Enjoyed this vivid portrayal of a brief moment in the life of a woman contending with the way things are when choices, sometimes out of her control, sometimes not, take her on a course of hopes and dreams colliding with reality. Your writing captures all that so well. You made me feel like I was there in that scene, and even could have been that woman in another life.
Well-crafted and fashioned like grandma's Jello mold placed thoughtfully in the center of the table, at a family gathering. It holds all the normalized, societal trainwrecks of an era, that just can't be looked away from and feels comfortable on some strange, dark level.
The tiny details really brought out the flavor. The cigarette brand, Rhonda's "M'bye", the green Dickies. I could see the nicotine stains in the corners of the landromat and smell the mixture of stale smoke and fresh soap.
From years ago when the low class had at least a small piece of dignity. Growing up I lived in an area of upper middle income (that sometimes like my parents would not shuck their low income upbringing despite their financial success), middle income and lower middle income. Growing up we recognizing the differences (Johnny drove a new car to high school that his parents bought while Bobby drove on old beater he fixed up in his parents' yard, I drove a fcuking Plymouth Valiant that my father bought for me) but we never fixated on those differences. Johnny and Bobby were friends despite the fact that they would likely have very different lives. And sometimes there was something endearing about Bobby's parents. Very simple, maybe a bit naive and lazy, but they had common sense and dignity.
You completely sucked me into a familiar alternate reality for the term of reading this piece. This is vivid, compelling writing, Josh, a thoroughly realized slice of life that lit up in my mind’s eye.
This is a chunk of a chapter of that book you’re going to write.
If that was the beginning of a potential short story, or first chapter of a novel, I was already drawn in with just a page. Rhonda is white-trashy, I suppose, but for some reason I kind of like her and I'm interested in her story. That's a good laundromat--when I was using them in '78 the dryers cost a quarter. But that was California.
This is when I was growing up. Great nostalgia and accurate! I’d change the date to 1973, though. By ‘78 the laundromat tvs were in color, if there was one. Usually there wasn’t.
I hope you write a book one day. Your gift for description and attention to detail is what makes a story completely immersive. While I enjoy being able to experience a different time and place through a good story, what writing like that really does for me is it reminds me to take notice of the small details in my own life. It makes me more aware of the world around me and reminds me that paying attention is how we keep our grasp on reality and continue to feel alive. It reminds me to stop letting myself "numb out", which has become terrifyingly easy these days.
Enjoyed this vivid portrayal of a brief moment in the life of a woman contending with the way things are when choices, sometimes out of her control, sometimes not, take her on a course of hopes and dreams colliding with reality. Your writing captures all that so well. You made me feel like I was there in that scene, and even could have been that woman in another life.
I can picture it!!
The laundromat on the corner, near my old apartment just closed down for good last year. I could see these characters in in.
Well-crafted and fashioned like grandma's Jello mold placed thoughtfully in the center of the table, at a family gathering. It holds all the normalized, societal trainwrecks of an era, that just can't be looked away from and feels comfortable on some strange, dark level.
The tiny details really brought out the flavor. The cigarette brand, Rhonda's "M'bye", the green Dickies. I could see the nicotine stains in the corners of the landromat and smell the mixture of stale smoke and fresh soap.
From years ago when the low class had at least a small piece of dignity. Growing up I lived in an area of upper middle income (that sometimes like my parents would not shuck their low income upbringing despite their financial success), middle income and lower middle income. Growing up we recognizing the differences (Johnny drove a new car to high school that his parents bought while Bobby drove on old beater he fixed up in his parents' yard, I drove a fcuking Plymouth Valiant that my father bought for me) but we never fixated on those differences. Johnny and Bobby were friends despite the fact that they would likely have very different lives. And sometimes there was something endearing about Bobby's parents. Very simple, maybe a bit naive and lazy, but they had common sense and dignity.
A delightful vignette, Josh. It has the hallmarks of old episodes of 𝑯𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 or 𝑸𝒖𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒎 𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒑 back in the day.
If Barry were my uncle when I was a kid, he'd grumble and expect a buck or two for gas money if anybody asked him to drive them somewhere.
You completely sucked me into a familiar alternate reality for the term of reading this piece. This is vivid, compelling writing, Josh, a thoroughly realized slice of life that lit up in my mind’s eye.
This is a chunk of a chapter of that book you’re going to write.
If that was the beginning of a potential short story, or first chapter of a novel, I was already drawn in with just a page. Rhonda is white-trashy, I suppose, but for some reason I kind of like her and I'm interested in her story. That's a good laundromat--when I was using them in '78 the dryers cost a quarter. But that was California.
I could see it in my mind's eye.
Vantage cigarettes, polyester pants with a standing seam, suuuper long telephone cords. It's like I'm right back in 1978.
This is when I was growing up. Great nostalgia and accurate! I’d change the date to 1973, though. By ‘78 the laundromat tvs were in color, if there was one. Usually there wasn’t.
I hope you write a book one day. Your gift for description and attention to detail is what makes a story completely immersive. While I enjoy being able to experience a different time and place through a good story, what writing like that really does for me is it reminds me to take notice of the small details in my own life. It makes me more aware of the world around me and reminds me that paying attention is how we keep our grasp on reality and continue to feel alive. It reminds me to stop letting myself "numb out", which has become terrifyingly easy these days.