Friday Fiction – Man, what are you doin here?

This week’s FF photo nearly made me quit. I just couldn’t get the story to work – I had a few “scenes” which I tried out but none of them was really a story or worthy of the group. What I ended up with still isn’t made favourite ever, but I’ve decided to post it so let me know what you think.

You can read other people’s responses to John Nixon’s photo by following the links on Rochelle’s page

Alternatively, just go here to enjoy what a clever writer can do with 300 words and a piano man.

Man, What Are You Doin’ Here?

“I’m worried he can’t reach the pedals from there,” said Darren, indicating a joke piano with two legs sticking out of it.

Miranda felt a giggle creep up from her stomach. The whole date had been a disaster, from the parking ticket on his car to the appalling service at the restaurant. But then, what was it they said about friendships formed in foxholes?

“That’s not funny,” she said, holding back the laughter.

“I know,” he smiled, “But at least you’re smiling now.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she fought back a guffaw. “He gets really into his music!”

Friday Fiction – Whiskey Tales

You know what it’s like when you get an idea stuck in your head? And no matter how wrong it is, it just won’t go away? Obviously, if the idea is “rob a bank”, you’d do well not to exorcise it by exercising it, but I’m hoping the same isn’t true of story ideas, because that’s what happened to me with this week’s FF prompt. For those with the time / patience, I’ll explain more after the story, but for now I can only beg your understanding.

Thanks to Sandra Crook for providing the photo, and Rochelle Wisoff Fields for running the show. You can see lots of (less tenuous) other stories inspired by this photo by clicking on the little blue guy on Rochelle’s page.

Whiskey Tales

“You go places, you see things. Sometimes they ain’t good things. I saw a man kill his dog once.”

Alice only half listened. Whiskey Tales, her father called them: half true, half whiskey. The man called Ryder waved his arms as he described the dog murder. Dog-o-cide? she thought. Caninicide? She’d wanted to go to High School, where you learned that kind of thing. But instead she poured the whiskey half of the tales. Tails, she smiled.

Ryder flailed towards the empties gathered at one end of the bar. Her father noticed and pulled the tray to safety. “Easy, Ryder!”

 

* * *

Drafting Notes (or What’s that got to do with the picture?!)

It all started with an error. I looked at the picture and thought about the Easy Rider poster (blame my Saturday morning writing group, where one of the stories referred to it this week!). That led me down the path of the bad pun which forms the “punchline” in this story. It was only after I’d written it that I checked the poster and discovered that the niggling doubt at the back of my mind was right – the Easy Rider motorbikes were 2 wheelers. Anyway, the damage was done.

The second prompt for this story was my reaction to Sandra’s photo. She’s given us other pictures in the past and the first line of this story is a tribute to Sandra – she goes places, and she sees things. She’s also kind enough to take photos and let us use them as prompts.

Once I realised my mistake about the bikes, I was tempted to bin this story. However, I’ve developed a soft spot for Alice, so I can’t. She’s trapped in the world of her father’s bad jokes – they’re even rubbing off on her. She’s frustrated but not, I think, totally unhappy. I hope that both she and I can keep learning the lesson that happiness isn’t having what you want, it’s wanting what you have.