Monday, March 30, 2015

Writing Workshop 11: Disaster Masters

During a workshop, the presenter had us write a short story by choosing two to three words/phrases from the board out of a dozen. I chose “this land is your land” and “Baseball.”

You can try this, too. Pick out a dozen random words or phrases from any book, don’t think about it, just jot down any that pop out at you, and then write a story incorporating those words.


Disaster Masters


“This land is your land. This land is my land. From California, to the Hickory --”



“You got the lyrics all wrong.” Susie placed her hands on her hips. “I thought you said you memorized this?”

“Well,” I said, bringing my finger to my lips, “that was last week and you know I don’t work well under pressure.”

Susie bonked me on the head with the fan she used for conducting.

“I told you to.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry Sue.” I fell on the sofa.

“You know gramps will be coming to visit and Dad wanted us to sing this to honor his service.”

“I can’t.” I brought my legs up on the sofa and hugged them. “It’s too long. Besides, why can’t we do the baseball thing or talk about Superman?”

“Aagh!” Susie pretended to pull her hair. “You’re hopeless.” She joined me on the sofa.

“It’s not his favorite song anyway.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Yours either.”

“That’s not the point Mel.”

“So what?” I waved my hands. “I missed some lines.”

“Some lines?” She sat up.

“Okay, a few.”

“What are we going to do? Dad’ll be home soon and our rehearsal was a disaster.”

“Why don’t we download the song?”

She covered my mouth with her hands. “Don’t say another word.” She removed her hand. “You know Dad wants us to do this without the need to impress gramps with our digital know-how.”

Honk, honk. Dad’s horn blew.

Susie and I sprang up from the sofa.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” we both said.

Then, the banging of doors sounded and we ran to the front porch.

“Hi,” Mel shouted from the doorway.

Gramps waved as he pushed one leg out of the car and then the other.

Their father opened the wheelchair and helped gramps on it.

Gramps continued waving. His smile wide, eyes faded.

Susie elbowed me. “What’ll we do?”

I just shrugged my shoulders and ran down to kiss father and gramps on the cheek. Susie followed my lead.

After dinnertime, Gramps sat on the wheelchair facing us. I stalled in voice preparation and Susie nervously paced the living room.

When I opened my mouth to sing, Gramps raised his hand. “Why don’t you sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’? That’s my favorite,” he beamed.

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