Write a quick 9-minute story or poem using these words: Summer or winter Fling or saunter Apple martini or grape juice Reality or ruse Rain jacket or scarf Breaststroke or rollerskate New York or Liverpool Thread or button Green or turquoise See what Mary O’Brien did with this writing prompt. #amwriting #justwrite #iamawriter
Month: August 2022
Push Past The Fluff
When you are freewriting and there is more time to write, but you feel ready to stop . . . try to keep going. Push the limits. Push past the urge to go no farther. After the fluff is written, deeper writing can happen. Perhaps a doorway to intuitive writing will open. One of the benefits of writing fine details when freewriting, besides exploration and discovering forgotten items, is that details are what make stories interesting and make them come alive. I Feel StatementsThe reason for “I feel” statements in freewrites is that this is a way to learn and access your emotions about what happened. This is what personal essay or memoir writing is all about. The facts are interesting, but what the reader wants to know is: ~ What the narrator gained ~ The narrator’s emotions ~ What lesson was learned ~ The epiphany or the “aha” moment…
What if we could change the past? . . . Prompt #671
What if we could change the past? According to Sam Keen and Anne Valley-Fox, in “Your Mythic Journey,” we can change the past simply by retelling it differently than we usually do. “The past is open to revision because memory is a function of present intention. You can turn your story over (and over) and find new perspectives on past events and emotions.” —Sam Keen Think about some stories you have told over and over again. It could be a little thing or a big thing. It could be something that happened a long time ago, or recently. It can be repetitive thoughts you have. Choose one story or one repetitive thought. In your mind, “see” that story you have been telling and re-telling. Pause, while you choose a story. See this scene as if you are looking at a wide screen. You can see everything in this scene. Where…
Write About Your Loss
Write About Your Loss By Ninette Hartley “Well, he has a broken leg but that’s the least of his problems. He has suffered some trauma to his head. In this country we . . . how can I put it? . . . we would say he is brain dead.” On the 13th of January 2011 my twenty-seven-year-old son Thomas was rushed to intensive care in Porto, having fallen through a skylight whilst searching for somewhere to paint graffiti. I received a phone call from a doctor in the hospital, and when I asked her how bad it was she explained his injuries to me. Her English was good, but I couldn’t quite take it in. His step-father and I had to get from Italy (where we lived at the time) to Portugal as quickly as we could. The hospital was waiting impatiently for me, his next of kin, to…
Defrosting
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Defrosting By Patricia Morris After all these years, I stand in front of the refrigerator this afternoon and hear my mother’s voice, “Don’t stand there with that door open!” I chuckle. I’m standing here because I can’t remember what I came to the refrigerator for. As that kid, some 60 years ago, I was probably looking for something to eat. Maybe a slice of bologna. Maybe the green Jello salad with a layer of cream cheese on top. Maybe that rare delicacy – a green olive stuffed with a bit of red pimento. Whatever it was, I’d grab it and close the door at my mother’s command. I imagine what she was thinking. Holding the door open meant using more electricity, which meant a higher electric bill, which meant more financial worries. It also meant more…
American Dirt
I heard about “American Dirt” and the controversies surrounding it. When my friend gave me a copy, I thought, “Here’s my chance to form my own opinion.” This is a story of Lydia and her son, Luca, fleeing Acapulco and their hope for a better life in the United States. In my opinion, Jeanine Cummins did a skillful job keeping tension high throughout the story. It’s a difficult subject matter, of course, but, I think, good writing. It made me think of the mother/child bond and how fiercely protective a mother can be. The characters felt real to me. It was an eye-opener with details about risk, escape, and how to (illegally) get across the Mexico/U.S. border. The story made me appreciate my easy life and grateful for what I have. It also made me aware and empathetic for people who risk their lives to come here. This book is…
The Old Gray Mare
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. The Old Gray Mare By Susie Moses After all these years I am beginning to understand that I have to face the fact that old age is getting a toehold. I am not exempt. I am loathe to use it as an excuse, not wishing to define myself by numbers, but the signs are there, harder and harder to ignore. Harder and harder to resolve or fix. There has been a resetting of the bar. Firm reminders that I cannot slow this process down by sheer will. I have come to accept certain limitations. It seems I will not be hiking the entire Appalachian Trail after all. It does remain beyond my capabilities, no matter that someone else born in the same year might accomplish that very thing. I face the fact that I have missed…
Greatest Extravagance . . . Prompt #670
Write about your greatest extravagance. Or something you paid a lot of money for. Was it worth it? Would you do it again?
After all these years . . . Prompt #669
After all these years . . . Just Write!
The Seagulls Came and I Knew
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. The Seagulls Came and I Knew By Norma Jaeger The seagulls came to the back yard. We didn’t live that close to the coast, Portland, about 80 miles inland. We had never had seagulls in the yard before, as best I recall. But there they were, drinking out of the bird bath, flapping around querulously, and generally making strident seagull noise, breaking the otherwise early Saturday morning quiet. I had returned the night before from an intense, two-day job interview in Seattle. With the seagulls in the backyard, such gulls and their cries, being ubiquitous in Seattle, I knew I would be offered the job. Because I had become disenchanted with my job in Portland, I was pretty clear I would accept the job. What I did not know, but realistically what I should have considered,…