INKSPILL Writing Exercise #1 – Step into a Life

Watch this short video.

Choose a person, think about their character, write their story.

200 max. GO!

 

Picture & Write

 It has been too long since I had a chance to take part in the challenges on other blogs – thanks to NaNoWriM0 – and now it is December, I am looking forward to spreading my word wings once again.

What  a great place to start – click the icon and find out more.

When I cannot hold my head up,

she is there

When the road seems trodden and endless,

she is there

 

When I cannot move forward

I feel her gentle encouragement

pushing me onwards.

 

There is a hole in my heart

She left behind,

A chasm only she can fill

A place where she once stood,

ground danced to dust.

 

For better or worse

For richer for poorer,

Until.

Until death do us part.

 

You promised, my flower,

you took my heart

to your grave

you took a small part of me,

 

Willingly I let you keep it

I don’t need it now.

Every step forward

pains me

 

I feel you

there beside me,

Pushing me gently on.

Picture It & Write – Victorian Secrets

This is my response to this week’s Picture It and Write challenge

by John Thompson .

Taken from this article http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2123212/Black-white-pictures-capture-lives-Londoners-1800s.html

 

 

Marie’s search of her ancestary took her back to Victorian London. There were plenty of books she could look through and articles from that period, what she had learnt tracing her family tree was an enjoyment of pictures. Photographs depicting the unspoken story, the invisible lines interwoven through people’s lives. This one gave little clue.

She stood at the photocopier in the small Newsagents in Pepperton Street and reeled off 10 copies.

Returning to her small apartment she cut them out and using masking tape stuck them all around. The bathroom mirror, her bedside table, the mantelpiece, the kitchen door, the fridge, beside the TV and finally inside her current book.

What of the other three copies? They were for her ancestors. She took her old saucepan outside and walked to the back gate of the block. Marie checked that there were no other residents around, then she set a match to the paper. Watching it burn into ashes in the saucepan. Praying that they would help her find the truth at last.

Something more than poor women buying cheap jewels to make them feel like a lady. There was something there that was real. Far from imitation and Marie was on her way to finding it out.

Picture it & Write – Scars of Art

 Click on the button to find out all about this challenge. I am so happy to be back writing for challenges.

A BIG Thank you to Ermisenda and Eliabeth the co-authors of this blog, I have taken part in the challenges for a while now, recently I have returned to the performance poetry circuit and started going to Stanza meetings where other wonderfully talented poets help me polish and edit my words.

I have used 3 pieces so far to perform or work on and ALL of them were born from the Picture it and Write challenge. So thank you…. we never know where the words will take us.

 

Staring into the bathroom mirror

he focuses on the ink,

His latest facial body art,

loudly declaring raw feelings.

 

The past decade of struggle

confined in a minute black tear.

He is the only one who

knows the full story.

 

He wants to let go of pain, feel his muscles relax.

He practises the feeling of freedom

Found beneath

the water.

 

Submerging his face

in a sink full of cold water.

It only takes a second for

the initial freeze to sooth.

 

He could cry here.

The tears would escape un-noticed.

Invisible in water.

Unseen.

 

All except the black ink tear

That will forever

Expose him.

A reminder of what should have been.

Picture It and Write – Fear

This is a great challenge – check it out – click the icon.

by DiggieVitt on Flickr

“Tell me about it…” said Dr Wainman.

“I think it all started in childhood, well these things normally do, don’t they?” Eliza looked up half expecting a reaction. She would never get used to the silence he allowed her to fill with her own stories. He never said much and held a mask of an expression, lively enough to show he was listening and deadpan enough not to give away any hint of emotion. It drove her crazy if she was honest, but she still went to her weekly sessions, she knew the only way to get rid of the demon was to talk about it.

“I think it was a problem even before father left…” Eliza wasn’t aware of the tears streaming down her face as she twisted in her seat and tried to fill in the details of her memories as Dr Wainman asked carefully stitched questions, prompting recall from deep inside of her.

In the end she held onto his closing words. She always did. It was the only time he ever said anything. This week he told Eliza that fear didn’t exist.

This concept blew Eliza’s mind – it was like learning that we imagine colour as everything we see is only black or white or some shade of subtle grey. That was the day she wondered why we spent so much on interior design. Now Dr Wainman was telling her she could avoid all her dark feelings if she could let go of fear – which was a manifestation of what might happen and the irrational concerns she had were never likely to become reality. The probability was low, off the radar in fact.

Dr Wainman was trying to focus her mind on something she could accomplish, move her forward rather than allowing her to remain a tortured prisoner of her past.

The truth stunned her. She had created the monster. Her own mind had conjured up fear to protect her from the real harm that was happening to her mother. The fear in this case did not fulfil its role. She could not be kept safe by it. Her mother had nowhere else to go and neither did she. All these years since, reliving the nightmare… that was her hurting herself.

How could she move forward knowing her mind was this broken?

For the first time EVER in any of the writing challenges I participate in I have taken the essence of the image and used that in a non-literal way. (In case you’re still wondering where the birds are!) 😉

Picture It & Write – A Poem About Eve

by Corrie White

 

At one with the universe

the entity appears

born from liquid

shaped by elements of the earth.

Wind twists the molten force

until Eve appears.

Full.

Womb consumed by temptation

Carries a bundle of sin.

Her roots stand firm

in the tides of time.

At one

with the universe.

 

 

This is my contribution to Picture and Write It for this week – follow the button.

Picture It and Write – The Wedding

I LOVED THE PHOTO FOR THIS WEEK’S PROMPT and as my friends get married in less than a fortnight this had to be written for them.

 Click the button to read all about the challenge.

Keith and Liz had a wonderful 2012, their precious first born Amelia Grace arrived in the world. Liz was so wrapped up in being a new mummy it was months before she gave their wedding another thought. It had all been booked before Amelia was born, they had spent months visiting potential venues and pouring over hotel brochures. In the end they both decided on the spectacular hotel with the lake.

Amelia was at Grandma’s for the day and Liz was getting ready for a pre-hen party outing with the girls. She was looking forward to talk turning to the wedding once again. Not a Yummy Mummy in sight as she met up with them in ‘The Waterwheel’.

Keith had come home early, he knew his girls would both be out. He had decided that he wanted something of the wedding they had planned together to be a surprise. He had asked his Dad for advice and a few of his friends. The last thing a bride wants on her wedding day is to find out things have been changed or substituted. He couldn’t resist though, he was sure she would love it and see the funny side. Keith had been a prankster ever since she met him and she laughed at lots of the high jinx. Admittedly she was rarely the subject, that’s why he had waited so long and mulled it over in his mind.

He rang the hotel and ordered the water bed.

 

 

 

The Wedding was a perfect dream of white lace and music. Liz couldn’t have been happier. Keith was beginning to feel decidedly edgy though, especially since he had taken directions to the suite from Reception. Arm in arm they walked through the grounds towards her surprise.

When they got through the thicket of trees, the magnificence of the bridal suite surprised them both! In the middle of the lake was the most romantic, Tudor style, four poster bed. Their waterbed.

“It looks like a Fairy Queen’s barge!” Liz exclaimed!

“Yacht at least!” Keith retorted. Still getting over the shock!

 

The next morning they woke up in their summer dream, a gentle breeze pulling on the fabric surrounding them. It flapped like Angel Wings, protecting the lovers.

They were so grateful they chose the hotel with a lake.

Keith rolled over dreamily and looked into Liz’s eyes. He smiled.

“I do.” She whispered.