I'm thinking of writing a sequel to the popular book "Bridges of Madison County." It's about a girl who's been on many adventures--sailing the Caribbean seas all by her lonesome. She swam with stingrays on Grand Cayman, wandered the ruins of Tulum, met and mingled with many. But at heart, she just wanted to go home: to her peeps and her palace in the snow in Springville.
And here's where we get the title: "Airports of Broward County." On a blustery Friday with a yellow sky and palm trees that snap in the sideways rain, she makes her way to an airport with a ticket in her hand. She takes off her shoes, scans her computer, gets her lost ticket reissued by a stalwart gate agent, and waits in the terminal with nary a landing plane in sight.
But here's where the plot goes terribly awry: the story gets waaaaaaaaay too long and nothing much happens. The supporting characters are boorish and weary, talking too loudly on their cell phones about delays and cancellations.
It's really a sad ending, because the girl winds up stranded in a hotel room in Ft. Lauderdale watching crime drama reruns, and hoping that the gale-force winds subside before her next novel is "The Lost Weekend: Miami Edition."
Sigh.
7 years ago
