32

“32”

The power in the girl’s building went out. A loud CHHNG was followed by a fading whine and the sudden evaporation of all sound and light, as if they were candles, blown out. All that remained: the boiling water on the stove, which quieted in a few moments as the burner cooled.

The girl clutched her lottery ticket with one hand and reached into the jumbled mess of stuff with the other, frantically pushing things around, the remnants of her turned over bag. Finally she felt her cell phone. The light from the phone’s display lit up the room with a washed out glow.

“Macy?” her friend answered.

“Thank God you’re there Pen. Did you watch the lottery?”

“Of course I watched it, can you believe that? We get one number wrong! And a 32! Only off by one!”

“Are you kidding me?” Macy interrupted, disappointment flooding her head like a rush of blood. “I’m sitting on the kitchen floor, in the dark. Pen, the power in the building went out again – I didn’t even see the last number.”

“The power in the building’s out?” Penelope asked. “But the last time that happened…”

“Shhh,” Macy hissed.

The rhythmic sound of footsteps stopped, just outside her apartment. And she remembered that she hadn’t yet locked the door.

* * * * *

Jordan walked into the back room of the gas station, found his time card, and punched out. The loud stamping sound it made put a wry smile on his face.

“Jordan, what’s this?” It was the store manager, holding up a torn off piece of paper, a yellow corner. “Are these your numbers?”

“Nah,” he said, shrugging. “Just some lady playing the Super-Eight.”

“Always throw this kind of stuff out, you hear? I don’t like it when people leave their numbers lying around.”

Jordan shrugged again. He was so sick of his job. Then he laughed.

“You want to hear something crazy?”

The manager’s eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You see those numbers?”

The manager looked at the eight numbers scribbled on the paper.

“Yeah?”

“You see that last number, the 31?”

The manager nodded.

“That’s what’s crazy. I gave the lady her ticket. Except she pissed me off, said she could see right through me. So I changed her last number. I changed it to a 32.”

The manager looked disgusted. Jordan just kept smiling.

“And she never even noticed.”

* * * * *

“What’s going on?” Penelope asked. “Is it him? Is he back?”

Macy sat on the floor in complete silence.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, trying to quiet her breathing.

“I’m on my way, Macy. Don’t go anywhere.”

Macy heard her friend hang up, and the phone lit up for a second as the call ended. She hid the face of it against her chest.

Then two things happened at once.

The kitchen window began to slide up, ever so slowly, as if invisible fingers were nudging it up. And the knob of her front door began to turn, the door slowly opening.

She slid backwards on the kitchen floor until her back touched the wall. She could feel the window sill digging into the back of her head. Cold air rushed in over her, like some kind of baptism.

In one smooth motion she slid up the wall, put her butt on the sill, lifted her legs and spun around. She ducked her head through the window, stood out on the fire escape and took two side steps away from the window, toward the front of the building.

“Macy, quiet now.”

There was a girl standing on the fire escape, blocking her from the stairs. She wore a hooded sweatshirt that hid her face in a shadow.

“Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her words coming fast. “You need to come with me. That dude in your apartment is going to kill you.”

“What are you talking about?” Macy hissed, looking nervously back and forth from the window to the girl. She was short, under five feet, and in the light from the street Macy could see she had black hair and, where her hands emerged from her sleeves, very pale skin.

“Macy, I’m only saying this one more time.” The girl leaned in close. “Come with me now. We are your only chance.”

Macy looked back over her shoulder, then started to follow the girl. They both crept towards the steps.

But the girl stopped.

“Wait.”

Macy took a half step back, startled. Then the girl asked her a question.

“Do you have your lottery ticket?”

* * * * *

Here’s your chance to decide what happens next:

1)     Macy slides closer to the girl, then pushes her aside, and runs down the steps

2)     Macy says, “Yes,” and follows the girl down to the street.

3)     Macy says, “No” (even though she has the ticket)

4)     The power comes back on and Macy, freaked out by the girl’s question, decides to take her chances with whoever is in the apartment.

5)     Macy jumps off the fire escape and plummets toward the alley below

To read the first two installments together, go HERE (but to vote, you’ll need to come back to this page)

The Edge of Legend

Today’s guest post is brought to you by Brandon Sneed, a freelance journalist living in Wilmington, NC. He is the author of The Edge of Legend: An Incredible Story of Faith and Basketball (Port 2010). He blogs at brandonsneed.com. Go order a copy of his book so he can keep enjoying life’s luxuries, like, you know, food. Order online at Amazon.com or from Port City Publishing for an autographed edition.

I could fill a book about what The Edge of Legend did to me. That’s part of what made its story so powerful, part of why I knew I had to tell it.

Since I want to keep this short, I’ll just tell a story.

Heading into college six years ago, I thought I’d become a pro baseball player. I was a catcher, and darn studly. Instead, I mostly rode the bench. I had a few brilliant days and weeks, but mostly I sucked. It wasn’t because I wasn’t good. It was because I was scared.

It got so bad that I couldn’t even throw the ball back to the pitcher. It went everywhere but to the guy’s chest. It was bad. It was painful. It was humiliating. And the more I tried to fix it, the worse it got.

We baseball players call it “the yips.” And dude, I was yippin’ hard.

I could blast batting practice pitches 500 feet with no problem. I had the strongest arm on the team. But that 60-foot toss back to the pitcher—it terrified me. It was so embarrassing when it went wrong. Who can’t throw the ball 60 feet? It carried over into everything else, eating at my game like a cancer.

My sophomore year, as sports editor for the school newspaper, I wrote a lot about the guy who would become the inspiration for The Edge of Legend. For the first time in my life, I had found something that was, to me, bigger than baseball. (If you watch the clip of his national championship comeback on YouTube, you’ll see a small part of why.)

It took me back to the days before I ever picked up a ball or a glove, the days I’d spend reading book after book. It reminded me of my true passion: Stories.

The final semester of my senior year, I started working on The Edge of Legend. When I graduated, I hadn’t landed a book deal. In a fit of insanity, I turned down newspaper jobs and decided to freelance so I could keep writing it. To that end, I set an absurd goal: Be writing for Sports Illustrated or ESPN The Magazine, the two biggest sports magazines in America, within two years of graduating.

Again I faced fear and terror. If the book failed, I would have wasted two years of my life. But when I graduated, remembering baseball, I swore to never let fear be what stopped me. I tried to get my wife to talk me out of it. She believed in me more than I did.

The book was published in September 2010. Along the way, I saw God. I saw Him in how much my wife believed in me. My faith was my light, yeah, but she was my anchor. This book showed me her love. And the story it told rekindled my confidence.

This book showed me who in my life I could really depend on, and Who was really worth living for. It showed me that I really lived to tell good stories.

Don’t get me wrong—I still love sports. My brother is now a pitcher in the Yankees’ minor league system.

We had an alumni game last year. I caught the whole game. Never threw the ball away. Never was scared that I would. (And I hit a ball off the wall off my brother. So yeah, he might be a pro throwing 95 mph, but I’ll always be the big brother.)

For six years, I chased the baseball dream. It didn’t work out. That crushed me. But along the way, I found a new dream, a vision—a life—even better.

And, oh yeah, I just got my first major assignment from ESPN The Magazine.

* * * * *

Just a quick reminder that the votes have been tallied and the next installment of the You Decide story will be posted tomorrow. It’s basically a story that I write, but at key points I let the readers decide what will happen. Check out the first installment, as well as the possible scenarios for tomorrow’s post, HERE.



What Are You Looking For?

Yesterday at The Red we examined the first recorded words of Jesus in the book of John:

“What are you looking for?”

This sounds like a simple question. But when I directed at myself, I found it difficult to answer.

What am I looking for?

* * * * *

I think the main problem lies in trying to decipher the difference between what I’m looking for in life and what I’m striving for. I strive for money, but only because I don’t want to be confined by a lack of it (there’s a strange paradox). I strive for success because I’m looking for adulation or acceptance.

Sometimes the things I strive for are even the opposite of what I truly want: I strive for comfort but actually desire adventure.

Some people strive for sex, when what they really want is intimacy. Some go after revenge, but the core of what they want has to do with justice.

Are these all bad things? Of course not. But major disappointment ensues when someone spends a long period of time, perhaps even their entire life, striving for something they don’t really want. Because the thing is, most people, if they are dedicated and focused enough, will eventually get what they strive for.

What are you looking for?

Are you living a life that will help meet you discover the primary things you are looking for, things like love, joy and peace? Or when you reach the top of the mountain you’ve chose to climb, will you be disappointed by the view?

* * * * *

Henri Nouwen writes that “without a clear goal, we will always be distracted and spend our energy on secondary things.”

Maybe this is why it’s the first thing that Jesus asked his disciples. “What are you looking for?” He knew that if they couldn’t answer that question, they would be distracted and easily discouraged from persevering.

Incidentally, the disciples’ response to Jesus’s question is just as insightful:

“Where are you staying?”

That’s what they wanted: To follow. To discover more.

So, how about it? What are you looking for?

Five Writing Secrets I Learned From the Movie “Airplane”

Perhaps one of the greatest movies of all time, “Airplane” was released when I was four years old. I think that deep within this movie lies some incredible secrets to writing. I know what you’re thinking:

“Surely, you can’t be serious?”

I am serious. And don’t call me Shirley.

1) A Credible Narrator – the reader wants to at least have the ability to trust the narrator. You can have great stories about liars, cheaters and preachers, but if the reader starts to feel like the narrator is lying, the foundational reason for moving forward begins to crumble.

For example, when the passengers lose confidence in the ability of the flight crew, chaos breaks out on the plane:

Elaine Dickinson: There’s no reason to become alarmed, and we hope you’ll enjoy the rest of your flight. By the way, is there anyone on board who knows how to fly a plane?

If your reader begins to doubt your narrators ability to “fly the plane,” they’ll start looking for an excuse to stop reading. And a parachute.

2) Know your identity as a writer, and stick to it. If your strength isn’t found in writing 18th century narratives written from the perspective of a button maker, then avoid writing them. If your name isn’t Shirley, don’t pretend to be Shirley.

Rumack: Can you fly this plane, and land it?
Ted Striker: Surely you can’t be serious.
Rumack: I am serious… and don’t call me Shirley.

Rumack knows who he is, and what he can do. You need to do the same.

3) Clarity – When writing, clarity is important. This exchange between the plane and the flight tower is a perfect example of the confusion that occurs in the absence of clarity:

Roger Murdock: Flight 2-0-9’er, you are cleared for take-off.
Captain Oveur: Roger!
Roger Murdock: Huh?
Tower voice: L.A. departure frequency, 123 point 9’er.
Captain Oveur: Roger!
Roger Murdock: Huh?
Victor Basta: Request vector, over.
Captain Oveur: What?
Tower voice: Flight 2-0-9’er cleared for vector 324.
Roger Murdock: We have clearance, Clarence.
Captain Oveur: Roger, Roger. What’s our vector, Victor?
Tower voice: Tower’s radio clearance, over!
Captain Oveur: That’s Clarence Oveur. Over.
Tower voice: Over.
Captain Oveur: Roger.
Roger Murdock: Huh?
Tower voice: Roger, over!
Roger Murdock: What?
Captain Oveur: Huh?
Victor Basta: Who?

4) Use your setting to help emphasize the tone of the piece and aid in characterization. But if you can’t do that, at least know where the story is taking place (as opposed to Elaine’s lack of awareness):

Elaine Dickinson: [Flight #209 has gone into yet another nose dive] … Ted, the altitude! We’re falling, Ted! We’re falling! The mountains, Ted! The mountains!
Ted Striker: What mountains? We’re over IOWA!
Elaine Dickinson: The… THE CORNFIELDS, TED! THE CORNFIELDS!

5) Referencing classics can add depth and additional layers of meaning:

Jack: What’s going on? We have a right to know the truth!
Rumack: [to the passengers] All right, I’m going to level with you all. But what’s most important now is that you remain calm. There is no reason to panic.
[Rumack’s nose grows an inch long]
Rumack: Now, it is true that one of the crew members is ill… slightly ill.
[Rumack’s nose continues to grow longer and longer, à la Pinocchio]
Rumack: But the other two pilots… they’re just fine. They’re at the controls flying the plane… free to pursue a life of religious fulfillment.

So there you have it, five valuable secrets gleaned from the recesses of a classic.

Don’t forget to head on over to Wednesday’s post – it’s the first time I’ve every tried to write a “choose-your-own-adventure-style” blog. Just read the story about a girl buying a lottery ticket, and then, in the comments, pick from one of five possible directions the story will go. Next Wednesday I’ll continue the story around the most chosen option. Deadline to have your vote count is Friday night, midnight.

To learn more lessons on writing, check out the following blog posts:

Five Writing Lessons I Learned From Napoleon Dynamite

Five Writing Lessons I Learned From Dumb and Dumber

Five Writing Lessons I Learned By Having Dinner With B & E

It Snowed Again – Help Me Find Joy in the World

I’ve gotten some great feedback in the comments section of this blog and on Twitter regarding my recent posts about writing secrets learned from funny movies.

It has me wondering: what is your favorite comedy movie of all time?

And within that movie, what was your absolute favorite line?

Finally, don’t forget to go back to yesterday’s post – I tried something a little different and wrote a choose-your-own-adventure-style post. The readers (you) get to decide which direction the story will go.

A “Choose Your Own Adventure” Post

Remember “Choose Your Own Adventure” books? Well, this is a little experiment I’ve always wanted to try. I’ve written a scene – all you have to do is read it, and then choose where the story goes next. So play along and leave your choice in the comments section below.

* * * * *

“I’ll take a Super-Eight and three $5 Bingos,” the woman mumbled to the boy behind the register. He looked to be about 18. His ears were pierced and the holes stretched to the size of a nickle, filled with a clear circle. He stared at her for an extra moment, chewing his gum in wide, loping movements.

Continue reading “A “Choose Your Own Adventure” Post”