Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month's prompt is to write a story in which the main character is a creative writing teacher. Today's tale comes to us from Val Muller, who is so busy revising and illustrating her Corgi Capers tales that she forgot it was her turn to write!
by Val Muller
The swim official nodded. "That's right. It's the easiest job in
the league. Best way to get volunteer hours."
Right. Volunteer hours. Those required hours you had to fill or pay the
fine. She had always preferred paying the fine. It was easier to sit in the
stands at the swim meets, laptop on her knees, letting her mind zone out with
the monotony. She could earn enough through her writing to pay the league for
her missed hours, and the work was much more enjoyable.
But now, the officials were combing the stands in search of volunteers.
Required hours or not, they said, the meet could not run without volunteers,
and everyone would have to sit there, swimmers included, until five more people
stepped up.
More time to edit, she thought.
But then, there was her daughter. She was here to swim, after all.
Before long, Jackie found herself standing there on lane 9, holding a
timer in her left hand and a plunger timer in her right, waiting for the clock
to start. Her partner, holding a stop watch and a clipboard, offered a smile.
"It's so fun to watch from down here. You get such a good view that
way," the woman said.
Jackie wracked her writer brain for something to say, some positive and
innocuous banality, but there was nothing. Her brain ran loose with allusions
to Dante's inferno, and she wondered which circle of Hell made you time a swim
meet.
"I'm Claire, by the way," the woman said.
Jackie nodded, but her mind jumped to another scenario, one in which she
ran down the line of timers, pushing each into the pool. Of course it wouldn't
be her doing it. It was a character
with a backstory, someone who had been slighted early on in life, maybe someone
with a toxic mother. Pushing the timers into the pool was just the tip of the
iceberg. But she wouldn't use such a cliche in her description, of course. It's
just that it was so hard to avoid being trite when she had to--
"That's the start!" Claire screamed.
Frantically, Jackie pushed the button on her stopwatch. The
first race was the little kids, just one lap. But they were slow. Thirty
four seconds was just enough time to--
This time, the aquatic center was abandoned. It was a post apocalyptic
novel, probably a young adult piece, and of course there would be some teens
who made their way to the pool. They would drain it, maybe. Or maybe fill it
with toxic chemicals to trap the zombies. There would be zombies, right?
"Here she comes!" Claire called frantically. "Get
ready!"
Jackie looked down just in time to see the swimmer in lane 9 hit the
wall. Jackie hit her stopwatch and the plunger and showed her time to Claire,
who recorded it on the clipboard.
"It's so hard to keep your mind on it," Jackie mumbled. But
Claire didn't hear with all the cheering and yelling and splashing echoing in
the pool room.
"These next races are medleys. You have to count. Two laps of each
stroke."
Two laps of each stroke? That was enough time to compose a novel. Jackie
hit her stopwatch and peered up at the stands. There was a man looking
disinterested and angry. Wonder why he didn't get asked to be a timer.
And that's all it took. She was off in the middle of a spy novel. The
man had no swimmers in this meet, of course. In fact, he had no children at
all. That is, none that he knew about. But that would all change after today's
rendezvous. The woman who called him here under the guise of needing a private
eye was actually a former lover, and their one-night stand was now twelve and
about to enter the seventh grade. He would not take it well. He would have no
interest in her and would remain estranged, sending only a birthday card once a
year until a tragic accident killed his former lover, leaving him the sole--
"Jackie!"
Claire was punching her. "That's the race. Did you get it?"
Startled, Jackie pushed down on both the plunger and the stopwatch.
"It's too late," Claire said. Swim is a sport where a fraction
of a second counts.
Three minutes later, sheepish yet relieved, Jackie was walking back to
the stands, wondering what she should write while waiting for her kid to swim.
The grumpy man passed her along the way. A frowning swim official handed him
her stopwatch and threw Jackie a glare. The man would be taking Jackie's place
as a timer.
"You'll keep your mind on it," Jackie whispered to him,
watching the way he swayed as he walked, capturing the beauty of it for her
next great work.
The Spot Writers—Our Members:
Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/
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