The Catalyst

A Writing Teacher Writes (plus some writing prompts and recipes)

Tacky Romanic February 6, 2010

Filed under: Vignettes,Writing Prompts + — Christopher DeLorenzo @ 8:22 pm

This prompt came from a fascination I have always had while traveling on the highway: the names of mobile homes and RV’s. Recently, I took a road trip with a close friend, and he recorded the names of nearly sixty of these for me.

I presented the list and the introductory paragraph below as a writing prompt. We read the names out loud, and then I suggested that each writer consider at least one name, or a few of the names, to include in a piece of writing.

Imagine a character, or yourself, or someone you know, inside one of these RV’s and consider these three questions: Where? Why? What happens?

Here’s the info from that handout:

Names of RV’s (Recreational Vehicles)

In North America, the term recreational vehicle and its acronym, RV, are generally used to refer to a vehicle equipped with living space and amenities found in a home; they are sometimes called motorhomes. A recreational vehicle normally includes a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom and a living room. In other countries the terms caravan or camper van are more common, and the vehicles themselves vary, typically being smaller than in North America.

RVs are intended for everything from brief leisure activities such as vacations and camping, to full-time living, for which they are often parked in special trailer parks. (However, many trailer parks are reserved just for mobilehomes, not to be confused with RVs and motorhomes.) RVs can also be rented in most major cities and tourist areas.

Furthermore, they are occasionally used as a mobile office for business travelers and often include customizations such as extra desk space, an upgraded electrical system, a generator, and satellite Internet.

(from Wikipedia)

Chateau

Daybreaker

Brave

Bigfoot

Funfinder

Shadow Cruiser

Rockwood

Sun Voyage

Four Winds

South Winds

Salem

Freedom

Expedition

Sahara

Minnie Winnie

Lance

Pacific

Velocity (by Georgie Boy)

Pacific

Everest

Wilderness

Outback

Travel Aire

Sunseeker

Royal Lite

Sundowner

Splash

Residency

Cougar

Prowler Regal

Tioga

Jamboree

Layton

Homestead

Presidio

Vogue IV

Endeavor

Arctic Fox

Rialto

Georgetown SE

Northstar

Adventurer

Phaeton

Allegro

View

North Shore

Topaz

Sunranger

Meridian

Raptor

Cheifton

Landau

Dutch Star

Vortex

Challenger

Superseer

Flash

Wildwood

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Here’s what I wrote:
Someday, when I’ve given up on the husband hope, and the dream of an Arts and Crafts home, and a Golden Doodle named Molly, I’ll stop tinting my eyelashes, take a hippy lover, and travel the country in an RV.

Thinking about it now, just moments after loading my dishwasher and composting tonight’s dinner scraps, feels liberating. I could move form RV park to RV park and never recycle anything, eat out of paper bowls with plastic spoons, drinkĀ  Tang and 7up, and learn how to cook and entire meal in a microwave.

In a used RV named Outback or Sunseeker, I could visit the great American sites: Glacier National Park, Yellowstone, and Niagra Falls. I could see New Orleans and DC, and find out what Alabama is really all about. Drive across Alligator Alley in the Everglades, eat TexMex in Mexicali, or Calimexi, or some other border town. I could see that arch over the Missouri River and both Dakotas, and Monument Valley.

My lover would be younger, and grungy, with a beard and shaggy, feathered hair. And we’d have nasty, verbal sex on the convertible couch, which would always be set up as a bed, unless we had company: another queer RV couple, whom we would desperately try to seduce. Maybe they would be part of a larger community: Gay RV Travelers. Other couples living in metal boxes like ours, called Superseer, or Velocity, Bigfoot, or Brave.

Finally, I would belong. Belong to a group of fellow superseekers and sunseeers out to take in this beautiful country. We’d let our chest hair grow and eat nothing but prepackaged, processed food. I’d wear sweatpants all the time, and my lover would reach across the orange and gold daybed on lazy days when we slept in past noon. He’d rub his smooth hands over my round belly and kiss me on my neck–wrinkly now that I’d given up on anti-aging creams and nightly repair serums.

He’d always drive, so I could read, or type my memoirs, or watch my favorite telenovela.

Sometimes, I’d wake up and we’d already be on the road, the tires rolling rhythmically beneath us, the AM news on the radio in the cabin, low, and his sweet voice talking back to the newscaster, or humming something familiar, but softly, trying not to wake me.

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