldorf, Germany; muted lighting played off the sidewalk,  making for a romantic stroll. Izaak’s fingers laced through Edy’s as peaceful feelings eased through her for the first time in weeks.
Izaak leaned over and spoke close to her ear. “Where would you like to go after dinner?”
Edy watched as a man in a long black coat stared at her from behind his glasses. She  recognized him by his gray hair and striped tie. No matter how much money he made, he always wore the same tie. It was Gerhard Richter. Edy hadn’t seen him in months, but she couldn’t forget he had made her life a living hell. A smirk crossed his usually solemn face, and he was gone.
“Edy? Did you hear me sweetheart?” Izaak wondered if she could hear him above the rains constant pattering. “I asked where you would like to go after Zum Schlussel?”
“Yeah… ummm.”
“Are you okay?” Izaak had stopped walking now, the awning above them kept the incessant deluge of water from pouring off the oversized umbrella.
Edy’s eyes avoided his, and she adjusted her coat. She thought she could keep this from him, but she thought of the day he might find out on his own. Possibly run into Gerhard Richter himself, and what then? Gerhard wouldn’t keep silent.
“Did you see Gerhard Richter pass us just moments ago?” Edy slumped back against the brick wall.
“No. Do you mean the artist, Gerhard?”
“Yes, the artist.”
“And what has your mind so preoccupied with his passing by on the street?” Izaak asked.
“He holds my family’s story in his hands.”
Izaak was amused. “You knew Gerhard?”
“All too well.”
“Zum Schlussel isn’t much farther.” Izaak gently pulled her forward, hoping Edy would tell him why the sight of that man had so upset her.

———–

The hum of voices in the pub was worse than the pattering rain. Izaak slid across the small booth, sitting close to Edy. “Tell me about Gerhard.”
“I told you my father owned a gallery until a few years ago.”
Izaak nodded, and took a drink beer.
“Gerhard is the reason it no longer exists.” Edy ran her fingers through her long wavy hair. “He blamed my father for turning the Cologne Cathedral to another artist for their stained glass window, when in fact he was the sole craftsman that the Cathedral had ever considered.” Edy banged her fist on the table. “My father did no such thing. Gerhard received the commission in the end. But before that, he destroyed my father’s business and our family.”
Izaak had met Edy just months after her father had lost his gallery. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“Gerhard is ruthless. He sees only himself, and this makes him blind.” Edy used the edge of her napkin to wipe the tear that slid down her cheek.

———

This prompt is from Write on Edge: Red Writing Hood

I challenge you with this opening line:

“It was a rainy night in Dusseldorf…”

You have 500 words.

March 2, 2012 at 8:37 am 10 comments

you don’t understand the story

In a past issue of Writer’s Digest, I came across an interview with Pat Conroy. In it, he talks about going to Hollywood years ago to work on the screenplay for The Prince of Tides. The director fired him, saying that Pat didn’t understand the story.
I laughed out loud when I read what Pat said in his interview. That a director would have the audacity to tell the author of the book (especially such a well known one) that he didn’t understand it. If I were Pat, I would have threw some new ones his way, and taken the screenplay with me.
It was his story wasn’t it? How could he not understand it? Understanding or not, we all look at movies, books, life, in different ways, through different eyes. I have different experiences than my neighbor, my closest friend, and even my parents.
How do we begin to understand others? It begins when we start to understand ourselves.
I am in the midst of writing a novel, and I am stuck. Somewhere between the beginning and the middle. The main character isn’t what I want her to be. I know how I would like to continue the plot, but I just couldn’t move forward. I finally realized that there is an experience that she was meant to have in the beginning that doesn’t exist, at least not yet. As I am formulating this new experience and trying to rework the novel in my head, I see that it can now move forward with a flow that was missing before. A reason, shall we say.
I could say that I wasn’t “understanding” the story. And it was my own. How strange is that?
This goes beyond the stories that are typed out and turned in as manuscripts. It flows into life. Understanding ourselves.

Image source: http://www.nationalgeographic.com

July 4, 2011 at 2:41 pm Leave a comment


Tracy Dee Whitt - Author

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