Trying to find something to do other than twiddle my thumbs I begin to listen to the words vibrating from the speakers behind me. When shotgun blasts them to an unbearable volume, all of my physical features squint in agony. My backseat companion coerces her into lowering the dial. I thank her with a nod.
Three quietly jamming are content. I reach for my bag, avoiding a toilet water drenched cellphone. I snag my wallet deciding to study newly exchanged Canadian money. For a few moments I attempt to grasp the concept of one and two-dollar coins. I would think it would be more expensive to produce coins versus paper money. When unable to figure out my curiosity, I put away the Loonies and Toonies and replace them with a five.
I wish American's weren't so cheap. Instead of adding drops of color and shiny fake gold, we should transform them into pieces of paper drenched in exotic color. I guess I'll have to find some other source of entertainment as I go cross-country this coming summer.
Should I know who this man is? He has a face much like one you would expect to see from paintings of another era. The 1800's I suppose. I enjoy reading French words in my head mistakingly with a Spanish accent. Still in my own mind with a rampage of one thought after another, I begin to examine what I believe to be the front. Can't our country put our national sport on our money? Just look at those kids playing hockey. Wait a minute... I never played hockey.
I'm not sure if this is truly a vignette. I feel as if it's story-like and I had such difficulty ending it. This is my theme for the week, but I'm most definitely willing to change it around after you comment on it because I am positive it could use some work. I just wanted to get it in before you read our blogs tomorrow. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteIt's a vignette alright--I don't see any narrative element there. It's a snaphshot of a moment and of a minute's stream of consciousness.
ReplyDeleteTry reading it aloud and listening. There are places where you over-write and lose a bit of the sense. The first two grafs in particular find unnecessarily elaborate ways to say simple things.
Take this, for example: Trying to find something to do other than twiddle my thumbs I begin to listen to the words playing from the speakers behind me. When shotgun blasts them to an unbearable volume, all of my physical features squint in agony.
And here it is on a diet: Bored, I'm suddenly squinting in agony after shotgun blasts the volume.
Or is that getting anorexic?
But the back end, the last three grafs, the inside-your-head material, reads very differently. They really perk up, and I think the ending is funny, surprising, ridiculous in a wonderful way, perfect.