Although I have a degree in communcations, I have a hard time writing creatively. I am great at professional emails and fact-based news articles, but creative writing escapes me. Practicing seems the only way to get better, and so begins Writing Wednesday.
I will complete short writing exercises each week (hopefully). You are invited to critique (I'm sure most of my writing will be terrible, especially at first) and to use the prompts to do a little creative writing of your own. I found this prompt at www.wakeupwriting.com
Timed Exercise
Set your timers for 15 minutes, write the title at the top of your page and then see where your imagination takes it.
Title: Summer of Storms
She lived with her mother in the city, but most summers she found herself in the smaller town a few hours away where her father and step-mother lived. She was entering her final year of school, and hoped this would be her last obligatory visit. As her parents did the traditional "divorced-kid" hand-off, she tried her best to keep them from starting a conversation. It was always halting and uncomfortable. She lifted her head and smelled the air, hoping that the strong breeze would help her feel at home.
"Well...welcome back," her father said, once her mother had backed out of the long, gravel drive. "Thought we'd eat at the picnic table tonight." She glanced up the clouded sky, but didn't say anything. She had learned that protesting got her nowhere with this man.
As she unpacked her summer clothing, the wind that had helped calm her began to push leaves against her window. "Thank god," she thought, "The storms."
She went to the porch and looked out over the pond. She sky grew rapidly more grey, and the wind carried the scent of cow manure across her nostrils. Suddenly, she spotted a short and distant bolt of summer lighting.
The clouds billowed over the tree-line, and she could hear the thunder rolling closer. From this house on the hill, she could see for miles. She was in awe of the clarity in the cracks of lightning. As the thunder rumbled, it shook loose the tightness in her chest and she breathed the first real breath since she'd arrived. She leaned forward on the railing. The sky stretched out before her, a bright grey. When the rain started, she rested on the swing to await its approach. It moved quickly, blurry and alive.
Title: Summer of Storms
She lived with her mother in the city, but most summers she found herself in the smaller town a few hours away where her father and step-mother lived. She was entering her final year of school, and hoped this would be her last obligatory visit. As her parents did the traditional "divorced-kid" hand-off, she tried her best to keep them from starting a conversation. It was always halting and uncomfortable. She lifted her head and smelled the air, hoping that the strong breeze would help her feel at home.
"Well...welcome back," her father said, once her mother had backed out of the long, gravel drive. "Thought we'd eat at the picnic table tonight." She glanced up the clouded sky, but didn't say anything. She had learned that protesting got her nowhere with this man.
As she unpacked her summer clothing, the wind that had helped calm her began to push leaves against her window. "Thank god," she thought, "The storms."
She went to the porch and looked out over the pond. She sky grew rapidly more grey, and the wind carried the scent of cow manure across her nostrils. Suddenly, she spotted a short and distant bolt of summer lighting.
The clouds billowed over the tree-line, and she could hear the thunder rolling closer. From this house on the hill, she could see for miles. She was in awe of the clarity in the cracks of lightning. As the thunder rumbled, it shook loose the tightness in her chest and she breathed the first real breath since she'd arrived. She leaned forward on the railing. The sky stretched out before her, a bright grey. When the rain started, she rested on the swing to await its approach. It moved quickly, blurry and alive.
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