Writing Wrongs

January 12, 2005

Yesterday, Bob called me from Target. He was in the shoe aisle and wanted to know if I wanted some hiking boots, and if so, what size in menís did I wear.

Sure, hiking boots sounded good, and for the record, I wear a seven.

Alas, no boots were forthcoming. They didnít have my size. But Bob was confused on the whole men vs. women shoe size thing. Itís different, I told him. I wear a seven in menís. I know this because thatís the size combat boot I wore.

Bob chuckled to himself, then turned to Andrew. ďYour mother wears combat boots.Ē

From here we launched into a detailed discussion of combat boots, the Corcorans, the Hi-Tecs, the Matterhorns. Really, Carrie Bradshaw and the gals on Sex and the City were never this enthusiastic about footwear. This led to a discussion of our respective stints in Airborne school. The kids were bored, and we babbled so much, Bob nearly missed taking Andrew to Cub Scouts.

Later, when they arrived back home, Andrew had a brand new birdhouse he had built at the meeting. Bob headed immediately for his basement office sanctuary.

He paused on the landing and held up a hand. ďTen boys, all screamers, all with hammers.Ē

Enough said. And I have to wonder: maybe Airborne school was easier.

Writing Progress: While I think Iíve worked out some problem areas, Iím still wrestling with that second scene. I played around with a tentative opening for it. I looked at it today and decided it is quite possibly the worst thing Iíve ever written. I think the gist is fine; in this case, itís the execution.

Charity Tahmaseb wrote at 11:24 a.m.

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