August at the Vernonia Library

The Vernonia Library Writing Group met August 20 at 6 pm. We explored the writing practice of Imitation, that is writing about an object or experience in several different ways.

Seeing the moon as a perfect pearl, or a white balloon that had lost its string, or an owl eye without a pupil, or a saucer without a teacup all gave us ideas on different ways to describe a single thought.

The prompt for the group was a sentence of unknown origin, “I will never hide my talent, if I am silent, I am forgotten.” The group was given 15 minutes to free write.

A homework assignment was given to the group. Before the next meeting on Sept. 17, individuals will ‘eavesdrop’ on a conversation and write what they have heard. This practice is designed to focus on not only dialog, but nuances that can change a conversation. Writers are not required to copy the conversation as they heard it, but to see if they can discern and imitate the tone.

Assignments will be discussed at our next meeting scheduled for September 17, 2015, at the Vernonia Library, 7pm.

Diana Lubarsky’s Holocaust Images Presentation September 1

Diana Lubarsky, member of Writers in the Grove, will be presenting a program of story and poetry at the Forest Grove Library in Forest Grove, Oregon, on Tuesday, September 1, 2015, at 7PM in the Rogers Room.

Diana Lubarsky (D.K. Lubarsky) is world renown for her sculpture and poetry on the subject of the Holocaust. A sculpture for over 35 years, her work is on display around the world and a permanent collection at the Florida Holocaust Museum in St. Petersburg, Florida. She will bring six of her more than 60 works from her Holocaust Images collection to the library as well as the poetry pieces that accompany each work.

The event is free, a part of the Cultural Series Events at the Forest Grove Library, 2114 Pacific Avenue, Forest Grove, Oregon 97119. For more information, contact the library at r503-992-3247.

Unlimited Health and Resources Were Available – Who Would I Be?

The following is by Diana Lubarsky, one of our active and prolific members. It is in response to the prompt, If You Had Unlimited Resources.

Spiral of clock. With all the funds I’ll ever need in my pocket, and health and conflict gone, I see myself shedding the skin of survival mode. I slip my thin, healthy young woman’s body from my yacht onto a kayak and paddle gently across the tepid Caribbean waters under a perfect blue sky. A gentle sun warms my back. No longer in survival mode, I am free at last to write of stars and sun, mountains and ethereal beauty; the sights I’ve been privileged to see; the God woven fabric of life.

But soon, I am bored. Inhaling beauty all day is like eating only sugar. My stomach aches. My gaze focuses beyond the magnificent harbor where I lounge, toward the teaming city; a place of dreams and despair, of fortunes lost and lives gambled.

At night I leave my silk shawl behind, scrub my face, don sackcloth, and enter the gates of the destitute. This is where I belong. Birthing babies, bandaging wounds, bringing hope … neck deep in sweat and blood.

Although the majesty of mountain peaks and orchestral music sing to my heart, the first cry of a slimy new born taking its first breath in my arms replenishes my soul.

I have learned, wealthy or not, I am a healer.

August 24, 2015 Monday Workshop: Literary Hooks

Writers in the Grove member Bunny Hansen will be presenting a writing workshop on Literary Prompts on Monday, August 24, 2015, at the Forest Grove Senior and Community Center at 9AM to 11AM.

Literary hooks are the opening sentence or sentences within novels, prose, and poetry that grab the attention of the reader and keep them reading, compell them to keep reading.

This is a repeat of her successful presentation presented at a recent Saturday Writing Workshop at the Forest Grove Library.

See you there.

Prompt: If You Had Unlimited Resources…

The prompt this week was:

IF you had unlimited resources, time, healthy, and energy, what would you write?

What is the tentative working title?

Do you have a character that yells to you from inside that wants to be born?

IF you know what you would write, why aren’t you doing it?

What is stopping you?

Get started.

Write the opening paragraph or chapter. Now.

Too Big for the Bike

The following was inspired from the prompt, “The Novice.”

Child bicycle with training wheels and flowers in the spokes He was too big for the bike. Knees splayed awkwardly outwards, feet slipping off the pedals, hunched over the handle bars determined to hang on, the bike pitched from side to side, training wheels bent up so far, they didn’t touch the ground. It was time. Time for the training wheels to come off. Time for the big boy to ride a big boy bike.

It was two years past the growth spurt that should have graduated him up from his purple and pink bike, red plastic ribbons hanging in a tattered shower from the ends of the white handle grips, purple metal showing through the torn plastic. The plastic flowers, once carefully woven in and out of the wheel spokes, were bend and faded, flapping against the support bars with every pass.

His face puffed fiery patches across his pale cheeks as he struggled for speed along the long driveway. He leaned into the curve of the circular drive and a training wheel grabbed the pavement. He lost control and went down hard. Tears welled up but he gritted his teeth, rose up, and straightened himself and the bike.

“Kiddo,” I called as gently and evenly as I could. “Those wheels are hurting more than helping.” I stayed still on the path to the house, toes even with the edge of the pavement. It was the furthest away he allowed me to be, watching his every movement. “Maybe it’s time to take them off.”

His head whipped around and his grip turned white on the handle bars.

“No!” He twisted the bike around and stomped toward me. “I need the wheels!”

“Looks like they are getting in your way.”

We looked down at the training wheels, little tread left on them. He’d insisted that the wheels remain tightened as an extra braking system, keeping his speed under control, and his fear. Two years of abuse had locked up the nuts rather than loosened them. The tread was worn in even patches, making the wheels blocks not circles. The metal extension brackets were pointed more to the sky than the ground, twisted and scarred from too many crashes. (more…)

Prompt: The Novice

Think of a situation where you or someone else is a complete novice.

This prompt is from the Monday morning workshops for Writers in the Grove at Forest Grove Senior and Community Center.

Taxi to the Airport

The following is by Lorelle VanFossen and is based upon the Prompt: Hero, Villain, Victim. The image was of a young business woman sitting in the back of a taxi, little or no expression on her face.

The whirl of the city whizzed by the taxi as it turned off the highway toward the airport, slowing down to join the long line of other yellow, black, and orange insects carrying passengers to the first destination in their long trip. The traffic thickened to a crawl as the airport approached. Heat rose off engines and pavement in the last of the summer sun. She took a deep breath and let it slowly hiss through her teeth.

Relax the shoulders, she reminded herself. It’s another job well done. The meeting had gone better than expected. The client capitulated quickly to her proposal, a well-crafted and honed pitch. Another notch added in the belt, a thick leather strap once used for threats of family punishment now scarred and missing chunks. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers across the imaginary leather, feeling each notch, each representation of the things she’d accomplished. She worked hard to avoid the belt growing up, the supreme punishment for stealing, lying, and breaking curfew, lessons well learned and used through school, university, internships, job advancements, and now contracts negotiated with Fortune 500 companies like this. I earned this belt, she acknowledged with a slight smile. The pride of another job well done.

A burst of honking made her jump. Another taxi elbowing its way next to them joining the merge as the four lane road narrowed to two as arrivals slid to the left on the lower deck and departures rose above to the right. She rolled up her window, shutting out the stink of the fumes mingled with the end-of-day-heat asphalt. A glance at her watch, a Portuguese Hand-Wound watch simple and elegant and well-deserved after her $1.3 billion contract negotiated in 2012, assured her that the slow down in traffic would not impede her Portland Airport ritual. She took another deep breath willing herself to let go of the stress as she chartered her course through security to her favorite juice bar to fill up on freshly squeezed apple and carrot smoothie blend, then a saunter to the tiny ice cream shop by gate 16. Her father introduced her to this hidden and tasty cold treasure buried among the throng of passengers coming and going, suitcases clunking along behind them. When they were young, he would pick up handmade chocolates for her and her sister and lick his way through homemade vanilla ice cream in a light waffle cone as he waited for the call for first class. When he took her on those first business trips, they’d arrived early to ensure time for those chocolates and ice cream licks before boarding. She could taste the cold cream and unconsciously wiped her chin.

The movement shifted her purse, spilling pens and passport to the floor of the back seat. With a sigh, she pulled her long legs to the side, pressed against the seat belt, and reached for her belongings.

This saved her from the concussive force of the explosion in the airport arrival area, blasting the glass windshield into the face of her driver, killing him instantly.

When Pigs Fly

Bev Walker, a long-time member of Writers in the Grove, contributed this poem. Bev specializes in writing stories and poetry with a bright and lighthearted spirit. an accomplished painter and writer, she’s published books on her family’s history and genealogy, and contributed to many anthologies. She is currently working on a memoir.

There once was a man most curious
who went from silly to serious
when the town he was happily in
was met with a great big wind.
He went up in the might swirl
of a hurricane – and with a girl.
Round and round in terrible weather
Went cow, pig and house all together.
Said the man to the spinning sky,
“Oh, oh, my, look! Pigs can fly!”
They came down in a far off land
set down by a gentle hand.
Man and girl married in a jig,
fixed the house, milked the cow, styed the pig.
And because of their whirlwind romance,
Everyone knew how to dance.
And it never caused a moment’s stir
that they never knew where they were.
So don’t fret if your life is a jumble
one day it will land all a tumble
in a haven where all things come right,
and even pigs dance with delight.