Street Parking

In today's story, Street Parking, an idea looks for a place to land

Today's prompt was inspired by a chat about the available street parking in front of my house. If you have a suggestion for a writing prompt, please let us know! 

More about Susan Quilty

Susan Quilty mainly writes novels, including two standalone novels and her YA series: The Psychic Traveler Society.  Susan's short stories for Freely Written are created during quick writing breaks and shared as a way to let go of perfection and encourage writing for fun.

Website:  SusanQuilty.com
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Transcript

Below is the transcript for Season 1, Episode 169 of Freely Written, a podcast by author Susan Quilty:

Welcome to Freely Written, where a simple prompt leads to a little unplanned fiction.  

[Light piano music]

Hi, friends! I’m Susan Quilty, and today’s prompt is Street Parking.

Today’s prompt came from a random chat with Peter after he commented on the street parking available in front of our house. We live in a relatively dense area where street parking can fill up quickly. Luckily, there’s usually a spot not too far away, and a nearby lot where we could park if needed. 

Street parking is one of those things that you may not think about unless you’re living in, or visiting, an area where it’s both necessary and somewhat scarce. Then you might care a little too much. Getting upset over parked cars that are taking up too much space, are parked too close, or are even parked on the wrong side of the street, against the flow of traffic. 

Over the years, I’ve lived in urban, suburban, and rural places. Seeing how the value of street parking shifts in different areas. I can’t remember if I’ve written any specific scenes around street parking or parking lots in my novels. If you’ve read my novels and can think of a parking scene, let me know!

And if you haven’t read my books, you can learn more about them on my website: SusanQuilty.com. Please take a look and consider picking up a book for yourself or a friend. I truly appreciate your support!  

Back to the podcast, here’s a reminder about my Freely Written process: I sit down with a writing prompt—a word or a phrase—and I write whatever comes to mind, with no planning and very little editing. Then, I record the story and share it with you. 

Here’s today’s story:

Street Parking

The idea circled the block with growing impatience. It was getting tired and wanted to find a home, but it had learned not to carelessly drop into just anyone’s mind. Landing in the wrong brain—or in the right brain at the wrong time—was risky. An idea could only sustain itself for so long before it dwindled out of the world. 

Sometimes, spending time in one mind gave the idea strength to make a jump when a more fertile mind came along. More often, the idea would become stuck too long in the back of a busy mind, waiting for its turn to be nourished. If it didn’t escape in time, it no longer had the stamina to find a more willing creator. 

And so, the idea circled the block, again, looking for an appropriate host. Some might say this idea was being stubborn in its search. Surely, there would be more options if it expanded its search beyond the busy roadway into any of the surrounding buildings. 

The opportunities were plentiful. There were offices where people worked in various industries: two advertising firms, three law offices, and even a fashion design house. The block also contained an apartment building, an elementary school, and two small restaurants. 

Refusing to look beyond the curbside appeared to be a foolish act of willfulness. However, the idea knew itself for what it was. Like any idea, its spark could catch in many ways, burning paths as yet unknown. But all of those paths began in the same place. The heart of this idea sprang from just the right moment, the right interaction, around the busy dance of city street parking. How could it go beyond the road and retain its innermost self?

This was not a brand-new idea. It had been around the block several times, flitting close to several minds, leaving them wisps of inspiration without a full seed to bloom. It had briefly landed twice. Each time, full of promise that was soon dashed. 

Now, the idea’s flight slowed as it circled, showing worry that it had been too hasty in making its first jump and showing wear from its second, an involuntary eviction. 

The first had seemed like an ideal host: An older man strolling down the sidewalk, watching the traffic and passersby. As the idea buzzed near, it recognized the man as a writer looking for inspiration. Ideas were drawn to writers, to artists, and other creatives. Though sometimes those inventive minds were too full to find space to land. 

In this case, the man’s mind was open. The idea could see vast patches just waiting to be seeded. It was so focused on the sweeping fields of fertile mind that it didn’t notice the gray fog lurking in the shadows. 

No sooner had the idea landed when it felt something was wrong. The mind that had appeared so ripe and receptive from a distance was difficult to penetrate. There was a cold rockiness that had been obscured by the lingering glow of past success. 

This was a writer who had nurtured ideas to fruition many times over. Beautiful books with complex characters and fantastical settings. The idea could feel their echo all around, but that echo had created a dense fog of doubt. It threatened the idea, even as the mind beneath it began to gradually warm and soften. 

The idea panicked beneath the encroaching fog. If it stayed, it might take root, creating new energy that could relit the fires of imagination and ignite a new creation. Or it might be overwhelmed, lost in the fog until it dwindled away. 

If it were a larger idea, it might have hung on. It might have taken the chance. But this was a relatively small idea. One that felt destined for modest glory at best. It pulled itself away from the fog, gathered its energy, and drifted away, escaping with a breath of relief before watching the man walk regretfully on. 

The idea’s second landing was with a hurried woman who had slid into a tight parking spot and exited her car with a thrill of accomplishment. The idea was drawn to her confidence, her gentle smile. It swirled close, feeling the hopeful current of her thoughts before gliding in with a glittering flash. 

The woman had stopped mid-stride, nearly causing a collision with the people walking behind her. She turned back to her compact car, noticing how a beam of sunlight fell across the windshield. She was on her way to a meeting and saw her ease in parking as a good omen. Her eyes drifted over the urban landscape, imagining the juxtaposition of a woman in a beautiful gown, gracefully stepping out of an unassuming car. The lucky find of an open parking spot adding beauty to an otherwise ordinary day. 

A song was in the woman’s heart as she resumed her path, only to walk directly into a man holding an iced coffee that splashed on impact, splattering them both with dark, sweet droplets. 

“Oh, no,” the woman had gasped, looking down at her silk blouse in dismay. The idea sizzled within her, trying to stay lit against the growing darkness. 

“Watch it,” the man had snapped, failing to see the woman’s lovely blue eyes. 

The woman bristled, forgetting that her abrupt movement had caused the accident. She called him a nasty name and dug through her bag for a napkin to blot at the coffee. The man shook his head and walked on, his own mood now just as clouded. 

As dark anger rolled into the woman’s mind, the idea found itself pushed out. Again, sailing through the air in search of a safe landing.  

Those brief encounters had left the idea tattered around the edges. It felt its own smallness. A dimming of the light that still yearned to be kindled into a growing flame. 

The idea began to lose power. Instead of buzzing through the crowded air, it drifted on an errant current. It eyed the buildings, wondering if there were people by the windows. People checking the status of the street parking, or maybe watching the cars that stuttered and honked, making their way in and out of prime spaces. 

Yet by now, the idea was growing weak. It didn’t know if it had the energy to fly up to the windows and push through the glass. It cast around the street looking for a safe port. 

A small girl watched the cars with wonder. Her hand was held by her father, who was talking intently with her mother. She was much too young to drive a car or to appreciate the joy of finding open street parking. The idea would have passed her by if it weren’t feeling itself fade away. 

With a last push, the idea tunneled into the girl’s pliant mind. It felt a flicker of warmth before drifting out of awareness. Though the idea was weakened, it sensed its lingering existence. There was a warmth around it. A subtle aura that kept it shielded, separate from the changing winds of a young mind. 

Over time, the idea mingled with other sparks. The fanciful idea of a parking meter that greeted cars with factual tidbits and friendly quips. An image of cartoon animals barely peeking over steering wheels. The inspired thought of a street that lit up green when a car was parked well or red when it needed correction. 

After several years, the idea had blossomed into a story. The young girl, now in her later school years, used that story to create a video game about animals navigating their way into street parking with scores for speed and accuracy. She won a local competition, and her game was polished with the help of professionals. Its success encouraged her to learn new skills and create more complex games. 

And the idea lived on in the glowing warmth of her memory, happily ever after. 

The End

Thanks for listening. When I sat down to write, I vaguely thought this would go in another direction. Maybe something about neighbors arguing over the street parking in front of their houses. But then the opening sentence appeared in my mind: The idea circled the block with growing impatience. I don’t know where those words came from, but they made me smile. And that’s the joy of freewriting. Following your thoughts wherever they might lead. 

If you liked today’s story, please share it with your friends. Adding a review wherever you listen to Freely Written would be fabulous, too. As I mentioned earlier, I have written multiple novels and would love for you to read them! Learn more on my website, SusanQuilty.com or search for “Susan Quilty” wherever you buy books. 

Until next time, try a little free writing of your own. Let go of any planning and see where your imagination takes you. 

[Light piano music]