Pleasures involving guilt

I am currently in class, supposedly working on the final draft of a short story that will be due in a couple weeks. Yes, well. I am writing, and maybe this will stimulate more creativity for the story. Speaking of stories, here is the thing. More often than not, when someone finds out that I am a writing major, he or she will say, "Oh I could never do that! I'm just not creative enough." Hmmm. Come to think of it, neither am I, if we are all to be perfectly honest. But I still write. Sometimes I do not write enough, and sometimes I write more than I should because it is better to leave some things left unsaid, but new things take shape that I never imagined would be.

So I am convinced that everyone DOES have an imagination, and that everyone's imagination is equally awesome. The other night I was at a pizzeria restaurant tucked into a little booth with a checkered tablecloth (pizza requires checkered table cloths) and three other friends. We were sitting there talking about I dont know what, and I had the idea that we should collectively make up a story, by taking turns telling it in scenes. The usual objections. No, I insist. Ok, here we go.

It turned out to be a great story, and we were in stitches by the end of it! I don't remember many of the details, but it was mostly about a guy named Bob. It turns out that Bob lives the basement of a barbershop, and he makes a living sweeping up hair upstairs in the shop during open hours (though he doesn't actually own the place, or cut any hair. he is a finicky person). Of central focus and interest to the story is that Bob owns a duck. Her name is Susie. For a couple minutes we started calling her Debbie for no reason, but Susie was the poultry's nom de plume (although she does not write). Ok. Bob loves Susie to death (this is foreshadowing), and he takes her out on walks regularly. Now, stick with me here. Bob doesn't realize this, but he is allergic to ducks. He has owned Susie for quite a while, and he is usually sneezing at most hours of the day because of her. But, as it was said, he loves her, and would not think to ease his own suffering if it meant harm to her. In addition to the fact that Bob is allergic to Susie, it is also pertinent to mention that he has a metal stud pierced into his nose. These two facts combine to produce the major point of conflict in the story. What happens is this: One day, Bob's duck allergies have become terribly acute, and he actually sneezes so hard that the metal stud is dislodged from his nose. Now, a word about setting. Although they live in a basement, there is a high window at one corner of his room which looks out into the street, and from the pedestrian point of view, is at eye level with the gutter. Ok. So, the metal stud explodes from its position on Bob's nose, careens up through the air, shatters the glass of his basement window, and strikes an unhappy/unlucky/fated passerby in the temple of his head, killing him. This is unfortunate, and it is especially unfortunate because this man was walking with his family. They are not pleased with this act of hostility on Bob's part. They confront him about the death of their family member and they demand blood. Now, the reason that this family demands propitiation is that they are descendent from an ancient race of shepherds who ritually sacrificed sheep. So, the family wants blood, but in this case they are content to settle for the blood of a duck. Bob is in a quandary now because Susie is about to become duck fillet. However, he realizes that there are many ducks in the world, and he could just as easily find another (this point is inconsistent with his previously mentioned undying love for Susie, but these kinds of problems arise when there are multiple people speed-writing the plot of a story), and so he disowns his relational ties to Susie. Of course, Susie is quickly relieved of her head and becomes the family's dinner. And the story ends there. It is not all bad, all things considered, because 1) The family's bellies were filled, and 2) Bob did not have to deal with his duck allergies any more. We did agree however, that Susie got the short end of the stick in this story.

Now you should go and make up a story with some friends, because there is really no telling what will happen; imagination is its own locomotive. Barney was right.