You Are So Brave And Quiet I Forgot You Were Suffering.

“ You are so brave and quiet I forgot you were suffering.”

- Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

Tales from fiction writing class

Create a scene using details and imagery to convey a feeling without stating it directly, use like dialog.

"I'm just trying to help you. You ‘re going to go to Hell."

My throat dried out. It felt like those mornings after I had smoked a couple of Menthols 100s the night before while drunk at some bar. My nose was starting to burn as well, like when you're underwater and you breathe in. Caleb seemed to notice my discomfort after a moment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Just ... I'm sorry."

The lights in the restaurant seemed too bright all of a sudden. The other customers all seemed to be too happy to be real people. Even the glass of water next to me looks too pretty to drink. It's probably from the tap, filled with iron and rust particles. Drinking anything in this place sounded awful. 

Silence set in then. My eyes wandered over to the tables that surrounded us. There was a man in a suit with a bolo tie that didn’t like his salad but still eating it. A ceiling fixture on the opposite wall had an overlooked cobweb on it. A woman sitting a bit away wore a pretty summer dress with a pair of black and white Adidas sneakers, looking cute and quirky.

I heard Caleb start to talk again, but I continued to stare at her shoes." I think once you start going to worship with my family you'll really like it. The people there are so welcoming and nice. You know it kinda hurts my feelings that you won't even try to come just once." I wish I was cute and quirky.

The woman noticed me staring at her then and gave me a rude look. I slowly turned my body forward in the chair as my stomach contoured into a painful ball. Caleb was looking away now, but he felt my eyes on him. He took a deep breath and put on a forced smile before looking at me again.

“I got you something." He pulled a red jewelry box out of his pants pocket and slide it over to my side of the table. "Happy six months." The piano music was now very melancholy yet it hadn't changed keys. His hands started shaking a bit. He wanted me to explode into a smile and kiss him passionately, then he’d feel better.

"Uh… here." He reaches over and opens the box. It was a small heart pendant encrusted with three white diamonds. The one that’s super popular with many women right now. The one that his sister had flaunted at me two months ago over dinner and I had pretended to love out of politeness.

I should rub my eyes, but then I'll smear my makeup and it'll get in my contacts and it'll look like I'm crying and I'm not crying.

"Please say something."

“I don't feel well,” a hoarse voice says.

He has a look on his face. One I can't name, but I know it well. The one some old classmates I don't talk to anymore had. The one a street preacher had when he yelled at me for wearing a skirt. It seems a lot of people have this look. An old roommate had it. The cashier at Walmart. My mom. 

“You’ll feel better after you eat.”

Tales from fiction writing class

Write a scene where the characters are talking about an issue without actually stating it.  

We stood outside the bar, my mother and I. It was starting to rain, but she was smoking, so we couldn't go inside yet. I was slowly becoming miserable. 

"Can I go inside?"

"Gimme a minute. I'm almost done."

I didn't speak and she took another drag.

"How'd you start smoking anyway?"

"Your grandma."

Silence and a drag followed.

"Are you done yet?"

"Just wait… Jesus," she answered, angrily.

Silence. Drag.

"I really don't like this… you know," I said.

"What? Me smoking?"

"No."

The rain was still lightning falling. It reminded me of the end of a garden hose. How even when you stand under it, you never feel wet.

My mother finally spoke."Well, I do."

"I can't see why."

She took a last drag and threw the cigarette down without fully putting it out first. "You're too young to understand."

"Or maybe you didn't teach me well enough to understand."

Silence. No drag. "If you don't like it, then don't come next time."

I felt like crying. "If you're unhappy, I understand. But you can stop and do the right thing. We can do something and try to fix it. It's like when you remodeled the kitchen. You…".

She cut me off then. "The problem isn't in the kitchen, it lies in the foundation. Once the foundation's cracked, there isn't much you can do."

I wish I hadn't brought the topic up. "I don't think the foundation is cracked. I love our house. I want to save it."

Before she could say anything, the door to the bar opened. The bartender walked outside and came towards us. "My shift's over. Imma head out."

My mom turned towards him, happily saying, "Are you sure you can't stay?"

I turned away from them. I heard him say, "Yeah, but I'll see you around."

The joy in her voice died. "Around?"

"Yeah. So… bye."

They were quiet for a moment. 

He got into his car and turned on the engine. The radio started blasting some profane rap song. Once he was gone, we looked back at each other and I decided that it was time to head home. I walked to the passenger door of our car. My mother didn't say anything and walked slowly to the driver's door.

We started on the fifteen-minute drive back home still in complete silence. I decided to finally speak. "You know, even if the foundation of our home is cracked, you can't move into one of the fake room sets at IKEA."

She didn't say anything. Perhaps I had gotten to her. We pulled into the driveway and saw that my dad was already here.

Carpet in the Sand

This is an original poem that I wrote about three years ago, right after I graduated from high school.

Salty air ruffles tents and our clothes Our friends lay in the sand on these late July nights. We chat and smoke and fall in love with the stars All our paths intertwining with one another’s again.

And my mind thinks of you and wishes  that your’s had never separated from mine.

I become drunk on the song of the waves,  imagining your lips muttering “ What a lovely view.”  

my soul feels sick and i wish i knew what to do

Tales from Friction Writing Class

write a character that is unreliable

For as long as I can remember, I have loved Halloween. I don't remember why, but I do. Maybe because it was one of the only nights of the year when my parents wouldn’t fight. Maybe because I was able to dress in as much black fabric and red paint as I wanted without our neighbors pointing out that "Girls shouldn't dress so gloomy." Maybe it was because my favorite photo of my brother was him falling asleep in a stroller with a Kitkat in his mouth. For whatever reason, I always looked forward to October 31st. But after sitting in a holding cell at 2am, covered in fake blood, I have started to rethink all the hype. 

The officer walked in. "Moralez, let's go." I got up and saw that I had left a red stain on the wooden bench where I had just sat. I hoped the officer wouldn't see and add it to the charges. 

He escorted me into a small dark room with a single light hanging from the ceiling. It looked just like the ones in every cop show.

"Alright, let's get started." He sat me down in a cold metal chair. Once he sat, I was able to get a good look at his face for the first time.

"Hey, I know you. Aren't you the hero cop of Maylan County?" He looked taken aback but pleased. "Well, thank you, but that was two years." 

"I know, but still. I followed that story for two whole months. No one could stop talking about it. You got shot in the arm taking down a Meth Lab and saved two kids as well. That is amazing."

The officer started to chuckle. "You really know a lot about that case." He looked down at the papers in front of him, still smiling. "It's kind of my thing. I'm a Journalism Major."

"That's a great field to go into. A lot of opportunities for jobs."

"Thank you, sir."

He looked down again and seemed to remember where we were."So," he started. "What were you doing in the graveyard? "

I tried to make myself look small and innocent. "Pulling a prank, it's Halloween."

"A prank on who?" He backed off a bit.

"Melody Ginmen. She's the one who called you, right?"

"I'm not allowed to reveal that information." He wrote something down. "The witness said that they saw someone devil worshiping. They reported strange lights, smoke, and a dark figure bathing in blood."

"Yeah, Melody started a rumor that I'm a Satanist, so I decided to give her what she wanted."

He was quiet for a moment. "And are you?"

I laughed. "Of course not. That's ridiculous. I made sure that Melody overheard me saying I would go to the graveyard. Then I bought a bunch of stuff on Amazon and made sure that she followed me out there."

He kept writing. "Why would she start this rumor?"

"Cus she hates me. Ever since I stopped going to church with my family five years ago, she and her friends have had it out for me."

"Interesting."

"You've probably heard of her family. They're crazy religious zealots. They don't go to the doctor. They don't watch PG-13 movies. They bully people in town and protest Halloween events."

He finished writing after a minute. "I've heard enough. I'll be right back." He walked out into the hall and started talking to some other officers. After a moment, I heard a voice exclaim “I KNOW WHAT I SAW.”

Within twenty minutes, I was in the back of a squad car, being driven back to my dorm hall. The new officer asked, “So what are you studying?” 

I smiled, “Religious studies.”