High-Speed Hook-Ups

I am convinced that more people actually enjoy being stuck in traffic than will admit it. I mean, that’s all cruisin’ is really. Kids trying to get stuck in traffic on State Street so you can wave at hot boys, turn your music up loud, hang your head out the window, and try to exchange numbers. Little black coupes make left turns with dirty red jeeps trailing behind. They practically spill out of their cars to feel each other up in liquor store parking lots.

I watched those girls and boys with their halter tops and gold chains while driving away from work. But I wasn’t going to become one. At least not in any conventional kind of way.

We had to wear all black. It was sexy, but hot in the summer. I usually got away with wearing something low-cut (and usually stolen). A few months before they started making us dress like men I sped home from a lunch shift, taking the freeway at speeds that would have aroused the pigs from any hick town from their afternoon donut shop to track me down. But in the here in the anonymity of three million, I was relatively safe. Just three exits away from home and my inner Barry Allen was unceremoniously shoved back into a remote corner as traffic predictably slowed around 90th south. I tried to weave around the black pillars of smoke descending from the semis as much as possible before resigning to idle in the center lane of the I-15. I took the opportunity to check out my nails. Bite the skin around my cuticles. Drum a fast beat on the steering wheel. Adjust the neckline on my black blouse so that it would lounge snugly around the few slight angles I claimed as curves. It took a few minutes before anyone moved again. The douche bag in front of me didn’t get the memo apparently, and was hanging out a good 300 feet behind the next car. I scanned the lane to my right to find an opening. No opening, but there was a hot red Mitsubishi. He saw me too, and flashed a set of picket fences my direction.

Now I was the douche bag 300 feet behind. Traffic started to crawl again as the tumult of iron boxes filed down the off-ramp. I kept the hot red one in my blind spot as we began to break out of the gridlock. He pulled ahead as we resumed typical freeway speeds. He waved, I waved. He held up a cell phone. He kept his eyes on me for uncomfortable lengths of time. He was going to miss his exit at best, or maybe slam into a guard-rail. Then again, so was I. I held up my fingers in succession, steadying the wheel with my elbows. A nine, an eight, he missed it, have to start over. I flashed my digits through the windshield not thinking he’d pick each one out. I smirked as I did a quick break check and scooted behind him to make my exit.

It only took about 30 seconds for him to call me.

It took the next three months of me avoiding those calls before he finally stopped.

A Reminder

Please remember to COMMENT!!!

Quest 3

Choose one of the following four statements:

Sometimes I believe my dead grandmother is saving my life.
I believe that all stray cats have names given them by God himself.
I am convinced that more people actually enjoy being stuck in traffic than will admit it.
I believe that no matter how great your friends may seem, they are only here to hurt you.

Use the statement you chose as the first line of a short CNF piece (500-800(ish) words) in which you use experience(s) from your own life to back up your belief.

Losing Altitude

He bends to kiss the ground at airports,
but I never see him with dirt on his lips. -Jim Daniels

On my lunch break, the guys from work
ask if I'll join them tonight for
drinks at the bar.
I shake my head, tell them you're flying in this evening.
After work, I get in my blue Accord.
I head West on the 16.
I take the ticket, wait for the gate to lift.
I walk to baggage claim. I circle the carousels
looking for a brown duffle bag with bright green fabric
tied in a knot to the long tan strap. Your only
identifiable feature.

At night I fall asleep and imagine you
in sandals.
I see you walking where He walked,
on a flat escalator
in the Atarot Airport, looking for gate B23.
In the mornings, when I make love to my wife,
I see you lying where she lies.
The sun breaking through the crack in the red curtains.
A tiny sliver of light covering her bare stomach.
But I know you're in Helsinki, in a hotel room on the 8th floor.
It is the middle of the night there. The lights are turned off,
your hands gripping tightly, your lips
pressing gently against the stubble of his chin,
As he rubs his fingertips up and down
the tiny sliver of light covering your bare stomach.
On my way to work I see you stepping into a cab
in Edinburgh, heading for the airport. To catch an early flight.
To layover in London. To see the clock tower from 4,200 feet.

I see you taking long strides down a steel corridor
filled with musty air.
As you wrap your arms around my waist,
I thrust my head into your chest and
listen to the slow beating of your heart.
I try to smell it on you,
the unknown place that somehow called you back to me.
You casually ask how I've been.
What can I possibly say to someone who travels
religiously like you?
The only thing I think to ask is if
you are coming or going.
Your half smile tells me it is neither.
Or is it both?

Fabrications

Fabrications

Can they watch us mimic their kisses, embrace our own backs, burrow hands beneath our bedclothes? – Bernard Cooper

We spend the stolen afternoon between

the blue sheets my parents bought me for Christmas.

Gravity pressing our shapes into the foam

of my twin-sized mattress, like the time we drove

to Snow Bunny to leave our imprints in the freshly fallen

snow. I am curled lightly into the small of his lower back,

eyes closed. I hold my breath steady and slow, like I have

done for him so many times before, so he could watch me

while I didn’t sleep. I wait for his muscles to grow

tight around his bones urging him to shift, to wrap himself

around me. As he turns he runs his fingers

above the skin on my arm, down to the place where my hands

are tangled in blankets. He gently unravels me from my quilted

encasement, pries my knees from my chest, hooks his leg

around mine, and pulls me apart. His fingers run over my spine, pressing each

finger deep into my vertebra, the way Enki and Ninmah did

that day on the river bank, shaping the wet earth into figurines

of men. My own muscles loosen
and give their consent as he rolls me

onto my back. I keep my eyes closed as he spreads

himself over me, slips one hand under my shirt, while the other

tangles fingers into my hair. Lips brush across my forehead,

kisses my nose, and rests his lips on mine, unlocking

my own. He gently sighs, and I breathe him into

my lungs.

Flatmates

“Tha’ mustn’t go walkin’ about in corridors an’ listenin’”
~Frances Hodgson Burnett

There are seven steps between your door and mine
The path is littered with my clothes and your books on the floor
Pieces of you and me intertwined

Rent checks deposited, standing empty handed and blind
Distant and alone, but not anymore
There are only seven steps between your door and mine

On the first day we shared the number 34 bottle of hair dye
Both of us too shallow, too lonely; both of us too poor
Pieces of you and me intertwined

Friday he came with ripped jeans and bottled wine
Your laugh rippled, fell and slithered underneath your door
There are a thousand steps between your door and mine

I waited, ear pressed to the paint, till light broke past the window vines
Spilled in the hall way, the aftermath of the war
Everywhere, pieces of you and him intertwined

He left with your lace crumpled in his pocket, I stood to the side,
Choked on my forced laugh, embraced you, jokingly called you a whore
Only seven steps between your door and mine
Wishing for pieces of you and me intertwined

Questions to Consider

Here are a few questions that may be used in the workshopping process. In addition to making comments about the ninja's piece, you are also welcome to ask questions. I'd like it to resemble a conversation as much as is possible through posts. So, Hooray Ninjas!!

• What is the first thing that struck me about this piece?
• What is the overall feel or tone i got from the piece?
• What was the most impressive part or strength of the piece?
• What was my immediate reaction to the piece?
• What did i feel this piece needed more of?
• What is my feeling about the characters?
• How did the form of the piece work with the content?
• How do I feel this piece worked within the constraints of the Ninja Quest?
• What did the imagery of the piece communicate to me?
• How did the voice (narrative style) work with the piece?
• Are there some phrases or passages that felt forced, or awkward?
• Are there any phrases or passages that are particularly beautiful?

There are infinite possibilities with these questions, these few are just to give you a place to start. And again, please add to the list if you have any other ideas. Here are a few questions that you may want to ask the author.

• What was your first reaction to the Quest?
• How did the quest affect your piece?
• What was your biggest challenge in writing this piece?

A Few Notes on Posting

First of all i would like to extend a hearty congratulations to everyone for completing the first Ninja Quest! Hooray to all! I just wanted to post a few notes and guidelines that will hopefully enrich the ninja experience for all.

Posting

• In general, posts will be due each Friday unless otherwise specified.
• Late posts (Saturday, 12:01 AM or later) are accepted, but there may be consequences involving the purchase of beverages. I know Trent is rather fond of Dr. Pepper.
  
• If a modification is needed to complete the ninja quest (for example, you have an amazing idea that mostly fits with the quest, but not quite...) clearance must be granted.

Commenting

• Since the goal of our little society is to continually improve our skills, workshopping is imperitive.
  
• Workshopping will take place via the comment section of the blog.
• You must post comments on the writing of your fellow ninjas before you can submit your next piece. New pieces that are submitted before comments are made will be subject to temporary deletion.
• Later this week I will post some questions to consider while workshopping a piece. Not every question will apply to every post, but it will be a good place to start. If you have questions you would like to add to the list, please feel free to do so.
  

General Awesomeness

• You are all my favorite things ever.
• I appreciate the hard work you each put into your writing, and i'm terribly excited for this opportunity!

Ninja Quest Week 2

For this weeks ninja quest:
1. Go to your book shelf
2. Pull the fifth book on the second shelf from its place
3. Turn to page 87
4. Choose a line or passage to inspire a poem
This ninja assignment is due on Friday. Happy ninja-ing.