Fred Wemyss

Well, I've given up the write-a-50,000-word-novel-in-a-month project (visit http://Nanowrimo.org if you want to read about this annual web event) because I'm just not in the mood. Last year it got me writing 13,000 words (or was it 3,000?) In fact, here's a chapter from last year's effort. It's about Dr. Boland and a friend of hers. In real life, Dr. Boland was my grandmother and her friend Kate was, for all intents and purposes, my great aunt. They knew each other in their college days. Both of them were born in 1891 and they died within weeks of each other at the shared age of 91. This excerpt depicts them driving from New Jersey to the Catskills to visit my father. I was about three when they came to visit.
Before I paste the excerpt, let me mention that I'm also giving up reading an excellent new novel, LAY OF THE LAND, by Richard Ford. I'm returning it to the library because I simply can't read it in the space of three weeks. It deserves to be in the hands of a library patron capable of reading a deep book at sonic speed.
Okay, here's the excerpt from my NanoWrimo entry of 2005:


DR. BOLAND spread marmalade on her toast and had a sip of orange juice. She looked out the window at the ceramic cat which had been positioned so as to appear to be climbing the tree.
When Dr. Boland was finished with her toast and orange juice she rinsed the glass, put it in the sink and threw the napkin away. She took the piece of paper with the directions on it, read it and put it in her purse. She went to the porch door and made sure it was locked. She went to the closet and took a sweater off a hanger. She put it on. She took her hat from the little stand by the telephone. She took her white gloves from the drawer which held the address book and put them on. She glanced down the hallway toward the kitchen, looked at the living room and walked to the front door. She opened it and stepped into the vestibule. She looked at the umbrella stand. She considered and then took her umbrella. After closing the front door she opened the very front door.
On the stoop she opened the little metal mailbox by the door. It was empty. She shut the door, put the key in the lock, turned it, tested the handle, put the key in her purse, closed her purse and walked down the steps.
She walked along the sidewalk and then up her driveway. She unlocked the garage, pulled the door upward and and then pushed it further up. She got into her car, started it, backed out of the garage, stopped the car, put it in neutral and put on the emergency brake, got out, pulled the garage door down, locked it, got back in her car and drove to Kate's.
When she pulled up, she saw a white-gloved hand part a lace curtain in a second-storey window, as it always did.
"Good morning, Lucy," said Kate when she got in the car.
"Good morning, Kate."
"Now I'm just going to stop at Mr. Benson's and have the oil checked."
"And are you getting gas too?"
Dr. Boland pulled out. "No, it's almost full."
"You don't want to run out of gas, you know."
"Oh, I know, but it was full yesterday afternoon. But, you know, I think I'll get the tires checked."
"Oh, are they low?"
"Well, I don't think so, but driving into the mountains, you know."
"Yes, you need air in the tires on gravel roads."
"Oh, I know."
"Oh, yes."
"You remember Bob Finchenhurst."
"Finchenhurst. Wasn't it Finchenhorn?"
"I don't think so."
"I don't think I remember him."
"Of course you do. He was married to Mamie Finchenhurst."
"Who was she before?"
"Gwendolyn Punker's daughter."
"Mamie Punker married Bob Finchenhorn?"
"Well, the Bob and Mamie I knew were Bob and Mamie Finchenhurst."
"I don't remember them."
"Well his tires were low in the Poconos."
"What?"
"In the Poconos."
"I thought you said 'low in the Poconos.'"
"I did say 'low in the Poconos.'"
"What's that describe?"
"What's what describe?"
"Low in the Poconos. I don't know an expression, 'Low in the Poconos.'"
"In the Poconos, which is a range of mountains, Bob Finchenhurst had low tires."
"How do you come to know he had low tires?"
"Mr. Benson told me."
"Mr. Benson told you Bob Finchenhorn had low tires?"
"Yes."
"Well, why would he tell you that?"
"Because Bob Finchenhurst, whose name is Bob Finchenhurst and not Bob Finchenhorn, hit a rock and the front tire burst and he was stuck all day."
"Oh."
"If he'd had full tires the front tire might not have burst."
"Is it true that low tires are more likely to explode than full tires?"
"Yes. I think so."
Dr. Boland pulled into the gas station.
"Hello, Dr. Boland," said Mr. Benson. "Check your tires?"