My Newest Story....It's a long one.

Here's my newest story since my reader(s) requested it. This was based/inspired by a guided writing exercise we did in class that I expanded on. It's a little long, but I'd be interested in what you all think. Remember: I'm not a great writer and it's probably crap.

Candy always wanted to be a dancer. Ever since she was a little girl she loved any kind of dance. She dreamed of someday going to New York City to become a dancer on Broadway. New York seemed worlds away from the small Texas town of Corpus Christi, where she grew up and still lived. The shithole strip joint where she danced five nights a week was a far cry from Broadway. But Candy had plans. When she wasn’t stripping, she also worked at the Clip n’ Curl as a nail tech. She was saving every penny she could from both jobs to help her get to New York. Every single lap dance got her that much closer to her dream. At least that’s what she kept telling herself, each night, as she dealt with the pawing patrons of the club. The only luxury Candy allowed herself was buying the occasional item for her small apartment. She looked around that apartment now. She had furnished her home as she imagined she would someday furnish her New York apartment. Every month she would pour over her In Style and other designer magazines hoping to steal a glance into a different life. Her couch and curtains were a deep burgundy to offset the taupe walls. In one corner of the room sat her salt water fish tank. It was exactly like the one she’d seen showcased in numerous In Style spreads. What the magazine didn’t mention was that salt water tanks were very difficult to maintain, and the number of her expensive fish was dwindling. Her walls were adorned with posters of her favorite Broadway shows, like Rent, Hairspray and Cats. She wanted to dance in one of those shows one day. She had big dreams.
Class was hard to come by in her small Texas town, and she very much wanted to be classy. Candy’s hair was a little too blond, her make-up a little too heavy, her accent a little too ‘twangy’ to be considered little else than white trash, but she tried. Her bedroom walls were painted a soft sage with matching silk curtains and bedspread. The room would be elegant except for the scattered stuffed animals mixed among the pillows on the bed. These served as a reminder as to the age of its occupant.
At 21, Candy was barely old enough to drink in the Horseshoe club, where she’d been dancing for three years now, ever since her mama kicked her out of their trailer. Her daddy’d never really been in the picture, and her mama had a steady stream of boyfriends for as long as she could remember. At eighteen, Candy was a pretty girl. She had blue eyes and long blond hair that curled in just the right places. She had a petite frame that curved in all the right places too. Her mama’s boyfriend, Joe, had taken a liking to her. Candy was just naive enough to believe that her mama would take her side. Instead, she saw Candy as competition for what she saw as one of the few “good men” of Corpus Christi. Candy wasn’t so naive any more. In order to support herself, she got a job doing the one thing she’d always been good at….dancing. Exotic dancing wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but it paid the bills. She had some regulars and the tips were good. She was getting closer to her goal every day. She’d gotten an apartment a few blocks away from the Horseshoe club, and often walked to and from work to save money on gas. This particular night was a warm one, but at least there was a slight breeze to get the dry air moving. The air was always dry and thick with dust here and Candy found it stifling. The air was even thicker in the club with the addition of dense clouds of smoke. Candy went straight back to the dressing rooms to get changed. She tried to spend as little time as possible in the actual club because she secretly thought she was better than its patrons. She wasn’t going to be stuck in Corpus Christi like her mother or any of the other small town girls who were content to marry young and work at the mall. She was a determined girl and hoped to wash the “small town” off her when she left. Candy was calculating how far she was from her goal as she was changing out of her jeans and tank top. Her friend Gail walked in the dressing room as Candy was applying glitter body lotion. Gail was the complete opposite of Candy. Where Candy was petite, tan and blond, Gail was tall and pale with flaming auburn hair and bright green eyes. Candy looked wholesome and cute, much like the schoolgirl look she used in some of her performances. There was nothing cute and wholesome about Gail. She was raw sex. She reminded Candy a little bit of Jessica Rabbit, and even had the same husky voice. It was through Gail that Candy had met Eddie. Eddie was a real estate developer and a frequent customer at the club. He’d originally set his sights on Gail, but she wasn’t interested. Eddie was a little too polished for her. She had always preferred her men a little rough around the edges. Candy, on the other hand, thought Eddie was just perfect. He was in his late 30’s, handsome, and he was married so he wasn’t looking for a commitment. Candy didn’t want a man to hold her back from her dreams. Eddie wasn’t hurting for money and Candy enjoyed the frequent gifts and lavish meals in the few nice restaurants Corpus Christi had to offer. She saved her money for better purposes.
“What’re you doing this weekend?” Candy asked as she watched her friend brush her silky hair.
“Not much....how about you? You going out with Eddie this weekend?”
“No, he’s out of town this weekend and through till next week on business. I thought we could have a ‘girl’ weekend, maybe check out the new rodeo bar that opened up past the mall.” Candy knew this would be right up Gail’s alley as she loved the rough “cowboy” type that these kinds of bars attracted. Gail was always on the prowl. She was wild and always up for a good time. Sometimes Candy thought about asking Gail to come with her when she left for New York, but was afraid that bringing Gail with her would never let her shed her old life. As much as she loved her, Gail would always be small town. Candy cringed a little, as Gail lit a cigarette and slowly took a drag. The cigarettes were what probably made her voice so husky.
“I heard about that place. I could use a good time. I’ve been arguing with Harry all week about giving all us girls a raise. You know he can afford it.” Harry was the owner of the Horseshoe club. He was good to his girls, but extremely tight fisted with his money. He was in his fifty’s with a pot belly that hung over his belt buckle. His mustache was the same salt and pepper color as his thinning hair.
“I could really use a raise. You know I’m still saving for New York.”
“With working here and at the Clip n’ Curl you should have a pretty sum saved. What’re you still doing here?” Gail asked. “I’d be long gone by now.”
“It seems like every time I get ahead some, something happens. Remember last month when my car broke down? Getting the piece of shit fixed took a huge chunk from my savings.” Candy’s car was a 1989 Ford Escort. It was always breaking down and was another reason she liked to walk to work most nights. She just couldn’t bring herself to spend the money to buy a new one though. It’s not like she would need it once she got to the city. At this point in the conversation, Harry walked into the dressing room.
“I’m not paying you girls to sit in here and chat.” Harry said with a wink, “One of you should get out there, the natives are getting restless.”
Candy finished zipping up her knee-high black high heeled boots. “Sure thing boss,” she said dryly, rolling her eyes at Gail. Candy hoped she wouldn’t be staying at this job much longer. She pushed her way past Harry and onto the darkly lit stage.
The next day, Candy was getting her station cleaned up between clients at the Clip n’ Curl. She liked for her station to be neat like the one’s she’d seen in the nicer salon’s across town. She heard the chime of the door and looked up at the woman entering. She was wearing a cream colored silk blouse and matching cream linen pants. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and Candy could tell it was done in a salon much nicer than this one. She must be here to get her nails done, Candy thought. She looked like the kind of woman who favored pale pink polish, or a French manicure; something subdued and classy. No long, fake, red nails for her, that’s for sure. And she’d probably be a good tipper. She must live on the other side of town in one of the new subdivisions past the highway. The ones where the large stone houses all looked the same with their perfectly manicured lawns, swimming pools, and bored housewives. Candy wondered what brought her to this side of town. Surely there were nail salons near her house. Candy didn’t have to wonder long, as the woman seemed to be heading straight for her.
“What can I do for you today?” Candy asked, a polite smile forming on her lips.
“Well, you can stop sleeping with my husband for starters.” the woman said icily.
Candy was caught completely off guard. “You must be Eddie’s wife.” She managed to get out.
“Yes, I’m Edward’s wife and I’d appreciate it if you left us alone.” the woman said, her voice raising an octave. “Did he tell you we have two small children? Did he? Are you having fun being a HOMEWRECKER?” By this point the woman was screaming. “When I found out he was cheating I had to come down here to see for myself. I expected more. You’re nothing but a cheap little whore and I can’t believe Edward would waste his time with you. This affair ends NOW do you hear me?” the woman asked and without waiting for an answer turned on her heel and left the salon.
Candy was speechless. She never would have imagined that they would be found out. Eddie said that he was careful and his wife had no suspicions. Candy didn’t have to look around to know that all eyes were on her…she could feel it. She was humiliated. The owner, Faye, approached her and said that maybe she should pack it up for the day. Guiltily, she did. As she walked through the salon, her face burning, she could hear the whispers of the other patrons. Candy had always thought of herself as better than the people in this town. She couldn’t bear to think what they must be thinking of her now. Upset, Candy drove to the Horseshoe club. She wasn’t supposed to be working for several hours, but she was hopping to catch Gail there. She needed to talk to someone. Candy held back the frustrated tears as she slammed the car door and walked into the club.
“Is Gail around?” she asked Hank the bartender. Hank was a large, burly, bald man with a black goatee. He acted as occasional bouncer for the club if the occasion called for it.
“Not yet. She should be here in another hour though.” Hank said wiping down the bar. “You’re more than welcome to sit here and keep me company till she comes in though.”
“Thanks, Hank. I think I just might.” Candy said sitting down on a bar stool. She didn’t want to go home. She had to think about what she was going to do next. When Eddie came back from his trip they’d have to break it off. She didn’t need any more humiliation. She watched Hank as he counted down the register and sorted receipts.
“Hank!” Harry called from the store room. “I could use some help in here!”
“Would you do me a favor Candy?” Hank asked glancing impatiently at the store room door. “Would you take these receipts and put them in the safe for me? I’ll be right back.”
Candy often counted down the drawers for Hank. Yet another reason she thought she deserved a raise. “Sure Hank, no problem.” She slipped off the stool and headed around to the other side of the bar. She grabbed the stack of receipts and the envelope that contained the previous nights’ drop and headed into the office behind the bar. She turned the combination to the safe and put the receipts in. Candy hesitated with the envelope for just a second. She slowly opened it. Candy thoughtfully fingered the hundred dollar bills. She thought of how much easier her life would be if she had the money to live her dream. Remembering the humiliation she felt after today’s scene at the salon, she desperately shoved the money in the back pocket of her jeans. She shut the door to the safe and took a deep breath. She was really doing this. Candy walked quickly out of the office. Hank was just coming out of the store room.
“I think I’ll come back later when Gail’s here,” she said grabbing her purse off the bar. Hank didn’t seem to notice as she almost ran to her car. She nervously drove back to her apartment her hands shaking on the steering wheel. Once at her apartment, Candy packed the only suitcase she owned. She filled it with only what she couldn’t bear to part with. It hurt a little to think of leaving behind any of her possessions, but she was going to make a fresh start. She tossed the suitcase in the trunk of her car and headed towards the greyhound station. She was finally going to begin her life. She purchased a one way ticket to New York City and went to wait on a nearby bench. Candy took one last look at the place that would soon be her past. She wasn’t sure if she would ever return to Corpus Christi and the thought made her a little sad. When the overhead speaker announced the imminent departure of her bus, she got up from the bench. Candy grabbed her suitcase and walked purposefully towards her future. Standing in front of the door to the bus, Candy took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, she thought and walked up the steps.

I'll leave the decision to you....

I recently finished a story that I was working on for my creative writing class. I worked really hard on this story and handed it in last Thursday. Then I held my breath over the weekend and hoped that my teacher my work. When I went to class this Tuesday, I got the paper back. I quickly flipped to the last page (where he always puts his comments) and there was my grade. A.
He also made the comment that I should continue on with the story. And that I should make copies for the class to read. I did, and will pass them out later on tonight. My question to all you reader(s) is....would you like for me to post it? It's kind of long, but if you want to read it, I will.

MIA

I will probably be MIA for most of this week as I am working on two different stories for my writing class and they are taking up most of my free time. I've got to keep writing while the ideas are flowing. Who knows how long it will last.

Thanks for Your Support!

I'm glad everyone enjoyed my story.  My teacher, however, did not.  He recommended many changes, so that's what I'll be doing this weekend.

Drumroll Please....My 1st Story

Okay, here it is.....the first story I wrote for my creative writing class.  

The room was quiet but for the soft hum of machines.  The quiet whoosh of the respirator giving breaths is a peaceful sound.  So is the steady beeping of the monitor….the steady beating of a heart.  In my many years as a respiratory therapist I had become almost immune to these noises.  I hardly heard them anymore and the hum filled me with calm.  Things were good when the sounds were peaceful and steady.  The early morning sun is creeping through the blinds indicating the freshness of a new day.  I buttoned the front of my lab coat shutting out the cold blast from the room’s air conditioner.  Hospitals tend to be kept cold for several reasons.  It cuts down on bacteria growth as well as makes it easier for people to breathe.  I think the cool temperatures lend to the calming effect.  It reminds me of the quiet peacefulness after the first snow of the year.   In the early mornings like these I feel that there is order to the universe and I am in control.  I love this about my job.  It’s the one place that I feel capable.  I feel in control.  

A voice startled me out of my calm.  I turned my head to see Mrs. Roberts, the wife of my patient, hope apparent in her eyes.  She’d asked how her husband was doing.  I told her that he was stable.  No better no worse.  This was the part I hated.  I couldn't bear to either crush her hopes or give her false ones.  She’d been coming to sit with her husband every day since the accident that put him here in my ICU.  She would sit by his side and read quietly, her presence a comfort only to her for as far as I could tell her husband hadn’t opened his eyes since being brought into the emergency room.  There had been a terrible car accident.  It had been lightly raining that morning as her husband had been driving to work.  A large truck was trying to beat the stoplight and with the roads being slick couldn’t stop in time.  He barreled into Mr. Roberts’ sedan.  He had literally been hit by a Mack truck.  The entire driver’s side had been smashed in and he’d needed to be cut out of the car.  He’d been rushed here where it was discovered that he had a fractured pelvis, several broken ribs, and a severe head injury resulting in brain damage.  With most of his injuries being internal, he looked pretty good.  Only a few lacerations and bruises were visible.  One would never guess how grave the situation really was.  To his wife and family, it probably looked like he was merely sleeping.  Well, sleeping with several tubes connected to him.  Only I, along with the doctor and nurse, knew better.  The doctors and nurses had spent the last several days trying to convince the family just how irreversible the damage really was.  There was no brain activity.  The doctors wanted to withdraw the respirator.  The family refused.  They still didn’t understand.  You see, they were still hoping for a miracle.  I was kind of hoping for one myself. 

He was a young man, only in his forty’s.  It is always heartbreaking to see injuries this severe in younger people.  It never seems fair.  Yesterday his wife brought in their children.  Their daughter was twelve years old.  She was curious about the machines and threw questions at anyone who came into the room…a nurse in the making.  Occasionally she would squeeze her mother’s hand reassuringly, as if the roles had been reversed and she was the parent.  Her brother, a much younger version of his father, stood wide eyed and silent at the foot of the bed.  At eight years old, I couldn’t tell if he truly understood all that was happening.  All I knew was that their lives would never be the same.  I couldn’t imagine losing a parent that early in life.  It would completely change their lives.

The end of my shift was nearing.  My rounds were finished.  Each patient was taken care of and comfortable in their room preparing for the arrival of their bad hospital food.  While nutritious, hospital food is usually far from gourmet.  I myself was thinking about my upcoming dinner and what I would be preparing once I got home.  I was sitting at a computer just outside the ICU’s doors finishing up my day’s charting, but my mind was wandering.  I was trying to visualize the contents of my refrigerator and hopefully come up with something creative and edible.  Suddenly I heard the noise that all therapists dread…especially at the end of their shift.  Code Blue ICU.   I rushed into the ICU and into Mr. Roberts’ room.  His heart had finally stopped.  The calm was shattered.  The room was filled with frantic voices.  The loud ding of the monitor alarms indicating asystole had everyone moving rapidly and efficiently.  Everyone here had done this many times before.  I heard the loud clang of the crash cart being shoved into the room and rummaged through.  At the head of the bed another therapist had taken him off the respirator and was pushing air into his lungs with an ambu bag.  I began chest compressions.  I felt the cracking of already fragile ribs beneath my hands.  The muscles in my arms screamed as I tried to force his heart to beat again.  The nurses pushed injections of life saving medications through the IV‘s.  I continued to pump away, beads of sweat gathering on my forehead from both the exertion and the body heat of the many people surrounding the bed.  I tried to regain the control that had so easily slipped away.  With all that we could to in medicine, we should be able to save more people.  For some, their time is simply up no matter what we do.  In this job I’ve come to believe in a higher power.  There was a higher power at work today.  Mr. Robert’s heart started to beat again.  His blood pressure was extremely low and without a doubt he would code again and soon.  But this time his family would have a chance to say their goodbyes.  I placed him back on the respirator.  Calm was once again restored to the room.

Mrs. Roberts and the children came in from the waiting room.  Their red rimmed eyes told me that the doctor had finally managed to convince them of the gravity of the situation.  She had finally signed the Do Not Resuscitate orders.  The children, led by their grandmother, solemnly told their father that they loved him and said their tearful goodbyes.  They left the room, their quiet sobs tearing at my heart.  Mrs. Roberts stayed at her husband’s side.  She sat in the chair next to his bed and held his hand.   “It’s okay to go” she whispered in his ear.   In order to give them more privacy, I left the room.  Shortly after, so did he.

My first story...done.

I just finished my first story for class. It's approximately five pages when I used a size 13 font and double spaced (my teachers like double spacing...they say it's easier to read). I'll post it later when I have more time. gulp! I think I feel a little nauseous. I'm nervous that it's terrible. I mean, I think it's good, but I may be a little biased. I just have to suck it up. How will I ever get better if I don't put myself out there right?
Remember judgy judgerton, better known as Spiderman: Be. Nice. You have to live with me.
I may poke pins in you while you sleep.

Kelly Taylor's Back!

Is everyone as excited as I am? I mean I practically grew up with the original and my girlfriend Brandi and I used to watch the reruns religiously. I'm going to give the first episode a chance and hopefully it won't disappoint.
The show completely takes me back and I feel like tightrolling my jeans and teasing my bangs. My sister and I used to have posters of Brandon and Dylan on our walls. (I know...we were lame...but I had to replace my pics of Kirk Cameron with something!)
I'm hoping that I will be finished with school in enough time so that I don't miss anything.
Speaking of school....thanks for all your ideas and help with my first homework assignment. It helped greatly (except the snarky comment left by Captain Obvious aka my husband...It's a CREATIVE WRITING class it doesn't have to all be fiction). Jenn from the Coconut diaries pointed out that it might be easier to read aloud a story that isn't personal and true. You're very insightful although I still think I'm going to freak out no matter what I have to read.
What I've decided to do is create an entirely fictional story Inspired by my real life job. (Some of the best stories are inspired by real life anyway) It's something I know about and can relate to.
I haven't decided if I'm going to post it here once it's finished. What do you guys think? Do you want to read the finished product?

Homework Help

I have a dilemma. I have to write a short story for my fiction class. It's due in a week. It has to be 5 pages long.
On whatever I want.
I have NO idea what to write it about.
Well, that's not entirely true. I have a few ideas, but they all seem pretty lame. Here are some of my choices.
1. Tell the story about the night Spiderman and I met. (but longer and in more detail than the one I posted here)
2. Tell about one of the MANY horrible blind dates I went on before meeting Spiderman.
3. Tell one of my work stories about my strange patients.
4. A completely made up story inspired/suggested by one of you.

I could take one of my real stories and polish them up some, embellish if I have to to make it interesting. OR I could make something completely up. I just don't know.
Also, here's the kicker.

We have to read these aloud to the class.

I think that is what is giving me writer's block. The pressure to be interesting to a group of 25 people that I have never met before. I don't really know my audience. What if my story completely sucks. What if the person who goes before me is a completely fabulous, eloquent, profound writer and here I go talking about my lame blind date.

I'm sure whatever I write will be okay, but I can't help worrying a little bit. This is why I'm taking the class, after all. I want to be a better writer. I want to learn ways to do this. I want to get over my fears and hang ups. It's just scary.

So does anyone have any suggestions?
What should I do?

Decisions...

I have to register soon for school and I'm having a rough time.
I have several problems:

1. I can't decide if I want to take ONE class or TWO classes. If I take two classes, I'll be that much closer to being done. On the other hand, with my new position at work I would have to finish work at 3pm and take classes from 4-6pm mon-thurs. After eating and showering, when do I study?
2. If I DO take two classes, the one's I want to take will both be challenging for me. I want to take Children's literature (which I heard is a B*tch) and that involves lots of reading and writing papers. I also want to take Writing Fiction....which I would imagine involves a lot of writing. I want to do well in my classes, but I don't think the schedule problems mentioned in #1 would allow for this.
3. If I decide to take ONE class. Which one? I've been wanting to take Children's Lit for several years now and I know I'll enjoy it. But I've always enjoyed writing, and would really enjoy the fiction class. It scares me a little. I'm afraid I won't be any good at it. But this semester the same teacher that I had for Intro to Fiction will be teaching it and I Loved him!

So there you have it folks. My dilemma. Could you help a sister out? What would you do?

I'm Brilliant!

I just got my grades for this semester.

Intro to Fiction: A
Professional Writing: A

I know you're intimidated by my intellect.

School's Out-Thank God!

Today was my last day of classes for the semester. I handed in that dreadful paper on Lady Chatterley's lover (finished last night at 11:45pm thankyouverymuch!). I sold back all my books to the bookstore for a tiny windfall. It felt good to come home with an almost empty book bag. A literal lightening of the load off my back. It's ridiculous that a book you bought for $100 at the beginning of the semester is bought back for less than half the amount. I think it's a scam. It's not as though all the knowledge is sucked out of it or anything. Sorry ma'am, there's just nothing left in here to learn. You used it all up. The bookstore then sells them back as "used" the next semester for twice as much as they paid you....go figure.
Regardless, it's a huge relief to not have to do homework tonight. This semester was heavy and totally kicked my ass. Now I can catch up on some of the things that I let slide.
My house, for example is gross. I have crunchy carpets and a fine layer of cat hair on all my furniture. I'm completely out of clean bra's and panties....so there's laundry. I can also finally read all the books that have been piling up on my nightstand. Their nice shiny covers and unbroken bindings calling out to me all semester..beckoning for me to open them and get lost in their stories. I'm going to put in flower beds in my yard. We moved into our house the middle of last summer and I've been planning them all winter.
I'm also going to work steadily to finish the baby blanket for my girlfriend's baby. I can hopefully make some headway tonight while watching new episodes of The Office! and Grey's Anatomy! I cannot wait to see what happens tonight!
I'm just so relieved to not have school anymore that I feel like I should gather some friends and have a good, old fashioned last-day-of-school shaving cream fight. Yeah, that would make an impression on the neighbors! (most of whom I still have not met...yet)

I Can't Wait For This Semester...continued...

Double spaced...size 13 font....I have 6 pages...must continue on...must finish stupid paper!

I can't wait for this semester to be OVER!

Today I'm working on my 12 page paper...due on Thursday. This is what I have so far:

Writing a 12 page paper is stupid.

Do you think that's good enough? Wait, maybe I should add a quote.

William Shakespeare once said, "While I love writing sonnets and plays, writing a 12 page paper is stupid."

So I'll just increase the font, play with the margins a little and I totally have 12 pages, right?
No...I guess I'll have to go back to work. Why am I going to school again? Oh yeah...myjobsucks!