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Mini Sledgehammer February 2013: Metlakatla Library

Posted on February 12, 2013 by writer

Many of you know that Sledgehammer Director Ali McCart has moved to Alaska for the 2012-2013 school year. And wouldn’t you know it? Writers up there want to Mini Sledgehammer too! If you’re interested, join them in the library at 5 p.m. every first Wednesday through May.

February marked the first of the Alaska Mini Sledgehammers, and it was a blast! Kathy Anderson took home the prize with this sneaky story.

Prompts:
Character: Librarian
Action: Typing
Setting: Small business office
Prop: Broken zipper

***

Untitled

by Kathy Anderson

Eleven P.M. was an odd time to be in the small business office.  Papers were scattered on the desk and files were in disarray.  The clicking of the computers keys could be softly heard over the subtle noise of the state of the art air conditioner.  Jenna, the librarian at the small museum housing artifacts of war crimes, wouldn’t normally be at work at this hour.  Normally-

Time was running short.  She needed to get this information decoded and uploaded before the target time of 12:00 midnight would be reached.  Jenna – a small, demure, woman of Swedish descent only could will time to slow down in order for her to complete her objective.  People’s fortunes, their very lives, depended on this information to be delivered.

She finished typing, exhaled, and noted the computer needed 10 minutes to finish uploading the information she had been gathering.  A perfect opportunity to use the facilities.  Thus far her plan had been executed flawlessly.  She knew the office would be empty at this hour of the night except for the custodians, so there were no disruptions.  Many nights she worked long hours at the museum library logging data and cataloging the written archives, so no one suspected.

Stretching she walked silently to the restroom.  She knew the cleaning crew would be making their rounds soon; she had to hurry.  She always dressed the part of the mousy librarian, cardigan sweaters, blue jean skirts and today was no exception.

Wouldn’t you know it! She chose the stall with no toilet paper in this tiny bathroom.  She leaned over and reached up into the next stall to grab for the roll there.  While leaning over for the TP, her cardigan became caught in her zipper of her skirt.  Are you kidding me!  The more she worked at releasing the cotton material from her fly, the more entangled it became until the zipper actually broke.

As she was working at her zipper, she lost track of time and the bump of the mop bucket in the hallway alerted her to the fact that the custodians had arrived.  She had to get back to her computer.  But how without causing a scene?  But wait- maybe that is exactly what she needed to do! Cause a scene.  She somehow removed her arms in her cardigan, revealing the silky cami underneath.  She slipped off the jean skirt with the cardigan still hanging from the fly and revealed her undergarment – thong underwear.

Slowly, seductively she leaned against the door jamb of the bathroom door  waiting for Juan to look up.  She wouldn’t make it back to the office in time to check that the upload had completed, but she could prevent, and very effectively,  the cleaning man from seeing what she was doing.

Not guns, nor bullets, nor XYZ zippers could ever stop double agent Jenna and she wondered what her next assignment would be.

© 2013 Kathy Anderson

 

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Mini Sledgehammer January 2013: Blackbird Wine & Atomic Cheese

Posted on February 12, 2013 by writer

Elissa Nelson, a long-time Sledgehammer friend, has upped her friendliness by offering to lead Mini Sledgehammer for the next handful of months–tonight was her first in this role. Thanks, Elissa!

Can you guess what, from the winning story below, Elissa’s prompts were? [Insert theme music to Get to Know Your Facilitator, an exciting new game from the producers of Wheel of Fortune!]

***

January

by Kerrie Farris

The crows crowded in at her feet, squabbling in rough voices over the cold, half-eaten calzone Grace had dropped a moment before. Some of them stood away from the fray, beady eyes trained on her, grumbling and squawking as if their lack of dinner was her fault.

When two birds each grabbed a scrap of crust and flew straight in to her face, she abandoned the damp cement bench in front of the library and set off in search of somewhere with fewer feathered ruffians.

Shivering in a gust of wind that nearly took her hat off, Grace skirted a wispy-haired woman in a wheel chair, a wispy-haired palm-sized dog tucked into a fold of the dingy Pendleton jacket draping her hunched shoulders. “I walked those streets, my dear, and there was only half an hour I was ever happy,” the woman said to a space well to the left of Grace.

She passed a park, with trees but no grass, where two girls sat on another damp bench, delicately twining each other’s hair into spirals, then roughing it up toward the roots with their fingertips. A quick way to turn shiny, soft hair into dreadlocks. Pulling hair in reverse.

Grace left the park behind her. A few silky-feathered crows ahead of her scrattered over, of all things, a pair of ethereal blue panties. Grace lost her footing at the curb, the toe of her boot jutting too boldly into space. She went down, on her hands and knees and chin, onto the damp pavement as the furious crows shredded the panties, strands of soft, shiny elastic breaking as they were pulled the normal way, the harder way, and wondered if she might not have spent a happier half hour at the library. Even in January, the place was warm.

(c) Kerrie Farris 2013

Kerrie Farris lives in Portland and watches the crows when she ought to be working.

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Mini Sledgehammer November 2012: Blackbird Wine & Atomic Cheese

Posted on February 12, 2013 by writer

One thing you can say about Mini Sledgehammer: it’s never boring! Kristin arrived after taking two buses to find the venue double booked (with a pleasant group talking about dying over a microphone).

She spotted three of our regulars in the corner. They chatted; they decided the night wasn’t right for a Mini. Two of the three left; Kristin waited for the third as she used the restroom. While Kristin did so, a familiar face appeared: two of our main Sledgehammer participants had been sitting across the room!

So then there were three, and they had prompts, and Kristin had wine, and they wrote. No one cared about the prizes–they just wanted to write. But there was a winner! Congratulations, Kevin!

Prompts:
Character: A patient participant
Action: Double booking
Setting: A sunnier place
Prop: A mandarin collar

***

Untitled

by Kevin Nusser

Usually I am patient, good at standing still and thinking. In middle school, I would lie on the couch bored to death. My Mom would go down a litany of things to do. I would tell her I was beyond boredom, too bored to do anything more than stare up at the ceiling. Usually I am patient.

On the weekends, I stand outside the goodwill outlet store for an hour in the cold, just for the chance to bring the first at the old books. In that line of thirty people I am patient.

But this line is not about patience. It is about desperation. We have all been told the chances of getting on this flight to a sunnier place. We all can feel that warmth. But this flight has been double booked. And this line suggests bookings of infinitely more.

I stand behind a little girl dressed in a fine kimono with a mandarin collar. She is not a patient participant, exhausting her mother and already tired of the few magic tricks that I know.

We slowly shuffle forward, inching towards that place in sunnier weather. I do not know whether I am waiting to get on the plane or waiting for the signal that my life is doomed.

A block from the terminal the doors are shut by national guardsman. I think of wasted minutes as the Mom hugs the kimonoed girl.

And yet, we stay in line. Usually I am patient, even to death.

(c) Kevin Nusser 2012

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Mini Sledgehammer October 2012: Blackbird Wine & Atomic Cheese

Posted on October 11, 2012 by writer

Kristin arrived by bicycle at 7:02 p.m., but returning Mini Sledgehammer friends had the evening under control: They were happily dividing up responsibility to come up with the writing prompts. Thanks, all! In addition to the regulars, a couple of new faces joined the group this time–very cool. And every Tuesday is now all-day happy hour at Blackbird! What a treat for us, since we’re there every second Tuesday.

Congratulations to Amy Seaholt!

Prompts:
Character: The Other
Action: Makin’ it or breakin’ it
Setting: Home sweet home
Phrase: the kindness of strangers

***

Pinpoint

by Amy Seaholt

I like to ignore The Other. She irritates me to no end. It wasn’t always that way.

Back in the day, when we were trying to make it or break it in Hollywood, we were a team. Inseparable. The glorious Gibson sisters. Our star was just a pinpoint in that bright LA sky, but we were determined to make it shine brighter. The Other was the talker, but I had the voice. She talked her way into getting us the audition with Mr. Crosby. I never knew exactly how she did it but I had my suspicions; her behind closed doors and a feather in her lipstick line. When we got the gig, it was me Mr. Crosby was looking at. My voice made it happen. The Other called him Bing.

We were photographed in matching scarves and brown bobs curling around our jaws, squeezed lovingly into a convertible owned by one mogul or another. It lasted like as long as the flash of the bulb that caught us.

Mr. Crosby got us one last job on the Luxe Radio Theater hour. But radio wasn’t a ticket to the big time. We came away no brighter than we were before.

No matter how much The Other tried to work her magic, in her hot pants and kitten heels, it wasn’t good enough to catch more than a glance from those moguls. I knew the problem, of course. She was too pushy, too forward. It made her unappealing and easily used. Her voice wasn’t as clear as they wanted and I was tied to her, as sisters are. I wanted nothing to do with it.

“I think it’s time we moved on,” I told her one day. She stubbed out her cigarette and said, “Where do you think we should go?”

“I don’t mean we.”

She halted, water half-way to her lips. “Yes you do,” she said, eyes locked on mine. “We work together.”

“Maybe it’s time we stopped.”

“Maybe it’s time you appreciated all I have done for you,” her eyes narrow and venom filled now. “All of the times I have taken you along for the Goddamn ride because you’re blood.” It wasn’t the reaction I had anticipated.

“Maybe we should go to Daddy’s place in Tahoe. The casinos are taking off there,” I said.

We moved to our home sweet, faux log cabin home that fall. Suffered through the snowy winter while our bodies tried to acclimating to the altitude and the remote life. By the spring we had a show at Harrah’s lounge, and The Other took bits of Harrah’s home after hours. Decorating her bedroom with a red fabric covered reading lamp and supplying our kitchen with institutional white plates. It was her way of adjusting to the life that is now ours. Trying to keep hold of the dream we never achieved.

“Don’t take that stuff, we’ll get fired,” I said as she pulled another table setting out of her purse.

“The maitre d’ gave it to me,” she insisted.

“He did not.”

“I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers,” she said

“You have not.”

When I picked up my paycheck yesterday, there was a note that my boss, head of entertainment, wanted to speak with me.

I went into his dark office and shut the door behind me. “Is there a problem?” I asked.

“It’s about your sister,” he said.

“We’re not a team. I barely know what she does each day.” I said, separating myself from her again, stepping forward and shrugging a shoulder out of my wrap.

(c) Amy Seaholt 2012

Amy Seaholt is a realtor by day and a writer by night. Sometimes that day/night thing gets mixed up. She is participating in the Attic Institute’s Atheneum program as a fiction fellow, focusing on her first novel. You can find her here: www.awkwardlaugh.com. Or here: www.amyseaholt.com. She lives in Northeast Portland with her husband and two young children.

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Mini Sledgehammer August 2012: Blackbird Wine & Atomic Cheese

Posted on August 17, 2012 by writer

We had such a fun time at this Mini Sledgehammer! Five participants, four of whom had never before been to a Mini Sledgehammer (and the fifth had only been to one other), and since we all arrived early, we got to talk and laugh before settling down to “work.”

Prompts:

Character: The man with the glint or reflection in his sunglasses

Setting: A doorway

Action: Scabbing over

Prop: Something that has been placed where it should not have been placed

Congratulations, Melinda, on your winning story!

***

Untitled

by Melinda McCamant

Christopher told me he placed the dream catcher in the doorway to snare me if I ever tried to leave. He said this over cinnamon pancakes and the scent, something like my old blue baby blanket and a sunset, made me think that I was never going anywhere. I dug in, sweet syrup and butter coating my tongue. Oh yes.

Then I found the panties—no, panties is too kind. Then I found the crusty thong in the glove box of Christopher’s car. They were black and bedazzled, the sort of thong a stripper sheds for her last hurrah.

“Did you find the registration?”

We had been pulled over—sixty miles an hour in a thirty—and Christopher’s voice had a hard edge to it. My fingers started to go numb as I held the panties in one hand and the car’s registration in my other. I could see my lost expression and the pulsing red and white in the police officer’s sunglasses.

“Registration?” It was the cop this time, only his voice seemed kinder than Christopher’s—but maybe that was just me seeing me in the mirror lens.

I dropped the panties in Christopher’s lap and let the registration fall on top of them.

The cop and I stared at Christopher’s lap.

“Those aren’t mine,” I said, and Christopher chuckled as he handed over the registration.

I was holding it together until he laughed. The car smelled like the stale thong and cow hide. As soon as we were alone, I started to cry. Silly scratchy uncontrolled sobs.

Christopher picked the panties out of his lap. “I don’t have any idea how those got here.” He dropped the thong into the backseat. I looked into the rearview mirror and saw the cop open his door, walking slowly back towards the car. I covered my mouth, tried to quiet down. “You’re overreacting,” Christopher said and turned his attention to the officer.

I thought of the dream catcher, how it hung a little too far low and how I whacked my head on it every time I left the apartment. I thought of each small knot holding me in place and how I wasn’t a dream to be caught but a girl with no dreams beyond sweet syrup and heated leather seats. I felt my tears dry, scab over, fall off my cheeks. And as the officer handed Christopher his ticket, I opened my door and stepped out into the crisp afternoon.

“Alright, ma’am?” the cop asked.

The air was cool but the sun though low on the horizon still felt warm on my back and shoulders.

“I’m fine, thank you. I think I’ll walk from here.”

I looked across the top of the car and once again saw my reflection in the cop’s glasses. Only this time my hair was lit up from behind and seemed to glow like a moth escaping a flame. I smiled and the cop smiled back and I heard the click of the automatic lock as Christopher started his engine and slowly pulled back into traffic.

(c) 2012 Melinda McCamant

Melinda McCamant writes about food and drink both for her own blog and for other more reputable and consistent sites on the internet. When not baking or contemplating what to make next, Melinda is either talking to the cat or hard at work on her first novel. You can find her pictures and writing here or on Facebook.

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