What to Give the Girl Who Has It All?
A short story on baking bread & the complex tapestry of a daughter's mood
A Behind the Scenes post that is also a scene-by-example, an invitation to be part of an international workshop, and the continuation of our Exclusive Writing Lab on writing scene
Welcome into Flight School:
We have a live thread for paid subscribers coming this week. More on that in a moment. For now, a scene in about 550 words. Your task is simple: Can you spot the integration of the ingredients in the scene recipe card and tick them off?
What to Give the Girl Who has Everything?
The screen of my cell is dusted with a smattering of rice flour and via a set of headphones, I listen to my daughter talk about her critique. She’s in her final year at a high end, boutique art program in Chicago that draws students from around the world.
“The feedback was good,” she says on the line, her twenty-one-year old voice holding both the little girl she used to be and the woman she’s becoming. High notes mixed with lower tones. “But there’s always that random person...”
I chuckle to myself. That random person.
Before me, the countertop is strewn with bags of potato, tapioca, and cassava starches, bins of millet, brown rice, sorghum, and oat flours, a tin of psyllium husk (not powder, mind you…husk), a scale, measuring cups (glass and metal), salt, baking soda and powder, and last, the all important gluten free sour dough starter.
“So?” I ask, measuring out the starches first. “What exactly did Random say?”
“I don’t even know. It doesn’t matter,” she says. “It was just so off point…anyway…whatever.”
“The teacher?” I ask, measuring the flour next. “What did she say?”
“She’s great. She talked about the progression of the series and my areas of growth...”
“There you go,” I say, weighing out psyllium and adding water. “She’s the one you’re there for anyway.”
“True,” Jo says but there’s a flatness to her voice reflective of mood. That’s how it goes when you’re in your twenties. High. Low. High again. Like the weather, just wait an hour and everything will change. Today, I’ll be changing her mood dramatically sooner than that.
Rather than drop my bomb, I dust flour away from the phone’s screen and study the tapestry under evaluation. It’s nothing short of brilliant (to me) and more so because I know she dyed the warp (or is it the weave?) hung it to dry, winded it in a very particular way, then threaded it on a huge loom where she hunkered over and had to shuttle back and forth for hours upon hours to create the cloth. Back breaking work. And rather humble compared to the more celebrated painters and potters and drawers of her world. Perhaps that’s what brings her down, this quiet calling she’s decided to devote her life to…weaving.
“Well,” I say, tone casual. Calm. “I’ve been thinking about graduation.”
“Yeah?” she says, still distracted.
“And…” I continue, whisking the sour dough starter into the psyllium gel, the brownish goop turning a creamy white. “I’ve been wondering what exactly do you give the girl who has everything?”
She laughs on the line, the lightest sound. Too far away.
“So…” I say, dumping all the flour and starches into the mixing bowl with a soft thud, “what do you think…about Paris?”
Fine dust rises and hovers before me and for a long moment, it’s so quiet on the line, I think maybe we’ve been disconnected.
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” she finally says, voice all little girl again and full of that boundless joy. “Are you kidding? No way!”
I laugh and laugh and she does, too, the energy back in her voice. Her critique is so yesterday and it’s about this now.
“Paris,” we both say, making our plans while I mix and shape my bread and toss it into a basket to rise. “We’re going to Paris!”
Your invitation to an international workshop in June
Thanks to reader support, Flight School has been elevated to the sight line of The Paris Writer’s Workshop. I’ve been locked in to teach a five-day class on creative non-fiction and will focus on what I call “The Third Pillar” or the “wisdom” part of your essay or memoir too often buried. It’s not what happened, but what you make of what happened, that matters most but how to suss it out? That’s our work.
I hope you’ll consider joining the workshop that features Lan Samantha Chang for fiction, Don George for travel writing, Diane Lake for screenwriting, Heather Hartley for poetry, and Kevin Brockmeier for speculative fiction. Plus agent consultations.
Registration: Early Bird—975€ till March 15, 2024 Full price —1,100€ March 16 onwards
Agent consultations: For an additional fee, you can register for one, or two, agent consultations.
Your turn:
What Scene Recipe Ingredients were used here? Which ones were left out?
Paid subscribers: Can you show me how your scenes are progressing? Post in the chat and let’s see how you’re doing. I’ll comment aggressively on the first three that go up, the ones that follow…I will certainly comment on but more lightly.
Paid Subscribers: Look for a thread on Wednesday, Feb. 14th, on what you’re reading and why.
See you next week, Jennifer 🐦⬛
PS: Want to do some gluten free baking? Here’s where I learned…surprisingly simple.
Your turn:
1) What Scene Recipe Ingredients were used here? Which ones were left out?
2) Paid subscribers: Can you show me how your scenes are progressing? Post in the chat and let’s see how you’re doing. I’ll comment aggressively on the first three that go up, the ones that follow…I will certainly comment on but more lightly.
Okay I believe I am seeing all of the factors on the Scene Recipe Card. Let me know if that is correct or not.
Paris sounds fabulous, however I would need a scholarship and I do not think they are giving those out!