I’m looking for story ideas, please. Yes, that’s me sitting on the beach.
I want to start writing short stories again. I’m putting aside blog posts and essays for now. The idea here is to fully develop something engaging that is, yes, short but not so much historical or a commentary on life. I want to be entertaining!
This is where I need your help.
Please send me a story idea – any idea. I will write a story based on your proposal and dedicate the story to you. It will appear here on my blog, of course.
I love this guy! He’s really good. Ian Williams is Canadian and teaches at Sheridan College.
He’s dark, brooding and troubled. He lives in a trailer, or a “caravan” as they call it, one that has bugs and mould. If that’s not enticing, he misses his children and cries alone in his trailer.
Richard Harrington plays Tom Mathias in the Welsh drama, “Hinterland”. Season One can be found on Netflix. It’s unlike the American dramas that flash murder and guns on the screen: this one is subtle, and every murder here has layers.
It’s worth watching if you’re a Netflix watcher. Harrington is excellent!
“It’s an Irish hat”, she tells me. “It was made in Ireland”.
Good to know, I think to myself.
It’s not unusual for me to find myself somewhere talking to a stranger. I don’t mean the station wagon, gingham wearing type of stranger – I mean a scary person. I mean the type of person your parents warn you about and stay awake at night worrying about.
She is toothless, her hygiene is wanting and her toe nails are long. They are so long in fact, that I doubt wearing shoes is possible for her. And yet, she and I had in depth conversation about this lost hat.
The hat, the Irish hat, had been discarded at the bus stop. Most likely it had slipped from the man’s arms, which were holding too much already. Or, maybe a great gust of wind came up suddenly and sent this Irish hat flying from his head.
Regardless, the hat was now without its owner and my friend, this scary person, is concerned about returning it to him.
She models the hat for me and almost does a little gig. She stops, though, and adjusts it differently.
“It feels strange”, she tells me.
“It’s probably dirty”, I tell her.
“Do you think someone is looking for it?”, she asks me.
I can tell she is considering what to do. She looks at the building in front of us and, I know, she wants to deliver it honestly to the front desk. I can image the reaction. Her mind might even be considering a campaign on Facebook or Twitter. Perhaps she will tweet about the Irish hat daily for a week until the man notices these tweets and attempts to contact her. “@bus stop#bring money”.
Others at the bus stop have stepped away from her and yet I cannot move. Perhaps the reason is because it’s the end of the day and I’m tired. Perhaps I feel evil about abruptly ending our conversation.
I do, though, secretly wish for the early arrival of the bus for I fear she might ask to exchange phone numbers with me.
It’s within consideration that she might be respectable in certain situations. Those toe nails could be cut; that hair could be washed. I could even throw the Irish hat in the washing machine and give it a fluff and dry in the dryer. That would make her happy. I’m certain of it.
And yet when the bus does appear, I rush to it too quickly and I don’t look back. I exchanged pleasantries with her. My commitment is done, is it not?
However, I have looked for her, somewhat reluctantly, when I returned to the same bus stop. The hat is gone, too. I imagine it resides on her head now, hiding the dirty hair, but giving her a regal look too. She probably wears it eating breakfast at MacDonalds every morning and especially at bingo on Saturday nights. She might even wear it when she visits her brother at the half way house. He will be envious of such a nice hat, such a nice Irish hat.
Maybe I should start wearing hats.
Jerry loved starched pillow cases, fresh cut grass, butterflies, flowers, and could not resist the temptation of a crumpled piece of tin foil.
Salmon juice was her favorite drink. She took it straight up, and when she was finished, she would pound her paws on the table for more. She was also known for tapping Pam on the back in the middle of the night, almost to say: “Are you awake, Pam?”
Jerry Lee died today at 1:30.
She will be missed greatly by Pam, Lucy, Ebony and Minnie (to some degree), Grandpa and Grandma, too.
Goodbye my muffin head; rest in peace.