Ordinary Life

Girl, wash your face and count to three...(he ran to someone who wasn’t me). Girl, stop apologizing and just breathe...(this is where you see you're free). Girl, open your eyes wide and see... (fairytales are cautionary). Girl, wash your face or leave and make do...(streaked mascara as a face tattoo). Girl, stop apologizing for wrongs that aren’t yours...(salvage the damage and build a door). Girl, open your eyes and take a look...(it’s about time to write that book). ~~~*~~~ :: One year and a handful of months later, I wrote on the last page of my Morning Pages journal today. It is literally time to start a fresh chapter, and even a whole new book ::

I  believe I can succeed in this course...as long as I get to make my own rules. 

WHEW!  I had several story ideas based on articles  (which I may continue to develop) but I ran with this one that came from a homework session at my local MIDTOWN DELI. Each section of the day's paper was at a different table and being read by a vast array of characters. Yet we were all under one roof, reading about what was happening in our little town...  Initially I had 700 some odd words. I let it cool and fought dismay as my word count initially went up, not down.  Two painful character cuts later, I made the 300 mark.  I am submitting that version and then returning to my drafts to invite those two characters back into my diner while I shine the tables up a bit. ::ASSIGNMENT POSTED BELOW:: THE MILLCREEK MALLARD: SATURDAY EDITION   Sports & Weather  lay abandoned on the table nearest the window. Grant had placed the paper over his laptop like some kind of theft deterrent when he left to reckon with the coffee he’d been drinking all morni...

Assignment : “Think of your Censor as a cartoon serpent, slithering around your creative Eden, hissing vile things to keep you off guard. If a serpent doesn’t appeal to you, you might want to find a good cartoon image of your Censor, maybe the shark from Jaws, and put an X through it. Post it where you tend to write or on the inside cover of your notebook. Just making the Censor into the nasty, clever little character that it is begins to pry loose some of its power over you and your creativity.” I chose to sketch (and paint) my inner censor, then use its description as a writing prompt .  My rough draft (because I’m working on getting okay with sharing them):  I imagined my Censor as a many armed thing. It wears my wedding ring on one tentacle, a watch on another. In the grip of one flange is a bottle of bubbles and in that bottle the mom I’m supposed...the mom I want to be.Perhaps there is a mop in one tentacle and a set of car keys in another. Two weigh the difference betwe...

The assignment: Personify a color, make hefty use of a thesaurus. What I turned in: I chose to write about one of my favorite colors. You can only see it for about ten minutes in the morning and maybe five on certain evenings and then, only on days with proper conditions. It really doesn't have a name (that I am aware of) but if it were a crayon, perhaps they'd call it Herald.  I am a color, not yet named.  Though a body could be lain to rest never having seen me (if that body were given to much sleep or staying indoors) I assure you that I am.  I ride the rim of the rising sun and throw back the shades of last night's sky. With a blast of golden trumpet, I herald the coming of a newborn day. I bathe the infant in splashes of light and wrap her in blankets of pink and glowing orange. I have written her name in the clouds with lifting birds, she will be called Possibilty. I tip-toe from the room, leaving her to d...

The assignment was to choose one of the provided prompts and complete it- with as much of a twist as we could muster. I chose the prompt: "Looking at Paris in this light..."  Looking at Paris in this light , Adkins could almost forgive the rookie his dumb mistake. Almost.  Like the flashes of amber waxing and waning over them from atop the ambulance, Lieutenant Michael Adkins alternated between looking at the shape of his mangled partner on the stretcher and out into the fog-drenched darkness of Seabridge Avenue. Too terrible to look at and too terrible to ignore, Mike's reflexes kept snapping his attention to Jimmy's face and just as quickly away.  On the stretcher, Officer James 'Paris' Frenchy, lay unconcious and bleeding. His badge dangled from his uniform and his left eye socket was empty.   Adkins sighed heavily into the thick night air. Tonight's shift already felt a year and a half long and he hadn't even begun the paperwork. So much paper...