Ch. 1: What Is This Thing Called Creative Writing?: The Basics

#1: I Don’t Know Why I Remember…
I don’t know why I remember our last night in New York. It was late, almost one in the morning, and we had to be up in a few hours to catch the plane home. But the most incredible storm was going on outside our fifth floor window. The sharp crack of the lightening, like a lion tamer’s whip, and the deep, rumbling thunder that followed less than a second after had us curious. It was the middle of June, and only a week earlier the city had experienced a record high heat wave, so the storm brewing that night came as a bit of a surprise. I got out of bed and threw back the curtain so we could lay there curled up into each other and watch the jagged lines of bright white lightning etch itself upon the night sky, which was burning a deep red—a reflection from the glow of the city. We watched as lights in the building across the way turned on in rapid succession, yellowing the windows, which shortly after were filled with the faces of tenants we’d been spying on all week. There was the woman who worked out on an elliptical machine in a black bra and matching panties, the soft, milky flesh of her belly and backside tremoring a bit with each stride. And there was the man who sat hunched over his computer, typing feverishly while his cat scaled the bookshelves mounted above him on the wall. We watched the storm for a long time, silent and still, the flashes of lightening illuminating our faces as if we were having our portrait taken. At one point, your knees pressing into the backs of mine, your arm draped over me and your hand clasped tightly between my own, I closed my eyes and thanked God for you. Finally, I rolled over onto my back to check if you were still awake. I don’t know what inspired the “Broadway musical” we then found ourselves writing. I don’t know why I remember the tune and lyrics to the “Chicken Burrito Song” and the “Wells Fargo Song,” but not the story line or songs we came up with for what was sure to be a sold out show. I think it was about superheroes. Is that right? Whatever it was, I know belting it out at the top of our lungs had us laughing so hard our guts ached and our eyes watered. How was it we weren’t tired after all the walking and adventure that had taken place over the previous four days? I wonder if some part of our conscious knew that that night would be the last time we’d truly be happy together, and fought to stay awake to experience and enjoy every possible moment of it.