As mentioned in my previous post, I have begun using Writing Dice for fifteen-minute exercises most mornings (or, whenever I can manage it). Each week, I will select one of the exercises to share on my blog.

A Bit About the Process

There are ten 12-sided dice in the set. There are four Character Builder Dice and six Story Builder Dice. I allow myself 1–2-minutes to brainstorm after casting the dice before I jump in with the exercise which I write by hand. The exercise is timed for fifteen minutes.

Because this exercise is a morning warm-up, the product of my work is less than I would normally expect for any writing I might produce. The stories are short, random, and far from complete. Whatever is posted to the blog for these prompts has not been edited or expanded on in any way. I type exactly what I wrote on the page in the allotted time frame. I suppose this is an effort to be transparent about what I can come up with on the fly at 6:00 AM while I’m waiting for coffee to brew.

Whilst flipping through the exercises I’ve completed thus far, I realized that there are many that I do not care for and have no intention of ever allowing see the light of day. However, it is my intention that each month I will choose one of the prompts posted to develop into a short story that will go out with my monthly newsletter.

So, with these disclaimers in mind, let’s move forward with the first of the Writing Dice Exercises I’ll be sharing.

Prompt # 9

Dice Words:

1. Hope
2. Nomad
3. One Room
4. Charming
5. Dual-POV
6. Multiple Timelines
7. Envious
8. Identity Crisis
9. Symbolism
10. Monster

Child

My mom was careful not to mention my father to anyone, not even to me. She has regarded him as a secret. As I’ve gotten older, I have asked questions and all she says is that we don’t talk about that man. It frustrates me sometimes, but I do understand, sort of. Three years ago, I borrowed the key to the file cabinet in her office and found their divorce paperwork. He wasn’t the type of man any woman would want to be married to. But he initiated the divorce which I found interesting.

I saw him outside his office building once. I’d planned to confront him and ask why he never wanted a relationship with me. That’s when I saw it. The condescending way he treated people he viewed as beneath him. I did approach him to say something. He took one look at my distressed jeans and holey band t-shirt, and he told me he didn’t have any change. He assumed I was a transient panhandling for spare change from big brokers like him. Never mind that my distressed jeans were designer and my band t-shirt was a vintage collectable. He didn’t even look at my face.

I never told Mom about meeting him, and I stopped asking her questions about him. I didn’t want to know after that brief and sour interaction.

Mom and I were watching the morning talk show host prepare to interview a well-to-do author with a movie deal coming out. As soon as Ms. Grace Bellflower finished introducing her guest and the camera panned to him there was the sound of breaking glass which stole my attention.

Mom

I scarcely noticed the sound of my glass shattering on the floor. There was nothing but a gentle face on the screen. He’d aged since I last saw him, but it was undeniably him. Those eyes. How could I ever forget them? The night we first met plays through my mind. It was magical and felt meaningful before it was over, and I found my way back home.

Jeff and I had gotten into a terrible row, and I stormed out of the house. I’d just caught him sleeping with his latest secretary. She was one of many he’d brought into our marital bed. I drove until I ran out of gas. Then I walked until I found a pub where an inn was just across the street.

At the bar, I got to talking to this guy who had a bit of a strong scent, but his laughter carried over the noise and was infectious. We spent hours talking about life, the future, and philosophy. He was staying at the inn and walked with me after last call to the concierge who gave me the terrible news. No rooms. Apparently, the town was hosting the annual folk festival and all the nearby hotels were full.

That’s when he, the man whose name I never thought to ask, said, “You can share my room with me. I’d be happy for the company, and I can sleep on the floor.” Everything hurt, and all I wanted was for the room to stop spinning and to lay my head down. But once we were in the room, we found each other as the remedy for our ailments.

I woke up naked with him already gone and a note that said, “I’ll be back soon with the best hangover cure.” I didn’t wait for him. I left quite sheepishly and flagged down a tow truck to help me with the empty tank in my car.

Author

It had been two years since I went out on the road to find myself. I took that time between getting my undergraduate and moving on to graduate studies up state. I learned a lot about life and people. But the road was wearing on me, and I longed for home and to settle down.

That’s when this scrawny woman who looked to be having an even worse go at it walked into the pub where I drowned my most recent sorrows. She was a spitfire! Full of life locked within the confines of a terrible marriage. I couldn’t wrap my head around why someone would cheat on such a beautiful woman. She wasn’t beautiful like a model or actress, but she was beautiful like a swan riding a bulldozer. I was head over heels.

I don’t have very clear memories of that night once we got to the inn, but what I do remember is that we were both looking for home that night. While I went to get coffee and jelly doughnuts, I couldn’t stop myself from picturing a life with that woman. But when I went back to the room, she was already gone. I never learned her name.

The story of what we could have had has haunted me throughout the years and inspired my most recent work.