The Fifteen Minute Novel is a novel written fifteen minutes at a time with each week day’s section starting with the sentence from the previous day. At least it is attempting to be a novel. For now I am just aiming at one continuous story, worked on for fifteen minutes each day. Started Friday January 1st, 2021 (in case you want to search for the beginning. I can’t wait to see where it ends up. It could be good, or it could be a mess. We’ll have to see. For now, here is today’s fifteen minutes.
Day 170: ‘Maybe it’s a look back before moving forward sort of thing,’ James decided.
‘Maybe it’s a look back before moving forward sort of thing,’ James decided. Still even with the looking back justification, James realized he wanted to swim again.
“As long as it is it is not going to bring me notice then it should be fine. The only people who knew of his morning swims when he was younger were his mother and step brothers. “And even then my step brothers might not know.”
He wasn’t living in the house daily when they came along. He swam when he came home, but the routine of it was slowly fading away. “Which leaves Mother,” James realized. James shook his head. She may not have been the closest of parents but even if there was something going on with the company, he doubted his mother would actively try to kill him or work with someone attempting the same.
“So my childhood routine is safe,” James told himself. He looked back at the laptop. “It still won’t get me out of Friday night drinks.”
James looked around for adult education programs in his area. There were several, but none of them really interested him. He dismissed the thoughts of handicrafts as he had no desire to knit, crochet or sew anything. He was all for recycling but saw no reason to turn his trash into creations to be kept around his home. He was fairly certain that even if he had an interest in scrapbooking it would end in catastrophe as he tried to memorialize any event in his life in print form.
The wine classes were out as they seemed too much like links to his old life. While he found the jam making interesting if only for the fact that he liked eating homemade jam and routinely picked up some from a stand near his old vacation cabin, knowing his culinary skill levels he thought that was just a hospital visit in the making. At this point he wasn’t confident he could make bacon without causing burns. The thought of molten hot sugar and fruit under his care filled him with deep foreboding.
The computer classes he saw offered were the basic classes for someone with no office skills looking to be hired for date entry or basic reception. He worked with the programs often enough that he didn’t need the basic introduction classes.
“And I think the ones starting my own You Tube Channel might be considered objectionable by both Tucker and Morris,” James said.
It was an oddly uninspiring arrangement of classes. He wanted to study something, if only as a way to occupy a stretch of time, yet nothing was even remotely targets for his mind. By chance he stumbled upon a few literature classes. One of them was a class solely focused on Shakespeare. James remembered being dragged to productions for their cultural influence and he remembered learning about the plays in various English Lit classes but they were never something that fully occupied him. In college there was a man he knew, Charlie, who could quote at will from many of the plays, dropping quotes from a range of literature, not just Shakespeare, into conversation. James always found the trait enviable. Most of the quotes he knew came from movies he’d seen as a teenager.