PRACTICE
Write about house guests that you or your characters have had recently.
Write for fifteen minutes. When your time is up, post your practice in the comments section. And if you post, be sure to leave feedback on a few practices by other writers.
Happy writing!
Photo by Don O'Brien
Here's my practice:
“Um… so our training ends Tuesday morning. But we were thinking about staying in town until Wendesday. Um…”
“You want to stay one more night?”
“Can we?”
Hannah was lying on the love seat, the old one with the pillows that slumped in the middle like two frowning eyebrows. Our couches normally form a horseshoe, but now the air mattress—giant, up to your knee with pillows and comforters and sheets—completed the circle. The whole living room was one giant soft surface. If only there were somewhere to walk.
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Because we can sleep at the office if it's too much.”
“No. We'd love to have you one more night.”
The other girl, Jess, looked sleepily on, sitting cross legged on the air mattress buried to her chest in the down comforter.
Later, when it was time to go to bed, I turned out the light, the room still lit by the orange glow of the streetlamp shining through the window.
“Do you want to close the blinds? Sorry. I forgot they were open,” I said.
“Oh. Yeah.” Jess jumped up and closed them. I thought of all the people who could have been looking through our window, watching us and our guests, the warm quietness of our moments, them gazing in judgment.
“Good night.” I said.
“Good night,” said Jess.
“Night,” said Hannah.
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I’m a member of an online biking community, through which I have met many strange and wonderful characters. We meet up at each other’s houses, have been abroad in large groups and even camped out in pub gardens. There’s been an interesting mix of characters ranging from the slightly nerdy IT types, men who haven’t grown up and still wear cartoon slippers, rock and hippy chicks, to those who are just plain insane, crazy fast bikers. I’ve even met a few professional bikers! I wouldn’t want to write about anyone too biographically. I guess my ideal balance for creating characters would be to take aspects of people I know, and combine them with those of fictional characters that I have also found inspirational. I have to be careful not to go too near to real life. I seem to be one of these people that others naturally open up to, and I wouldn’t want to take advantage of that 😉
Having biked for a lot of years, I completely understand what you mean, Katie. They’re great fodder for characters, though! Use their most unique personality traits, just change the names. lol
That’s the impression I got from watching biker gangs take over our roads (sorry, I don’t know how else to put it!). Biking seems to draw something out of people. Perhaps it’s being in the open air and not closed up in a steel box and isolated from your surroundings that’s so liberating.
Biking abroad is a great experience too. You tend to feel closer to the atmosphere of a place. I’ve hired a bike in Portugal a couple of times, while on holiday. Biking is very popular out there. A few days into the holiday, the locals would be speaking Portuguese to my husband. I guess with his sun tan and dark hair, they thought he was Portuguese also!
I missing biking. Need to get a bike and bike more. I’m getting fat, would be good for me!
2:30 a.m. Her mother and daughter patients slept as she reached into her pocket for the vibrating phone to find a text from her husband. Thoughts jumped ahead of her eyes. Are the boys okay? Why is he awake?
Then her thoughts stopped cold while she read. “Ari needs to stay night. Heading to airport to get her. Boys with me.”
“WHAT?” Now her thoughts raced erratically. “Ari? That girl from your past? Really? The boys out now?” she texted. “I say no. Apt is a mess.”
“Don’t worry. Only til morning. Probably be gone when you get home from work..”
Very sparse and yet intriguing, Barbara. I like it!
This was very well written, and interesting! Liked it.
Good start to catch your reader. I’m intrigued but confused. Is the speaker sitting in the hospital with her mother and daughter? Are they the patients? In a longer version I’m sure we’d find out why. Did she text her questions or only the no, apt a mess?
I’m with AL, I think the in the hospital scene is a good attention catcher, but I was confused by the same elements AL mentioned.
I picked the phone out of my pocket just as a mini-van I didn’t recognize came around the curve of our driveway and stopped in front of the house. Our driveway is a series of curves that runs between the trees from the street three hundred feet away, so our house isn’t visible from the surrounding neighborhood. Having two tasks to do at once frustrated me; answering the phone with a number I didn’t recognize and seeing who was in this strange car was just a little too much at once. I pressed ANSWER as the driver’s door opened.
I recognized Bob immediately, though I hadn’t seen him in four or five years. He held a cell phone to his ear and said, “Hey there!” I heard him at the same time in my own ear. I put the phone away, smiling.
“Hey, what’s up, stranger?” I held out my hand to him and he shook it heartily. It was then that the door on the passenger side opened, and a young woman stepped out. She smiled shyly as Bob and I hugged each other.
“Where the heck have you been?” I asked him, “and who’s this?”
Bob disentangled himself from me and walked around the front of the van, took the woman’s hand and walked her to face me. “This is Mel,” he said. I shook her hand. It was tiny, and cool to the touch.
“I wasn’t sure I could find you again,” he said, glancing around at the woods that served us in place of a yard. “God, your place really looks amazing!”
“Thanks,” I acknowledged. “We’ve been working on it here and there. Here, let me show you what I did,” I said and turned to lead them to the porch.
After a brief tour of the remodeled rooms we settled on the sofa. I went to pour up some glasses of iced tea for them, asking from the adjoining kitchen, “So, what are you guys doing down here in the deep South?”
Bob waited for me to return to the room before answering. “Well,” he began, “we’re sort of out on the road. We couldn’t keep up the mortgage on our place, so the bank took it back. I was kinda wondering if you still had that garage apartment you built for your daughter and her husband?”
I hesitated, perhaps for too long, before answering, “Well, yeah. Sort of. It’s full of boxes and stuff, but we could put you up for a few days, I guess.”
I had a pretty good idea of what my wife would say when she got home from work and found we had boarders. She’d always been a little timid around Bob, and neither of us knew his girlfriend. I wondered if he still drank. This was going to be interesting!
Great opening scene — a setup for fun or disaster!
Great start! So much potential for conflict and also humour. I get the impression that the uninvited guests will be around for more than a few days. I’d love to read about his wife’s reactions!
Sorry, but it’s not clear to me in the story above if Hannah or Jess is the one wanting to stay — or is it the unnamed I?
I read it as Hannah and Jess being the guests, and it being the first person narrator’s house?
House guests? No, thank you. I don’t like having visitors, even ones that I invite over myself with an enthusiastic “You should stop by!” that I actually mean for a brief moment in the grocery store. By the time I get out to my car, me and myself are cursing under their breath that I could be so stupid as to forget how much we hate company.
To make matters worse my husband is only working 3 days a week now and is more prone than ever to ask someone over to chat and see our house. He invites old college friends to take a road trip and stay with us. He invites strangers to see our garden. Sometimes I hear him on the phone: “You should meet my wife. She’s an amazing person!” Aargh. He’s trying to butter me up when he says that, and I start complaining as soon as he hangs up. “The house is a wreck!” I say. “It looks fine,” he lies.
When I know that company is coming I go from being a lax housekeeper to an alien from Planet OCD. I start washing floors and cleaning the oven and all the towels must be folded in thirds and hanging in a perfectly straight line. The whole time I sigh a lot and grumble and slump exhausted into chairs near my husband often, so he will not be tempted to invite any more people over to meet haggard Sarah Bernhardt after this.
Then if the visitors are late I pace and fret. I would like to get this over with as soon as possible. OCD hyperdrive has me looking out the front door exactly every two minutes. Can’t people show up at their allotted time rather than being “fashionably late”?! And then the car descends our driveway and the visitors descend upon our house.
I remember that I don’t like visitors, but do like people. Walking out to greet them, I start to feel like the hostess my mother used to be, affable and kind. We laugh and talk and eat and tour the garden and all is well. And when our guests leave I tell my husband we really should never do that again. He laughs and clears the dirty dishes.
I really enjoyed this, and am a bit the same about having visitors, even down to the neatly folded towels!
This is the first time I’ve done this but here goes…..:
_________
He asked to come in for coffee and never left. That was 25 years ago. How many times I’ve wished that I hadn’t been playing in the front yard that day. It
was my fault. I’d let him into our lives,opened the door to the hurt. Mum went to
the grave without me ever telling her I regret it every day of my sorry life.
He had looked innocent enough; I’d almost go so far as to say friendly, in his brown shiny nylon salesman suit and his equally shiny bryll-creamed
black hair.
“Hey kiddo,” he’d called to me as he walked up the drive with a heavy black leather case in his left hand. “Is your Mum in?”
I’d lead him into the shabby, chaotic kitchen at the back of
our small suburban house. Mum sat darning socks in a rocking chair by the open window. “I thought I’d told you to get out from under my feet… oh, sorry, I didn’t realise we had a guest” she said as she looked up and saw him, “excuse me.” She stood up, wiping her hands on her stained white apron.
“Sorry to disturb you ma’am. I have some things to show you in this ‘ere suitcase. How’s about a coffee for my troubles?”
Mum shooed me out of the kitchen, but I stayed in the hall, peering through the tiny crack between the door and its frame. I was desperate to know what was in the heavy case. Out of it came contraptions I’d
never seen the likes of, and a thick black shiny book with the letter A in gold
embossing on the front. My seven year old eyes had never seen anything so beautiful.
“Just $40 for the full set, and just for you, pretty lady, I will throw in a world atlas”. I had no idea what an atlas was, or even what the A book was, but I knew I wanted them.
Twenty minutes or so later, Mum led the man out of the kitchen and along the corridor into her and Dad’s bedroom. This time she was sure to lock the door
behind her. I stood with my ear pressed against the door listening to the animal-like grunting noises, the large bed squeaking like when I bounced on it.
Kate, you know how to tell a story and I am eager to read more of your work! Love your first sentence, it made me curious to get to the bottom of who this guest/interloper was to you. Nicely done.
Thank you
That nylon suit and the Brylcreem set the time period for this story. Is it in the forties while hubby’s away fighting a war?
I was thinking 1970s but that his clothes were outdated at the time
Our 3 each attend school away from home, and also spent their summers working at camps, Kurt and Kalleigh at Camp Echo in New York, and Kasey at River Way Ranch in California, so Greg and I miss a lot of “every days” with them. This week a lovely pack of Echo friends are joining us for post camp fun, and the last two nights Kasey has chatted with friends in the middle of the night who are on California time, so we have done a lot of listening to stories and watching the blessing of camp connections. As I enjoy the din, even knowing it’s just for a short time this week, here are some things I am noting about why it is just so stinkin’ wonderful that our kids (and their friends) have found such joy and purpose in their work.
Camp people..
Can get along with absolutely anyone of any age. Their friendliness is unending.
Can sleep absolutely anywhere on anything near anyone
Travel well with limited “stuff”
Don’t care about money for things, as long as they can scrape enough so that they they can go visit each other.
Are appreciative – of each other, of one another’s lives, and of all people
Aren’t afraid to work and clean up
Can carry on conversations about LOTS of topics, usually all at once.
Are intelligent about the world
Value kindness
Have an unbelievable ability to be flexible without getting the slightest bit stressed about changes in plans
Come to agreements quickly
Are respectful.
“Get” that they are life changers without being snotty about it.
Work at staying connected, not only to fellow staffers, but to their students
Make friends in a heartbeat. Good, deep, forever friends.
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House Guests
Some house guests are a joy. Some are a trial. Some are invited. Others are not. This one was definitely unplanned.
Minnie and Bailey had staked out the kitchen. Were they hungry? Their whiskers quivered as they rested on their tummies staring at the refrigerator. I offered them a treat but was ignored. After half an hour, Minnie walked out. Bailey nodded. When she returned, Bailey stealthily slipped out. Upon return the stake out continued. I was confused. They knew where their beds were. “Night-night. Sleep tight.” My sleep was more important then my curiosity.
Morning came much too soon. I stretched to find two cats sharing my bed. I rolled over and sat up to observe a brown spot on the rug. I leaned down. Red spots surrounded the decapitated mouse. The cats had resolved the problem of the unwelcome guest.
“I’m trying to keep the family together,” my sister always said when I refused to put up our precious little nephew whenever he decided to ‘pop in’ from the distant city where he lived..
My patience had been stretched to the limit the last time he came; creating disturbances whenever he could, he’d again made his unwelcome presence felt in my little apartment.
“It’s for you, Auntie Winnie,” he’d said the following day after he came back from a shopping expedition. A slicing board and a vegetable peeler. Granted it was just what I needed but had never got around to buying.
What got my back up was his smarmy expression when he handed it over – contrite and sweet.
The little rascal was really rubbing it in.
You can say I was the first to send our so-called family-unity for a ball of chalk.
The next time he arrived on another visit, he immediately put his feet up on my coffee table after he’d taken off his sweaty socks. And then started fiddling with his toes.
“Tomorrow morning you must find another place to stay.”
My sweet little nephew asked me, politely, as always, if he could use my phone. Within half an hour a friend arrived, they packed his stuff into his car. Voilá, the little pest was gone.
As simple as that. Why hadn’t I had the courage to do it the countless times he had deliberately and calculatedly rubbed me up the wrong way?I never saw him again after that.
The “ask” came in the form of a text message.
“I was thinking of coming this weekend alone with no kids. Pearl will be camping with the Girl Scouts and Sam J is spending the week with his friends up in Conway.”
I stopped thought and immediately replied, “Great, love to have you.”
You see, I have the very best sister-in-law in the world. I got very lucky because my brother’s first wife was certifiable. Kerrie is 18 years younger than me we have shared many love’s over the past 15 years. For one she is married to my brother who I love dearly. Secondly, she loves Martha’s Vineyard as much as I do and lastly she has two of the greatest kids in the world.
As I had none, these kids serve as surrogate children to me. And I have to admit, I am their favorite Aunt, willing to sleep out in a tent, get up at 4 am in the morning to fish with Sam and silly enough to let Pearl Instagram my cooking and post it out there in space somewhere.
When Kerrie comes we are on a mad dash from the beginning of the day until the very end.
We are on our bikes at 7:30 am to ride to our Breakfast. A hearty but healthy breakfast sets us up for the remainder of the day. Riding back home we are both scheming what we will do next. My poor husband is the reluctant participant but he knows he has the choice to join us or stay home.
Off we go to Aquinnah for our first hike of the day, a trail that winds through thick trees with a glimpse ocean here and there. Although we are bombarded by mosquitoes we fight our way through the trail until we are back in the parking lot.
What’s next? Lunch on the porch of the Chilmark Country Store? How about the Chilmark Flea Market?
We find our way to the market in an open field with no reprieve from the sun. How many times have I made this trip I wonder to myself while we weave our way around the booths, some so silly as to be laughable while others catch our attention. My husband has finally found a willing victim to talk to while we try on various beaded bracelets. Satisfied with our purchases, we are on our
way again. We have a golf game scheduled but not before we stop at the Scottish Bakehouse for a quick lunch. We split a healthy hummus and veggie wrap but splurge on a Dark Chocolate Cookie. That’s what I love about Kerrie; she will share her cookie with me willingly.
Home to change and on to the course. This is her first time golfing since her kids were born. Thisis bound to be a frustrating slow game with me readily coaching her along. Much to my surprise, she can hit that little ball almost better than me and I have been playing for 10 years. I am jealous and slightly miffed she can just be so good after such a long sabbatical from the game. Still I love her.
Once the scores are tallied we are on our way home once again. Oh, but we aren’t done yet. No sooner out of the car, we are back on our bikes for a 5 mile bike ride. We have no real destination but find an “ancient way” trail with nothing but a small weathered path to guide us through the backwoods. We love an adventure. This one is challenging as we bob and weave over and under tree limbs.
Finally, we get home to make dinner. Local fish and vegetables and very good wine end our day. My husband builds a huge fire in our fire pit and we adjourn to the outside to finish our wine and contemplate our day. We are all worn out
but satisfied that we used the day to its fullest. I am pleased I could keep up with here in spite of our age difference.
The best part of all. She is staying another day!
Felt up to the challenge, although 15 minutes yielded an incomplete story. Here’s what I have:
“Shit,” Mary said. “Shit shit shit shit shit.”
She looked down at her finger, a small sliver in her thumb began to turn deep
crimson as blood rose to the surface. Frustrated, Mary stuck the pad of her
thumb in her mouth to control the bleeding while she walked to the bathroom to
grab a band-aid. She examined the cut again. It wasn’t as bad as she thought,
that’s good. There were only a few hours left before her guests were to arrive.
Guests being a polite term, more like monsters-in-law she thought to herself. She had started on dinner early to avoid frantic rushing closer to arrival time
but everything seemed to get in her way today. First the flat tire this morning
on her way to the bank, then the broken down ATM, and now this. Mary barely had time to get showered, dressed, and finish dinner before they arrived. Slowly she felt anxiety creep up into her throat and chest, and could hardly contain a muffled sob when she pulled herself together and poured a small glass of wine. *It’s almost four, she thought. Might as well start early. Lord knows I’ll need it.* The first sip, crisp and tart, settled in her mouth before she
swallowed.
“Awesome,” she said, shifting her weight and closing her eyes. It was almost like a tonic. She instantly felt the anxious rush of moments before ebb back to where it came from. Mary took a deep breath and let it go, “OK. Let’s do this.”
My first go at one of these: In retrospect I think it should have been in first person.
*
‘Be afraid of your parents, be afraid of their clever friends’ Sam sung in his head as the dinner party raged all around him. Dad wastalking to the Hancocks about the upcoming election and mum was discussing theins and outs of some author or other with Mr and Mr Cornwall.
“Well, I think the Tories and really shot themselves in the foot in the last few years. I’m afraid we’ll probably end up with another labour government,” Dad said. Sam remembered him saying exactly the same thing that morning, paper in hand. ‘It says here,’ he’d said, ‘that the Tories have betrayed their right-of-centre core and alienated the more radical supporters with their inconsistent policies in the last four years, whereas Labour’s recent courting of the Unions will stand them in good stead with their core voters.’ He said as much now, but he didn’t admit that he was quoting from the newspaper. Mr Hancock nodded sagely. Obviously he read a different paper.
“She really makes you believe your there,” chirped mum. She’d been reading the review section of the paper yesterday. She only read reviews of books she’d already read. “Some of the characters are a little one dimensional, though.”
Mr Cornwall nodded, “Yes, I find that. The books are very engaging, but I’m afraid they don’t really have the sticking power.”
“More wine, John?” Dad asked, wielding the bottle.
“Oh yes please, oh, wait, David, did you say you were
driving tonight, or am I?”
“I’ll drive, darling” replied David. Dad poured the wine.
Sam wasn’t offered any wine. Or asked his opinion on books, or the election. It was probably a good thing, because he didn’t read the paper, not even the review section. He sighed.
“Are you ok, Sam?” Mum asked him.
“Yeah, fine,” he replied.
“You really must get more sleep dear, you look very tired.”
“I’m fine,”
“He doesn’t go to bed before three most nights,” Dad confided in the Hancocks, who nodded knowingly.
Be afraid of your parents.
*
The song referenced is ‘Be Afraid of your Parents’ by The Indelicates, I recommend that you check them out!