Since I’m a writer
I have decided it’s high time to decorate this here bloggy-blog with some of my stuffs. Nothing fancy or too long-winded, mind you — saving that up for the books I’m currently percolating — but enough to prove to you, my darlings, that I do more than sit around and contemplate the dust motes of the universe. And also to prove to myself that I can still write upon command.
Challenge accepted – let’s get it on!
Tuezdays I’m a Writer!
Tuezdays will henceforth be dedicated in some fashion to the craft of writing. Whether via prompts, commentary on the process, borrowed advice, books, or my own personal stories and poems, something writer-ish will be happening. Count on it!
I’m a bit rusty in the imagination department, so to kick off week #1 of my new “Tuezdays I’m a Writer!” series, I thought I’d go with a prompt. And what good would I be if I didn’t show my work by sharing a quick Google search of various sites offering start-ups? Here is a brief sampling of the places I visited for inspiration:
To spice things up, I’m going to try something I’ve never done before. My first piece must be fewer than 350 words — what some might call Flash Fiction. I believe this is approximately one page, so it’s not as long as it sounds. It’ll be interesting, because as you well know, I have tons to say. Learning to condense ideas down to the bare bones is one of many skills I’ve yet to master. Why not start now?
Tuezdays I’m a Writer!
PROMPT: “There are three children sitting on a log near a stream. One of them looks up at the sky and says…” – Prompt from www.writingforward.com
Beware the Eyes of Your Heart
I rose from my deep crouch. Without a glass, I could barely see, but when one of them waved my direction, I knew it was time to move forward.
I approached cautiously. My mentor, his warning scratching like a rustling leaf in the back of my mind, had told me, “Beware the eyes of your heart.” I hadn’t understood what he meant until I came into the clearing. He had been right to warn me so.
Three children sat on a log near the stream. One of them looked up at the sky and said, “You are late. For this you may only ask two questions, not three.” He continued watching the clouds, and pointing, added, “An eagle. Do you see it?”
The middle child was a young girl who looked straight on. From her eager expression I expected her to speak next, but instead, the smallest of the three, looking down, said, “You lost your ring. For this you may only ask one question, not two.” Pointing at the ground, he added, “An ant. Do you see it?”
The girl finally arose from the log, graceful and silver and long, like a sleek, grey kitten caught in an elongated stretch. I saw that although she looked my direction, her eyes never actually alighted on my face. Like her two companions, she refused to see me.
Voice pleasant with youth, she said, “You are late, and you have no ring. You have lost two of your questions. Why do you not speak?”
I stood silent, waiting her out.
“You are dead. For this you may ask no questions, not even one.” Her eyes danced merrily and she pointed straight at me, adding, “A spirit, Brothers. I do see it!”
The eagle rushed down and the ant grew to meet it. I, a mere spirit, fought against the magnetic draw of their force, but without the ring, it was no use. They pulled at me, swirling in the mist. We became a trinity of fog, dirt, and salt, with feathers raining down and the taste of nothing on my tongue.
See, now that was FUN! Three things I learned already from this writing prompt:
— After three false starts, I found that the “Tuezdays I’m a Writer!” series is going to be an excellent and much-needed exercise in pushing my brain beyond its lazy boundaries.
— Once I got started with a story line that didn’t piss me off, I found myself really getting into the scene. I wanted to describe the area, and find out more about those kids, and see what it meant that the narrator is a spirit. Why was s/he late? How did the ring become lost? Why was the ring important to those kids? What questions were meant to be asked? What happened to the mentor? Maybe I’ll spin this into a longer yarn someday. Who knows?
— It’s ridiculous the number of words I had to cut in order to stay under my self-imposed word count. While it’s a good thing I have so much to say, it speaks volumes of the quality of my speech. While fulfilling word counts are great goals, quantity isn’t the final point of my mission.
If there are topics you would like to see covered in my new “Tuezdays I’m a Writer!” series, please let me know in the comments. Or tell me how your own writing prompt experiment worked out!