Nano Writes cont.

So the competition started on Tuesday. I just finished today's writing -- I'm up to 7000 words just about. So I think I'm doing well.

So to celebrate my accomplishments to date, I figured I'd post the snippet that appears at Nano Writes....


The air around me buzzes of holiday festivities. Lavish Christmas displays are going up at a rapid pace as I walk through each narrow store aisle searching for the next item on my list. Each item on the list has been suggested emphatically, I know these items are not just suggestions, though I still question the necessity.

Brilliant reds and greens practically fly off the shelves into awaiting carts. There is no doubt about it Christmas is in the air. This is where life comes to a screeching halt. Shocked faces turn towards me as I scream the next few words, following each word with a dramatic pause – “It is freaking August.”

Yes, Christmas in August. Charlie Brown® isn’t quite as simple-minded as some may think. What happens next seems rather blurry, but this is how it goes…

Here I am trying to gather all the items from the three-page list of items necessary for my children to begin school, and I’m assaulted by Christmas displays. Half a dozen workers dressed up as elves are busy stocking shelves with glimmering lights, inflatable snowmen, and electronic Santa and reindeers. I assume that the elves are store clerks, but who knows, when you assume you make an ass out of you and me. Maybe they really are Santa’s elves straight out of the North Pole.

It should be illegal to put up a Christmas display before Thanksgiving! It is at this moment that years of pent up frustration come pouring out. “IT IS FREAKING AUGUST YOU MORONS.”

“Hey, lady. Tone it down or get out of this store.” Simple words muttered by one of Santa’s supposed “Little Helpers.” All they do is piss me off more.

“August,” I yell again. August. You know the month that brings an end to summer vacation. Summer’s last hurrah before the cooler fall months arrive. Christmas is in winter. What the hell do you call Christmas in August?”

“Commercialism, lady. It’s plain and simple. So deal with it.” He grins knowingly before continuing arranging things from the top of a stepladder, leaning as far as he can without falling over. I think it is the elf’s sly little grin. A facial expression that effuses evil and not tidings of joy as some might think. A grin that tells me he thinks he has won. At this point, I realize that there is nothing left to lose.

Gripping my shopping cart more tightly than ever, I watch as my knuckles become white from lack of blood flow. I’ve had enough of the elf’s behavior. I’m sick of Christmas displays in the summer. I’m tired of people telling me how easy my life must be. I’m going to show them all.

I turn slowly, my own evil, little grin now plastered on my face. Little do the elves know it, but they are about to face my wrath. One pale, blonde elf is standing in the back of a stepladder holding it with a lackluster passion. Not thrilled with her job, she seems to be going through the motions while off in her own little fantasy world.

I’m not much for bowling, at least not until today. But, this seems like the perfect time to hone my skills. I eye the ladder, aim my cart, and run like a madwoman. Perhaps, madwoman is a little too strong. Nonetheless, I am certain I am breaking all kinds of laws here, but man does it feel good.

The squeak of the right rear wheel punctures the otherwise deafening silence as nearby shoppers gaze at me with concern. I know what they are thinking—call for a straightjacket, this woman is nuts.

Cart and ladder collide solid bang. I can feel the sting of metal hitting metal all the way to my teeth, and my hands certainly took a bit of the collision, but I don’t care. I watch as the smarmy elf falls with a bone-shattering crunch to the hard tiled floor.

“Ooh, that must have hurt like hell.” It’s my turn for the evil grin, and I follow it with a full belly laugh. A laugh I haven’t heard in years. Tears come to my eyes just thinking about it. I wonder if it’s more of a sin to now run back over the groaning elf.

“Hey, lady. Will you move your damn cart already?”