Last week was a whirl wind of information. I participated in about 5 workshops and popped intp over 20 others, commenting once in a while.
The greatest thing I've gone away with each of the three years I've attended is a new sense of awareness of the writer in me. This year I:
dabbled in suspense,
perfected writing dialogue,
assaulted my senses,
learned how to use social media better,
learned more about writing for kids of all ages and
started writing a historical fiction book for mid graders.
Now that all the fun is over, it's time to take all I learned and put it to use.
Before I go, here's one idea to get your creative writing juices flowing.
Look around the room you're in right now.
Focus on one thing in the room.
Write about it. How does it make you feel, memories it brings back, any aspects about that item that you can see. Write until you're done, let it take you whereever your mind goes.
A picture of me almost 30 years ago is stuck to the bulkhead on Julio’s side of the bed. I am sitting at a table on the outside patio at the sanitarium where we met.
It was the day of the luau I held for the patients. I’m dressed in my signature type of clothing from back then: a puffy white-sleeved blouse with a pink and black flowered vest I’d made over it and a long full flowing skit that matches the vest. I have a pink plastic lay around my neck. My hair lies in soft curls on my shoulders and it’s tied up with barrettes that have pink hibiscus stuck in them.
It looks like I’m eating ice cream and really enjoying it. On the table in front of me is a plate with a piece of cake. Behind me, in the window, I see the face of one of the male patients peeking out. I wonder who he is, looks like Stanley. I remember that my best friends Ann and Nola came that day to help me serve the cake and ice cream after the patients broke open the piñata.
Thinking of the piñata, I remember how when it was Marianne’s turn, she whacked me in the head, knocking me on the ground. She ran to her room shouting “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” When I could walk, I went to her room to show her I was okay. Opening the door, she spat out, “I wish I would have killed you.” (She had a crush on Julio and we had just gotten married a few months beforehand.)
All these years later, I don’t know what happened to Marianne, Ann and I still keep in touch, I’m still married to Julio and Nola passed away a few years later from cancer. Life sure is interesting.
Now it's your turn. Be sure to share.