Skip to main content

Creative Writing 101

I have lots of words, or so I've been told on more than one occasion. 

Somehow, those words need to be used; writing seems to be a fairly productive use of my words.  Ergo:  I signed up for a Creative Writing class.  The format is very loose, lacking restraint, with an emphasis on being "creative."  I'm very intrigued.

One of the exercises involved a "prompt" word or phrase.  We are then given three to four minutes to simply write.  It was quite interesting how each of the thirteen students interpreted the phrases.  While some had similarities, others were so very unique, utilizing their own experiences as filters for expression.

I'll share one that I wrote.  The starter words were:  Story Teller
The circus came only once a year ... it was a big deal for our tiny town.  The colorful tents would rise to meet the blue sky, dotted with white, puffy clouds.  Lions, bears, elephants paced in their cages, waiting for their chance to perform in the ring under the Big Top.  Clowns danced and paraded, delighting the children.  But ... in a small booth down the midway was the storyteller...the man with the gray hair that could weave dreams into realities...
I'm excited to be challenging my mind this way.  It's amazing how you can come up with words when you are only given a few moments to jot things down.  Can you imagine the possibilities when you actually have time to think?

Words ... words ... words ~ Missy




Comments

  1. Very delightful and makes me want to go back to Lakeport where we had a circus come to town when you were very little..Mom

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

lonely has no boundaries

She came into the shop to purchase barbecue sauce, usually 3 to 4 bottles at a time. Her eyes were clear blue, and she had a ready smile that was mixed with quietness and melancholy.
I remember one particular day she came in with eyes red around the edges. I asked if everything was ok. She looked at me with her clear blue eyes and said, "Yes, but there are days you just need to cry." I agreed then, and I agree now.

Today is one of those melancholy days; not a need-to-cry day, but one that's on the side of sad and contemplative. So, it seems appropriate to share this post that's been sitting as a draft for weeks.

People are lonely, desperately crying to be noticed.
I've been lonely. I've had conversations with people who are lonely. The unfortunate thing is, it's not the outcast, recluse living in the hoarder house down the street. It's the chipper girl at the coffee shop who only wants another couple for her and her boyfriend to hang with. I think to m…

a tale from foxtail

fox glides, low to the ground                       sly, inquisitive, resourceful creatures solitary, bronzed and ruddy with flashing eyes        bushy tail dipped in white  forest home or urban domain                                      fox, a nocturnal pilgrim
Summer has afforded me an opportunity to move about aimlessly; not quite a coddiwomple, but sort of. This week, I found myself writing and sipping iced chai at Foxtail Bakery. Let's just say the cookies were perfect and divine; I was completely tempted to purchase more pastries than I should. 

There's a tall counter with white-backed stools and a big garage door to let in light and fresh air. Picture windows face the street. Cars buzz by. Black and white striped umbrellas twirl like the tutu of a ballerina.

Assorted tables and chairs in turquoise and orange fill the space, along with a low-slung wooden table and bistro chairs. Some new-school rattan is thrown in for good measure. It's comfortable and alive.


A larger-tha…

leaving las vegas

Leaving Las Vegas, a line made famous in movies, song lyrics and billboard slogans. For me, it’s more than a catch-phrase. It pierces my heart, now more than ever.

You see, previously, people were there drawing me back, but as pages are torn from the book entitled “Life,” I’m more aware of how fleeting and transient things are. Change is a given.
My heart feels - each word expressed - come back, don’t be a stranger. I know they’re wondering if they’re losing all contact with the family of ones deeply loved. I wonder, too. And while I also know that’s how things happen, I don’t have to like it.

So, I stare out the window of the plane, the sun bringing light and heat to the day in shades of pink and pale orange which burst against the blue sky. My thoughts are pensive, questioning, seeing only the rugged ranges with striations of soil and color veining them. As the plane climbs we soar above the clouds stacked on each other like mounds of whipped sweet cream. Contemplation is as thick as…