writing prompts

I used to be in this writing group and the whole time I felt so legit. I was so incredibly honored to be asked to be in this group of actual writers by my friend Jen who writes and then teaches her writing, for a living.

In the group we would get a prompt, a short phrase or sentence randomly found by one of the members in a magazine or online and we'd all have twenty minutes to write on it. Continuously without lifting up our pen. It was great because this is how I always write anyway, so I finally felt like my form of writing was validated. Like it's okay to write in a stream of consciousness.

Afterward we'd each go around and read what we'd written. It was so scary. Sharing my writing with a group of women whom I had just met. All of whom I felt were so different from me. But then we'd read what we wrote and I'd realize that we really weren't that different after all.

Right now I wish so much that I was still in this group. I wish that I could at the very least reassemble another group of intelligent, emotional, real women and we could write from some place that seems so foreign to us, but is actually so deeply apart of us and read it to each other.

I used to do writing prompts on my own. I'd Google "writing prompts" or I'd discover some sentence in my brain and I'd write on that until I felt like I was done. It's so incredibly hard and it feels like your body is physically creating something, like something deep within you is being drawn out and you have no idea where it's coming from or how it got there. I always write in some sort of stream of consciousness, but when writing within parameters but also through the flow of a stream, it is incredibly difficult.

So I'm going to start doing this again. Even if I no longer have a group of women to sit around with and drink tea and eat coffee cake. I have a good friend who always reads these posts and to her, the other Jen, I am so incredibly grateful!

So today my dear Jenny, I wrote this one:

(I found this Here writers digest)

Love. 
 

Write an episode where you and your favorite fictional character meet accidentally.

It was a chilly night for June, so I grabbed my white shawl before heading out the door. It was sheer so it didn’t provide a great deal of warmth, but it was so pretty I liked to wear it whenever I could. Mama had left me that shawl before she ran out on us. She laid it across me while I slept in my bed and when I woke up I could smell her so I thought she was in the bed right next to me. When I looked down, I saw it was the shawl, and I knew in my heart that Mama was long gone.

On this night in June I needed my Mama. I needed to be reminded of her. To feel her beauty and for a few moments to feel like I was that beautiful too. So I grabbed my shawl, wrapped it around my bare shoulders, and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” My Daddy asked as I opened the screen door.

“I’m going out to meet some friends by the peer” I lied, knowing Daddy would worry if he knew I was wandering around town alone.

           “Ok Hunny Bunny don’t be out too late, it’s a big day tomorrow.” He said, as I walked out the door letting the screen squeak behind me.

Tomorrow was a big day. It was the wedding of my oldest sister Sarah to Thomas Brady an architect from New York City. Next would be Dorothy’s wedding and then, soon after, my own. That’s how it always worked in families with all girls. We got married like stair steps, one after the other. Dorothy was looking forward to her wedding day. For two years she had been in a serious relationship with Jett Barry. He was the first black Pharamcist on the North Shore and his family was one of the richest in town. Dorothy was pretty lucky to get picked up by such a distinguished and established man. Having grown up without a mother, she wasn’t exactly considered the top of the line. None of us girls were. Three little girls raised by a Farmer Daddy from the South.

Daddy moved us up to the North Shore from Georgia thirteen years ago. Before this Depression. He moved us out here because he had a cousin who was looking for a handy man in his car shop. My daddy was a farmer, but he’d always been really handy around the house. So he took the opportunity to get us away from all the rumors. All the whispers while we walked down the street. All the judging glances. All the history of a Mama who left us because she was sick of being a mom. 

Daddy always said he moved us out here because “Uncle” Joe had such a great wife and daughters of his own and he knew that we could all be raised together. But I think the reason he really moved was because he knew Mama wanted to be a Jazz Singer, and New York City had the best Jazz business in the whole country. We never did run into Mama out here though. A few weekends a year Daddy and Uncle Joe would go to New York City to get parts for the shop, but I think Daddy always went out there hoping he’d run into her. Hoping he could get her to come back. Hoping he could get her to realize what a big mistake she had made. Daddy always carried around pictures of us girls in his wallet, probably hoping he could run into her, show her her daughters and then she’d want to come home. But, fifteen years later she still hasn’t returned.

            
We turned out well though. Sarah graduated from William and Mary, Dorothy is at Wells and I was in my second year at Annhurst. Daddy is so proud of his little girls. All educated. All successful. And all engaged to be married. What more could a single father ask for?

            Daddy thinks I’m engaged. And I guess I am. Although Anthony never really asked me the way a gentleman does. He just said to me one day, “So I guess we’ll end up getting married too” and that was that. Now I guess he’s going to be my husband. I’ve known Anthony Meyers since we moved out here thirteen years ago. We grew up with each other, always in the same class at school. He just told me one day when I was sixteen, “You’re my girlfriend” and from then on we’ve been going steady. We’ve never kissed. We spend time together, but not even as much time as I spend with my best friends Lila and Margaret. I guess he’s my fiance but it’s more like he’s my brother. 

Something’s missing. I want romance and fireworks. I want to get butterflies in my stomach when I see him and to be jealous when he talks to other women. I want him to sweep me off of my feet with passion and excitement and I want him to kiss me. All the time. But not with Anthony. With him we just spend time together, and know that one day we’ll be together all of the time.

           

So that’s why I headed out tonight. It was too much talk of weddings and engagements and Anthony and Sarah and Thomas and Dorothy and Jett and I just needed to clear my head. So I walked down to the peer and just stared down at the water. Trying to see if I recognized my own face in my reflection.

As I stared down at the water I saw the waves start to ripple. There were boats all over the water and I could feel one getting closer to me. I got a little nervous. A young colored girl out on the peer alone could end up missing. As I raised my head I could see a well-dressed man on the biggest and most beautiful boat on the water heading towards me. He began waving so I turned around to see if someone was behind me. No one. Was he waving at me? I wondered. 

As he got closer I could see he was smiling and indeed waving at me. “Hello there.” He said as his boat approached the peer. “Are you okay Madam?” He asked. “Me? Yes I’m fine.” I said as my cheeks grew warm. “If you don’t mind me saying it Madam, You don’t look like you’re fine. You look...sad.” I dropped my head looking at the water. “I’m sorry Madam. I hope that wasn’t impolite of me. It just saddens me to see someone so beautiful look so unhappy.” My cheeks grew warmer and my head grew light. I smiled while still looking at the water. I recognized this man from his billboard in town. It was really him. The Mr Gatsby. 

Mr Gatsby was the richest man on all of the North Shore. Even during these tough economic times he somehow managed to have fabulous parties every night, the talk of which were all over town.

            “Madam?” He asked. “Would you like a coat? It’s quite chilly tonight and your shawl, as lovely as it is, doesn’t seem to be keeping you that warm.” He said pointing to my arms which were covered in goose bumps. I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the fact that The Mr. Gatsby was standing in front of me, on a yaht, telling me how beautiful I was. I looked up at him and nodded my head. He gestured towards the boat steps. “Why don’t you come on board? I’ll give you this coat and you can have a drink with me.” Part of me thought this was a horrible idea. Me a twenty-year old practically engaged colored woman from Georgia climbing onto the yaht of a thirty year old single rich white man from New York City, but he was the well-known Mr Gatsby, offering me a coat, a drink, and a ride. So who was I to refuse?