Monday, November 12
0 commentsI finally carved out some evenings for fiction writing- the the early evening darkness makes it extra cozy. A little peak:
I still believe I heard the first, healthy roar of the Old Chevy from the safety of my bedroom fifteen miles away. I was sprawled out on my bed with the rumble of the Old Chevy tele-connected to the drumming of my heart. Later Megan would relay the details of her father standing under the buttery hued porch light swarming with insects. The intensity of his gaze and energy transposed from his tremulous hands were almost strong enough to fuel the magical beast he and his daughter had spent so long to create. Megan, with one hand white knuckled on the steering wheel and the other with a key poised, could barely contain the pounding of her own heart as she inserted the key.
No less than 30 minutes later, the quiet sputtering of the engine was outside my window. In the light of a few front porch lamps, the turquoise sequin sparkled and trembled. Megan, whose short pony tail stood away straight from her head, sat with both hands on the steering wheel. She was looking ahead, as though she had just momentarily paused at a red light instead of in front of my house. Half of my body was propelled out the door while part of me was overcome with the reality that this was the end of the summer.
New radio love: D.A.N.C.E. by Justice
posted by Jenny Monday, November 12, 2007
