One Page for 3/27/2019

Hello 🙂 It seems indulgent to, but I’m adding a smiley right off the bat in this post because I’ve written another one-pager before March ends, thus preserving my once-a-month streak…for now. 🙂 (Thanks for indulging me that second smiley!)

This one ended up being a sad one as well; perhaps I’m a glutton for this kind of emotional pain? Kidding, half. I’m quite happy about this one-pager honestly. It’s been one of my most cathartic ones, and I’ll keep my preface brief today by saying it’s grounded in the very real experience of losing my father before I felt like I was a complete person. Consequently in the years since, it’s been a lot of reaching backwards for memories, much as I always try to live my life moving forward.


For ambience:

The words:

Prompt: I looked up at the night sky and thought of the stories he used to tell about the stars, the constellations, and it seemed sad that I couldn’t remember a single one of them. There’s a string of stars called Orion’s Belt, and I think Orion is known as a hunter, but I’m not sure of what. It’s funny to think that, because in a way I’m a hunter, too, only I hunt…

My response: …for memories of him. In some ways, it isn’t hard to because we have several shelves in the gameroom full of photobooks my dad stuffed with important and not-so-important records of our time as a complete family. I prodded at him as a kid, trying to find out why he insisted on including the photos that didn’t make sense to me to include: ones in which my chin was tilted so I had chins, ones where the sun’s glare had caused overexposure, ones where my mom’s hand stuck out, because she wasn’t ready. “These are also important to remember,” my dad had said. “And besides, we have plenty of room in the books to fill.” And so, it’s those “in-between” pictures that make the memory-hunting hard again. They remind me that every moment then, we were living and creating home in our minds. When the photos aren’t enough to sustain me and soothe the ache of knowing home is a place i have to recreate without my dad, I try our home videos, or more like the ones he taped. When those fail, I lie down, close my eyes, and have to do the devastating work of waiting patiently and actually making my mark: hitting upon a moment I’d thought I’d lost forever and will stay lost to a home of the past, once I open my eyes again.

One Page for 2/10/2019

Looking at the gap between today’s date–when I’m posting this one-pager–and the date on which I’m claiming I wrote the one-pager, you’d be right to wonder, “Did she post-date so that it looks like she’s keeping up a good, almost monthly cadence?” :] I’m happy to say that I did not do such a deceptive thing, though I do wish I could keep up a more frequent cadence. (I’ve got a week left to get a March one-pager in…) This time, I simply forgot to post this one-pager after I wrote it.

I wonder if it’s a sign that I’m finally not writing for attention. Because honestly, no matter how many times before when I’ve tried to convince myself I don’t, I do in fact crave people’s eyes on my writing. It’s why I have and still try to maintain a cadence on this blog, no? (Though above all, it is for me to see my growth, or have a laugh!) Alright, I’m through being self-analytical now, I swear. Just always trying to stay honest.

For February’s one-pager, I was inspired after reading a book from a genre I have put on the backburner for a while: romance! (Why on the backburner? Perhaps a little disillusioned with the lack of romance in my life…nah. :]) And the book: One Day in December by Josie Silver. The story starts, as the title suggests, on a cold day in December, and my mind naturally drifted towards ice skating, the sport I was enamored with throughout my childhood and teens. To be honest, I still am, and I love the idea of trying to tell stories around ice skating and specifically ice rinks. They seem like cold, confined places, but there are characters and stories to be found everywhere in them, from the people who work in the shop to the coaches and skaters themselves–figure or hockey, though I wrote this one-pager around figure skating.

Here’s what I came up with…


For ambience:

Photo credit: Bethany Knipp at Community Impact Newspaper

The words:

Prompt: She has this gentle laugh that sounds like running water. I’ll do almost anything to amuse or entertain her, just so I can hear it. But she’s not laughing all that much anymore, is she? Ever since…

My response: …the figure skaters had their winter ice show, she hasn’t been to the rink. Or if she has, somehow I’ve missed her every time. I’d like to think I have better luck than that. Even before she stopped showing up on Saturday night public skate sessions, I saw the shadows under her eyes. When we exchanged our usual groans about the past week of work, the corners of her smile barely bulled up. There was something more than her joke of a manager or workmates not picking up the slack. Those things seemed to be easily forgotten when she did a spin the way she wanted or I purposely wiped out in a funny way so I could hear her laugh. The thing is, I had a chance to ask. I knew she had a boyfriend; he’d come skating once or twice with her, with us. But mostly, she came alone. She hung out with me, talked with me, a guy who’d taken skating group classes with her since we could only toddle around and just hoped not to fall and break ourselves. We exchanged numbers at her suggestion when we set up semi-private lessons for a few months. Those stopped because–she said–for budget reasons. For my good, I erased her number after that. We talked on the ice. Maybe they moved away–for one of their jobs. Maybe she misses me too somehow, and I’ll find her again.