Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Eat, Pray, Love - Alternate Ending

The movie that comes directly to mind when pressed to think of a movie I hate is: Eat, Pray, Love. My recollection of the movie is mainly of an over privileged woman focused largely on her own dissatisfaction who tells her not so bad husband to shove it and sets about figuring out why her not so bad life isn’t way greater. The fact that I found the movie too insufferable to actually stay tuned until the end makes it a perfect candidate for me to write my own ending.

In my ending (which would happen about 14 minutes in) Julia is scarfing a platter of scampi, donkey braying ecstatic if insatiate and licking each glistening finger clean of the buttery garlic salve that soothes her indulgence starved soul when a crack opens in the restaurant floor and she is sucked down into the bowels of hell where she meets a dashing devil played by Steve Buscemi. Buscemi turns in a career performance as the droll demon king who sheds humorous and ironic light on the perils of being so self-absorbed. Unfortunately, the lesson is lost on Julia who is delighted by the new level of sorry she is able to feel for herself with the added legitimacy of eternal damnation.

Jared Handley over at Lit Fire is now offering daily prompts. Tuesday's challenge was to write a sequel or a new conclusion for a movie you hate. Check out Lit Fire for some daily inspiration.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Frankie's Wave

by Harry B. Sanderford

It was down to him now, the last man standing and the only one left looking east on this chilly Saturday morning dawn patrol. "Screw it" he said and set his coffee on the old Rambler's dashboard before grabbing his wetsuit out of the back seat and tugging it right side out. A quick towel change later he zipped up, unstrapped his board from the roof rack, grabbed it by the rail and flipping it once caught it one handed before tucking it under his arm and trotting off down the beach. Near the water's edge he stopped to stretch and watched the lead wave of a new set build into a perfect feathery lipped peak at the exact moment that the first rays of sunlight topped the horizon glinting green and gold through the pitching lip of the unridden tube. It was a pristine and privileged sight witnessed only on rare occasions but on this morning such beauty was unbearable. This empty perfection would not last he knew as he turned his back on the surf to follow his shadow back up the beach.

It has been awhile since I posted anything so I figured I'd give this one some more air. It was the first thing I posted on this blog when I began it last August. I wrote it after my good friend and oldest surf buddy Frankie Banks passed away from brain cancer. (That's him up there ripping in his backyard.)

It was first published by Rob on the main Six Sentences site. Thank's Rob!
And, has since been published in actual print in the Australian Surf Magazine: Kurungabaa, a journal of literature, history and ideas from the sea