Rain Game Snippet for NaNoWriMo

The rain was a now a curtain.  Coach Riner couldn’t see the visitor’s sideline.  The refs said they would call the game if there was lighting, but we would play through the rain.  Coach Riner's play sheet was in pieces on the ground, it had disintegrated from the rain.

            "Time Out!" Coach Riner signaled and approached the side judge. "Time Out!"  The whistle blew. 

            The Tigers were down by four with three minutes left in the third quarter.  It was hard to run the ball.  It was impossible to throw. The middle of the field was mud.  The team huddled in close to Coach Riner.

            "We need to get out of the middle of field.  Indy Left, Zip, 28 Swing." 

            "Coach, can we do this out of shotgun? I can't get my feet going in the mud." Mike said.

            "Kyle? Can you get it back to him?" Coach Riner asked his center.

            "Yes, coach." Kyle never said more than what was needed.

            Coach Riner patted him on the top of his helmet. "I thought so.  OK, Huston Left, Zip, 28 swing."

            For a moment Coach Riner thought about the crowed.  He wondered what they could see.  How many were in the stands?  Coach Riner was happy that his wife had decided to stay home. He turned his mind back to the game as the team broke their huddle.  The team was on their own 45-yard line. It was second and eight.

            The line judge stood with the ball under his coat. The crew was switching the balls every two downs.  Kevin, the ball boy, had given up trying to keep the balls dry.  He now set his efforts on getting the mud off.

            "Ready?" The line judge asked as Kyle step up to set the line.

            "Yes, sir." Kyle replied as he set his feet.

            The line judge set the ball down with the laces away.  The teams set their lines.  There was no jumping around, linebackers set their bodies to face their gaps, DBs got into a wider athletic position. The receivers set like stone.  No one was going to risk losing their footing.

            Mike surveyed the defense as a habit, not really looking at the defensive set.  The weather had canceled any adjustments. "Blue 78...” Mike paused.  1, 2, 3, ... 11?  As Mike was scanning the second time his quarterback instincts kicked in.  They had all eleven players in.  The safety and free safety were sitting about eight yards back.  Even with the shotgun formation they were playing all out run.  Black 30 series flashed across his mind.

            Teon would still come across in motion. Jay would still swing.  But instead of blocking the backer, Teon would release for a flag rout, Cam would block and release.  Could he make that pass?  Coach Riner's voice piped up in his head, "You are the leader on the field.  Lead."  Mike wanted this game for Jason, for this team to get back above .500.  Nothing would be lost if he simply ran the play.  Coach Riner had called it.  Coach was taking the chance on a pass play; the audible wouldn't be any different.

            "Black 34.  Black 34." Mike called out.  Teon crossed his face.  Mike swore he saw a smile. "Set.... Hut!"

NaNoWriMo Snippet: Game plan

            The boys rambled in to Coach Riner's room, backpacks slung against the wall.  Chatter filled the room like a fog.  Sometimes the noise was hard to walk through, let alone get through the room as the boys hap hardly found space to sprawl out on the floor and desk.

            Coach Riner made his way through the maze of feet and elbows. "OK guys, quite down."  The noise decreased only a little. 

            Coach Glean was not in the mood, "Coach asked for you to quite down."  He didn't yell it, but delivered it above the ruckus to make sure his point was made.  The team quieted down.  Over the weekend Coach Glean and Coach Riner went around and around about how to game plan for the Colts.  They were still at odds about the direction, but Coach Riner finally said that they would follow his idea.  Coach Glean wasn't happy about it.

            "Thank you, Coach Glean." Coach Glean simply nodded. "As you know the state reworked the district and we have a new team this year, the Colts.  I've been watch film of them for a while and talking to some of their opponents from last year.  They like to air it out.  They average over almost 300 yards a game.  They spend most of their time in shotgun.  I swear in one game they ran the ball twice."

            The players were murmuring, shaking their heads in amazement.

            "They are a different type of team then what we normally face. And I think we have to do something different if we are going to defeat them.  Over the weekend Coach Glean and I decided on a game plan..." Coach Riner was about to tell the team that Coach Glean didn't agree with him.  Coach Riner, at times, felt like rookie. Especially with against Coach Glean's knowledge of defense.  Sunday night Coach Riner almost just gave in to Coach Glean's insistence that their base 4 - 4 defense could stop them.  But Coach Riner finally said no, they were going to go with his idea.  At the end of the day he was the head coach and would take the blame.  He asked Coach Glean to come up with a few unique blitzes, but they were going to run a 3 -4 -4.

            Coach Riner looked over at Coach Glean and continued, "that is a little different.  I will cover the basics and Coach Glean has some new blitzes we will need to learn.  I'm going to trust that we know our offense and devote more time to defense."

            Coach Riner turned to the white board and drew up Xs and Os. Setting up the defense in a 3 - 4- 4 look.  As he stepped away, the boys straightened up.  Jason raised his hand.

            "How is this going to work coach?"

            "Let me show you." Coach arranged the Os into the Colt's favorite formation, a spread one back shotgun. "They are stubborn in their approach.  I understand why, the quarterback, number 1, has a great arm.  Number 17, is fast, Jason Wright.  He won the state 100 last year." 

            "That guy was fast." Teon said.  Teon was at the state track meet for high jump.

            "But number 87, Garrett Wesson is their best receiver. He never drops a ball, " Coach Riner continued.  "But they don't run.  Even in the semi-finals last year, they continued to try to pass the ball in the rainstorm.  Their best rushing game was 104 yards last year, with 86 of those yards from number 1.  This approach," Coach Riner slapped his hand on the board, "is a risk, yes. But we will do our best to take make them run."  Coach Riner turned his attention toward Coach Glean. "You have to trust me."

Game Three Snippet for NaNoWriMo

            "Coach?" asked the student manager.

            "What, Sam?" Coach Riner asked back.

            "We forgot the kicking tees."  Sam was a senior.  He had been the student manger since sixth grade.  He enjoyed the small aspects of the job, setting up the athletic tapes in small pyramids in the training room, watching film with coach and marking down the notes as Coach Riner asked.  He took pride in the things that made the football team run smooth behind the scene.  The last two years had been the best so far.  Coach Riner appreciated the small things.  He would bring Sam a Code Red Mountain Dew for film sessions.  Coach Riner always told him thank you.  Sam felt horrible, then felt even worse as Coach's right hand started to rub and pinch the top bridge of his nose.  That meant he was trying to control his frustration.  "What should I do?"

            Coach Riner couldn't even think.  The bus was late because of a mix up.  They had a horrible week of practice after the debacle at Andrew High to go to 0 and 2.  And to top it off the Patriots had ended their season last year. 

            "I'll get it solved." Coach Riner said.

            Sam was discouraged.  He left to get the water bottles ready.

            Coach Riner walked across the field.  The teams were running through their position drills. "Kevin, catch and secure."  Coach demonstrated with his hands. Hands out to catch an imaginary ball, then moved his right hand to his chest to secure the imaginary ball. Kevin nodded his head and secured the ball high and tight as he ran back to the receiver line.  Coach Riner continued across the field to find Coach Johnson.

            They shake hands and make small talk. The Patriots were 1-1.  Coach Johnson had been at the school for eight years.  The team had been to the play-offs off and on four times.  Last year both teams ended their season 4-5, but the Patriots end the season with a win and the Tigers a lost.  The Patriots reflected the same attitude of their coach, a mix of simple respect with condescending edge.  Coach Johnson smiled in such a way when Coach Riner asked if they had an extra 3-point tee they could use during the game.

            Coach Riner thanked him and returned to the Tigers sideline.  He handed the tee, with one of the ends secured by athletic tape, to Sam. "Please, return this to them when the game is over."

            "OK, sorry coach."

            "Don't let it happen again." Coach Riner said as he patted Sam on the head.

            "I won't." am returned to setting up the equipment on the bench.  Sam had a system, one bench for injuries.  This bench had all the med kits, with a few things out and ready, like tape and tape scissors. One bench for "meetings," single player or team.  Clipboards and markers and the small water bottle container.  The third bench was his "game" bench.  This bench had the coolers, a box with snack bags filled with dried fruit and granola, a bag with mints for Coach Glean, and Sam's bottle of Code Red.  It also held the ball bag, tees, and the equipment box to handle those small moments, like a busted chinstrap. Sam was working on the first bench.

            Coach Riner rubbed the bridge of his nose, and moved to rubbing his forehead right above his brow.  He thought to himself, we have to win this game; we have to win this game.  Four minutes to kick-off.

           

Start of National Novel Writing Month

Good morning.  Today is the first day of National Novel Writing Month.  This is my fourth year attempting to complete a novel in a month.  Like many aspects of change, I start out strong then fade.  But I have a new game plan this year.  First, I am going to write out the scenes I have in my head.  I'll worry about putting it together later.  Second, I am going to share my progress through Twitter and this blog by sharing snippets of my writing.  Now, I know this game plan will make it hard on the reader, but to complete the novel is the main goal.  So I apologize early for the disconnected snippets of the novel for the upcoming month.  Here is the first snippet:

The rain was a now a curtain.  Coach Riner couldn’t see the visitor’s sideline.  The refs said they would call the game if there was lighting, but we would play through the rain.  Coach Riner's play sheet was in pieces on the ground, it had disintegrated from the rain.

            "Time Out!" Coach Riner signaled and approached the side judge. "Time Out!"  The whistle blew. 

            The Tigers were down by four with three minutes left in the third quarter.  It was hard to run the ball.  It was impossible to throw. The middle of the field was mud.  The team huddled in close to Coach Riner.

            "We need to get out of the middle of field.  Indy Left, Zip, 28 Swing." 

            "Coach, can we do this out of shotgun? I can't get my feet going in the mud." Darren said.

            "Kyle? Can you get it back to him?" Coach Riner asked his center.

            "Yes, coach." Kyle never said more than what was needed.

            Coach Riner patted him on the top of his helmet. "I thought so.  OK, Huston Left, Zip, 28 swing."

Falling Star

Where would I be if I hadn’t

         wished upon a Falling star?

Would I be chained to this dream,

         forever chasing a possibility

         that never reaches the horizon

It was a spur-of-the-moment wish

Made in the innocence of youth

I was sitting on my front step

Enamored by the endless night

         For a moment I understood eternity

                  and my place in it

                  sitting there on my front step

A knee-jerk reaction as a star fell.

A wish,

A hope,

A dream made at such a young age.

I was not mature enough to know that falling stars do not land.

So here I am

         face peppered with stardust

         as I run across eternity.

My legs and heart growing tired with age

Wondering where I would be

if I hadn’t wished upon a Falling star.

Just a Cup...

They say life is stranger than fiction.  I believe them.  I sat there drinking my favorite cappuccino, double shot with Cafe Mocha Trio, looking in to the eyes of my first love.  I told my self "Peter, don't mess this up."  But I wasn't sure if I meant my marriage or the chance to tell Rose I loved her.

   Amie and I had a fight over the scrambled eggs.  We were down to 100 dollars in the checking account and still had two weeks to go before we were paid.  Our savings were basically depleted, a dollar thirty-six had sat there for two months now.

   "We have to pay the car loan," I said.

   "How?  How can we pay a 236 dollar car payment with only a 100 dollars?"  Her fork ringing the side of the plate for emphases.

   "Can't you ask your parents for some help this month?"

   "No, they lent us the money for the down payment.  You got to stop your stupid spending habits."

   "I have cut back," I couldn't believe she had brought this up again.  "I haven't gotten a coffee or CD or, or anything like that in a month."

   "Really?  What was the package in the mail yesterday?”  I knew I was in for a long morning, she was looking at me from the top of her eyelids, her arms had crossed, and her mouth was now slightly opened with the corners dragging downward.

   I knew she was right.  I had never had this much money in my life.  We both had good jobs.  Not much debt.  I was enjoying life, at least the material aspect.  After 10 months of marriage, I was wondering if I truly loved this woman.  "The new Stephen King book," I answered deflated.

  Amie stood up from the table, unable to speak.  She stared at me as she took her plate into the kitchen.  "I've got to go get ready for work," she said.

  I had met Amie during our senior year at college.  She was sitting alone one day at the student union.  Studying some computer language.  For that moment, she was beautiful, hair in a slight mess, eyes intense, and small feet dangling just above her sandals.

  I walked over to her and said "Hi, I'm Peter."

  "Ok, I'm busy Peter, but thank you for introducing yourself."

  I just stood there.  I usually had no trouble with women.  I was the President of the academic Fraternity, played all the intramural sports, and was a social person.  I just stood there.

   "Peter, if you wish to get to know me, I suggest having a Latte' in your hand.”  She smiled as she pointed out the coffee shop with her head.

   "I'll be back...”  I paused waiting for her to reveal her name.

   "Latte' first, I have to know how serious you are."

   With a smile I said, "I'll be right back."

   Now about two years later Amie is still direct, only with her anger instead of her love.

  I didn't have work, so I headed to the local Starbucks.  I needed some time to think and a good cup of coffee.  I was standing in line, lost in thought.  Knowing that I did need to harness in my spending, but I wasn't sure how.  I had worked hard to put myself through school.  My parents were a waste of space, even in the beat-up Lazy-boy recliners they spent their life in.  The adult world was filled with everyday issues that were wearing on my spirit.  Bills, house repairs, lawn issues, and even the daily habits of just being a husband.

   "Peter?"

   "Hu," I replied to my name.  Turning around to see the deep green eyes of Rose.

   Rose was my first love in high school.  I was a junior.  She was a freshman.  We met at the Winter Formal in February.  We were inseparable for a year and a half.  I knew I loved her, but I never told her.  I was scared of love.  My parents' waste of life made me weary of what love could do to you.  Rose though, she had loved me with all her heart.  Notes in my locker, flowers before big games. 

   Then college came.  I suspect it is the same old story.  Promises to stay in touch, to call every night, to keep each other in the heart.  Instead studying becomes before the phone call.  The heart grows restless.  And life happens.  We had never officially broke up; we just stopped living the same life.

  "Rose?  Rose?  What are you... Man, you look good."  All those high school feelings came rushing over me.  Making out under the stars after winning homecoming.  Dancing close at prom.  Six shoeboxes filled with notes.

  "I have an internship with Davis and Jones law office.  You look good."  She looked down at my hand.  "I see you’re married," a small drop in hope from her voice.

  "Yes, I am."  I didn't know what to say.  I wanted to tell her it was rough.  I wanted to tell her I missed her.  I wanted her to stay.

  "Well, I have a few minutes... do you want to sit, talk?"

  "Yes, I would.  Yes, I would."

  I knew in my heart that this was a moment.  I sipped the hot cappuccino.  The milk foam tickling my lip.  Amie and I had so much fun, until we got married.  I knew part of the issue was me, I was still afraid of the silent two-chair existence.  I was spending too much.  Our marriage was far from over.  I felt that all we needed was to change a few things; ok I needed to change a number of things.

  But there sat Rose, ocean green eyes and the laugh that swept the world away.  I thought to myself "don't mess this up."  I sipped my drink.

Fire Fighter

A spark can start anywhere

   the kitchen

      or bathroom

         or on the patio steps

A simple spark

   ignited by whim

     choice

       or simply tired eyes

The spark

quickly engulfs the walls

wrangles on the carpet

I hear the crinkling of flames

echo in the vents

I breathe in

Knowing I will burn my hands

  but must find a way

    to extinguish the fire

       before it blackens the woodwork

       before we cannot scrub

the smoke stains from our fingernails

My hands become hot

holding this spark

  this fire

the heat runs deeper than my skin

The smoke calls forth tears

but then

     the oxygen is pulled from the room

     from the spark in my hand

and little arms wrap around my neck

a little head snuggles into my shoulder

we walk out of the house

Fire fighter and daughter