It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

I have a new project. There is a web site that is encouraging everybody to write a novel in November. These are the rules:

National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30.

I have only have 3 pages so far, but I'm having fun writing it. I'm challenging my mom and sister to write stories of their own. I'm not planning on writing 175 pages. I'm going to post what I have so far, but no, I'm nothing like the woman in the story, and no, my mom isn't anything like the mom in the story. They are nothing like us. Nothing. Really.


The Night From Hell

It was a dark and stormy night. A loud crash woke me up from the fitful sleep I had been suffering through. First I had to get up and close the window when the rain started. Then the dog decided he had to go outside, but didn’t want to get wet, so he just stood on the porch looking out at the rain and up at me, like he was waiting for me to make the rain stop so he could go pee. Finally I told him to just go take care of business. “Shit or get off the pot,” I said, and gave him a little shove to encourage him to get off the porch.

He got even with me by jumping up on the bed and rolling all over to dry himself off. Of course, I left the cover pulled down when I got up to let him out, so he soaked the sheets. I crawled into bed and tried to find a dry spot, but after tossing and turning for a couple of minutes I gave up and went looking for clean sheets. After I changed the sheets and crawled back into bed I noticed the pillowcase was also wet, and smelled of stinky wet dog, but I was too tired to get back up and find another pillowcase so I just pulled off the wet one and threw it on the floor beside the bed.

It felt like I had just gotten back to sleep when the phone rang. I ignored it as long as I could, then sighed and got up. Of course, my foot slipped on the pillowcase and I almost rammed my forehead into the doorjamb. I was halfway down the hall on my way to answer the phone when it quit ringing. I was too tired to even cuss, so I just turned around and started walking back to my bedroom.

When I walked past the kitchen I decided to stop and get a quick drink of water. I had just filled the glass when the phone rang again. This time I wasn’t too tired to cuss. “Fuck,” I said. I walked back down the hallway, drinking my glass of water. What vital issue of national security caused someone to call me twice in the middle of the night? It was my mother on the phone. Her electric was out and she wanted to know if mine was also out. What a thoughtful mother. I have heard of animals that eat their young, but this made me wonder if any young ate their parents.

Was my electric out? I didn’t know. When I let the dog out I hadn’t turned on any lights. I picked up the remote control to see if the television would come on. Of course, I had been watching a movie on cable when I went to bed, and the cable channel was showing a different movie now. Some sort of chic flic, and right when the TV came on the main character is yelling at her boyfriend.

“Who is that woman?” my mother asked.

“I hope you rot in Hell!” screamed the woman on TV.

“She sure sounds mad. Is she talking to you or me?” my mother asked.

I reach over to pick the remote back up, and knocked over my glass of water. “Fuck.” I said and grabbed the remote. Too late, it was full of water and dripped when I picked it up.

“Are you cursing at me?” my mother asked.

“Shit.” I sighed. “No, Mom, I’m not cussing at you.”

“Well who is that woman, and why is she yelling at you?” my mother asked.

“All you want to do is screw me and leave, isn’t it?” asked the woman on TV.

I shook as much water out of the remote as I could and pushed the button. Nothing.

“Fuck,” I said again.

“What!?” my mother asked. “Are you gay?” she whispered.

“No, Mom, I’m not gay.” I roll my eyes and shake the remote some more. Still nothing. I get up to turn off the TV.

“At least I haven’t slept with your best friend!” yelled the man on TV.

“Who is he!?” my mother asked. “What’s going on over there? Are you having a party?”

“No, Mom, I’m not having a party.” I bent over and started to turn off the TV. “I’m not having a party and I’m not gay. That’s some movie. I turned on the TV to see if the electric was on or not.”

“What are you watching?” my mother asked.

“I’m not watching anything, Mom, there’s just a movie on TV.” I said.

“Well, what is it?” my mother asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, “some stupid movie I’ve never seen.”

My TV has a little door covering the buttons to turn it on or off, up or down. It never made any sense, covering up the buttons. Like they needed protection from something. I picked at the little door with my finger, looking for the little catch. I tried opening the door, but it didn’t want to open.

The woman on TV slammed the door as she left the room.

“What was that noise?” my mother asked.

“It was the TV, Mom,” I say, and pry at the little door harder. My fingernail decides it’s time to snap and break off. “Fuck,” I say.

“What did you say?” my mother asked. “You shouldn’t use language like that, Karen. No wonder you don’t have a husband.”

While I’m looking at my stubby, jagged fingernail, I notice big muddy paw prints running by in front of the TV. They flickered and vanished, then reappeared when the light from the TV changed. “Shit,” I say.

The scene on TV changed to the man sitting at a bar with another man. Night Moves played on the jukebox. “I don’t know why you ever listened to that bitch,” said the second man, and ordered another beer.

“You are having a party, aren’t you?” my mother asked.

“No, Mom, it’s just the TV.” I pick at the door with the other hand, and realize I had been pulling down when I should have been pulling up. Out popped the little door, exposing the delicate buttons.

“I don’t know why you ever slept with her,” said the man on TV, and lit a cigarette.

I punch the off button and am plunged into darkness.

“Well, why don’t you turn it off?” my mother asked.

“I did, Mom,” I say, and turn to walk back over to the couch, neatly stubbing my little toe on the edge of the coffee table. “Mother fucker,” I say as I hobble the rest of the way to the couch.

“I thought you said you turned off the TV. Who said that?” my mother asked.

“I did, Mom,” I say. “I broke a nail and just stubbed my toe and it hurt and I said a bad word. Are you going to come over here and ground me?” I grabbed my cigarettes from the coffee table. Half the pack was soaking wet, but I was able to find a dry one. I picked up the lighter but couldn’t get a spark. The plague of locusts must be on its way, I thought.

“Well, why aren’t you in bed?” my mother asked.

“I was in bed, Mom,” I say. “I got out of bed to answer the phone.”

“Oh, that’s right, I called you. Is your electric out?” my mother asked.

“Mom, you heard the TV,” I say. “How could my TV be on if the electric was out?”

“I thought you turned your TV off?” my mother asked.

Jesus Christ, Mary and Joseph, I thought. “Have you been drinking?”

“How can you ask me that, Karen?” my mother asked. “You know I don’t drink.”

“You’re driving me insane, Mom,” I say. “Can we hang up now?”

“Will you call the electric company for me?” my mother asked.

“Why do you want me to call?” I ask.

“I can’t call them. How can I find the number in the dark?” my mother asked.

“Just call information,” I say. “They’ll give you the number. You won’t even have to dial it.”

“How can I call information if I don’t dial the phone?” my mother asked.

“Alright, alright, I’ll call,” I say. “Jesus, Mom, maybe you should start drinking.”

“Karen! How can you talk to me like that?” my mother asked.

“I’m just kidding, Mom,” I say. “I’m going to call for you, ok?”

“Ok, if you want to.” And Mom hung up. Halleluiah, I thought. Now I just have to find the phone book. I look on the end table, I look under the end table. I look on the coffee table. Yes, of course, sitting in the puddle, soaking up the water like a sponge.