I’ve been feeling a little creatively blocked, so I devised a writing exercise for myself. I took the top two male and the top two female first names from the 1990 US census, and typed them into Google followed by the word ‘was.’ I then used the first auto-complete as the beginning of a very short story. And here they are! I wrote all of these in the space of about a half-hour, so they’re extremely unpolished, but hopefully they’ve helped me get a little unstuck as I tweak the plot of Mark Park and the Flume of Destiny. I quite like the second story. The fourth auto-complete was so bizarre I almost chucked it, but I’d only be cheating myself… Auto-complete text is in bold.
James was what today could be termed a “snapchataholic.” He would send his friends scores of short, disposable, and by-and-large unwanted videos of himself engaging in activities which he considered hilarious and the rest of the world considered banal. Here’s James eating a bowl of cereal and shouting enthusiastically. Here’s James making the shocker behind his English teacher’s back. Here’s James sticking his tongue out on the bus home. Most of his friends deleted his snapchats unseen. Only one of James’ acquaintances never stopped checking them – she had a slight crush on James, and was hoping for a naked selfie. But he was too boring for even that.
Mary was the marrying kind. After her fifth divorce, however, she realized that she wasn’t really the “being married” kind. All five weddings were dreams, but all five marriages were nightmares. It all worked out eventually – she and Aaron have been engaged for twenty-three years now. They have two kids and a beautiful home in Palo Alto. In her spare time Mary plans the sixth wedding she’ll never have. The dress would be gorgeous and the food would be divine, but Mary loves Aaron too much to marry him. She knows that just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.
John was a zombie. It was fairly dull. The last bit of meat had been eaten decades ago, so there wasn’t much to do. There was a little shambling, a little moaning, but mostly he just stood in place and waited for something to happen. He thought about taking up needlepoint but he only had six fingers between his two hands and besides, learning a new skill seemed like an awful lot of effort. Maybe aliens would invade someday. That would be something.
“Was Patricia Heaton pregnant in 1998?”
“Excuse me?”
“Was Patricia Heaton pregnant in 1998?”
“Who?”
“Patricia Heaton. The actress.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who that is.”
“She was the wife on Everybody Loves Raymond. Debra was her name.”
“Oh. Okay. I remember that show, sure. My parents watched it.”
“And she’s on The Middle now.”
“Yes, I know who you mean now. What did you want to know?”
“Was she pregnant in 1998?”
“I have no idea. How would I know that?”
“The sign says ‘Information.’”
“This is a Home Depot.”
“So…”
“I can tell you where the paint is or how much lumber costs. I don’t have information about every random thing. Have you Googled it?”
“Again and again and again.”
“…”
“I’ve Googled the hell out of this question.”
“Sir, you’re making me uncomfortable.”
“I can’t find what I’m looking for. I just need a little help.”
“Google didn’t have the answer? I can’t help you.”
“Google had the answer, just not what I’m looking for.”
“Oh. I think I…um…have you tried the image search?”
“No! What’s that?”
“Well, you can search for images instead of web sites.”
“Ah! So if I typed ‘Patricia Heaton pregnant 1998’ into the image search…”
“I think you might find what you’re looking for, yes. If I’m understanding you correctly.”
“Oh, you’re understanding me. I like what I like, you know?”
“Please don’t explain.”
“I can’t help it if I have very, very specific tastes.”
“Thank you for choosing Home Depot. Please come again.”
“I will now.”
“Security to the information desk, please.”
