For flint and steel, to generate the hoped-for sparks, I thought I’d lay out before you one of the many stories, in a simple outline form. A story already started, stalled and on its way to being, not cast away, but put away, stored, forgotten.
Obstacles, the barriers, large and small, that keep us from spitting out that magnum opus, or just a piece of flash fiction of 800 words or less, are limitless. And mostly self-imposed. I say all this to say that whether or not I ever actually write this, the story outlined below, or any other, is, for today’s discussion, beside the point. What matters is, will my idea, my spark jump, jump the seemingly impossible gap between inside and outside and push you dear reader to pick up a pen, power up that desk-top, or maybe take a flight lesson or two and learn to skywrite….
This is hardly a new idea, a new struggle, writing about the effort involved in the act of writing. Is there any kind of value in nagging people about coming up with cool ideas for stories only to let the same self said stories die a slow palliative death alone in a dark corner? I don’t know. But I do know that a pretty famous dude once said that it’s kind of dumb to light a candle and then hide it under a bush where nobody can see the dang thing. At least not until it catches fire and all the bushes burst into flames and now I’ve got an argon charge on top of everything else going on….
This story, this struggle, I’ll call it “Little Charity” after a central character, having riffed on a favorite book, and a chapter that talks about the importance of Faith, Hope, and Charity. (How’s that for hitting the reader over the head with subtle symbolism in names ;-)?) The three daughters in the story, their mother is named Grace of course. The story flowed as I began, as all stories do. Then quickly became a down and out fist fight, the harder I try to wrestle it in place with logic and structure the harder, more difficult it becomes — from wooden to taking on the properties of tempered steel. (If only fiction fell out of my head the way the above pablum always does, the only way to effectively abate the above effluvium, high-quality duct tape.)
OUTLINE OF THE STORY I’LL (PROBABLY) NEVER FINISH…
THE WHERE:
A pharmacy parking lot. Inside the store. An animal shelter near you.
THE WHO:
Mom “Grace”, daughters Faith, Hope, and Charity. Mom recently fired by boss “Dick” ostensibly for missing hours at work but the real reason is the cost to the company to insure her family, especially the youngest, Charity.
Her boss, “Dick” and his female companion.
Dick didn’t want to have to let Grace go, but hey, it’s a business after all. Right? Nothing personal.
Archetype of Jesus-in-the-breadline in the form of “Homeless man” on sidewalk who holds sign that says, “God=Love” in rainbow marker colors.
(Spoiler, turns out he’s Jesus right-here-on-Earth-amongst-us, but only little Charity sees it, at first anyhow.)
(Author’s note: The meds are a little weak this cycle, giving me the added writerly benefit of getting all choked up over my own words in real time as they flow out of my head. Makes for a good ride, makes the work — even if never completed — worthwhile.)
THE — or some — WHENs of the story:
Opening scene: Dick cuts Grace off on their way into the parking lot. He takes the last good parking spot.
A little later he’s the first to the pharmacy pickup window, taking his own sweet time, no rush, while others like Grace and fam are in a rush.
PLOT NOTE: Dick’s attractive female companion is trying to be nice and asks little Charity what’s in her store bag. It’s meds. Lots of meds. But the lady asks like the little girl has toys or treats… Not ill willed, simply oblivious to the terrible struggles others may be dealing with daily….
THE WHAT, THE DRIVER OF THE STORY:
The cost/availability of insurance and medical care.
Grace is fast becoming bankrupt paying for little Charity’s medical care.
Dick is at the pharmacy to pick up generic ED meds, recreational pills that cost him literal pocket change while the meds little Charity needs are only available in name brand due to the patent/licensing deals pharmaceutical companies have with the government.
Out in the parking lot, the beat-to-crap family minivan is full of boxes of items tagged to be sold garage sale style to raise food money.
Some of the summary I wrote as I tried to turn this into a narrative:
Grace and kids pull into the pharmacy parking lot. Black pickup steals spot. Driver is “Dick” her ex-boss. He “let her go” over missed work days due to Charity’s medical issues, driven by high costs to his company. Dick is with attractive female companion.
There is a homeless man with a small sign, “God=Love” in rainbow marker on the sidewalk outside the pharmacy.
Inside the pharmacy Dick is at the pickup window. Grace and the kids are busy negotiating treats and toys Grace has no money to afford but is so worn out by saying no to every little request, so sick of saving every penny towards the bare necessities to keep her girls alive. She notices the total on Dick’s purchase. Less than ten dollars.
Hope, shy, all-seeing middle child sees packaging on Dick’s purchase. Tells mom, “Dick’s got dick pills like on TV.”
“Dick-dick pills,” Faith laughs. Knows it’s funny, doesn’t know why.
“Dick-dick pills! Dick-dick pills!” Charity yells.
The girls know of “dick pills” in the abstract. They’ve heard mom Grace angry on the phone talking about how expensive Charity’s meds are and how no generics are available because of the CEOs re-patenting and re-releasing the med, but the same company can advertise ED meds 24/7 including pushing generics that are almost free for the dumb ass dick pills…
I’d written an opening, tossed it. I kept the frame of the close I want, lain out in rough narrative form.
THE CLOSE:
Leaving the pharmacy Dick and female companion both have nose in her phone like a couple of teenagers, a cute puppy up for adoption. (They will spend almost as much on medical co-pays for a puppy as Grace will spend that year. They can afford it. For a dog.) They barely notice/dismiss the homeless man they nearly step on as they coo over the cute puppy on phone. Only after feeling shamed by stares of Grace and girls the companion pulls a crumpled dollar out and drops it near the man, keeping her distance as if she thinks he carries Ebola.
When Charity approaches homeless man the companion recoils, clearly knows, from Dick, that the girl is sick, thinks she should be nowhere near homeless man, as if he carries the plague. (She and Dick are big antivaxxers, have bumper sticker on truck.)
Grace shows motherly vigilance but not contempt or disgust as her little one runs up to the homeless man and says hi. Gives him the snack mom just gave her, her “candy bar” (a special nutrition bar she needs), sharing it with him, the little she has. Grace is in no way surprised. That’s her kid. Always like this. Sweet, kind. So little, one could say she “Didn’t know any better.” But Grace knows, knew, her girls know. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. They’ve never needed anyone to tell them to be kind. Generous. Well, except when it comes to how they treat each other as sisters sometimes.
Charity is also known as the “Babbling Brook of Springfield”. She describes the homeless man in front of them the way she knows how. She sees the man. She says to him, “You got a smile just like Mr. Grocery guy named Joey who knows exactly what my favorite berries are. You got boots a lot like Mr. Mailman named Bob who always calls us Ms. Faith and Ms. Hope and me, I’m Charity, calls me Ms. Charity. Mailman Bob’s the one mom gets mad at sometimes because he brings all the stupid god damn motherfucking bills….”
“Charity!” Grace says.
Hope and Faith giggle.
Charity drives forward. “And you got holy jeans — must be for church — and you got a beard like Hey-Zeus…”
The homeless man smiles softly when she calls him Hey-Zeus. He has a coughing fit.
Dick’s female companion looks on in horror as the little girl approaches the man and places her hand on his chest. The cough disappears instantly. Grace and the girls shrug as if — because — this is what, who little Charity is. A normal occurrence. For the brief time they will have her.
Dick and companion get in truck and leave.
The homeless man smiles and thanks Charity for the nutrient bar she shared with him. Says, “Bless you Charity Marie Moore.” Glances in the direction of the departing truck with a mischievous grin and shifts his head slightly, Dick’s fancy truck colliding with a big garbage can that wasn’t there a moment ago. Says, “To each their own reward.”
In the family van Hope asks, “How’d that guy know Charity’s name?” Faith looks back. The sidewalk is empty. Only the cardboard sign remains. “Where’d he go?”
A few blocks later they’re taking, only Charity notices him, the man, the same man, on a streetcorner with a sign God=Love. She smiles and waves as they pass. He waves back. Smiles. A funny glow around his head.
Will I ever get my rear in gear and put the real work in and make this the short story/play it could be? I don’t know. I’m great at coming up with story ideas, only to put them in storage. The work, making it happen, is another ball of wax. Finding a way to make it happen without it becoming wooden and lame and most of all boring to work on and therefore sure to die, or at least lost in purgatory. Although I do have the advantage of being locked up, in a cell with plenty of — endless amounts even — of time. Sometimes I make a lot of excuses, like today, other times I make something happen. I hope this story is one of those that comes together….
So that’s where I’m at today.
Now how about you?
What’s your story?
APPENDIX FOR “WHAT’S YOUR STORY?”
The following kinda-sorta dips into the realm of preaching…
Your often not so subtle author would like to close with this thought. My hope is to share with you yet avoid the sense of trying to push my faith and belief system regarding charity as I understand it. The definition in Webster’s Collegiate 11th edition is a good start.
charity: from caritas Christian
love, from dearness from
carus dear; akin to carae
friend, kama love
1: benevolent goodwill towards
or love of humanity.
4: lenient judgement of others.
charitable: 1: full of love
for and goodwill towards others:
BENEVOLENT
3: merciful or kind in judging
others: LENIENT
For more on charity see 1st Cor Ch 13: 1-13, the King James version, taking the time to look past what to us, the modern reader can feel archaic, hyperbolic, even sanctimonious, and worse irrelevant to our lives today. I’d ask that we exercise our capacity for critical thinking and untangle what can be complex and unfamiliar word usage and think about what Paul’s really saying, encouraging us to do, when he asks us to exercise real and meaningful charity in our own lives; that deep compassion and humanity and humility towards all our world that is so desperately lacking especially towards those we fear and hate, often for understandable reasons
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