Writing Club Week 3

[Posting a link?]

Forum Guidelines
Posting a link? Read This!

Forgot your password? Need help?
Click Here To Contact Us

Mudflats Merchandise
AKMuckraker Amazon Store
Support AKM Merchandise

Download it here!

[LJP aka Revolver Trooper]

Dear Fellow Writing Mudpuppies,

Let's face it.  We are all closet writers or we wouldn't be here. (A brief pause while a cat walks across the keyboard. I've been here less than 90 seconds. How do they know?) And we all share something in common:  fear of the red pen.  We have all been traumatized by teachers wielding red pens good for slapping a big C at the top of our papers.  For me, fear of the red pen keeps me from sending my academic articles out;  it may also have me stuck at the midpoint in my little mystery novel.  So a big cheer to whomever thought of this club (Icy, I see you), because it offers us a chance to write and "publish" for each other. No red pens.  And just because I teach writing for my day job, doesn't mean I am judging your effort with a metaphoric red pen.  I am one of you and will put my amateur stuff out there for you to read, too. 

Here are Icy's original instructions: 

The exercise?   Write for 10 minutes on the week's topic.  Any genre. 

DO NOT use the edit or backspace keys!  The idea is to just write without worrying about perfection.

Let me add--have fun.  And publish your efforts on this thread.  Topic below.
 

[VTJen]

May I suggest this week's topic be;

SHOES

???

[Icy]

Thanks for the words of encouragement, LJP.  Means a lot coming from you!

VTJen...you got it.  Shoes it will be.

Get those fingers moving on your keyboard, folks!

[ira2]

What Icy said  Thanks, LJP!

[ira2]

SHOES

Shoes... beautiful, lovely shoes. I could never have enough shoes. Sandals don't speak to me, but let there be a little ankle boot wiggling that silken tongue and I turn to butter. Heels or no heels, fur-trimmed or not, leather or suede or painted canvas, it matters not - if it's a shoe or a boot, I must touch it and sniff it and try to put it on my foot.

My cats like shoes too. Josie, in particular, has a very strong affinity for fur-trimmed leather boots, but her taste for them has little to do with sight and touch. Her taste for them is all about - taste. She eats the fur. Needless to say, we have a small disagreement now and then about the appropriate use of fur-trimmed boots, most notably so when I forget to put said boots away in the coat closet where they belong.

I will admit that I bought Josie a pair of shoes once, beautiful, shiny brown leather shoes with rabbit fur trim which were languishing in the rack at Goodwill. They were made in Romania and, sadly, far too small for my feet. Buying them for Josie in lieu of a less appealing $3.99 present made me feel good, and she got heaps of pleasure out of them before their final demise.

This time of the year, shoes are warm winter pals for my feet. The winter pal kind of footwear must make do without beads and bells and that sleek 'n slender beauty, but it has its own charm. Not to mention, since I discovered a wild and vast variety of snazzy shoe laces, it's on its way to rival my summer footwear in visual appeal.

Shoes... beautiful, lovely shoes, gracing my feet and my life. It's a beautiful thing!

[LJP aka Revolver Trooper]

The Peeps

There is nothing I love more than peep-toe shoes.  I mean the peep-toes with high heels and some little embellishment that puts a spin on a suit or a sweater set or a pair of jeans.  The peep-toe reminds me of the fashions of the late 30s and 40s—slim skirts, tailored dresses, peplum jackets, covered buttons, and hats—when women were more formal and covered up, except for that little toe peeping out. 

For a long time, it was hard to find peep-toes.  When I was younger and slimmer, I would buy vintage dresses. But there is something unsavory about vintage shoes.  Used shoes, really, with someone else’s smelly foot prints in them.     I bought my first pair of peep-toes five or six years ago. I bought them as soon as I saw their gleaming leather sides in the shoe department at Kaufmann’s.  High heels, but not spikes.  Shiny black reptile grain.  Nice shape to the peep toe. I was in love.  I paid full retail.  Since then, I have collected 6 other pairs:  a black “everyday” peep toe with a nice thick high heel; a black and pink polka dot peep-toe with a bow above the peep;  two pairs of patent leather with black ribbon bows, one in red and one in black; a pair of shoes I brought back from New York as a souvenir—a brighter red patent with no bow; and a pair of high wedge fabric peep-toes I bought at PayLess for under  $10 to replace a sandal that broke on a trip.

It takes some fortitude to wear peep-toes.  Unless I wear toeless panty hose, it’s just my foot and the shoe. And at my age, by the end of the day, I am probably more an 8 ½ than a 7 ½.  A few weeks ago, I wore the new black patent shoes with the ribbon bows to a basketball game. We have a front row seat on the bench with the players—me, the peeps, and our blisters.

The current crop won’t be the last of my peeps.  Every time I am in a store with shoes or pass a window of a store with shoes or see a pair of shoes on someone else, I search for another pair to add to the collection.  Some day they will be out of style again. But I will still have a closet full of shoes that can kick butt and look good doing it.

[aggirl]

You caught my interest with the subject.  Here's my offering, I think it was ten minutes and I did try not to edit.

Lined up in a row,at an angle, toes out, memories.

Those luscious hot pink stiletto heels have seen the balmy shores of Southern California all the way east to NYC and back to Colorado.  The Frederick’s special gold lame 3” sandles have trod the boards at Joe Papp’s Lincoln Center and trundled to the New York
Times in the wee hours to find out if the ‘show’ was a hit (it was!)  Those silver stacked 60’s heels got an appreciative nod from Dennis Weaver in the day.  The tap shoes added spice to the “dancing hooker’ one Halloween and, the ballet slippers carried out the theme of “Beetlejuice’s Bride” on an other. Those gorgeous kid leather blue ankle boots, with the extension of leather wrapping and tying around the ankle, were bought by my mom urged on by me in Paris, a momento not to be tossed out on her passing. My Bali boots purchased at the same location, walked many miles allowing me to eat my way through Europe on that memorable trip.

Most of these sit and gather dust, the memories remain.

[Dianna]

He hung those baby boots from his rearview mirror years ago. They swayed with each twist and turn he made. They were polished white but couldn't conceal the scars on the leather. He could have had them bronzed. He thought about it but, without knowing why exactly, these tiny shoes became his traveling companions.
A possession he no longer saw but those little boots went with him. The pain had been buried long ago. I asked him about them, once. I knew it was a mistake the moment the words left my mouth. There we sat with the silent strain that comes from one invading another's forbidden place. He stared a long while before starting the engine.

[Deep Blue]

Dianna, that was beautiful...

[Dianna]

Thank you Deep Blue. My inspiration was from something a mudflatter shared on one of the forums.

[Icy]

Grandmother's Shoes

My grandmother had 3 pairs of shoes, all made of cloth with several layers of cardboard for the soles.

A black pair, much repaired, for everyday use.

The other two, worn only on special occasions, were magnificent.  The red silk pair had tiny dragons hand embroidered, with diamonds for their eyes.  The yellow silk pair had peonies with leaves made of real jade.

I remember holding them in my hands, turning them over and around, absorbing every detail.  And yes, one of her shoes fit neatly in the palm of my 6 year old hand.  Her feet had been broken and bound when she'd barely started to walk.

Even with seven children, grandmother never understood the need for good shoes; she barely walked anywhere because of the pain.

That's probably why mom fell in love with the first man who bought her a pair of leather shoes.

[Forty Watt]

No shoes.  Fat pink toes, wiggly, piggly, not too clean.
”She’s awful quiet, the bairn.  Is she always this quiet?”
“Only when she’s out.  You should hear her in the house.  A right wee chatterbox.”

Red, shiny, coveted sandals with buckles you can buckle yourself because you’re four.
“Look at that, will you.  Her hair’s all standing on end.  What happened, darling?  Got pulled through a hedge backwards, did you?”
“Och, it’s an awful trial that head of hair.  Got a mind of its own.”
“Lovely colour though. It’s not ginger.”

Black big-school shoes with laces.  Make a loop, around the loop, bring it through, pull it tight.
“ Is she clever like her big brother.  Braw looking laddie, that yin.”
“Aye, she’s clever.  Not that many are clever and good-looking both.”
“Pity that, her being a girl, but there you are, we don’t get to choose.”

Slip-ons at last.  Not as nice as Morag’s and no nylons--you’re far too young.  Don't they know it’s the socks that make you young.
“Is that Violet’s girl?”
“Aye.”
“What a shame.  She’s the spitting image of her father and her mother was such a beautiful woman.”

Bliss.  Blue with teeny heels and white bows. Nylons.  Shift the gaze between the feet that dreams are made of and the knees of potential saggy disaster.   
“She must be a slow developer.”
“It’s because she won’t stand up straight.  Always got her eyes on the ground.  I tell her, it interferes with the breathing and you’ve got to breathe to grow.”
“Och, I just think it’s because she’s awful skinny.  Look at that, her ribcage sticks out more than her bust!”

Plain black high heels.  Professional. 
“Was your father a lawyer?”
“Well, what ever made you think you could be one?”
“By the by, what’s your golf handicap?”

Then one day, when no one else was looking, not even me, it came to me on tiptoe-- I’ve no damn idea what kind of shoes I’m wearing.

[CO Almost Native]

Shoes.
Black sandals. Gold, sparkly platform sandals. Denim and silver platform sandals. Red with black swirls, side zip Helles. Feet-soothing wedgies in tan, and black, and navy, and- torquoise, the best of the bunch. Vintage black and white Hush Puppies, worn on game days.  Patent leather loafers. Bronze mules with leather rosettes on the top. Pink open-back Adidas.

I walked into the room before the bell rang, and took my usual place in the front of the blackboard.  "Awful Ogre's Awful Day" was tucked in the crook of my arm- it was Picture Book Day, a class favorite of the freshmen, as no one knew exactly what might happen.  Eyes glued...on my feet.  Heads craned, trying to see-

"New shoes, Mrs. S?" one curious soul asked.
"No", I replied, "I just haven't worn them to class this year-"
A pause as the 29 freshmen boys studied my shoes once more...
"Are those pandas on your shoes?" another wanted to know.
"Yes- I don't know how they put the photograph on the leather, but they are pandas," I stated, looking fondly at my Icons.

"Cool..." a third decided.

Cool, indeed- I never knew freshmen boys would be so into shoes.

[The Blogger]

I'am not big fan of feet.

Legs, definitely. Feet ? Not much. 

But hers were different. Toes sloped with delicacy, toenails painted various different colors. My teenage hearts went pitter-patter as we gathered in Autumnal fields of harvest grapes Monks use for to making vino.  And crushing of the grapes!  Her feet and toes purple with juices. Her cherry-red toenails shining like top of police car, pulling over those what take those curves with too much speed.

But she was older and comfortable. And I was awkward - it was my first time with amore.

She likes me, I thinking.  We speak of ocean navigation ships on our pauses (of job). And she curling her toes in grasses in sense that has rendered to me (and to all the other laborers) smiles.

She telling me she loving begonias and I recorded that back in mind (as with all her similar likes and aversions).  Since the climate has turned more cold, no more with grapes.  All grapes gone, all wine bottling, all monks praying. 

The next day, I finding begonias all morning.  I plan our reunions, at last to say what in my heart.  I has speech prepare and even has had wide-awake joke about her toes. 

I beat on door and she answer, but no longer has nakedness of foot.  Fragile toes and varnished nails hide in container of high heels and bow looping around.  Colorful, yes?  But not expected by me.  Her shoes, they throw me – where are these feet splendid which have become focus for love and worshipful glancing?  She taking begonias and I saying something, but can not recall anymore.

Then he comes to door.  Dressed in fineries.  Older than me.  Older even than her.  And out went she on his arm, leaving behind me.

My heart, she breaks for first time, but sadly not last of times. 

I blaming the Shoes.

(Story, she true.  Names changing to protect the virgins.)

[LJP aka Revolver Trooper]

This is great stuff so far.  Keep going, mudflatters.  Do not be intimidated!  This week is all about shoes, politically and literarily.

[the problem child]

So much beautiful writing on this topic, and I hate shoes! If I could never wear them again, that would be the change I deserve.  I love the way you are each able to pull me into your shoe worlds and make me feel your shoe love. Not that I am ever likely to feel anything but a tepid affection for Birks or Clarks. (My toes are just wired different.)

[ira2]

I'am not big fan of feet.

[...]

Pssst: I am very big fan of The Blogger    Viva Italia and all 

[Icy]

Heh...I read it first as "I'm not a fan of big feet."

The 10 min. rule is hard....but harder still is the "no edits" rule.  I've been tempted at least 20 times since posting to go into my comment box and wreak havoc.

Too bad the system date and name stamps all editing....

...sigh.

[Dianna]

Well, I can tell you straight up, mine took longer than 10 minutes to write. Sorry. When I type, I speed along and if I didn't fix my mistakes, it would NOT even be readable. When I proof-read my own writing, I have a hard time figuring out what I've wrote. THAT BAD! Dyslexia of the fingers.

[Deep Blue]

The shoe hunt begins weekdays at about 7:20 a.m. The oldest son leaves for school in 40 minutes – where is that damned left sneaker? Finally – shoe found, back-up desperation shoes remain put away for today. He’s off to school.

Now the preschoolers. Someone please tell me why, oh why, the spouse bought lace-up shoes for a five-year-old? And how is it that the four shoes I need for two children have ended up on three different levels of the house?

Angst over, shoes in hand, now we begin the hunt for socks. First the drawers – ha - wishful thinking. Clean clothes so seldom end up in the drawer before they are needed. Rooting through the big clean sock pile, with luck I am gratefully grasping two matching pairs.

Now the middle child is complaining about the seam of the sock. We adjust, put the shoe on again. Are we ready? Are we ready? Raincoats on, into the car, off to school with the little guys.

Walking into school, so many deliciously tempting puddles. Splish, squelch… Please! Don’t step in the puddles! Those hard-won shoes will be wet all day…

So much shoe excitement packed into one single morning - almost every single morning  – it just doesn’t seem right that they will grow out of them and toss them aside in just a few months.

But the parents will always remember the never-ending Drama of the Shoes.