The Making of Dope-Dealin’ Grandma
~~ I hope it's ok if I discuss a story I actually started writing years ago, but have posted an excerpt of here ~~
What to say about a Dope-Dealin' Grandma?
Well, she came about from a discussion with my children, who were teenagers at that time. I was reiterating my stance that drugs=bad, bad bad! And this led us to discussing how addicts 9x/10 end up dead or in jail, which is why you don't see many really old old junkies. This whole discussion got me to thinking about the sellers -- what about THEM? Do THEY live to be old? Or do they die or give it up first? So I thought it might be amusing to write about an old lady who was dealin' dope (weed, specifically) and all the things she'd do to hide it. I haven't gotten to it yet, but she'll eventually be hiding joints in candy dishes and I was actually writing about her dosing the brownies she made for church when I was last working on it.
I'm not sure how, but when I got the idea, it came to me that I'd write it in poem form, kind of like The Iliad or The Odyssey or something; a full story done all in verse. Since then, I've also started working on a "fleshed-out" version, wherein I stop after every few stanzas and elaborate on the previous shenanigans, like a greek chorus kind of thing, similar to Antigone or Oedipus the King*.
I also thought it would be best to write it in first person, as it would "play" better to have others discover Grandma's carryings-on than to do it from her P.O.V, thereby making the discoveries and our narrator's reactions to it all-the-funnier. I also thought the imagery of taking an innocent, sweet grandmother like the ones we've all read about in children's stories and making her curse like a sailor and fight and otherwise behave very unsweetly when she's discovered would be rioutous.
As far as writing it itself, it has been such a joy and I've had to take many breaks to catch my breath, as I have a tendency to tickle myself and need a time-out...Unfortunately, though, I've been focusing more on my Cat Autobiography, but I may have to bring her out again, now that she's back on my mind.
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Since it's not included in my previous post, here's a little bit of the back-and-forth action I was describing:
Grandma had been dealin' drugs,
To young and old, the same.
From the north and south, east and west,
To Grandma's house, they came.
So we gathered up the money we needed,
And bailed poor Granny out.
Then on the way home, we asked her,
Just what that was all about…
"Well, honey," she said, as she cleaned her glasses, "That was some bullshit. And what I really need to do is ream their asses!”
“Grandmother! Please. Watch your language. What has gotten into you?! First you’re arrested for selling WEED, of all things, and now you’re cursing like a sailor!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and vaguely wondered if I’d really awakened that morning or if I was caught in a nightmare. I pinched myself and silently counted to 12. Nothing changed.
“Sorry, Stanley…Hey, that was a Stop Sign, you know! Means for you to stop.”
“I did…kind of.”
“What kind of ‘kind of’? Didn’t seem you even slowed, to me.”
“Yes, I– Wait! I see what you’re doing here! Focusing on what I am or am not doing is not going to get you out of the fire, grandmama.” I took a chance and glimpsed her in the rearview mirror. She had put her bifocals back on and was now purposefully avoiding my gaze, as well as her brother Herbert’s - who was sitting beside her - look. Her silver blue hair, which she liked to wear in Shirley Temple style ringlets, caught a glint of sunlight streaming through the back seat and I had to look away. “What would grandfather say if he were still alive?!”