Head Hopping on the Jellyfish Days

I’ve been working on a short story in my head for weeks, maybe months for all I know. The only real progress are plot suggestions by Bakingnotwriting. She’s come up with all the good ideas and when she does, I look her blatantly in the face and say, “I’m stealing that idea.”

She says, “Okay.”

The last idea theft was Tuesday over lunch at her place. My plot centers around a drunken one-legged muscle fisherman. (Okay, he can’t really muscle fish with one leg but he used to back in the day when he had both legs.) Bakingnotwriting said, “Make it vague whether he got his leg blown off in the war like a hero or he was drunk in car wreck. Half the town thinks he’s a hero. The other half thinks he’s scum for letting that first half think he’s a hero.” What a great idea. No one knows if he’s a drunken hero or a drunk. I’ve been happy for days, humming to myself, “No one knows. Mysterious. da de dum dee da.”

Then, Thursday rather than do my homework for the writing workshop at the senior center, I wrote the first page of the story. Suddenly, I have a sheriff trying to maintain law and order with a sixth sensed dispatcher, who refuses to use police 10-codes on the radio, and prefers to speak Spanish. Plot twisting against my will.

I put in a 911-writing call to Bakingnotwriting this afternoon and said, “This story is honking up so fast, I think I’m going to head hop.” For those of you not in the head hopping know, head hopping means switching point of view mid-story. It is not a good thing. I preach against it. Constantly. But head hopping seems like a viable solution at this point.

I should be writing more than I am, but I am (lazy?) busy walking the beach, which has been very crowded up until yesterday. Yesterday, no one was on the beach. No beach blankets. No dogs. Only 2 surfers. And why? The place was overrun with jellyfish. I have left my fat foot in the photo so you can see how big they are. Whoopers and not from Burger King. I walked the beach anyway. And yes, I do not look where I’m going. I stuck my sneaker in the heart of one of those mama jama’s, skied and almost fell on the sand. The Big Guy tried not to laugh but was unable to refrain.
This thing pulled up in the Safeway parking lot a few days ago. Then yesterday, someone posted a huge sign beside it, talking about a $5,000 fine for illegal fireworks. The doors to the shed have been flailing in the wind for several days. I’ve walked in and out of the building several times but there’s nothing in them. Are they baiting me? Is it a trap? As I was walking the trail today I saw another dirty fireworks shed in the Sea Bowl parking lot. They are springing up everywhere like jellyfish.