The Write Spot Blog by Marlene Cullen

Author: mcullen

  • More First Lines From Books . . . Prompt #771

    “A Tale of Two Cities” by Charles Dickens

    “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness . . .”

    “The Glass Castle” by Jeanette Walls

    “I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a dumpster.”

    “Lessons in Chemistry” by Bonnie Garmus

    “Back in 1961, when women wore shirtwaist dresses and joined garden clubs and drove legions of children around in seatbeltless cars without giving it a second thought; back before anyone knew there’d even be a sixties movement, much less one that its participants would spend the next sixty years chronicling; back when the big wars were over and the secret wars had just begun and people were starting to think fresh and believe everything was possible, the thirty-year-old mother of Madeleine Zott rose before dawn every morning and felt certain of just one thing: her life was over.”

    More: First Lines From Books . . . Prompt #571

    #justwrite #amwriting #iamawriter

  • Life . . . Prompt #770

    More than one friend recently told me their difficulties, about how things seem impossible, how hard everything is.

    Sometimes I wonder why these things happen.

    And then I remember: Life. 

    Life happens.

    There are ups and downs.

    Situations that seem hopeless.

    And then time goes by.

    We find solutions. Or the situation remedies somehow.

    Write about a time that seemed hopeless. What happened?

    Or, if you are in a situation now that seems hopeless, write as if the problem has been resolved.

    What would your life look like if this situation was remedied?

    Writing About Difficult Times In Your Life by Guest Blogger Nancy Julien Kopp

    #justwrite #amwriting #iamawriter

  • Beyond a warm house . . . Prompt #769

    What are you grateful for?

    Let’s go beyond a warm house and plenty of food.

    Dig a little deeper.

    Did something happen that curved your lips into a smile?

    Did someone catch your eye and give a knowing nod?

    Did someone unexpectedly reach out to help you?

    What are you thankful for?

    #justwrite #iamawriter #iamwriting

  • What do you need to unsubscribe from? . . . Prompt #768

    What do you need to unsubscribe from?

    What do you need to let go of?

  • Chinese New Year . . . Prompt #767

    Chinese New Year

    2024 Year of the Dragon

    According to legend, Chinese New Year started with a mythical beast called the Nian (a beast that lives under the sea or in the mountains) during the annual Spring Festival.

    One year, the villagers decided to hide from the beast.

    An older man appeared before the villagers and said that he would stay the night and get revenge on the Nian.

    The old man put red papers up and set off firecrackers.

    The next day, the villagers returned and saw that nothing had been destroyed.

    They assumed that the old man was a deity who came to save them.

    The villagers learned that the old man discovered that the Nian was afraid of the color red and loud noises.

    The tradition grew as New Year approached.

    The villagers wore red clothes, hung red lanterns and red scrolls on windows and doors.

    They used firecrackers and drums to frighten away the Nian.

    From then on, Nian never came to the village again.

    Look at the chart below. Find your birth year. Discover your Chinese animal.

    The writing prompt is after the list of animals.

    Chinese New Year animals

    Rat            1948, 1960, 1972, 1984

    Ox             1949, 1961, 1973, 1985

    Tiger         1950, 1962, 1974, 1986

    Rabbit      1951, 1963, 1975, 1987

    Dragon     1952, 1964, 1976

    Snake        1953, 1965, 1977

    Horse        1954, 1966, 1978

    Sheep/goat  1955, 1967, 1979

    Monkey    1956, 1968, 1980

    Rooster     1957, 1969, 1981

    Dog           1958, 1970, 1982

    Boar/Pig   1947, 1959, 1971

    Prompt 1:

    Write something that intrigued you with the Nian legend.

    Or: Write about a new year, a new beginning.

    Write about what scares you. Then, write about what calms you.

    Thinking about your Chinese animal . . .

    Does that animal’s behavior and characteristics match how you go through life?

    How?

    If not, how are you different?

    How do you go through life?

  • Inflatable Snowman, A True Story

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Inflatable Snowman, A True Story

    By Su Shafer

    Across the street, the inflatable snowman is down

    laying on its side in the dirt by the porch

    its head still turning back and forth

    back and forth, back and forth

    looking from the cold black ground

    to the heavy belly of the leaden sky.

    It’s still smiling, but the smile seems 

    tentatively directed right at me

    silently saying

    “Hello?! No arms, no legs — 

    I’m not getting myself back on that porch!”

    and wondering why 

    I’m just standing here 

    Staring at it laying there 

    half deflated and helpless

    It starts to snow, 

    the only sound is

    the little motor in its head

    whirring, worrying 

    how bad is it going to get

    down here on the ground?

    Still smiling but desperate now.

    Why does she just stand there?

    She could lift me up

    she could knock on the door 

    and let them know

    It’s Christmas, for Christ’s sake!

    Who is going to save the snowman

    from the snow?

    Su Shafer is a creative crafter, fabricating bits of writing in poetry and short stories, and other bits into characters that appear in paintings or sit on various bookshelves and coffee tables.

    She lives in a cottage on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington, where the tea kettle is always whistling and the biscuits freshly baked. One never knows who might stop by to share a rainy afternoon. And all are welcome.

  • Freeing Your Creativity

    Guest Blogger Suzanne Murray writes about: Freeing Your Creativity.

    Does it feel like your creativity is locked up tight in a box you are afraid to open?

    You put it in there long ago when your third grade teacher didn’t like your drawing or your father disapproved of you wasting your time writing poems or your grandmother told you that you didn’t have as good a singing voice as your sister.

    It happened to me in junior high school when my in my design class the teacher exclaimed about a drawing I actually really liked, “Suzanne, you can do better than that.” Decades later I’ve yet to pick up another drawing pencil.

    The Creative Self

    The creative self is a tender and vulnerable part of us, so it doesn’t take much to discourage it. I could have left the creative urge locked up with my drawing pad. Fortunately, I found other outlets. In college I developed a passion for black and white photography for creative expression. It was a fine replacement for drawing.

    Eventually creative writing became my main form. I was lucky enough to grow up in a city, San Francisco, with a parent, my father, who valued the arts so I wasn’t weighed down by the general cultural beliefs that the arts and creativity are frivolous.

    I had implicit permission to play with creativity from early on and it informs my life in countless ways.

    Back before I started my own writing and creativity coaching business and needed a resume to apply for work, the line that got me the most interviews was “creative problem solver.”

    My relationship to creativity allows me to use the process to access the field of all possibilities so that I can come up with new ways of looking a situation and new solutions. We all have this capacity. I was lucky enough to grow up in an environment that gave me permission to play with creativity.

    Whether you know it or not you probably are using this ability to some degree on a regular basis. You’ve probably had the experience of trying to solve a problem at work using your rational, linear mind. Frustrated to give up and let it go, you drive home and as you pull up to the house the solution pops into your head. That’s one way the creative process works.

    Trust the creative process

    You learn to trust that if you give a problem over to your subconscious the answer will show up. To reclaim your creativity, to set it free, consider the ways you are already creativity in every area of your life and the benefits it brings.

    How have you been discouraged over the years from being creative and what action could you take today to begin to reclaim those gifts?

    Play with the idea. Have fun.

    That’s the heart of the creative process. Joy and a deep sense of satisfaction.

    Wishing you the joy of creativity in this new year, Suzanne Murray

    Suzanne’s website: Creativity Goes Wild

  • What informs your writing?

    Excerpt from “The Dream Lover,” by Elizabeth Berg:

    “What once had been random observations and journal entries were becoming pieces of fiction that took on a kind of authority of their own.

    I learned that wind informed, that memory informed, that hopes and dreams did.

    So too, a fork on a plate, an unopened letter, the shine of wet on cobblestoned streets — all of these could help shape a story.”

    What informs your writing?

    Just write!

    #amwriting #justwrite #iamawriter

  • Dream Weaver

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Dream Weaver

    By Sarah Horton

    I dreamed the world was a place of love and harmony . . .

    Dream Lover . . . What dreams may come

    You are my dream lover – thinking of my love, my sweet heart . . . (song pops into my head)

    Dream

    The snow is falling . . . hard.

    The air is thick with it . . . in my nose.

    I wander on the path while the winds blow. 

    I slip, and almost lose my footing. 

    The pathway is blurred from the flakes and wind blowing.

    Soon, there is no side view or peripheral vision.  

    Instantly, only one foot in front of the other and I think— if I keep moving it will clear. 

    Clearly, I now step ahead — one foot, then another, and another.  

    My nose is running, the cold freezes my cheeks as the snowflakes continue to gather and melt on my eyebrows — dripping down into my eyes.    

    Blinking, here I am, here I am . . . step by step . . .  one foot then another . . . into the dark and bitter cold just a breath away.  

    My breath turns to tiny crystals, and the snowflakes are landing on my tongue now.  

    Running out of air, I try to take a deeper breath.  

    My throat is frozen in the process.  

    Shorter, shorter, crispy, short breathing as I slow down to just standing.  

    Swirling all around me is the sound of the wind as it brushes past my ears and disappears into the darkness.  

    Like a moving whirlpool of air, I am in the vortex . . . standing still . . . centered in my heart, pounding, waiting, louder pounding, waiting, and more waiting.

    The wind, now roaring harder,  picks up and pushes against me in my front chest. I turn my body and it hits me on the side — feeling my neck cold, exposing skin as the scarf I wear blows off and disappears into the darkness. Whoosh!

    Is it the sound — my attention moving to my feet, I move a quarter-round again —only to be blown forward from the wind hitting my back this time . . . hunching my shoulders, and feeling the air move up my neck under my hair and into my hat.— no hat now,  again . . . bracing myself, hunching and waiting, waiting, waiting . . . the next big blow . . .

    Waking up, I find myself nestling under my covers, with my naked skin against my lover’s chest.  

    Relief breathing out a full breath. I open to his warmth and touch. We kiss. We breathe into each other’s openness, being the love and the heat we share. Open to the warm and moist touches all over my body, opening and softening. I feel the solid curve of his muscles, moving and touching me, the tips of his fingers exploring my inner worlds of love and aliveness. Melting into one with each other as we soar high in the safety and warmth and darkness of the night.   

    Oh dream weaver

    I believe you can get me through the night

    “Dream Weaver” song lyrics by Gary Wright

    As an artist, Sarah Horton is constantly inspired by the natural beauty that surrounds her in the ‘Lost Sierra’ Nevada Mountains and Lake Tahoe wilderness.

    Her passion for photography has led her to capture stunning vistas and fresh mountain waters around the world, while her love for painting has allowed her to bring her own unique perspective and creativity to her large canvas work. 

    As a writer, she is able to dance in the gap between the intuitive right brain and the practicality of the left brain. 

    Sarah lives north of Lake Tahoe with her sweetheart, Christopher Burton, and her dog, Lady Lulu. Her decades of life experience culminate in the simplicity and joy of appreciating sacred time in silence and creativity.

    She welcomes your visit to her literary artist blog and enjoy the visual art there as well.

  • What have you forgotten? . . . Prompt #766

    Excerpt from “Happy to be Here,” by Elizabeth Berg.

    “Last time my friend Phyllis visited me, she said, ‘Don’t you ever comb your hair?’”

    “’I forget,’ I told her.”

    I laughed at that moment of recognition.

    Sometimes, during the day, I’ll glance at a mirror as I walk by and realize, “forgot to comb my hair.”

    Writing prompt:

    What have you forgotten? And then (obviously) remembered.

    Or:

    What might you have forgotten?

    Just Write!