The Third Wheel (Purple Rain) - last paragraph addition

I don't know what came first, the movie or the party. I only know that it came to an end the night he dropped my friend off first. Backing out of her driveway, he looked at me through the rear view mirror and said, "What's the matter with you. Are you a lesbian or something?" Without hesitation I blurted out an indignant, "No!" and turned my head to look out the far-sided window. Heat rose from my neck to my face. I wanted to hide. I thought, How could he think that about me? Yet the sting of humiliation persisted like an unanswered question gnawing at me from the inside.

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The Third Wheel

It was the summer before tenth grade when Purple Rain came out in 1984. I sat in my chair on the left side of the theater watching the screen, pretending not to notice my friend making out with her date in the seats next to me. Today I wonder why had I been invited to tag along and why had I said yes? It is not hard to put myself in my room at my parent's house with the telephone in my hand, dialing the the push buttons and waiting for my old friend to pick up. We hadn't seen as much of each other since my parents had moved us across the intercoastal waterway and North up I-95 to the town of Palm Beach Gardens the year before. I'd probably called her and asked her what she was doing that weekend. Did she want to hang out? Maybe she felt sorry for me. Maybe that's why, when she said she had plans to go to the movies with her boyfriend, she said I could come along. Maybe I said, "Okay," because I wanted any little bit of my friend I could ...

Show your work

It all started with the YAWP Fall Writer's Residency at Fort Warden State Park, Port Townsend, WA. What started? I'm not sure exactly, but something, a change like a fire under my but. I'd been all worked up about work and then I went to the residency, a long weekend gathering of writers, of quiet and solitude or companionship to write and to share our writing or not as we so chose. Something clicked - the schedule. Every night from 7-8pm there was a one hour gathering to write, no sharing, no talking, just a gathering of people writing. We sat on folding chairs, rocking chairs, arm chairs, kitchen chairs, and couches arranged, roughly, in a circle. There was something powerful in that, something that said, "We can do this". It has been 2 weeks since the residency and every evening after work I stop at my neighborhood Starbucks for an hour and re-enact our evening gathering. I started a new job in June. I live 5 minutes away,...

DIY MFA and What is it to be a man?

My writing habit was disrupted first by a trip to Florida in February followed by a nasty cold in March but during that time I picked up a new habit - reading. I mean the type of reading which is greedy. Reading that you cannot get enough of. Reading that teaches and informs your writing. Intent on a DIY MFA, I have taken up the practice of annotating my reading. This has slowed my progress through material, but it has enhanced the overall experience. Annotating reveals the floss running through and uncovers the author's unique style, use of language, subtleties and undertones. It has deepened my appreciation for those writers who wield the techniques of craft like magicians. Their use of details is just enough to suck you into scene and to make you care. Two stories may exist - the one written in words and one that is felt, and meaning, intuited like an undercurrent tugging at your feet. What follows is my first attempt at...

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