▣ More about writing from workshop notes
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For my memoirs followers: Write about a special Thanksgiving. Who was there, was it good, was it bad. Why? What was happy, and what was sad about it.
▣ Expanding your Character
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In this writing I'm fresh back from a writing convention with a lot of new ideas. I hope they will help others as well.
▣ The Burglar, a Short Story
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Assignment: Write an upside down story. Begin with the end.
The Burglar
David sighed as he looked at the mess in his house. He’d just entered by the side door and already he could see that the place had been tossed, again. Cushions were drug out of the couch, the DVD player was gone from the TV, and the rubber tree plant in the living room was lying on its side.
He was about to go to the phone to call the police one more time when he heard a sound in the small bedroom off the living room. That was his son John’s room but John wasn’t supposed to be here. Carefully he sidled around the dividing wall and was in time to see a shoe and pants leg going over the window sill of John’s only window.
Rushing to his bedroom, David found that the shotgun his oldest son, Forrest had given him, was missing. Apparently the burglar had taken it with him. No telling what else was gone but had David been a little earlier, he might have had to face his own weapon. There had been no shells in the shotgun. Those had been hidden nearby, but how would he have known whether the burglar had found them or not?
Four years ago, when he’d moved into this house, David had thought it was a lovely little place for him and John to live in. It was small but there were only two of them so they didn’t need much room. The first burglary had taken David completely by surprise.
He’d come home to find that everything was gone; he hadn’t had much of value to start with. The answering machine, the vacuum cleaner, the microwave, and the VCR were all missing. Drawers had been pulled out and dumped. Everything was trashed or missing.
David called the police. This was the first time anything like this had ever happened to him and he felt scared and vulnerable. The officer who responded told him that they have about eighty burglaries in
A few months later the same thing happened. This time they carried a console TV up from the basement and out the door without arousing any response from neighbors. The vacuum cleaner, answering machine and VCR were taken again along with other items. A full box of papers that included the deed to the house and other valuable items was missing. That box also held some savings bonds. After a nightmare interval, David was able to work the problem out with the government and was issued new bonds.
By the time he was burglarized a fifth time, David was starting to wonder, “Why me?”
He was having a lot of problems with his son John who had become involved in drug use and was not doing well. John had dropped out of school and was working at a pizza joint but David worried about him constantly. He lay awake at night and wondered if his son would come home or if he was lying somewhere overdosed or murdered by a drug dealer.
Eventually he started to wonder if the burglaries were really being done at random or if John was staging them in order to take things from the home to sell; he always needed money for drugs. Maybe he thought he could stage a burglary and remain above suspicion. It hurt him to believe this but things with John had become extremely tense. He no longer knew his son.
Two years of problems had accumulated; unspoken words of accusation had formed between David and John. They were strangers living in the same space but as far apart as they could get. As David stood there he found himself angrier than he’d ever been in his life. How dare John to treat him like this.
Rushing to the window he stuck his head out it, fearing that he’s see John running away from the house. Down the street he could see a man racing toward the cross street. He couldn’t tell who it was, but he leaped out the window and ran after him. Surely John wouldn’t shoot him, even if he did have the shells for the gun. David had forgotten to look to see if the shells were still hidden.
Emotion caused his feet to fly faster than they had in thirty years. He saw the man jump a fence and head down an alley. David chased after him. It was time for John to face up to what he’d been doing. No more silent dismay. He was going to confront his son right now. Taking a short cut, he arrived at the corner of a building just as the running figure did. He grabbed the shotgun and spun the man around to face him.
“I’ve had it,” David said.
And then he looked into the red rimmed eyes of a stranger. This was a man he’d never seen before in his life. The man let go the shotgun and started to run again.
“Keep it if you want it that bad,” the man wheezed as he darted around the corner building.
David stood there in the alley holding the shotgun; he was in shock. For most of the past two years he’d been sure that his son had stolen from him He’d never confronted John, nor had he gone to the police. Instead he’d nursed his hurt and shame. If John had fallen this low, he believed, the fault had to be that of the father who’d raised him.
It took all his energy to make it back to the house. Inside he sat on the couch for hours staring at a blank TV screen.
John is innocent. Your son didn’t steal from you. It really was a stranger.
The words echoed in his mind along with the knowledge that now he had to have a heart to heart with his son. He had to admit what he’d been thinking all this time. He had to clear the air so they could breathe again. It wasn’t going to be easy, John would be furious and indignant at what his father had believed him capable of, but now David knew that they’d eventually be able to be a family again. He cried in sorrow, pain and with relief.
An imagined Hell is the worst kind.