HHC Blog

Writing 101, Day Twelve: (Virtual) Dark Clouds on the Horizon

Writing 101, Day Twelve: (Virtual) Dark Clouds on the Horizon
Today, write a post with roots in a real-world conversation. For a twist, include foreshadowing.

Wait out the storm at Costco

An Incident

We were freshman in high school. One day my friend W invited me to her home after school. On our way to her house, W told me she was mad at Lin. I asked her why. She told me she heard Lin say something bad about her. W was angry; she used several words that I was not allowed to say at my home.

Lin was a quiet and confident girl. Even though we were not close friends, I liked her a lot. “I am sure it’s misunderstanding. I don’t think Lin would say bad things about anyone,” I said.

W didn’t listen to me. She told me I was a fool if I trusted Lin. “If you are my friend, don’t talk to Lin anymore,” she said. Again, I insisted that there must be some misunderstanding. W gave me a look, which made me feel uneasy, but she finally dropped the subject.

Several weeks later, celebrating our school’s founding anniversary, teachers decided to exhibit our work for a week, including our calligraphy homework and our journal. I didn’t care to see anyone’s calligraphy homework and didn’t feel right to read other people’s journal so I didn’t go to the exhibition.

On the second day of the exhibition, my good friend Ding came and told me go read W’s journal. I told Ding I didn’t want to. When someone else made the same suggestion, I decided to take a quick look.

My jaw dropped. The conversation, which occurred on our way to W’s house, was recoded on W’s journal word by word, except that she had switched our roles around: I became the one who said terrible things about Lin and W was the one who was trying to comfort me and saying “It’s misunderstanding.”

Later, I confronted W. She gave me a sheepish smile and said, “It’s been written on the paper already. Nothing I can do now.”

There were things happened in my life that I couldn’t comprehend no matter how hard I tried. This is one of them.

Writing 101, Day Eleven: Size Matters

Today, tell us about the home you lived in when you were twelve. For your twist, pay attention to — and vary — your sentence lengths.

Dad in front of our house

My Home

A line of sliding doors divided a large Japanese house into two. We lived on one side and our neighbor, Deng’s family, lived on the other. We didn’t have TV in our house; they did. My sister and I often opened the sliding door and climbed over the big sofa in their living room to watch TV there. When little league baseball game was playing, one of Deng’s kids would sneak to my bedroom waking me up (The game played at 2 AM at our time) so we could watch the game together.

We had two bed rooms. Karin and I shared one. In the room, there was a bunk bed: She slept on the lower bed; I upper. One night we had an earthquake. Mom shouted for us to get out of the house. I didn’t see Karin move. I thought I should wake her up. “Karin, Mom wants us to get out,” I said loudly.

“We’ll be OK,” Karin said. So, we both went back to sleep. Mom wasn’t too happy that day.

We have a rectangle-shape front yard. Dad planted a lot of flowers along the house. Still, we have plenty of room to play badminton. Once in a while, Dad would join us, but I think my brother Chris was the best player in the family.

We also had a good size side-yard. A walkway in the middle divided the yard into two. Dad planted some flower trees and a guava tree on one side. And wild grass took over the other. I loved playing in the grass field; I loved catching dragonflies.

That was the home I lived in when I was twelve. Three years ago, the house was demolished. I can only find it in my heart now.

Writing 101, Day Nine: Changing Moccasins — Point of View (Part 3)

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.
Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.
A Small Red Sweater – The Old Woman’s POV
(The same story in man’s POV was posted on June 13, and in woman’s POV was posted on June 14.)

Baby Story – Old Woman’s POV

Joan puts the newspaper on the bench next to her. She and Frank had come to this park for many years: he read newspaper and she knitted, crocheted or wrote her journal. Their house is only a block away.

“Sarah will love this red sweater, don’t you think so?” Joan says.

The wind blows newspaper open, making a rustling sound. Joan looks at the newspaper and smiles. “Ok. Read your newspaper. I won’t bother you.”

Of course Joan knows that Frank had passed away two years ago. But as long as she can sense he is around, she is not going to ignore him.

“See how that husband and wife holding their hands? We were like that.” Joan whispered.

When the man and woman are getting closer, the man nods to Joan. Joan returns with a smile. Joan sees the man glance at the small red sweater that is in her hand. Joan says, “It’s for my granddau – ” She stops in the middle of her sentence when she sees tears in man’s eyes. My God, they must have lost a baby recently.

Joan takes a quick glance at the woman. The woman looks confused. Is she in denial?

“How can I help them?” Joan asks herself. She can’t think of a thing. She feels helpless. Frank would know what to say. How I wish he were here.

It seems forever, but the man finally stops crying; Joan is glad. The man extends his hand to the woman; Joan feels relieved. But to her surprised, the woman walks away.

The man glances at the sweater again and says to her, “This is supposed to be a good day.”

Joan nods. It is supposed to be a good day for Frank and her too. Their grandchild Sarah is turning two and she is supposed to finish the sweater for Sarah as a surprised gift. Joan points to the direction where the woman is heading. The man nods again, and then he takes off.

“Oh Frank, they will be ok, won’t they? I am tired. Let’s go home.”

Writing 101, Day Nine: Changing Moccasins — Point of View (Part 2)

A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.

Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

A Small Red Sweater – Woman’s POV
(The same story in man’s POV was posted on June 13.)

Amy is glad that Jim has taken her pregnant news well. When Jim suggested taking a walk in the park, saying walking is good for pregnant women, she couldn’t help patting her own back. “Congratulation! You’ve found Mr. Best!” she said to herself.

She doesn’t care much about holding-hands. When Jim put her hand into his, she pictures in her mind how Jim would hold their child’s hand. Then she feels quite all right.

Should Jim and I marry each other for baby’s sake? I don’t know. We love each other. We can marry for love. But, right now? Oh, who is thinking about marriage? Focus. Focus on the baby.

Amy’s thought is interrupted by a sudden movement of Jim’s hand. Looking up, she notices tears in Jim’s eyes. Turning her head, she sees an old woman sitting on a bench knitting a small red sweater. Jim is thinking about the baby! She puts her arm around Jim’s shoulder.

Jim cries louder.

Wait a second. Why does he sound sad? Is there… another baby? His? What’s happened? Who is the mother? Or, maybe he thinks I’ve tricked him? He feels being trapped?

Amy doesn’t like man cry. When she was a little girl, many times she heard her mother say she married to a loser. She didn’t believe her. After her mother left them, her dad drank more and cried a lot. Every time she saw her dad cry, she remembered how her mom called him a loser.

Jim is crying; Amy has no idea why, and she is not sure she is ready to find out.

Jim extends his hand toward Amy.

“I don’t want to know,” she says.

Did I say that in my head? It doesn’t matter, does it? I need a Time out and I am giving myself one.

Amy starts walking away.

Writing 101, Day Ten: Happy Chinese New Year

Today, be inspired by a favorite childhood meal. For the twist, focus on infusing the post with your unique voice — even if that makes you a little nervous.

Happy Chinese New Year

When I think of Chinese New Year, I think about family and home; I smell the homemade sausages, salty pork, sweet and soft year cake (Sweet Rice Cake), and I see children wearing new clothes running up and down the streets playing, shouting and laughing.

The preparation for the New Year started a week before the New Years day. Mom would buy several fresh pork hams from the meat market and cut some into big slices and the rest into one-inch chunks. She marinated the meat in soy sauce, five-spices and some special Chinese liquor (Kinmen sorghum). That 95% proof stuff, when you take a tiny drop into your mouth, it stings and then evaporates instantly and if you take a big sip, it burns like fire. I didn’t like the liquor, but liquor marinated meat, on the other hand, smelled like heaven.

Mom cleaned the pork casing and tightened a knot at one end. She then stuffed the small chunks of pork into casings to make sausages. She then hung the sausages and big slices pork on a bamboo pole in the yard to let them dry. We, the kids, took turn to use a sewing needle poking many tiny holes into sausages, so when they dried up under the sun, the fat oil would escape through the holes and drip down to the ground.

Poking holes into sausages was fun. Those tiny popping sounds were quite satisfactory. Not to mention the mouth-watering smell would shoot out from the openings directly into your nasal passages. Since I preferred to eat lean sausages, I worked extra hard when it was my turn to poke holes.

The week before New Years day was also the time to make year cake. The year cake was made out of sweet rice flours. Since sweet rice flours were not available in the market back then, we had to grind the rice ourselves. The grinder was made out of 2 huge pieces of round stones. The top one had a handle so people could hold on to it and turn the top stone around. The top stone also had a hole to allow you to add water. When the top stone was turning around, the rice between the two layers would be ground into flour. Not many families could afford a grinder, so we had to wait for our turn. When we got the grinder, we had to hurry making the cake because there were others who were waiting to make theirs.

Steaming the cake was something else. The cake was usually 15 inches in diameter and 3 to 4 inches high. It took forever to fully cook it and if you mistakenly took the cake off the heat before it was done, the cake would be ruined. We steamed our cake in the yard. As busy as Mom was, she had also kept an eye on the fire, made sure the fire was not extinguished before the cake was done.

While Mom was busy making sausages and year cake, we were having fun playing with neighbor’s kids. Since no one was keeping an eye on Mom, she had no problem buying some goodies (small tangerines, candies and cookies… etc.), and hiding them so we wouldn’t eat any before the New Years day.

New Years Eve was one of the busiest days for Mom. She got up early in the morning so she could go to the market to buy fresh meat, vegetables and fruits. She then spent whole day cooking in the kitchen. Dinner usually consisted of 7 or 8 dishes. There were lion’s-head (meat balls cooked with Chinese cabbage), stewed beef and eggs (beef and egg cooked in soy sauce), eggplant stuffed with ground pork, sea cucumber (Dad’s favorite dish) and many more. There would always be a fish dish, but that dish wouldn’t make it to the dinner table. The sound of the word “fish” in Chinese is similar to the word for “surplus”. People believed that by having a fish dish in the house in the beginning of the year, this family would have surplus for the entire year. Mom liked to play safe.

Kids were allowed to taste Chinese liquor or wine at New Year’s Eve dinner. Dad would dip a chopstick into his liquor and let us taste it. It was after we started college, we were allowed to have a glass of plum wine.

Gradually, we, Chinese in America, lost our tradition on celebrating Chinese New Year. Most people in my generation don’t even know how to make Chinese sausages. “At least, we have memories,” we comfort ourselves. But, are memories alone enough to pass on to our next generation? I don’t want to think about it.

Writing 101, Day Nine: Changing Moccasins — Point of View

Today’s assignment: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.

Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

(I like this exercise. The following is written from the men’s POV. I will try to write the story from the other two POV on Sat. and Sun. 😉

A Small Red Sweater – Man’s POV

It is a nice day. Jim’s heart is pounding hard. A week ago, Amy told him she was pregnant. This morning, Jim asked Amy to come to the park. Everything is going according to his plan; he is holding Amy’s hand taking her to the rose garden and five minutes later, next to beautiful yellow roses – Amy’s favorite, he will propose to the woman he loves and soon, they will have a happy family.

Jim nods to the old woman who is sitting on the bench. She is Mom’s age, he thinks to himself. A silly thought comes to his mind: maybe he can invite the old woman to his wedding. He smiles at the woman. Wait. Something catches his eyes… a small red sweater. It looks just like the one his baby sister was wearing when she was buried.

Jim has never told anyone that his baby sister died while he was babysitting her. His parents told him it was not his fault. “Sudden infant death syndrome,” they said. He had no idea what that was; he was only nine.

Suddenly sadness overwhelms Jim. He wishes his parents were here at this moment. He has been alone for too long. He wants to tell his parents that they still have a son and they will have a daughter-in-law and a grandchild soon. He begins to cry.

When he finally gets control of himself, he sees a sympathetic look in old woman’s eyes. He turns to Amy, extending his hand to her. Amy seems not knowing what to do. Without saying a word, she starts walking away.

Jim takes another look at the red sweater. He hears himself shouting: “It’s supposed to be a good day!” He doesn’t know whom he is shouting at; all he knows is that he has to tell Amy about his sister. But first he is going to ask her to marry him.

Writing 101, Day Eight: Death to Adverbs
Go to a public location and make a detailed report of what you see. The twist of the day? Write the post without adverbs.

Restroom Incident

Right away, we noticed the long waiting line outside of the women’s restroom.

“Do we want to wait in line?” my sister Y asked.

“Do we have any choice?” I asked.

“It will go fast, I am sure,” my sister K said.

We stood at the end of line. Soon more women joined us. Someone was calling K’s name. Three of us turned around; it was K’s friend Tammy.

K tried to stay in line while talking to Tammy. Tammy talked and talked; the line kept moving forward. K gave up, decided to step aside to finish their conversation.

A moment later we moved inside of the restroom. I looked back and found K stood at the end of the line.

“You can come back here,” I said without thinking.

K came.

“Wait in line! Go back!” An angry woman, who was behind us, shouted.

“She was here before. She was talking to her friend and now she is back.” Wearing a smile on my face, I tried to explain the situation to that angry woman.

“Doesn’t matter! Go back!”

I could tell that K was embarrassed. She started moving back. Seeing she was willing to go back, I felt somewhat relieved. I knew I shouldn’t ask K to come, but I didn’t like how rude that woman was.

“You don’t have to go,” Y said, “Just don’t look at her.”

Y is our Kung-Fu kid. If the woman wanted to start a fight, I was certain Y could take care of her. Still, I took a quick look at the woman just to be sure. Yes, it will be a piece of cake for Y, I concluded.

I grabbed K’s arm. “Stay,” I said. I had never fought with anyone in my life; I had no idea what I was supposed to do. But, again, we had a kung-Fu kid in our team. I had confidence in Y. To make K feel more comfortable, we moved K to the front, away from that woman.

The woman continued saying something. We ignored her.

A minute later, when we got out of the restroom, I said to Y, “Good thing we have you here. I was scared.”

Y turned toward me. Keeping her eyes locked with mine, she said, “Me, too.”

K pointed her finger at us. “I will never listen to you two again!” she said.