Archive for the ‘writing’ Category
sunday scribblings: fantasy
I first saw Sunday Scribblings at Bella’s and the Bongga Mom’s blogs. Sunday’s always a slow day, so it’s perfect to have a built-in writing prompt–today’s is fantasy. I can’t say how future prompts will go, but this one went in a decidedly fictional direction.
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I sit under my favorite tree everyday now. Mommy told me that it’s a hemlock, and that it’s our state tree. I don’t really understand why a state has to pick one tree when it has so many different kinds. I wonder how the other trees feel, standing around being a part of our great state but not being picked. I think they must feel like the last kid picked for kickball at recess. Thank goodness that’s never me.
I’m not the most athletic girl in my class, but I’m tall and that seems to count for something in kickball-picking. I’m about six inches bigger than most of the boys and a lot of the girls, too. Mommy said the boys will catch up, but to tell the truth, I don’t want them to. I feel powerful when I can look down at the top of someone’s head and know whether they have dandruff.
I didn’t used to spend so much time under this tree. I used to be what everyone would consider a normal kid, I think. Used to play with the neighbor kids, ride our bikes, play school in the basement when it rained. But ever since my tenth birthday, about two months after Mommy died, I just haven’t felt like it. I don’t mean that suddenly I woke up on my tenth birthday an adult or anything, but that morning, I don’t know. It just felt childish to do those things.
I looked over at the bright red numbers on my alarm clock that morning and when I saw that 6:12 staring back at me, I knew it was time. Time to get up and be an adult. I looked out my window and saw that it had rained overnight, but now the sun was making everything sparkle just a little.
I threw my pink comforter decorated with huge lips off of me and put on my most adult outfit: a black skirt with little white flowers and a white button down sleeveless shirt, tucked in. Then I put on white socks that stop at the ankles and an old pair of black sneakers because I couldn’t find anything more adult to wear. Besides, Mommy wore sneakers sometimes too.
I brushed through my long, straight brown hair just like Mommy taught me, from the very top all the way to the very bottom, and all the way around. I decided to not put it in a ponytail today. I think maybe ponytails are for little girls.
I walked downstairs quietly, so I didn’t wake Daddy, just like that old board game I used to play when I was a kid. “Don’t Wake Daddy!” Do you know it? It really was a stupid game, but I guess there are some things you just don’t know until you’re big.
I went into the kitchen where our cat, Hermione, was waiting for her breakfast. No matter what time you get up, that cat’s always waiting for food. I guess you might notice that she’s named after a character in my favorite group of books. The one with the “Goblet of Fire” is the best one, if you ask me, but my best friend Loris would argue to the death about that. She says she likes the original best, but to tell you the truth, I think she’s only read the first one.
I put Hermione’s food in her dish and got down the Frosted Flakes from the cupboard. I don’t even have to use a chair anymore. And I never spill the milk anymore either. I’ll never forget when I learned that saying about not crying over spilled milk. One morning when I woke up first, I had done just that, spilled the milk and stood over it crying like a baby. Mommy must have heard me, because she came in and told me straight out, “Don’t cry over spilled milk,” and then she explained that sayings are sayings for a reason.
After that, she taught me to hold the bottom of the gallon with my other hand a little bit, and just like that, no spilled milk anymore. So really, the whole thing has never come up again, but I still like the saying.
It’s little things like that I think of when I’m under the tree. All the things Mommy used to do that I know no one else could ever do like her. And while I’m there, I like to pull out my drawing paper and colored pencils and pretend I’m a kid again, just sitting under my favorite tree without an adult care in the world.
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[tags]writing, fiction writing, short stories, flash fiction, sunday scribblings, fantasy[/tags]
Why You Should Blog
Blogging is a funny thing. Just since I’ve started a month and a half ago, I’ve made virtual acquaintances in different parts of the world, finding things in common with people with whom I probably wouldn’t have crossed paths otherwise.
On the other hand, I don’t know very many fellow bloggers personally (only one comes to mind!), but since I’ve started, many of my nonblogging friends have expressed interest in joining the blogosphere. I’m sure others have thought about it but haven’t gone so far as to admit it.
So this post is for those of you thinking of supporting a new addiction scribbling down tidbits about yourselves, experiences, and emotions on this wonderful invention called the World Wide Web.
For me writing is a release, a way to sort through thoughts and feelings, a relaxation tool, a socially acceptable form of anger management, and just plain fun. Now, with the help of the Internet, I can share as much or as little of this process with the world as I wish–and leave a record behind to boot.
I am inspired today, in particular, because I have been exchanging emails with a dear friend (who even started out virtual if I’m not mistaken) *and* because I came across a rather apropos article called “Write for Your Life” by one of my favorite writers, Anna Quindlen, today, in which she writes the following:
The age of technology has both revived the use of writing and provided ever more reasons for its spiritual solace. E-mails are letters, after all, more lasting than phone calls, even if many of them r 2 cursory 4 u. And the physical isolation they and other arms-length cyber-advances create makes talking to yourself more important than ever. That’s also what writing is: not just a legacy, but therapy.
I will also add–and it’s free!
So I hope more of you will share yourself with us in this unique way, although if you’re still a little shy, a simple journal would make me happy too.
Come on in, folks–the water’s fine!
Virginia Woolf’s Diary: On Being Brilliant
Virginia Woolf’s writing is always evocative and gorgeous, but the characters in her real life are every as bit as entertaining and eccentric.
Read on...