Last night, Lithus and I were talking about an article he was reading that dealt with baby boomers retiring in vast numbers from wage-earning (as opposed to salaried) jobs. There was a nuance he didn't quite get so I say:
See, you've got Madge. She's 73, has been working at the diner for the last 50 years and if she's really lucky, with regulars and a decent boss and a state that has semi-appropriate laws, she's topped out at an average of $10 an hour. Now, her dogs are barking and she just wants to sit down and have Howie rub her feet.
Then I moved on from Madge and used her to explain the nuance. This morning, however, Madge made a reappearance during conversation for no apparent reason whatsoever. And this time, Howie was actually with her instead of just along the periphery. Howie was the cook, used to have a ducktail hairdo, and wandered around with his cigarettes rolled up in his tight, white t-shirt. He's retiring, too.
After this for-no-reason Madge and Howie interlude, I shook my head, looked at Lithus and asked "Where do these people come from?" To which he replied, "You're a writer. You see people and then fill them out, make them interesting."
Which is a much nicer way of putting it than I'm crazy and have voices in my head.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
13 comments:
So this is where I get to tell everyone that you've ALWAYS been a writer. When our dear Pobble was just a Pobblette, she'd come home from a friend's house and regale us with the most hysterical stories... Papa and Mama Pobble and I would have tears running down our cheeks and I'd sit there sullenly wishing I had friends like THAT (well, I still do wish that, but that's because our Dear Pobble is a better and more attentive friend than this old mother Crow). Eventually she'd confess... "Well, it didn't really happen exactly like that... BUT IT SHOULD HAVE!" We knew then that she was destined for greatness. (Which is the nice way of putting we knew she was a loony!) :D
With greatest respect and affection (and a goodly amount of dirt), I remain
your
Crow
Occupational hazard, I'm afraid. If you're like me, it's a freakin' cocktail party in there, most of the time.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I can't hear you over the incessant chatter of all the characters in my head."
The upside is, you're never, ever, ever lonely. :)
Whispers and skittering might be disconcerting for most people however not Pobble. Interesting way to describe the socioeconomic topic though.
And you are not crazy as far as you know. :)
well, as long as the voices are nurturing and caring...that's okay in my book. Now, if madge came home and grabbed a kitchen knife and pulled a Bates maneuver on Howie in the shower...then I'd say it's therapy time. Oh, and Lithus, pack your bags if this happens.
One should listen to the voices. They often tell us interesting and enjoyable tales.
It's your imagination, Pobble. It's a good one. Let it run when it wants to and enjoy it.
: )
Crow Mother ~ Gee...thanks for sharing. Really. ;)
Wolfgrrrl ~ I was hoping you'd understand. My favorite analogy is that I have the characters I'm writing currently and then a whole bunch of them hanging out at the bar, waiting to be called.
Blacklok ~ Yes, as far as I know, anyway. :*
Pharmyard ~ HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *boom*
Cam Pike ~ Ah, thank you dear friend. I still want to do a signing at a certain Cape inn. ;)
well, it could be worse... it could be very empty up there. glad i stayed up to read this. nite madge.
No, you're not hearing voices. But I guess that's a different Madge from the Palmolive "you're soaking in it" Madge, right? My question is whether those of us who are 50-something and salaried (not to mention those who are wage-earning) will be able to retire.
Well, as an actor, it's important to have a back story. Also you must know who you are, where you are and what you want. Those are pictures that must be created in your head because they must be real and alive to you. It's just creativity.
At least that's what my voices tell me.
I want to read more about Madge and Howie!
And that was a wonderful way to explain the concept.
I have a thing for apocalyptic sci-fi (must be all the "end times" stuff I grew up with) and alternate histories. So I'll walk around and suddenly see my vision overlay what I'm really seeing, like one of those really old-school transparencies. I have to blink real hard after that.
Lovely Cats ~ Yes, it can always be worse. Very empty...*shudder*
MikeC ~ Perhaps that is where the name Madge came from, the depth of memory. As for if you (not to mention the wage earners) will be able to retire...you'll notice Madge is 73. There's a reason for that.
Jaded ~ And the voices in your head have served you well so far so I suggest you keep listening, as well!
CrackerLilo ~ thing the first: who knows, maybe Madge and Howie will show back up again sometime. You never know with me. thing the second: I actually have that overlap thing happened occasionally as well. Thought I was alone in this (although Crow Mother has reported it some, also.) thing the third: check out the video in the post immediately before this one if you haven't yet. I think you're one of the people who will appreciate it the most. :)
Madge walked the seven blocks from Mable's Fine Diner as she had for the last 37 years. She heaves herself up the stoop, catches her breath and swipes her foot at the kick board on the sticky screen like a Samurai excecuting a practiced strike. Madge rasps at the walkup; "Howie!... Howie!... I'm home Howie! That damn dawg is in the gawbage agen.... Howie!"
She throws her bag of "day olds" down on a desk piled with tattered Life and National Geographic magazines and shuffles into the phoshorous glow of tv room.
Howie is there, his diminutive frame nearly lost in the cushion of the old tired sofa. His eyes flick at her with irritation, "Shush damnit, can't hear Waltah."
"He hasn't bin on in forty five yeahs you old fool, my dawgs are barkin' rub my feet Howie."
....
Anyone else?
This is what I get from Madge and Howie stories.
There are good voices and not so good voices.... yours seem to be the good kind!
Post a Comment