Every Friday, there will be a prompt to lead us to the weekend. I would love to see your responses or thoughts about process in the comments. Or, even better? Leave us a link to your own blog and response there!
I challenge you to sit, breathing just like you do, and just see the world around you. Just a few minutes, a few breaths. Then, set a timer or page limit (for however long you want), and WRITE! Just put pen to paper (fingers to keyboard). Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just ground yourself in the prompt. Come back to it if you need to. But, for all that is good in this world, tell us your story.
This week’s prompt was inspired by the following quote from Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg:
A writer’s job is to make the ordinary come alive, to awaken ourselves to the specialness of simply being.
My timer was set for 10 minutes.
Tell me where you are right now.
I am sitting at a white IKEA dining room table with a taupe plastic food catcher (placemat) under my black covered journal. I’m writing with a blue Bic crystal pen. The ink’s about half full. I hear the calliope of the ice cream truck driving by. There’s the hum of the central air and the sometimes jingle of one of the guinea pigs’ ball with the bell in it. There the phone next to me, the blue water bottle, and the book the prompt’s quote came from.
Right now, there’s sadness in my heart, the deep ache for something I can’t quite name.
I’m in a new place, this place of self-employment. There are changing expectations, a lot more time to myself. There’s this place of being at home alone a lot more. I see Macauly Caulkin with his hands on his face, screaming. I know that there’s no harm, no chance of letting go if I keep my old expectations and old ways of being.
I am in my pjs and I’m almost ready to go to bed. There are lots of things that need to be done and I feel like I want to let go of to do lists.
I try to write like no one’s reading, tryto see how this could be skewed, but also know that this will be the weekend prompting post.
I hear the guinea pig’s grumbling at one another. I keep my pen moving, trying to be brilliant, but sometimes, it’s pushing pen across paper – no brilliance, no sense that this will get me anywhere, except where I am now.
My leg itches and I itch it. I yawn, my face scrunched up and I wonder if Buffalo is playing with her new ball. Her old one had a hold and I had to switch it out so that it wouldn’t fall apart.
Everyone got cages cleaned today, after I worked out in the middle of the floor.
I try to stay upbeat. I’m not used to this much time, and I know I am putting things off. There are two journals with story pieces I want to explore, pieces that need to be typed up, and I wonder why I’ve been finding everything else to do.