1/25 Plot P274 Ex1

She swerved to miss the object in the road. Thank god, I did not go in the ditch... Shit! Mary hit a patch of ice and the car spun out of control. The economy car hit the snow in the ditch at just the wrong angle and landed on the passenger door. Mary, who was not buckled up, banged her head on the steering wheel and roof. Glass embedded itself in her flesh and she was on the wrong side of the car. Her last thought before passing out was of the mass in the road shaped like an animal.
She awoke in the hospital, the nurses told her that her car was totaled and she was lucky to be alive. The dog that had been in the road was alive as well, but they had not been able to find its owners. Mary, left the hospital a few days later and went directly to the pound. She adopted the animal that had been the cause of her accident and they kept each other company for several happy years. And she never drove without a seat belt on icy roads again.

1/20 Fictional Place Pg 191 Ex 3

Lana felt the cool breeze on her face, a relief from the burn of the midday sun, as she sat with her back against the tree. She surveyed the meadow she was resting in. Taking in the purple and yellow wild flowers blooming in the early summer heat and the fish swimming in the clear running stream. But focusing on the lack of any other shelter. One lonely tree, that was all, no cover for as far as the she could see. It would be beautiful under most circumstances, but when your hands are tied together and you can’t remember how you got here, the lack of landmarks was disconcerting. How did she get here? Who brought her? Because she certainly did not tie her own hands. Why just her hands? Why not her feet? No blindfold? It didn’t make any sense.

She knew she had to get out of here, even if she didn’t know how she got here or which way was ‘out’.  Lana struggled to her feet, thankfully whomever had tied her hands did so with them in front of her rather than behind her back. But, while she could see the knots, she could not untie them.  She quickly glanced around, searching for a rock or stick that might be sharp enough to cut the ropes, but there was nothing. She was going to have to do this without her hands, at least for now. She began walking across the vast field of green, her eyes flitting between the horizon and the ground, watching for danger of any kind. The plan was to make it to the top of the hill so she could better access which direction to go.

            As she reached the apex of the hill, she looked in all directions. To her left she saw a group of teenagers hanging out on their tailgates. She could hear their country music drifting on the breeze. If front of her she saw a cabin in the distance with an older pickup parked outside. If you asked her later, she couldn’t have told you what made her choose, but she followed her gut and walked quickly towards the partiers, casting wary glances over her shoulder at the pickup. Reaching the teenagers Lana could see the shock and apprehension in their faces as they took in her slightly panicked expression and the rope around her wrists. She tried to explain, “I am not sure what happened to me, I woke up in a meadow not far from here and I don’t know how I got there or why my hands are tied. Can you help me? Do any of you have a knife that will cut through the rope?” One boy, he must have been seventeen, pulled out a pocket knife and made quick work of freeing her hands. The group quickly decided to drive the woman back into town to the police station. As they pulled away, Lana looked back towards the cabin and saw a very large bald man, with a scowl on his face watching them drive off. She could feel the animosity dripping off of him and knew she had not seen the last of him.

1/18 Summary & Scene Ex 2 pg 228

One sentence:

Cabbage shouldn’t have a streak of red in it.

One paragraph:

I was shredding cabbage with a serrated knife to freeze for soup. There was a towel under the head and I was having a great time watching a movie and cutting up vegetables. All of a sudden there is a sharp pain in my hand. I had sliced open my finger. Ow, Ow, Ow, that hurts so much. Dang it, dang it dang it. Tears started to well up as I covered the wound in the part of the towel that had been hanging over the edge and hobbled to the bathroom to run water over it so I could see the damage.

Scene

I had gone this morning to pick up my “Bountiful Basket”. A basket filled with half fruits and half vegetables. You never knew exactly what you were going to get, just half and half. This time there were carrots, cabbage, lettuce, grape tomatoes, apples, pears, and bananas. The tomatoes were dropped off at a friend’s house before she even got home. Now it was time to prep everything else for storage. I peeled and chopped the apples and pears to put in the freezer to use later for baking or smoothies. The bananas were put in a paper bag on the cupboard to ripen. The carrots and lettuce were cleaned and stored in the refrigerator. Now, to deal with the cabbage. 

Who needs this much cabbage? Well, I guess shred it and freeze it for soup. I got out a towel to put over the table, and grabbed a knife to do the job. Dang, all the smooth blades are in the sink to be washed. Serrated it is.

Now, how to start this? I guess I will cut out the end and just go for it. I began, cutting the head of cabbage into quarters to make it more manageable, then beginning to shred one quarter of it. All of a sudden there is a sharp pain in my hand. I had sliced open my finger. Ow, Ow, Ow, that hurts so much. Dang it, dang it dang it. Tears started to well up as I covered the wound in the part of the towel that had been hanging over the edge and hobbled to the bathroom to run water over it so I could see the damage.

Damn, does that need stitches? I don’t know if it needs stitches. Who would know? I feel so stupid, but I guess I’ll call Mom. I dialed the phone, it rang and rang, no answer. Shoot, okay, Stacy, she is a first responder at work, she should know. Dial again, “Hey, what’s up?” She sounds sleepy, Did I wake her? Is she not feeling well? Great I woke her up because of my own stupidity. “Hey, how’s it going? Did I wake you?”

“Not really, I am just watching a movie.”

“Oh, okay. Listen I feel really dumb about this, but could you come over and look at something? I cut myself and need to know if I should go for stitches.” Jeez, I hate asking for help, especially when it is for something so dumb.

“On my way!” Okay, now she sounds frantic, dang it, it is not that big of a deal.

“Thanks, but it is not a huge deal, it is just my finger, just forget it. I’ll just bandage it up.”

“No, we’re on our way just sit tight” click.

Well shoot. I paced back and forth while I waited. Trying to resist the urge to look at the finger again, knowing that I shouldn’t take the pressure off of it yet.

Oh, there they are. I can see the truck pull up through the open door. Stacy doesn’t even make it to the door before the questions start.

“What happened?” she demands.

“I was shredding some cabbage and cut my finger.” I know how dumb it sounds, but what can you do.

“How long ago?”

“Just before I called you. Listen, it is really not that bad. I think I over reacted.”

“Let me see” she sounds like she might be calming down a bit.

1/11 Getting Started Ex 1 pp19-20

The song says “Scars are tattoos with better stories”. I disagree. The first scar I remember getting is a small checkmark on the back of my ankle. It looks like someone was giving it their approval. That is not at all what it is, it is a scar, one with a slightly embarrassing story behind it.

I was working in Lawn and Garden one summer and it happened the first time I helped unload the truck. There was very little training, there were seven people pushing and pulling flower carts having a good time. They all learned an important lesson that day, ‘Never pull a flower cart’. I was doing just that when the wheel hit a crack in the parking lot. The cart picked up speed and knocked me to the ground. The embarrassed laughter started first, it was bad enough to trip, but to trip in front of management, horrifying. The supervisor helped me to my feet and went in to start the accident paperwork. It took me a bit longer to realize I was hurt, well more than my pride. I didn’t know that I was hurt until I felt blood seeping into my sock. Then I had to limp across the parking lot and into the office to get bandaged up.

The song says “Scars are tattoos with better stories”. But, not all scars are visible. Many of them are internal, no one can see the scars left on your soul, the many turbulent situations that you have worked through. A tattoo is a visual reminder of your strength. It can give you the boost you need to carry on. It can be a reminder of a special person, animal or time in your life. As a tattoo artist, Jenna had heard all of the stories. She had laughed and cried along with her clients while listening to their stories and trying to help them find the perfect image to express themselves.

There is a lot more to her job than meets the eye. You have to have artistic ability. You need to be able to ask the right questions to get the best image. You have to be able to read people and know that this really is something they want permanently on their bodies. Jenna had developed a sort of sixth sense about human-kind over the years. She knew who was the “Let’s do this now” type, and she knew who was the “I need to think it over a bit more” type. When Ivory came into the shop Jenna knew that this was going to be a difficult one. This was going to be a heart wrenching story of loss. The look on the woman’s face was a mixture of determination and sadness.

“Good morning” Jenna tried to put on a happy face. “What can I do for you today?”

“I want to get a tattoo, in remembrance of my daughter.” Ivory said the words like she had practiced them over and over again until she could say them without breaking down in tears.

“Okay, do you have an idea in mind? Or, do you want to tell me a bit about her and work out something together?”

“I have never done this before, and I am not sure what I want exactly. Can you give me some ideas about what other people have done?” Jenna could tell that the young woman was close to tears, so, she did something she only did occasionally. She walked to the door and flipped the closed sign and locked it. She led the shaking woman to the couch in the waiting room and sat with her.

“Tell me about your daughter.” It was said with kindness and genuine interest.

Ivory began the story, “I have always wanted to have children, I was born to be a mom. When I couldn’t find the right guy, I decided to go it alone. I had invitro-inseminaiton. I was so excited when I took the at home test and it was positive. I took four more just to be sure. After a doctor confirmed it, I went on a shopping spree. I bought every gender neutral baby item I could find. I wanted to have time to get the nursery set up perfectly before my baby came. I was giddy before each doctor’s appointment. When I heard her heartbeat for the first time, I felt like my life was finally complete. I spent hours just listening to the recoding of my baby’s heartbeat at night. I felt such peace.’

“Everything was great, until my twenty week appointment. That morning I dressed hurridly, I didn’t even put on make up. I was the first appointment of the day and I wanted to be there early. I couldn’t wait to see my baby for the first time.’

“The doctor got quiet when he found the baby, and my heart sank. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ He told me that they needed to do some tests. I went from serene to panicked in a matter of minutes. After a myriad of tests the doctor said the words that all parents dread. ‘There is something wrong with your child. She has