My friend, Lovely, was telling me the other day, via a Facebook instant message conversation that I shouldn't worry about what other people think of my writing. She says that I need to listen to my "inner reader". (She lives in New Zealand. It's late summer in New Zealand. When we were younger, she went to college in Hawaii while I went to college in fun-filled Idaho. But I'm not bitter of her adventurous and tan life.) Anyway, back to my inner reader. I think she got that tidbit from the author, Shannon Hale's, blog. (Is that right, Lovely?) I am supposed to write the kind of stuff that I would want to read.
Ummmm... hmmmm... the kind of stuff I would want to read.
Well, there would be this girl and she would be ordinary. Then she would fall in love with this guy, who would turn out to be a vampire, only a good vampire. And he would sparkle. Oh wait.
Okay. It would be the early 1800s, in England, and there would be this girl and she would be ordinary. Then she would fall in love with this older guy, who we would call by his last name. Maybe it would be "Rochester," only Rochester would have a deep, dark secret. Oh wait.
And that is the thing! Every time I try to really think of a new story, I can only think of the stories I've already read. There are many books that have become so deeply ingrained in my psyche that I don't know how to filter them out in my own writing. I don't think I could ever write a hero to equal Edward Cullen, or a heroine to equal Jane Eyre. Everything in my head just seems so plain in comparison with the incredible people I've met on the page: Anne with an E, Josephine March, John Adams, David Copperfield, and on and on and on. When I sit down to write, my Inner Reader thinks "Hm. You go ahead. I'll be over here with Eclipse."
In an attempt to follow Lovely's advice, though...
She will never forget, sitting on that beach. Looking out over the water and realizing, as she took in the curve of the shore and the palm trees, that she was sitting in a place that could be called exotic and adventurous. She didn't even know how she'd gotten there, really. She had a new, unused passport. There was a cheap flight. Really, she hadn't even thought about it.
The flight had connected to San Francisco, where she met up with a friend, and they proceeded from there to Seoul, Korea. Eight hours watching incoherent Korean television, drinking something from a vending machine called "SWEAT", and shopping duty free stalls in the airport. On another plane to Jakarta, Indonesia. Here, they had been met with men carrying AK-47s and humidity that licked at your face as you stepped out the door.
As they made their way to their gate in Jakarta, and to the restroom, something in her was delighted to have a choice between a toilet and a hole in the ground. There was a hole in the ground in the bathroom! Later, waiting to board the flight, a woman came up. She stood very closely, invading any sense of personal space. Reaching up with her small, brown hands she had taken her pale, American face and said in lilting English "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." Her friend was annoyed. She had never been happier.
One last leg of the trip from Jakarta and its guns to Denpasar, Bali. The last flight in for the night, the lights in the airport being shut off, and no one to meet them. They grabbed one of the last taxis out of the airport and said simply, "Hotel?" Two white American girls, zigzagging their way into Kuta Beach.
He brought them to a hotel--a very nice one. $23.00 a night. They agreed to the price, and paid him his fare. The room, clean and spacious, smelled of sandalwood and spices. The carved wooden headboards were intricate and lovely. On the toilet in the bathroom, a sticker with a little man standing on the toilet to squat, with a big "NO" across it. Poor native, who would be wondering where his hole is.
Curling down into the covers that night, she wondered what adventures she was about to have. What the next 4 days would bring.
Showing posts with label prompts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prompts. Show all posts
Monday, February 23, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Day 79: Something Wonderful
I believe that I owe you good people something wonderful after a few days. Hm.
From writing.com--a writing prompt.
Go.
Her name was Angie. She had shiny, black hair that curled in ringlets down her back and big hazel eyes. She lived in a quiet, old apartment on a quiet old street next to a Portuguese restaurant and an antique store. Every evening, she closed her shades and did yoga stretches on her hardwood floors or made herself some loose leaf herbal tea. While she stretched and breathed and pondered, she listened to opera. She enjoyed pop opera, like Andrea Bocelli and Josh Groban. Sometimes the Three Tenors. But her favorite was anything by Wagner. Soaring, long, and ferocious. She loved it. She would close her eyes and let the voices carry her. Sometimes she would sing, at the top of her lungs, with her off kilter, uneven voice. Singing through an entire chorus would leave her limp, drained, and blissfully happy, fully relaxed into a yoga pose or holding a warm, empty mug in her cupped hand.
In the morning, when she woke up--early, before the sun, she would stand in the dark, brushing her teeth. Combing her hair back into a ponytail. Applying lipstick to her lipsand then vanilla scented lotion to her hands. Keeping her eyes closed and her shoulders relaxed until she stepped out her door. Then she walked purposefully, swiftly to the bus stop and caught the number 32 bus--always on time--to her work. The city sanitation brigade. Zipping into a navy blue jumpsuit, slipping on heavy leather working gloves, she jumped into the cab of a rumbling green "Waste Collection Vehicle" as her boss, Vin, called it. A front loading garbage truck. Rumbling off into the morning, to wake people up to the sound of garbage cans being emptied. And in her mind, Wagner played.
From writing.com--a writing prompt.
Go.
Her name was Angie. She had shiny, black hair that curled in ringlets down her back and big hazel eyes. She lived in a quiet, old apartment on a quiet old street next to a Portuguese restaurant and an antique store. Every evening, she closed her shades and did yoga stretches on her hardwood floors or made herself some loose leaf herbal tea. While she stretched and breathed and pondered, she listened to opera. She enjoyed pop opera, like Andrea Bocelli and Josh Groban. Sometimes the Three Tenors. But her favorite was anything by Wagner. Soaring, long, and ferocious. She loved it. She would close her eyes and let the voices carry her. Sometimes she would sing, at the top of her lungs, with her off kilter, uneven voice. Singing through an entire chorus would leave her limp, drained, and blissfully happy, fully relaxed into a yoga pose or holding a warm, empty mug in her cupped hand.
In the morning, when she woke up--early, before the sun, she would stand in the dark, brushing her teeth. Combing her hair back into a ponytail. Applying lipstick to her lipsand then vanilla scented lotion to her hands. Keeping her eyes closed and her shoulders relaxed until she stepped out her door. Then she walked purposefully, swiftly to the bus stop and caught the number 32 bus--always on time--to her work. The city sanitation brigade. Zipping into a navy blue jumpsuit, slipping on heavy leather working gloves, she jumped into the cab of a rumbling green "Waste Collection Vehicle" as her boss, Vin, called it. A front loading garbage truck. Rumbling off into the morning, to wake people up to the sound of garbage cans being emptied. And in her mind, Wagner played.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Day 74: Pivot
So, I had 16 followers. And now I have 15. Which made me SO SAD when I noticed. Isn't that ridiculous?? But, really, because I'm this pathetic--if anyone out there will p-lease be a lemming and click "follow" just so I can get back up to the number 16, I'll think of something good to give you. What do you want? Messy Valentine's cookies made by a 2 and 4 year old? My (not) secret recipe for homemade eggnog that's to die for? A video of me singing "I'm a little teapot, short and stout..."? If you'll be my follower, I'll try and make it up to you. *wink and grin*
Uh-hem. Now that I'm through with my groveling for the day.
I saw something in The Reader's Digest yesterday about writing your memoirs. It said that, to get started, you might want to write down 6 pivotal moments or important events in your life that you might be able to write about or expand on. Hmmm...
1. Taking a drive with my dad when I was 6 down to Utah from Idaho so he could interview for a job. Him taking that job would bring us to a new home in the middle of hundreds of acres of apple tree orchards, complete with no television reception, a treehouse, and an entire mountain as a backyard. Bliss.
2. The realization in my senior year that I was the biggest girl in choir and if I gained any more weight they would have to special order me a choir dress. Which meant I was fat. Which meant I would never have a boyfriend or get married. Which got me off my tookus and walking one mile a day with weights in my hands and, eventually, into a size 6 wedding dress. (The fact that I was ever a size 6 seems unbelievable to me now. Time to dig out those weights.)
3. A phone call from my mom on a winter afternoon on Rexburg, Idaho informing me that she wouldn't be coming up for Women's Week because I'd been hired part-time as an Especially for Youth Counselor that summer. Because of that phone call I didn't go to Alaska with my roommate, went east of the Mississippi River for the first time, met my future spouse, met my future ex-fiance, and ended up leaving on a mission 6 months later than I'd intended to.
4. Opening a big, white envelope that a letter with the words "Switzerland, Zurich Mission" on it. This would result in a whirlwind 18 months in a place that I'm still homesick for.
5. One night in the car with my best friend Dave when he said "My roommates don't understand why we're not dating." In the split-second pause that followed, that decision that I had to make of "Do I say anything? Do I confess my undying love? Do I just go ahead and propose and hope for the best?" which resulted in "I don't really understand it either..." and a very long, involved conversation. Which led to a short, involved engagement, and one happily ever after.
6. A phone call from The Spouse saying "Hey, I might have a job in Charlotte, North Carolina. What do you think of North Carolina?" My reply was, "Charlotte? Is it close to the ocean?" 4 years and two more kids later, we're still here. (And the ocean is about 3 hours away, if you were wondering.)
Anyone out there feel like sharing? Can you think of 1 or more "pivotal" moments in your life?
Uh-hem. Now that I'm through with my groveling for the day.
I saw something in The Reader's Digest yesterday about writing your memoirs. It said that, to get started, you might want to write down 6 pivotal moments or important events in your life that you might be able to write about or expand on. Hmmm...
1. Taking a drive with my dad when I was 6 down to Utah from Idaho so he could interview for a job. Him taking that job would bring us to a new home in the middle of hundreds of acres of apple tree orchards, complete with no television reception, a treehouse, and an entire mountain as a backyard. Bliss.
2. The realization in my senior year that I was the biggest girl in choir and if I gained any more weight they would have to special order me a choir dress. Which meant I was fat. Which meant I would never have a boyfriend or get married. Which got me off my tookus and walking one mile a day with weights in my hands and, eventually, into a size 6 wedding dress. (The fact that I was ever a size 6 seems unbelievable to me now. Time to dig out those weights.)
3. A phone call from my mom on a winter afternoon on Rexburg, Idaho informing me that she wouldn't be coming up for Women's Week because I'd been hired part-time as an Especially for Youth Counselor that summer. Because of that phone call I didn't go to Alaska with my roommate, went east of the Mississippi River for the first time, met my future spouse, met my future ex-fiance, and ended up leaving on a mission 6 months later than I'd intended to.
4. Opening a big, white envelope that a letter with the words "Switzerland, Zurich Mission" on it. This would result in a whirlwind 18 months in a place that I'm still homesick for.
5. One night in the car with my best friend Dave when he said "My roommates don't understand why we're not dating." In the split-second pause that followed, that decision that I had to make of "Do I say anything? Do I confess my undying love? Do I just go ahead and propose and hope for the best?" which resulted in "I don't really understand it either..." and a very long, involved conversation. Which led to a short, involved engagement, and one happily ever after.
6. A phone call from The Spouse saying "Hey, I might have a job in Charlotte, North Carolina. What do you think of North Carolina?" My reply was, "Charlotte? Is it close to the ocean?" 4 years and two more kids later, we're still here. (And the ocean is about 3 hours away, if you were wondering.)
Anyone out there feel like sharing? Can you think of 1 or more "pivotal" moments in your life?
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Day 67: Porcupine
So. I got on my computer to write. And this is what I've done since then:
1) Watched The Meanest Mom's clip from Greensboro Fox 8 News.
2) Watch a video clip of some dog wanting to eat cupcakes from Cake Wrecks.
3) Read some funny posts on a new blog I found, one of which was directions for how to make chocolate covered bacon.
4) Looked at homes for sale in Utah. (I don't know why.)
So. I really need to get writing, and The Spouse challenged me to write a story containing the following things: a lemon, a songbook, a porcupine, and a mallet. (Are you kidding me??)
Here goes.
There was, not very long ago, a small and kindly porcupine that lived in a neat and tidy little burrow under the ground. He had to be neat and tidy, because otherwise his quills got stuck on every little thing, and it was difficult to get around.
Each morning, the porcupine would leave his neat and tidy little burrow, and go out for his adventure for the day. For although he liked his home to be nice and orderly, once he stepped outside of his burrow, there was nothing he enjoyed more than a good adventure.
On this particular morning, he was snuffling about in the fall leaves, smelling things, eating things, and enjoying the crunching sound of his little paws, when suddenly he heard the quiet sound of singing.
Curious, he sniffed and snuffled his way in the direction of the sound. The song got louder as he got closer, but--even very close--it was still quiet. Finally, he came to the edge of a little clearing, and in the center sat a small hedgehog, holding a songbook, and singing a soft little song.
The porcupine was delighted! Here was a creature he had never seen before, and it was prickly, just like himself. So, politely, he cleared his throat to let the little creature know he was there. The hedgehog jumped, of course, because he was startled and had thought he was alone.
The porcupine felt very sorry for frightening him, and quickly said that he was sorry, but wondered if he might ask who this little creature was, and what he happened to be doing in Porcupine's forest.
The hedgehog had tiny, black eyes and they looked very sad as he told the porcupine that normally, he is not a forest animal, he is a hedge animal, but that he got so distracted on his way home from gathering berries that he had gotten very lost, and had stopped to sing himself a song so that maybe he would feel better.
Porcupine felt very sorry, and told Hedgehog that he must come with him to his burrow and rest a little and have something to eat. The hedgehog hesitated, because porcupine was a stranger, and he thought that it probably wasn't a good idea, but, then again, porcupine seemed such a kind fellow, and he was prickly--just like himself, so it must be alright.
So hedgehog and porcupine sniffed and snuffled together back to Porcupines burrow. Hedgehog was very impressed with how neat and tidy it was, which made Porcupine feel very proud. He trundled about, getting some water and berries for hedgehog to eat. As a special delicacy, he rolled out a large, yellow lemon that he had found when some people having a picnic had left it behind suddenly when it began to rain.
It was such a happy color that he hated to eat it, but thought that surely something that beautiful must be delicious. Because it was the best he had, he decided to share it with his special, prickly guest. So, taking his small mallet in his paws, he smashed at the lemon a few times until it split in two.
Rolling one half over to the hedgehog and keeping one half to himself, they both took a large bite at the same time. My goodness! It was very, very sour! Both of them puckered up their mouths and made very funny faces, which made them begin to laugh. It made the sad little hedgehog laugh so hard, that porcupine took another bite and made more funny faces just to keep his new friend laughing. They decided to squeeze some of the lemon into some water, with a few drops of wild honey, and then it tasted very delicious indeed.
They had such a nice afternoon that porcupine began to feel very sad that hedgehog would need to leave, but he knew that he must help him find his home. He asked hedgehog to describe where he lived, and the things about it, because maybe--in his adventures--the porcupine had come near it at one time or another. And, indeed, he had! He knew right where it was. The best part of all? It was, really, very close by--so he would be able to see his new friend and have lemonade as often as they could wish.
And they did.
The End.
1) Watched The Meanest Mom's clip from Greensboro Fox 8 News.
2) Watch a video clip of some dog wanting to eat cupcakes from Cake Wrecks.
3) Read some funny posts on a new blog I found, one of which was directions for how to make chocolate covered bacon.
4) Looked at homes for sale in Utah. (I don't know why.)
So. I really need to get writing, and The Spouse challenged me to write a story containing the following things: a lemon, a songbook, a porcupine, and a mallet. (Are you kidding me??)
Here goes.
There was, not very long ago, a small and kindly porcupine that lived in a neat and tidy little burrow under the ground. He had to be neat and tidy, because otherwise his quills got stuck on every little thing, and it was difficult to get around.
Each morning, the porcupine would leave his neat and tidy little burrow, and go out for his adventure for the day. For although he liked his home to be nice and orderly, once he stepped outside of his burrow, there was nothing he enjoyed more than a good adventure.
On this particular morning, he was snuffling about in the fall leaves, smelling things, eating things, and enjoying the crunching sound of his little paws, when suddenly he heard the quiet sound of singing.
Curious, he sniffed and snuffled his way in the direction of the sound. The song got louder as he got closer, but--even very close--it was still quiet. Finally, he came to the edge of a little clearing, and in the center sat a small hedgehog, holding a songbook, and singing a soft little song.
The porcupine was delighted! Here was a creature he had never seen before, and it was prickly, just like himself. So, politely, he cleared his throat to let the little creature know he was there. The hedgehog jumped, of course, because he was startled and had thought he was alone.
The porcupine felt very sorry for frightening him, and quickly said that he was sorry, but wondered if he might ask who this little creature was, and what he happened to be doing in Porcupine's forest.
The hedgehog had tiny, black eyes and they looked very sad as he told the porcupine that normally, he is not a forest animal, he is a hedge animal, but that he got so distracted on his way home from gathering berries that he had gotten very lost, and had stopped to sing himself a song so that maybe he would feel better.
Porcupine felt very sorry, and told Hedgehog that he must come with him to his burrow and rest a little and have something to eat. The hedgehog hesitated, because porcupine was a stranger, and he thought that it probably wasn't a good idea, but, then again, porcupine seemed such a kind fellow, and he was prickly--just like himself, so it must be alright.
So hedgehog and porcupine sniffed and snuffled together back to Porcupines burrow. Hedgehog was very impressed with how neat and tidy it was, which made Porcupine feel very proud. He trundled about, getting some water and berries for hedgehog to eat. As a special delicacy, he rolled out a large, yellow lemon that he had found when some people having a picnic had left it behind suddenly when it began to rain.
It was such a happy color that he hated to eat it, but thought that surely something that beautiful must be delicious. Because it was the best he had, he decided to share it with his special, prickly guest. So, taking his small mallet in his paws, he smashed at the lemon a few times until it split in two.
Rolling one half over to the hedgehog and keeping one half to himself, they both took a large bite at the same time. My goodness! It was very, very sour! Both of them puckered up their mouths and made very funny faces, which made them begin to laugh. It made the sad little hedgehog laugh so hard, that porcupine took another bite and made more funny faces just to keep his new friend laughing. They decided to squeeze some of the lemon into some water, with a few drops of wild honey, and then it tasted very delicious indeed.
They had such a nice afternoon that porcupine began to feel very sad that hedgehog would need to leave, but he knew that he must help him find his home. He asked hedgehog to describe where he lived, and the things about it, because maybe--in his adventures--the porcupine had come near it at one time or another. And, indeed, he had! He knew right where it was. The best part of all? It was, really, very close by--so he would be able to see his new friend and have lemonade as often as they could wish.
And they did.
The End.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Day 45: Itteh Bitteh Kitteh Writing Committeh
Alright. To get tonight's entry, you'd really have to be familiar with http://www.icanhascheezburger.com/. They have a "LOLCats Builder" on their site with various pictures, and you're supposed to caption them in "lolcat" language. I'm amazed at how hard it is to come up with something good, which makes me appreciate even more how *funny* some of their captions are. My three attempts (which took far too long to think of....)
The one above made me laugh because it just reminded me of someone who might've set their New Year's resolutions a bit high and dove headfirst into a huge bowl of whatever they weren't supposed to eat.
Give it a try--it's a good writing "workout". *grin*
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