“Welcome back to the winter games,” Will Wurdie said. “America’s princess begins her gold medal quest tonight, and Rock Peters looked at her inspiring story.”
Rock nodded. “It should be a country-western song.” (More)
Midday Matinee is our people watching, people doing and people being feature. Join the Woodland Creatures for an afternoon break.
Welcome back to Tuesday’s Tale, a weekly feature where we collaborate to write a story. Previous Tuesday’s Tales include To Be Determined and The Winter Games. We follow the basic rules of the “Yes, And” improvisational game – accept everything written so far as part of the story, and add your own paragraph (or so) where the last addition left off – except you needn’t begin your addition with “Yes, and.” I’ll start the story….
“You must be so excited just to be here,” Rock said to the diminutive blonde perched on the sofa across the coffee table from his chair.
“Oh I’m thrilled,” Felicity said with a smile that blinded the cameraman. “I’ve dreamed of this since I was three years old, watching the winter games on TV at my grandma’s house.”
Rock nodded sympathetically. “And you lost your grandma, is that right?”
Felicity’s eyes glistened. “Yes. An avalanche buried her house and with her and the TV in it. I’m really doing this for her. Well, and for my dad. He died in childbirth.”
Rock’s eyebrows rose like caterpillars crawling over lumps on a branch. “Your dad died in childbirth?”
Felicity sniffled and nodded. “Mom howled and my brother came out and my dad fainted and hit his head on the way down. After that it was just me and my mom and my brother and grandpa. Until the tornado dropped the harvester on grandpa.”
Rock looked. Silence, known in the industry as “dead air,” hung in the studio.
“What are you doing, Rock?” Dave yelled through his headphone from the control room.
Rock lifted a finger to his earpiece. “I’m listening for a wailing fiddle, Dave. Can we get sound of one of those and run it under the dialogue?”
Dave sighed. “This is a live interview, Rock.”
“Who’s Dave?” Felicity asked, looking confused.
“He’s the director,” Rock said. “But we’re live so there’s no time to explain. You said a tornado dropped a harvester on your grandfather?”
Felicity sniffled again. “Yes. While he was writing my junior competition scores in our family Bible.”
“Forget wailing fiddles,” Pam said in the studio. “We need a bucket of syrup.”
Dave looked at his producer. “Or a tanker truck.”
“And then you got injured, right?” Rock asked.
Felicity sat up taller. “Yes. Mom and my brother were in the crowd and I saw my brother start to have one of his seizures and I fell and tore up my knee. At first the doctors thought I might never walk again. But mom and I prayed and….”
“I’m gonna need a vomit bag,” Pam said.
Dave nodded. “Order two.”