descriptive writing

Prompt-a-Month: Metals

Writers in the Grove Prompt-a-Month badge.The February prompt-a-month for our Writers in the Grove members is:

Iron sharpens iron.

Writers in the Grove members may hand in their submissions during the workshops or use our members only submission form. Check out the guidelines and instructions for submissions in the announcement.

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The Car Had a Mind of Its Own

The following was written by Writers in the Grove member, Lorelle VanFossen, inspired by Prompt: The Haven, to write an anthropomorphic description of something.

The car had a mind of its own. Warm morning starts were appreciated, purring with the welcome strokes of affection. Cold mornings were greeted with angry whines, coughs, shutters, and sighs, none too eager to leave the comfort of the cave.

On the flat, it raced and roared, a lion exploding from a crouch among the grasses with a burst of speed, seizing the nape of the road with blood thirsty glory.

Hills made it gasp and wheeze, an old man dragging himself, cane in one hand, banister in the other, up each dreaded step, questioning each one, evaluating the true reward at the top.

Downhill, I swear the car held its arms over its head and shouted “Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” like a child tearing down a wintry hill barely holding onto the cardboard under its body. Downshifting to control the free fall brought little result save billowing clouds of blue smoke out the back in protest of being called home for dinner when there was fun still to be had.

The job of the little car was to get me there and back safely. It took its responsibilities seriously, never letting me forget how hard it worked for me. Thus, it deserved its name: Martyr.

Given the Answer

The following is based upon the NaNoWriMo prompt, The Answer is Blue, and written by Writers in the Grove member, Ann Farley.

Question, if you will, the sky,
at turns sapphire, robin’s egg, pink-gray
glistening like scales down a salmon’s side,
shifting with the wind and rain, sun and moon.

Question the ocean, a lake, this small pond
reflecting an opalescence, shimmering,
or suddenly so flat it pulls you in deep,
just a trick of light, playing into the dark.

Question the eyes of a newborn
searching for focus, watery wash of pigment,
unaccustomed to all this brightness,
delicate orbs that deepen and set in time.

Question those favorite jeans of yours,
washed and worn beyond softness,
a sort of ready comfort rarely found;
at their very finest just before the fray.

Question, even, your own sweet mind
and its tenuous tether to your heart,
a relentless tugging, calling for change,
those low places you go to sort it all out.

Question all of it, again and again.
Keep quiet watch, for the answer is blue.

October 22,2015