Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Story Giveaway

Thanks everyone for your encouragement and for sharing your own stories about the road to publication. We're all in this together and I'm pretty sure there's safety in numbers :-)

Today, I have a really random post for you about this bar in Red Hook, Brooklyn called Sunny's. I'm obsessed with this bar. And as you read on you'll see why.

Last weekend, I was sitting up at the bar at Sunny's. Most of the bar stools there are glued to the ground and the little wooden seats wobble and swivel around, like a Frisbee on top of a skinny stick. Fortunately, I had found one of the only two free-standing stools that wasn't stuck like a post in the ground, so I was sitting steady. I sipped my warm apple cider, which had been topped off with a little bourbon and I was feeling all edgy and cool with the whole bourbon thing (I've never had bourbon in my life.) The band, which consisted of 2 guitarists, a drummer who doesn't wear shoes, and a bassist, was playing a lovely little diddy about walkin' in to your kitchen, slippin' on the tile, and goin' straight to heaven. The bartender, a short, smiling woman had been walking around with a metal bucket asking us to give tips to the band, and she had just slung the bucket up on a little wire hanger that dangled above the bar. All of the sudden, this roly poly looking fat man walks in with a checkered shirt and denim overalls, his chubby cheeks all rosy from the cold. He walks directly to the back room of Sunny's and, a few minutes later, follows the same path right out the door, this time carrying a life size, naked mannequin.

So, there I am at Sunny's, realizing that I had walked into a novel. I mean, seriously, does this not read like fiction to you? It's Red Hook, Brooklyn, for goodness sakes. A place full of yuppies and hipsters and people riding bicycles past fancy little farm to table restaurants and boutiques. And there I am, sipping bourbon, listening to bluegrass, while people do crazy s*** like walk into a dive bar and walk out with naked mannequins. I was in the middle of a scene.

So, somebody, please take it. I am giving this scene to you. Because I'm hooked and have to know. What's the bartender doing when she's not pouring me bourbon and cider? Why is the drummer barefoot in the dead of winter? And why, on earth, did the fat man take the mannequin and where the heck is he going with it?

It's all you.


  1. Just brilliant! It is fantastic when life echoes fiction ... or is it the other way round. Anyway, this provokes creative minds into overdrive!

  2. SO many writing prompts in just one trip to a bar. Life can be pretty crazy and inspiring. Thanks for this made-me-smile post!

  3. Hahah...that's so bizarre. I was hooked when you said the drummer of the band didn't wear shoes (I'm a sucker for drummers, but don't tell my guitarist hubby). I'll pass this idea on to him, he was just saying the other day, "Maybe I'll write a book," like it's something that can be done during a few hours one evening.

  4. Bahaha! So many possibilities!! Oh...I like it...want to write something for it! Maybe will...

  5. OH man is this good! I love all your Brooklyn slices of life (the dry cleaner story, the one about the deli . . .). Hmmm. Imagining lots of crazy things here. How fun.

  6. Some stuff reads BETTER than fiction, and that certainly does! What a great little life experience.

    I'm gonna stew on that that mannequin's for...

  7. It sounds like you slipped on a tile floor and went directly to literary heaven!

    The man is obviously the owner of Sunny’s. The mannequin co-owns the place with him. The bartender doesn’t get along with her though. Mannequin Boss is always criticizing her for coming up short in her drawer. As if she can help it on a night like this? She keeps telling them they need to hire someone else to help out, but that’s not likely since she just used up her last favor with Fat Boss. Her brother’s band has been looking for a place to play that doesn’t require footwear. His rent is due and the bartender can’t understand why he just won’t put on a pair of Goddamned shoes, but she’s somehow managed to talk Fat Boss into letting him play. “Just remember,” he tells her as he squeezes through the door with Mannequin Boss in his arms, “if he steps on something, I'm not paying for the ambulance."

  8. Hahaha! Sounds like a scene in a film! Thanks for sharing this.