On Thursday, Michelle Zink (an author I follow on Twitter), set up a "Thursday Night Write" on her blog. Basically, it was a test to see what we can write within 30 Minutes, based on photo.
Now, I couldn't do it on Thursday but I just had a go. And writing something within 30 minutes is hard. Very very hard. That's all I'm saying on the matter.
So, here is my attempt. Yes, you can laugh at it. I know that I am a rubbish writer when I rush and don't go back and check myself... So, sorry in advance for bad spelling and grammar.
My hands smelt of vinegar as I poured the used water down the drain.
You don’t want your windows to be covered in smears, do you? My dad always said when I first washed my car.
Those were the days when I actually listened to the liar.
I looked up and smiled, setting the empty bucket on the pavement. “Hey Jacob!”
“You’re washing it?” Jacob walked towards me, his eyes watched me carefully. “You’re washing the Rust Bucket?”
“It’s not rusty.” I said back. “It has character.”
“Mm-hm.” Jacob eyed my truck with suspicion. “I’m surprised you haven’t scrapped it. It’s probably worth more as scrap metal than to run the thing. I mean, what year is it?”
“You tell me. You’re the car expect.” I replied. “And anyway, this truck has been with me through some tough times. I think Chevy should stay around for a little while.”
“Chevy? You named your truck Chevy? How Bella Swann of you.”
“You relate me or Chevy to the Twilight Saga and I will not be held responsible for my actions.” I said back, but I was joking.
I looked fondly at my truck. Chevy, a battered blue truck with large ugly rust patches, looking like bruises. I got it from my brother, Dillon, when he finally fixed it up. He started the job when I was fourteen and he sixteen. I was twenty when he finally finished the job. I never believe his “I can’t get the parts” story. I always believed he was born-idle.
This was the only true link to him now, seeing as I never saw him one month to the next. Him being at medicinal school and all.
“I don’t think it’s a Chevy. But that’s neither here nor there.” Jacob waved a hand and sat on the pavement in front of my truck. “So, what’s wrong? So wrong that you had to talk to good old Jacob Black.”
Jacob and I have always been friends. I can’t remember a time when we weren’t. We were like brothers, twins even. We knew each other inside out. I was there for him when he was stressing about his GCSEs and then his A-Levels. And he was there for me when my parents got divorced.
I sighed as I sat next to him. “Well, Taylor,” I started calling him Taylor or Taylor Launter ever since the Twilight Saga films came out. I joked about him not having Taylor’s muscles, and he would always joke that if he was Taylor, than I was Robert Pattinson.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts together. “Dad’s – Dad’s getting remarried.”
Jacob’s jaw dropped. “Sorry? Say what?”
“Oh yes. Dad is getting remarried to the evil Harpy-Bitch from Hell.” I said, coolly. But inside, I was spitting venom. It was her fault! If she never went to work for Dad, then they wouldn’t have the affair and nearly torn the family apart. Dillon cut all ties with Dad, as did Mum. But I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. “And that’s not the worst of it. He wants Dillon and me to come to the wedding. Can you believe that? The nerve!”
Jacob sighed a big puff of air. “Whoa. That’s… that’s… whoa.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“Have you told your Mum?”
I hesitated. “She’s out of the country.”
“She doesn’t know?”
“No. And I don’t want her to know. Dear God, can you imagine what would happen if Mum found out?”
“I don’t like this. You should tell her.”
“And then what? Wait for the fireworks? God, it’s like the divorce all over again!” With Dillon and me in the middle of Mum and Dad fighting. Forcing us to choose sides.
“What did you tell him?”
“I’ll think about it.” I answered honestly.
“You said -? Alec, that’s worse! You should never have said that!”
Jacob sighed, looking heavenwards. “It – it just is!”
I sighed. “So what do I do?”
“Pray your Dad sees sense and marry a Weeping Angel from Doctor Who.”
“I’m serious, Jacob.”
“So am I.”
I rolled my eyes. “That would make life easier.” Sigh. “Should I tell Dillon?”
“Yes. You have to talk to him.”
“Dillon’s not going to like it…” I muttered.
“He won’t like it if he hears it through someone else.”
“You’re right. You’re right!” I held my hands up, admitting defeat. “I’ll call him.”
“Shut up, mutt.”
“Have you heard this joke?” Jacob’s eyes grew mischievous. “How do you drown a blond?”
He always blond jokes with me. I usually laugh them, seeing as I have blond hair. “I don’t know. How?”
“Throw a mirror into the water.” His smile was wide.
“That was so lame, I’m not going to laugh to that.” I stood up, hearing my joints cracks.
“Okay, that was gross.” He got up silently next to me. “Want to hear something else funny?”
“Not a bad joke?”
“Nope. Even better.”
I braced myself. “Go on.”
“Guess whose going out with Henry?”
“Henry?” I questioned. I knew three Henrys.
“Oh. I don’t know. Who?”
“Helena? Helena Weatherworth?”
“Yep.” Jacob looked smug.
“But – but she hates him.”
“Not from what I heard. Or saw for that matter