I feel your loss most keenly in those moments between sleeping and waking, when dreams have not quite given way to my new, bleak reality and my mind tricks me into thinking that you are still by my side.
Wed me not because
You must through obligation
But for real, true love
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Returning to the good ol’ writing prompt exercises to get the creative juices flowing! I got this one from WritingExercises.co.uk.
She’d only given in because she was lonely. Even though her elderly aunt could be arduous company at the best of times, anything had to be better than sitting in her tiny flat on her own, another Saturday night in a row.
“Lizzie, start with that box there,” Aunt Viv instructed, pointing at one of the smaller cardboard boxes amongst the many strewn in front of them.
Lizzie obediently flopped down on the floor, legs crossed, and dragged the box towards her. It was covered in dust, like the others, and she sneezed as she slid one scissor leg down the middle of the strip of tape so carefully applied many years ago. Continue reading
I want to lean back in the evening breeze, against a balcony framed by the setting sun. I want to smell citrus on the air, kissed by a faint hint of tobacco. I want to feel my pulse quicken as your fingers entwine with mine, firm and sure. I want to hear the soft thrum-thrum-thrum of a guitar in the distance, weaving gently through the laughter and chatter in the street below. I want to dance with you, and for you to catch me when I stumble with a laugh, a little drunk – on excellent wine, yes, but mostly on happiness. I want you, on this warm, perfect, sultry evening. I want you, forever and always.
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Happy New Year folks! 😀
Starting 2016 off with a traditional writing prompt exercise 🙂
So this one has ended up, I feel, a scene that would be near the start of the story rather than an excerpt lifted from the middle. I think it just about works as a stand alone too. Hope you enjoy!
The tea had gone cold, as usual. Gina sighed, and picked up the mug from the desk.
“Marc, you haven’t touched your tea,” she said quietly. She didn’t get a response, but then, she hadn’t expected to. When Marc was poring over his research, he entered his own world, a universe separate from the reality around him. He forgot to eat, to drink, even to acknowledge his family, much less engage in meaningful conversation with them. Continue reading
So, I got the prompt from Jess’s blog followthevoid, which you guys should check out if you haven’t already. She runs writing workshops and her posts are always an interesting read.
She spoke about writer’s block in the particular post with this prompt…those days where you just can’t seem to put anything that seems of note onto paper…I think we all have them!
Anyway, I didn’t set myself any rules for this one, it’s ended up about 500 words and was untimed. I’m not sure where the ideas came from, this isn’t part of a bigger story or anything at present, but I feel perhaps this short piece could turn into something bigger? See what you think!
When she thought of home, she thought not of her mother’s beautiful suburban mansion or her father’s cluttered apartment, where her younger brother still lived. Nor did Harriet think of her own tiny studio flat, from where she was desperately trying to carve out a living from selling her artwork.
She thought, instead, of the tumbledown cottage in the countryside where all four of them had been happy. Despite her mother’s claim that she hadn’t ‘been happy in a long time’, when she was trying to justify her stupid affair, Harriet did not think this was true, unless ‘long time’ meant ‘a few months’. Her mother wasn’t a good enough actress to fake joy for years. That was why she had been found out only weeks after starting the affair.
At least the divorce had been an amicable one. This was, Harriet knew, due to her father’s impossibly calm personality. Normally, she admired this quality, but was very annoyed when it led to his offer of moving out, because she knew what would happen shortly afterwards – and it did. Her mother sold the cottage, which fetched a pretty price thanks to its location.
Harriet was heartbroken when she saw the ‘sold’ sign, when she realised she would never again be able to call the cottage home, and still felt as though she was grieving for a lost family member four weeks on. She had been refusing to answer all calls from her mother since. She loved her mother dearly, but she couldn’t forgive her mistakes just yet. Harriet’s father, of course, understood this feeling completely but encouraged her to let go of her anger, as he had done. Her brother, at sixteen, didn’t entirely understand but had kindly provided her a shoulder to cry on.
Home is supposed to be where the heart is, and she knew it was silly to have been so attached to the cottage, but she couldn’t help it. It held so many memories; she had helped her brother learn to walk in that living room, painted her first watercolour on an easel in that kitchen (it had the best light), been tucked into bed by each of her parents countless times in her bedroom…her mother didn’t think the same way. To her, there was a profit to be had and a new purchase to be made, and that was it.
On a day during the fifth week after seeing the ‘sold’ sign, after a notable absence of calls from her mother (she had been calling daily up until three days prior), Harriet decided to take her father’s advice and ring her. She had not been a bad mother by any means, and the fact that her marriage had failed and that she thought quite differently to her daughter about the cottage didn’t mean that all bridges needed to be set alight. It was time for Harriet to hear her mother’s side of the story, and maybe start on a path to reconciliation.
All constructive/polite feedback welcome, as always 🙂
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