102 posts tagged “writing”

"Been thinking about getting a real job."

Once again, RG is up way too early.

I may have mentioned this before but if so it bears repeating.

He was just a little guy.

Standing there in line between two extremely tall men, he looked terribly tiny and lost.

He wore jeans, bright red athletic shoes, a Los Angeles Lakers sweatshirt and baseball hat turned around backwards.

He kept leaning around the tall, tall man in front of him as if checking on how much longer he would have to wait.

I sat but a few feet away observing the scene, and at one point, his bright, inquisitive eyes found mine.

Raising his eyebrows as if in amazement, he smiled and held up a twenty-dollar bill for me to see.

I whistled and returned the smile giving him a thumbs-up in the process.

When he finally reached the front of the line, his eyes barely cleared the counter.

In fact, the two Baristas working the registers didn’t see him for the longest time and kept calling other customers ahead of him.

He turned a hurt and fearful gaze toward his father who sat a short distance away at a table along the window.

The dad nodded his encouragement and the little guy turned as if to make one more attempt at ordering.

It was a big day.

It was the day he’d been waiting for a long time.

The day when he would get to order the very manly drinks by himself.

With twenty dollars.

His twenty dollars.

Earned by himself through the labor of his hands.

And here he was in position to do just that, but the two cute young ladies towering above his head didn’t even notice him.

His lip began to tremble ever so slightly and he looked once more toward his father for assistance.

As before, the dad merely smiled and nodded his encouragement.

The boy stretched his arms straight out from his side and let them fall, slapping against his thighs as if to say, “I’m not having any luck here, dad. What should I do now?”

A kindly soul who was next in line noticed the young lad’s plight and said, “Ladies, I think you’ve got a paying customer down here,” as he pointed to the boy.

One of the Baristas leaned way over the counter and said, “Well, hello there, I didn’t see you. Would you like something to drink?”

With a grin that threatened to split his face open, he said in a very clear, grown-up voice, “One tall coffee and one tall decraff...decanated...” his brow screwed up in puzzlement and he turned to his father one last time for support.

“Decaffeinated,” his father provided.

“Yeah...what my dad said.”

“All right,” said the Barista. “And what is your name?”

“Andy,” said he.

“All right, Andy I’ll get that right up for you.”

I’ve never seen someone more eager to part with money except perhaps in the instance of going shopping with my daughter when she was still in high school.

She brought the coffees back and sat them on the counter, being careful to warn the youngster that the cups were extremely hot.

“In fact,” she said, “I’m going to double-cup those coffees andput sleeves on them.”

I’m not sure if he had the slightest idea of what she was talking about, but after paying for the drinks and returning his change very carefully to his front pocket, he accepted the drinks into his hands as if they were a treasure of great price.

“Come again, sweetie,” said the smiling Barista as he walked cautiously toward his dad.

And for the next half hour he sat there with his dad drinking a manly brew and talking about manly things, his grin set aside only for the sake of making faces when taking in a mouthful of the strange tasting liquid. 

It made me recall younger days when, under my uncle’s tutelage I learned how to properly prepare and consume a cup of coffee.

Of course, no lesson in coffee consumption would have been complete without my uncle repeating one of his favorite coffee-time jokes which said, “Did you hear about the guy who went blind drinking coffee with sugar and cream?”

To which the other men would reply somewhat seriously, “No. How did that happen?”

And with scarcely concealed relish, my uncle would deliver the punch line.

“He forgot to take the spoon out.”

I didn’t get that joke until I was well into my high school years.

Of course, I always dutifully laughed right on cue because I was a boy among men and the men were laughing as if it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

Gazing fondly at the big spender and his dad, I had such a melancholy ache in my soul and at first, I couldn’t figure out why.

Then I put it together.

My uncle was the most important man in my life.

Someone I loved.

Someone who was more of a dad to me than many biological fathers are to their sons.

I saw myself in that little boy as I saw my uncle in that loving father.

On my way out, I stopped and said to that young father, “You’re doing a good thing here, sir.”

He grinned and said sincerely, “Why, thank-you. I learned it from my dad.”

I bid them both a farewell and continued on my way.

As I climbed into my car, I recalled hearing someone say recently, “When someone is facing their last hours on earth, you never hear them complain about wishing they’d spent more time at the office.”

Nor will you ever hear them say, “When my son was little I spent way too much time with him.”

Driving out of the parking lot, I held my cell phone to my ear just in time to hear my uncle’s raspy voice saying hello in his easy-going way.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Oh, I’m doing pretty good,” came his typically buoyant reply.

Me too, uncle.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY (in advance)

RG...out!

So I got the layout proof of the manuscript back from the layout designer a few days ago.

I've talked about this before, but with "Snapshots At St. Arbuck's: hijacked by hope in a neighborhood coffee bar" going to press in just a few short weeks, I wanted to log a few thoughts on the "genesis" of the concept.

It all started quite by chance on one balmy San Diego afternoon several years ago when I found myself ensconced in the corner of a beachside St. Arbuck's slaving unproductively over a chapter in my first novel.

A novel that has since been consigned to the boneyard, if anyone is interested...vile beast that it was.

A young couple sat down at the table next to me and began to talk about plans for their upcoming wedding.

And I sort of listened in.

It wasn't eavesdropping in the classic sense for such was the proximity I couldn't have ignored their conversation if I had wanted to.

The more I listened the more engrossed I became.

Her parents hated the groom and vowed not only to withhold financial support but to boycott the wedding as well.

His parents were quite impoverished and couldn't help, but loved them both fiercely.

They tossed around several options for dealing with the problem and finally settled on getting married on Mission Beach and having the reception at McDonald's with a dance to follow in the park vis-a-vis a boombox.

It seemed that the groom's brother was a minister so even that expense was covered.

Their positive optomism was absolutely compelling.

There were no long faces or carping about what should've or could've been.

They just grabbed the problem and pummeled it into submission.

So impressive was this display that after they left I opened a new Word Document and jotted down a few impressions and saved it in a file I labeled "Story Ideas."

And there it sat in a form of literary solitary confinement until one day I opened it up and got the idea for Snapshots at St. Arbuck's.

So what's the point?

Just this...

Wherever you are, you have a window on the world.

In your car; at the office; in school; at the mall; uh, coffee shops; even at home with your kids.

There are stories all around you in a never-ending human drama.

All kinds of stories, IF you'll just open your eyes and think like a writer.

In fact, think about this...

Take your laptop to a public place and linger until you spot a compelling individual (or group, couple, whatever).

Then begin to describe what you see in your best writer's voice.

Think creatively and dramatically.

Yes, I said "dramatically."

I mean are we writers or not???

My bet is that you will be amazed at what you can produce.

It's no big secret, folks.

My St. Arbuck's is no more interesting than yours.

The secret is that YOU have to be interested in the people.

But I'll warn you...once you start, there's no turning back.

You'll be hooked.

"Snapshots" never would've happened had I not made the choice that day to start writing down what I observe.

Now? I'm 125 pages into "Snapshots" part 2.  

RG...out!

Saturday morning at St. Arbuck's.