Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Dial Tone- A Life Story (part 1)

She’s looking out the window, thinking. Again. As always. She’s not sure if her heart's heavy or she just ate too much of last night's pasta. Her mind wanders as she looks at the Cedar trees covered in the morning's dew. From fairy tales with happy endings, to Koi ponds and gentle winds. She wonders what became of Brad- her kindergarten crush, and of Daisy- the girl who stole Brad.

Her coffee is no longer warm; the cream has built up on the sides of her mug. She continues to sip though, slowly, as if she’s savoring the taste that lazes on her tongue. The window pane has fogged up with her breath and she doesn’t bother to wipe it down, not even to draw a face or a baby’s foot.

While swimming in thought, she’s humming a song. She’s combing her hair. She’s breathing in intervals. She’s taking her time, because nothing matters much; because no one’s waiting anyhow.

A typical October morning.

She lost track of time. Her pen and paper are waiting for her… for hours now. But she can’t even begin to think about what it is that she needed to write about.

“Something about snow gear or sail boats…” she thought. But in truth, she was asked to write about Fall Coats.

She’s a magazine columnist. She may have eyes for her editor-in-chief, but she’s not sure. And honestly, she doesn’t care at the moment.

She answers the telephone in a queer lagging manner. It’s her editor-in-chief.

“Are you sick?”

“No”

“Why are you talking like that then?”

“Like what?”

“Whatever. Is it done?”

“What’s done?”

“Your article.”

“Oh about snow gear? Almost.”

“No. Where did you get snow gear? You were supposed to swing by my office at the end of the day and hand me an article about Fall Coats.”

“Oh that’s right…Fall Coats” she thought.

“I will. Sorry, I don’t know why I said Snow Gear. I’ll be there.”

And the dial tone… a dial tone in place of a goodbye. Typical.

She lied. She hasn’t even started. But she will now, and she’ll probably finish in an hour or so.

She doesn’t like her job. She did not aspire to write about haphazard pieces. But this is what she has, same bits and pieces, different days. The story of her life…

Dial Tone- A Life Story (part 2)

She thought it’s probably best not to look back or even to guess ahead. Maybe we all should stand exactly where we are and watch things from a different height, like one would an aquarium full of fish.

As she sits at the edge of her bed, trying to put some socks on, she remembered the people she used to call home. She remembered the conversations they used to have, and all the times she wished she wasn’t there. It still makes her sick to her stomach, how adults gave their duplicitous remarks. “For someone who claims to have so much experience, and argues that they have it together, grown-ups are such a mess”, she used to tell her father. And her father just laughs.

She lived for her father. He was the love of her life. Well, IS but WAS, technically. She lost him, as she feared since she was a little girl. He picked her up, and dusted her off. He taught her everything he was able to, within his given time.

She recalls him saying “What’s the point of saying sorry anyhow? It will not change anything that has been done with.” And so she stood by this principle all her life.

So here she is, standing in front of Parker‘s desk, about half an hour late.

“The end of the day was half an hour ago.”

“I know…thank you for waiting. Here’s the article. I’ll wait for your email tomorrow, for the next article.”

“Well that was a nice apology. You don’t really say sorry, do you June?”

She didn’t respond. She was too busy looking out his window. There’s something about sunsets that leave her in complete awe.

“June?”

“Oh. Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“There is a great painter up in the heavens. Look at those oranges that turn into pinks that turn into violets. Look how each color cascades on top of each cloud.”

She traced each division of color with the tip of her index and middle fingers against his window. Very delicately, as if she’d mess the mixture up if she pressed any harder. Her eyes flickered in disbelief of a gorgeous setting. His eyes were fixed on hers. His lips didn’t part into smiles. As a matter of fact, he looked completely apathetic of her joy. But in him, deep within him, he was smiling.

“You can leave now June. I’ll let you know what I think of your article tomorrow.”

“Ok.”

She kept standing there. Her feet stapled on the floor she was standing on, her eyes still on the heavens ahead. He shook his head and grabbed his things. Before he walked through the door, he looked at her again- her silhouette against the bright sunset.

“Shut the door before you leave then.”

The door loudly shuts. A door shut in place of a goodbye. As quick as a dial tone; much, much like a dial tone. Again, the story of her life.

Dial Tone- A Life Story (part 3)

It’s Friday. June left Parker’s office with heaps of assignments, like she did back in her freshman year- History class, to be exact. Articles to be written are about Vancouver, pancakes, live baits and, Nerds- candy, not people.
She walked out of the building and felt the sudden need to storm back into Parker’s office, shrieking, cuffing and maybe cursing. But no, she didn’t. This is all she has; throwing it all away is not an option. She drove away, in tears, surrounded in thoughts of her late father. “Papooze, I know I said I wanted to write. But did I ever say I wanted to write about live baits or Nerds… nerds for crying out loud?!” Tears streamed along her perky cheekbones. Her phone rang. It was Parker. She pressed the red button just like a dial tone, but not as bad.
Kathy, the Associate Editor, may be the loudest person one will ever meet. Questions freely come out of her mouth every minute. She never takes NO for an answer. Though she may seem too overpowering, and obnoxious, the whole company can depend on her. So in a strange way, everybody respects her.
Kathy, after seeing all the articles lined up for June, walked into Parker’s office.
“We both know the girl can write. Why do you insist on giving her these random articles?”
“Because I want to see how badly she wants her job, how well she can execute even the littlest of tasks.”
“Oh really? Because the way I see it, you just want to know how much she’ll do for you.”
“Kathy, I’m not asking how you see anything.”
Parker started walking out of his office, leaving Kathy behind.
“You know, if she leaves, it’s your loss.”
Parker kept walking away, shutting the door behind him.
Looking at Parker’s desk, Kathy sees June’s files. Within them is a puzzle piece that doesn’t belong. She took a piece of semi-crumpled paper and found what she thought was a window to a work of art.

For those who dance and sing melodramatic lines of conscience,
The gravitational pull of the moon has a tremendous effect.

She took the piece of paper and headed quickly to her desk. She scrolled through her contacts until she found June’s house number. Of course, June didn’t answer.
“June, this is Kathy. I know you’ve gotten all your tasks today but I want you to come in tomorrow and meet with me. I’ll expect you to be in at 7:00 am sharp.”
June was listening as Kathy left her message, wrapped in a pink blanket her grandmother crocheted for her when she was 2 years old. No, she didn’t want to come but she figured the office tomorrow can’t be worse than how it was today.
She thought about going out, drinking a little, and deleting a little. But she didn’t, she stayed in her sanctuary with the lights off and stared out the window for hours having a one-way conversation with her dad. The city lights twinkled back at her as her tears slowly fell down her cheeks again. Today, the world decided to put all its weight on June’s shoulders.
After ignoring Parker’s call, she got a call from her mother. Of course, it could not have been anything good. Not to her favor, at least.
“June, I’ve been doing some thinking and I think you should move back here with me. Seattle is much better than Canada anyway. I’m looking at all the mail I got yesterday and I think you should help me pay some of these bills. I will not have you say no to me. So you need to start packing your things and come along.”
“Mom, you know that’s not going to happen. Maybe if you stop paying for other people’s debts and use your money to pay your bills, you won’t need anyone’s help.”
“Well I’m getting old; I need someone to take care of me, clean the house…”
“Mom, you don’t need me to move in with you. I’ll keep visiting you but there’s no need for me to live there. I’m staying here. Besides, I’m not your only child.”
“You need to move back in right away. What is it you can’t leave behind? Your job? Well I’m calling your office and telling them you will no longer work for them.”
“No. Don’t.”
And the dial tone. Again, the story of her life.

Dial Tone- A Life Story (part 4)

She was humming that song, the one the goes doo da da da doo da da di da. The one her dad used to sing to her when everything in living color turns black and white. The song she danced to during her first recital. The one she sang for him while he was in the hospital.

The last moments of her father’s life were playing in her head as she hummed his song. Her tears were again falling down her face, in drops though, not in streams.

She barely had any sleep and again, her mother was calling. And again, June just listened as her mother left a message.

“June, I am disappointed. None of your brothers want to move in with me. You don’t want to move in with me. You all only call me when you need something from me…”

“That’s not true.”

“…You all would rather bask in your father’s memory than be with the parent who’s alive and feeding you…”

“You don’t feed any of us.”

“….I expected so much from you. I am telling your grandparents. About you especially. Such a brat, you are daddy’s little girl no more. You have no one else but me. And how you turned out, your father would be very disappointed.”

“No he won’t. No he won’t.”

Tears, well, she ran out of them by now.

Her mother’s message was stuck in her head the whole morning drive to the office. She never wanted to be a disappointment to her father and though she knows her mother is wrong, she can’t help but believe her. So as she walked to Kathy’s desk, she feared maybe her articles weren’t good enough, maybe they sensed her anger yesterday and that Kathy would take her job away.

Kathy pulled out the piece of paper she found in between June’s articles. She looked at June with such a vague expression in her face, possibly out of disbelief that such a seemingly dull person could write what’s in the piece of paper in her hands.

In truth, the paper doesn’t hold much, it doesn’t mean much. It contains barely a thought, very mysteriously written, with an odd combination of words.

“Did you write this June?”

“I have no idea how it got here.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes, I wrote it.”

“I found it in between the articles on Parker’s desk. And obviously, you didn’t mean to send it in. Not written in a grocery receipt at least.”

“No. I didn’t.”

Kathy pulled her hand away as June attempted to grab a hold of the paper. June was baffled, distraught, perhaps. She hadn’t had anyone read her work, not her real work.

“What does it mean?”

“Oh. Well, for those who have a restless mind, every little thing has an effect. Much like the simple pull of the moon causes different tides.”

“To be honest with you, I knew what it meant. But I thought if you’d hear yourself say it so simply and put it right next to how you wrote it, you’d realize that you are creative enough to write pieces for us, pieces that you want to write.”

“But Parker…”

“You will follow what I say to you. You will give me the articles I ask of you. Give all of Parker’s tasks before the deadline and come to me for my tasks, understood?”

“Yes Kathy, of course.”

“Good. Now go before he sees you and wonders why you’re here.”

In such a long time, this was the first time June ever felt a real feeling of joy come out of her. It was like the time her Kindergarten teacher told her she had the best drawing of an apple in the whole class and she took home a big golden star sticker that her father put in his work binder. If only her father was still around.

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