Category Archives: Writing101

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Peter, Paula and Mary

Peter:
I had that same dream again. The one I’ve had so often I’ve memorized the dance of the leaves as they sway in the wind. It’s the same dream everytime. I am walking through the park. It’s a great day outside. The sun is shining, the clouds are soft, white and look fluffy. I gaze over at the bench and there she is. She’s always there. After 20+ years of knitting the same sweater you’d think she would be done. But, she’s never any further along. We make eye contact and she slowly rises off the bench, calls me by my given name and gives me a big hug. She steps back and looks at me and asks where I’ve been. Then I wake up. I never get to tell her what happened when my boat landed in America. I never get to mention how I searched for her for years but could never locate her. I never get to tell her about my devoted wife who’s carrying our first child. I never get to tell her because I wake up.

    Paula:
    He must be having that dream again. Sigh. When will it ever stop? He came over alone from Vietnam. He was supposed to meet his mom under the rainbow in the market. They had studied the map for weeks. The route was laid out, he knew where to stop for food and drink as he journeyed to the meeting place. She could not greet his boat because it was arriving under the cover of darkness and they didn’t want to draw attention to its arrival. There were no streamers or people gathered to welcome them to this new land. He didn’t know his boat was reported lost at sea but the boat and all seven of the passengers made it through the tumultuous storm that attempted to rob them of their future. They were a week and a day late but he knew him mom would wait for him in the place marked on the map. 

    Mary:
    I went to the market every night for a week. Finally someone told me the boat was missing. Missing?!? Aaaaahhhhhh!!! I cried out in great despair. No matter how much the tried to console me or hush me I could not push my pain down. It wanted to be released into the universe and so I let it go. I don’t know how long I laid there. In my mind I saw his sweet face smiling and waving at me telling me not to worry. He would be fine. For some reason they split us up. They insisted I go first to find a job and make a home. Why did I listen to them?!? This journey was for him, his future, his opportunity to be more than a poor village kid. Looking around the market and seeing the rainbow was too much to bear. I moved to another city far far away from my regrets and pain. 

    Peter:
    I rub my wife’s back and apologize for waking her. The further along she gets in the pregnancy the more she enjoys the back rubs. I suggest we take a walk in the park. It’s supposed to help with circulation. Besides, I like walking through the park I designed. The market was abandoned years ago. I was commissioned to design something that would continue to knit the community together. My immediate thought was a park. On the very spot where I was supposed to meet my mom I placed a bench. It was the same bench from my dream. I had hope I was aligning the stars and helping my dream become a reality. 

    Mary:
    After many years of running from my pain I moved back to the place where it all began. I needed peace. I needed to embrace my past and emotionally bury my son. The last time I saw him he was wearing a red sweater. I wanted to knit him a new one and bury it in the park that now stood in the place of the market. I planned to bury the grief I’ve carried for over 20 years. It was a beautiful place. Even though it was full of people it was still serene. I found an empty bench and continued knitting the sweater. I decided to make on the perfect size for a baby. I couldn’t bring a shovel with me to dig the hole. I wanted to be discreet as I held a short memorial service with one attendee. 

    Paula:
    I saw her first. Just as we rounded the bend on the walking path. She was just as he had described her in his dream. 

    Peter:
    Are my sleepless eyes providing me with a mirage? Am I at home in my bed sleeping? It’s her!! It’s really her! We make eye contact and she slowly rises off the bench, calls me by my given name and gives me a big hug. She steps back and looks at me and asks where I’ve been. 

    by

    Reminiscing (day 8)

    He was pulled into a time and a memory that was more ancient than his years. She spoke to him of things his mind could not comprehend or imagine. The words she used were foreign and not because she spoke another language but because he had never heard them used before. 

    He didn’t ask questions to clarify. She was too excited and the words fell from her mouth like water rushing over a waterfall. He would have felt guilty if he had interrupted. So he sat quietly, listening and observing her body language. 

    He wasn’t sure if she was tense due to the tumultuous bus ride or because of the level of excitement she had reached. She relaxed in her seat and the words had come to a stop. The glimmer was still in her eyes and that smile he had begun anticipating spread across her lips. Then he knew it was okay to  asked the two questions that had plagued him during her monologue. Who are the Beastie Boys and what is a cassette tape?

    ***I rode on a school bus with my eight year old son today heading to a school field trip. I don’t think I had ridden on a school bus since high school. I told him of some of my adventures which included a cassette tape of the Beastie Boys****

    by

    conversations with a preschooler. (Day 7)

    Here, eat this. It’s good for you. 

    I don’t like chicken

    You do like chicken you just forgot. 

    I’m a veterinarian. 

    No you’re not a vegetarian. Just take one bite. 

    No! It looks funny. 

    It looks the same as last night and last month. 

    It’s old. 

    Sigh… Please take one small bite. 

    No! No! No! I don’t like chicken. I like Popsicles and cookies. 

    I’ll give you a Popsicle if you eat some chicken. 

    I want the Popsicle first. 

    You may have it after dinner. 

    Before dinner. 

    After. 

    (Pause)

    I’ll take one bite. 

    Fine!

    (Takes a bite)

    Oooohhhh I like this chicken. It’s yummy. 

    by

    Building and Creating a Character

    She walks in the room and for some reason you want to salute her. She’s never been in the military but the very essence of her being commands respect and acknowledgement. 

    Is she tall? I’d say she average height unless you are from Munchkinland. 

    What makes her special? It was the way she held her head. Have you seen a queen walk into a room? Well, it was more relaxed than that but with the same amount of grace. If you watched carefully you could see her eyes quickly scan the room. Unlike most of us she wasn’t looking for a familiar face she was looking for the unfamiliar. She was looking for the one or two anxious eyes that wanted to receive that slight smile and almost unnoticeable nod. If you blinked you would miss the one second exchange. 

    She always made sure to outshine her clothes. Her dress was lovely but not gorgeous. Nobody wanted to know the designer or know where she purchased the gown. There wasn’t a chance of this one selling out or the retailers’ website crashing. Oh but the shoes, those would become the talk of the evening by every woman present. 

    I’d like to say she glideded in as though she was riding a wave but that’s not elegant or common enough. As the music began she walked down the isle alone. She wasn’t in a rush. She knew she had the rest of her life to spending looking in his eyes and holding his hands. Instead she took the time to enjoy her last moments of being single. 

    I have to admit I didn’t know where I was going with my character until the last paragraph. I decided not to focus on her features but allow the reader’s mind to create them according to their imagination. Day 6? I’ve lost count.  What are you thoughts on the revelation that she is a bride?

    by

    The letter

    Today’s challenge is to write a story about a letter that was found but be as brief as possible. Here goes. 

    There was a smudge of lipstick in the top right corner of the dainty stationary. It was directly above a heart. The carefully drawn heart contained two sets of initials.  

    Those words that filled the page gave me hope. That letter made me believe in love again. 

    by

    and then there were 3

    Today’s assignment is to write about three songs and what they mean to me. Unedited. Free flowing. 

    It’s next to impossible for me to narrow down my life to just three songs. I love music. I grew up listening to a wide range of music from Motown to watching Lawrence Welk to singing along with Loretta Lynn in Coal Miners Daughter and dancing to New Edition. Three songs? With four kids in the house we always have music playing. We listen to Top 40 or R&B in the car and I keep Christian music playing in the house unless I’m cooking or cleaning then I go for something up beat. Blame that on the days of cleaning up on Saturday while watching Soul Train. 

    How about three genres? 

    How about just music in general? It’s my blog and my creativity. 

    I love music, any kind of music, just as long as it’s grooving. Give me a word and I can probably start singing a song. Come on, I dare you. 

    When I found out I was pregnant with the teenager I made up a song that I would hum or sing daily. I sang it so much his dad asked me to stop. Then when my Honeygirl was born I sang two songs to her, you are so beautiful and the other one I changed so many of the words that the original song escapes me. When each of the boys were born I sang to them as I nursed. I didn’t allow them to watch much TV when they were young but we would put on a Cedarmont Kids video then sing and do the hand motions. Do your ears hang low… Or Joshua fought the battle of Jerico…

    Music is the thread that brings my family together. My extended family and I use to have dancing contests when we were younger. Now we have Festivus during the Christmas season and always end with singing Christmas songs. It’s the part of the evening that everybody loves to hate. It’s our running joke to lock the doors, force everybody to gather around and we sing. Who can resist a good round of Twelve Days of Christmas or Silent Night? 

    Three songs? I could never write about three songs. Maybe I could write about three decades of songs but never just three songs. 

    by

    Freestyle

    For the next 20 days I’m participating in an online writing class. This is supposed to challenge me and push me to become a better writer. Here goes twenty minutes of freestyle writing. 

    On any given day I have a lot on my mind. I’m constantly evaluating my life, my purpose, my relationships and my blog. Lately I’ve been trying to decide why I’m blogging and my intended audience. Do I want to be a popular blogger? Do I want the coveted viral post? Am I blogging for my friends and family and the small community of bloggers? I have no answers. What I have is a lot of stuff going on in my head that I want to write about. I want to share it with others but I haven’t defined the others. 

    Who cares what I have to say? I’m not an expert. My expetiences are unique to me but they aren’t unique to the world. Why do I share my personal stories? 

    I think that I think too much. But what can I say? I’m a contemplating procrastinator who reads a lot into the meaning of life. 

    Enough about me. 

    Why are you here? What do you get from reading this blog or any other blog? Stephen Covey says seek first to understand in his Seven Habits of Highly Successful People. That’s always a good starting point. What are we, the reading audience looking for in a blog?

    I’ll start. I’m looking for authenticity. I want relevance. Depending on the topic I want references. If you are quoting research I want authors and links. If you are quoting someone I want to see credit given. I don’t mind tears or laughter or deep thought. I like personality and heart to show through. I’m probably not going to read anything that is exceptionally long. I’ll scan. I also like to read the comments. That’s more entertaining at times. 

    Here is the next part. Comments. How do you get others to comment? I’ve learned that blogging is reciprocal. You gotta like posts and comment to receive them. It’s work, it’s commitment and it’s time. If you aren’t involved in the blogging community you have to have great consistent posts that people like. 

    Back to me, I don’t post on a regular basis. I have about 15 posts that I’ve stated but not completed. I know that if I want to build a readership I need to post something on a regular basis. I’m working on consistency. I trying to get to the point where my audience knows when to stop by. 

    That’s why I’m participating in this challenge. I’m ready to commit to my blogs. I want to become a better writer. 

    Oh and I realized that typing for 20 minutes is difficult but I did it. I feel accomplished. Applause is welcomed. I shall curtsie and exit stage right.