Emoji Fiction Friday (Extreme Tardiness Edition)

You guys. I totally dropped the ball on Emoji Fiction Friday about 75 weeks ago. I got caught up with work and life and just didn't write a word. But I cannot handle an unclosed loop. Drives me bonkers. So I had to finish things out. 

We only had one entry that week - from Abbadabba, but it was seriously awesome.

She strode confidently through the revolving door of her office building, without a halted step. The subzero air greeted her face with a harsh slap, but today it felt refreshing instead of cruel. She looked to her right and saw the entrance to the subway a block away. On any other day she would head straight to it, as if on autopilot, descend the steps, crush with the masses onto the next car and re-read all the Facebook statuses she’d already read while wasting her life for a paycheck. 

But not today. 

After making the decision the night before, she had the best night’s sleep she’d had in years. She arrived at the office late that morning because she stopped to buy the gorgeous red pumps she’d been admiring for weeks. She didn’t need the extra boost of confidence to make this choice, but it didn’t hurt to be wearing some Billy Badass heels while doing it. 
She quit. 

She didn’t bother with two weeks’ notice – she was resolved to never need his reference to succeed. 

Stepping to the curb she raised her arm to treat herself to a cab ride and slid inside its warm luxury. She felt her coat pocket vibrate and instinctively pulled her work Blackberry out to see what inane request he was making today, the cost of which could easily cure hunger in a third world country. A familiar flicker of fury and loathing filled her gut before she realized she never needed to feel that way again. She paused to contemplate the implication of that truth, but was pulled from her reverie by the driver clearing his throat and indicating a “no cellphones” decal on his window. 

Pulling the phone to her chest, the smallest of smiles flirted across her lips. She knew she’d be made to pay for it and felt a twinge of guilt for littering, but it wasn’t every day she got to make completely irresponsible decisions in the name of her own happiness. And in an instant, the window was down and with a cheerful flick of her wrist, the phone (and a significant chunk of her final paycheck) flew to its own freedom/tragic demise. 

As the taxi glided onto Lake Shore Drive, she turned to look out the back window and watch as the skyline grew and loomed, and then began to shrink from view becoming nothing but a beautiful display of lights. Her love affair with the city was over, replaced by a fond, comforting nostalgia; the kind you feel for your first childhood love. The Windy City had helped her discover who she really was, but they had grown apart. It wasn’t the city, it was her. 

She turned back to face front again and fished around in her purse for a moment. Her fingers found the familiar soft pages of her composition book from senior year of college. She’d found it the night before while giving her closet a good deep reorganizing. She’d expected to find its pages filled with angst ridden love poems and shallow musings on everyone from Nietzsche to Nirvana. Instead, cracking its well-worn spine released a side of her she had locked away long ago. Several glasses of wine, more than a few tears, and a couple of Broadway showtunes sung at the top her lungs later… she knew what she had to do.

How did she ever manage to get so lost? She lifted the book of her writing to her lips, gave the cover a big smooch of gratitude and directed the cabbie to get off at the next exit. She had no idea where she was heading now, but at least, for the first time in years, she was actually moving. 

I'm guessing you want to comment on this post and ask her to please please write more! Tell us where she's going! This felt like the first scene in a novel to me, and I want to read the rest!

And here's mine:

Anne - 

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written, and I know I owe you like eight emails, but oh my god - you have to hear what happened to me today. 

So I was walking home from work, and you know that little market where they sell those amazing Italian sodas? Well, I walked by, and I just instantly had a craving for one of those, which is kind of weird because it was like 4 degrees outside and I walk by there every single day without buying a soda. But I just felt like I had to have one, so I went inside, and I grabbed a soda - cherry vanilla - and brought it to the counter and I reached into my purse - no wallet. Seriously? I had no idea where it was, if someone had stolen it or if it was on my dresser at home. I put the soda back, but on the way out, this guy was rushing in and he just slammed into me. I caught myself before I fell down, but the heel of my shoe - you know those amazing red ones that we bought at that outlet mall last year? - got caught in the grate thing by the door and just ripped right off. And the guy didn't even apologize. WTF?

Well at that point I had to take a cab, obviously, but I didn't have my wallet. I knew Mark was home, so I just figured I'd have him meet the taxi and pay when I got there. So I get in a taxi, and I call Mark to ask him to come out in a few minutes, and the cab driver tells me that I can't talk on the phone in his cab. And I'm like what? And he points at this sign in the front with a picture of a cell phone with a line through it - you know what I'm talking about, right? And I tell him that I think that means HE can't talk on the phone while he's driving. And he starts screaming at me to hang up the phone. And it was actually kind of scary, so I did. But then Mark tried to call me back, so it was ringing and the guy started screaming again. I turned off the volume and texted Mark instead - all secretly since the cab guy was watching me in the rearview mirror. Creepy, right?

So when we got to the apartment, Mark was standing outside - he didn't even put a coat on. Guys are so weird. Anyway, he was there with the money, and as I started to get out of the cab, he opened the front passenger door to give the cab driver the money, and the cab driver started freaking out again. He took the money and he threw it at Mark! And it was so windy that the money was just flying around, and landing on the gross sidewalks, and I was trying to run after it with my one good shoe and Mark was screaming at the cab driver what the hell is wrong with you, man? I couldn't tell what the cab driver was saying, but eventually he pulled out this little notebook - like those composition books from elementary school? You know what I'm talking about, right? And it had all these entries in it, like every place he'd driven that day and what the people paid. 

And there was an entry with my address on it and it said paid and then it said MY NAME. Abby Pike. Like, as if he already knew he was going to be taking me to my address! As if he knew my name. And I wasn't even planning to take a cab! Mark and I were pretty wigged out, and I was like, hey, why is my name in there? But the cab driver was still screaming and all agitated and we couldn't figure out what was going on. Mark said we should just go and leave the cab driver there, but I wanted to know how my name got there. 

So I put on my calmest voice and I walked over to him and I said Sir, why did you write this here? And he quit screaming and stared at me for a minute, and then he said "I didn't write it. He did." And he pointed behind me, and I turned around and Mark was there, down on one knee with an ENGAGEMENT RING. 

Yes, that's what I said. Can you believe it? I couldn't either. And also, what a weird way to do it, right? He is so weird. It took me forever to figure it out because it just didn't make sense, but apparently he got that guy to run into me and break my shoe, which when I asked him how he knew that would happen, he was like "those shoes are ridiculous." As if that means anything. But the weirdest thing was the whole Italian soda thing - and I was like, there was no way you could have known I was going to go in there for an Italian soda, but apparently he had mentioned it to me that morning before I left, to try to get it into my head (right after he slipped my wallet out of my purse). How crazy is that? And the whole cab driver thing was just crazy - he said that went way overboard. The guy was actually just a little nuts. 

But I think the fact that it actually worked - I mean, it was the stupidest engagement plan ever, right? - anyway, I think the fact that it actually worked is a sign that we're meant to be together. So I kissed him and said yes. I'm engaged. :)

Love, 

Abby

Pretty random and ridiculous, but the whole point of Emoji Fiction Friday is just to have fun and go with it! 

p.s. Click here for more emoji fiction posts. 

Prompt for This Week's Emoji Fiction Friday

I'm back for another week of Emoji Fiction Friday! We had one entry last week, but I heard from a number of folks who wanted to participate but hadn't gotten themselves together in time to do it. 

So here's your next chance! 

As a reminder: 

Here's how it works.

I "send" you a list of emojis. Since we're playing this over the interwebs, I'll post them here on Tuesday or Wednesday morning. Then you make up a story using the emojis as your inspiration. You post that story by Thursday at 5:00 pm either (a) in the comments here or (b) on your own blog and share the link to it in the comments on this post. Try to keep it under 800 words so I have time to read it!

On Friday, I'll post my own story and I'll pick one from the comments to highlight.

No prizes.

If you're feeling shy, post yours anonymously. But I guarantee you that writing emoji fiction will make you laugh and take your mind off your troubles for at least 15 minutes. 

Get to it!

Emoji Fiction Friday!!

I see that you guys were feeling a little shy about Emoji Fiction Friday. I totally get it.

We only had one entry, but that's alright. After you see mine and what our brave soul submitted, I know you'll want to do it next week!

Here's the story from "Sarah":

Stroke, two, three, four; Inhale; stroke, two, there, four.

It had been years, but the familiar smell of chlorine enveloped him like an old friend. His arms cut through the placid water like butter. Muscle memory is an amazing thing, he thought to himself, as his arms arched over his head, water cascading back into the pool. Ever since med school started, his days in the pool became fewer and farther between. This was what he wanted. He had worked hard to get here. The nights of studying, missing parties, working two or three jobs to afford his dream, all had been building up to this point.

But the money. It always seemed to come down to money. The threatening monthly letters, the bold red print, scolding him for not taking action sooner. How could he have known what Patrick would do? When he co-signed the small business loan for Patrick’s bake shop, he thought they were forever. 14 months later, when the business failed and Patrick spiraled into depression, Michael wasn't thinking about his signature on the bank papers. 

Maybe this was why he had stopped swimming, he thought. The busy schedule was a convenient excuse, but maybe what he had been avoiding was the time to think. The what ifs always harder to digest than the what was. 
______

Michael made his way back to the locker room to take a shower before heading to campus. He had put Patrick back in the recesses of his mind- as far back as he could, to prevent more unwanted memories from returning. 
_______

The 1998 Honda Civic crawled into the student lot on campus. He was late, not that anyone would notice today. He found room 118 in Hammond Hall, and slipped into place, nervously twisting the ring on his right hand. The ring he and Patrick bought on their trip to Thailand, celebrating their 2 year anniversary. Patrick. 

No. Not today. This is my day, Michael thought. I worked hard for this, I earned this. 

“Michael Edward Davis, Jr” the loudspeaker bellowed, snapping Michael back into reality. He climbed the stage to collect his diploma to the sounds of proud family and friends clapping. 

What a touching little glance into the loss of a relationship - fabulous imagery at the beginning and I loved her creativity with the use of the lock emoji as the locker room. This line was my absolute favorite: "The what ifs always harder to digest than the what was." Aside from being pleasing to the ear, it's such a true statement!

And here's mine (also, I totally broke my own rule because this is 916 words! whoops!):

Also - can I say how crazy it is that we both ended up writing stories about gay guys??

Eric looked out at the room and straightened his tie before bringing the microphone up to his mouth. "I still remember the day I met this crazy surfer boy like it was yesterday." He smiled at Keith and grabbed his hand. 

* * *

"Dude. Dude. Dude." 

Eric tried to open his eyes, but it felt like there were little anvils sitting on top of them.

"Hey man, can you hear me?"

"Yes," he croaked out.

"What? Can you hear me, man?"

He concentrated on his mouth. "Yes, I can - "

"Oh dude, that's awesome. The paramedics are on their way."

Eric tried again to open his eyes. Who was this guy? How many times could someone say dude?

"What happened?" Eric's mouth was moving a little better now, thankfully, and he was starting to open his eyes.

"Oh man, dude, it was epic. You were up on the board, and the wave was coming, and you totally road the shit out of that thing. But then it just rammed you - I didn't know it was comin' that hard. You hit your head on your board, dude. It was crazy."

The guy was waving his arms around, acting out all the different movements as he talked. He had shoulder length, tangled, brown hair and looked like he'd spent ever single hour of his life in the sun. 

Eric suddenly remembered - surf lessons. He'd been taking surf lessons. Wait. He'd been taking them with that hunky surf instructor - where was that guy?

He pressed his hands against the sand and tried to push himself up, but his head was so heavy it felt like his neck couldn't hold it. 

"Woah, dude. Woah. Wait for the paramedics."

"Where's...? Where's....?" He'd laid back against the sand. He couldn't remember the guy's name?

"Where's who? Who are you looking for, dude?"

Eric closed his eyes and tried to remember the guy's name. 

"Surfer...hot..." 

"Another surfer? It was just you and me, man. And you were killing it, man. Killing it." 

Eric opened his eyes as the guy leaning over him ran his hands through the tangled hair and the sun gleamed on his bare chest.

Oh. This was the guy.

* * * 

"Of course, even though there was no question he was gorgeous, I was a little ridiculous back then." He looked around at the crowd and noticed a few nods from his friends. 

"I was so into money and making it to the top of the ladder - I thought I was going to make partner that year, and I didn't want anything to get in the way. I could hardly see a good thing in front of me. In fact, as a few of you will remember, I tried to run away from this particular good thing." He squeezed Keith's hand. 

* * * 

"I can't just move to California, Keith. I'm not a surfer dude. I can't just be all 'this is so awesome, man. Dude, life is good.' I have a real job with real responsibilities. People are counting on me." Eric looked right past Keith at his suitcase when he was saying it. He knew it was harsh, but he also knew it was what he had to do if he wanted that partnership. 

That partnership was the key to unlocking everything he'd ever wanted. He wouldn't have to kowtow to all those asses on the 8th floor anymore. He'd be the one in charge. He'd finally be able to pay his parents back for bailing him out when he couldn't pay his student loans. There wouldn't be anything hanging over his head anymore. He'd be free. 

The little fling with Keith had been fun - flying back and forth between Malibu and New York was a blast. And yes, they'd had some amazing late night talks and he felt passionate and understood and wanted in a way he never had before. But he was never supposed to end up with a surf instructor. Not for good. You don't move across the country for a surf instructor. A professor? An accountant? An architect? Yes. Maybe even a teacher or a carpenter or something. But a surf instructor?

He grabbed his suitcase. "I'm sorry," he muttered as he walked out.

Back at the office, he couldn't focus. He sat at his desk with papers strewn all around him, and all he could think about was Keith, about the way he made him laugh, the time they spent the whole night on the beach watching the stars, the things Keith had told him about how surfing made him feel and what it was like to watch a person ride a wave for the first time. He shook his head and looked back at the papers, but all the words ran together. 

* * * 

"Getting on that plane and coming back out here was the best decision I ever made. Well, second after choosing this guy for my surf instructor." He nudged Keith with his shoulder. "He did almost kill me with a surfboard, but I suspect that was just a ploy so he would have a reason to give me mouth to mouth."

The crowd laughed and clapped, and someone started clinking a glass. "Kiss kiss kiss!" they all cheered. 

Eric wrapped his arm around Keith and laid one on him. 

Then he leaned around and whispered in his ear, "Hey dude, thanks for becoming my husband."

"Back at ya, man."



Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll join us next week. As you can see, there's no right or wrong way to do this. It's just a fun opportunity to play around with words and pictures. I think of it as the ultimate "yes, and" exercise, like in improv. You start writing, and when you come to the next emoji, you have to say "yes, and" incorporate it into the story. And maybe next time we'll do titles.

Introducing Emoji Fiction Friday!

My friend Lauren and I have been playing this game that had rapidly become one of my favorite pastimes.

If you're a writer or if you'd like to be a writer or if you think you could never write anything creative or if you think writers have superpowers and that's how they make stories, then this is for you. 

Yes. I'm bringing our game to the masses - if the masses mean the 50 people who are going to read this post. 

Here's how it works.

I "send" you a list of emojis. Since we're playing this over the interwebs, I'll post them here on Wednesday morning. Then you make up a story using the emojis as your inspiration. You post that story by Thursday at 5:00 pm either (a) in the comments here or (b) on your own blog and share the link to it in the comments on this post.

On Friday, I'll post my own story and I'll pick one from the comments to highlight.

No prizes.

It's just for fun because I'm a total writing geek, and it's the most delightful writing exercise I've ever encountered. Case in point: recent stories from my friend have included a piece of petrified poo named Peter and a motherless tomboy in the Sonoran Desert. And I wrote a story complete with boob jokes. There's no limit here!  (Except, there's a little bit of a limit. Keep it under 800 words so I have time to read it!)

If you're feeling shy, post yours anonymously. But I guarantee you that writing emoji fiction will make you laugh and take your mind off your troubles for at least 15 minutes. 

Without further ado, here is the prompt for Friday:

Get to it!