September 2, 2019
There were two options for today’s prompt:
- Peace, Love and Muddy Paws
September 2, 2019
There were two options for today’s prompt:
During the 2017 NaNoWriMo event in November, Writers in the Grove members offer these prompts to provide inspiration and incentive to keep you going during the self-competition to write 50,000 words in 30 days. You may find NaNoWriMo prompts from previous years and prompts from our weekly workshops.
Today’s NaNoWriMo prompt is:
What she wouldn’t give to talk to him just one more time. One more smile. One more touch was all she thought about as she trudged along…
If you are participating in NaNoWriMo, or wish to, Writers in the Grove offers an extensive range of NaNoWriMo tips and techniques to help you through the month long writing project.
The following prompt is from one of our Writers in the Grove members for our NaNoWriMo prompt-a-day project for November 2016.
A little fantasy fun prompt today:
Her horoscope read, “You will meet the love of your life today. Be open and ready to embrace it.”
Check out our list of prompts for even more inspiration.
The prompt this week came from Louis de Bernières’ Corelli’s Mandolin:
Love is a temporary madness.
It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides.
And when it subsides you have to make a decision.
You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.
Because this is what love is.
Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion.
That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.
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.
The following is one of the prompts created by members of Writers in the Grove in response to Prompt: Round-Robin Writing in a Group.
Cheri: The smell was familiar and touched a deep place in my heart. Why had I been so angry? Why was he? I am sure it was because of the kids, the unpaid bills, life, the usual suspects of marital discord. No one was talking, we were both just sitting there, angry. I didn’t want to be angry, but I wasn’t about to give in. I was right. Let him apologize. I could only assume he was thinking the same thing, which was getting us nowhere fast. As I sulked on the couch waiting for an apology, my mind wandered to an anecdote I had read a few weeks ago. The article asserted that whenever you are angry with the one you love, walk over and sniff them. The thought made me both laugh inside and smile. No way! I wanted nothing to do with him right now, but maybe…
Dorothy: …I was really angry with myself. Why did I ever love HIM? Why not someone else, anyone else. That darn smell. The smell is to blame. My anger was strong and protected me, but then…maybe I could smell him. Just walk over and lean down and smell him. NO, No! I would probably like the way he smelled. NO. STOP. Don’t let the anger go – it is the only thing protecting me – I need to be angry.
But I can’t. It cost me too much. I do love him. He is not my enemy. He is my friend, my lover. Surely we can work on this – yet there are so many things. Can we work together?
Bev: I’ll do it. Had to try it.
I got up, walked over to his chair, and leaned over his head. His arm went up in defense.
“What are you doing?”
I took a sniff. Hair gel mingled with after shave, and something else. What was that? Familiar, yet not. I stood back and looked him in the eye.
Susan: “I remember,” I said in a hushed tone. “I remember when…”
I saw the look in his eyes, the look of distrust. That was the same look that I had seen in the mirror last month, last week, and even this morning. The distrust that came from hopes and dreams that had been shattered, then scattered about as mere trash. All the memories came flooding back as I remembered his words saying he was moving on without me.
MJ: That meant that I would be all alone. He did not like me any more. He didn’t need me. Where do I go from here?
DK: There are times in life when one must love, and still leave. Remember the first, but walk away from the anger. A place deep in my heart told me this was one of those times.
Barry would always be my first love. That smell, or scent would always take me to a memory of better days and love and bright beginnings. But now, it was time to move on. To find other scents, and colors, and experiences.
I walked to the table, signed the divorce papers, and smiled. I looked into Barry’s deep blue eyes one last time.
“I love you,” I said as I walked out the door.
Lorelle: “And good riddance to bad rubbish,” I quoted the old Bugs Bunny cartoon to myself, then cringed. The relationship hadn’t been rubbish. There had been beautiful moments, memories of moments brought back by the scent of hair gel, burnt into darkness by the resentment in his eyes.
In the car, I gave that thought more consideration as I put the key in the ignition. Memories of joy triggered by hair gel? I started to laugh, hard. Gut tearing laughter. Mouth open, guffaws exploding out.
I put my hand over my mouth, then the laughter turned to sobs. Tears for hair gel. Not funny any more. I cried for the angry voices, the missed appointments, the mean things said behind people’s backs – those were the memories I hoped would be washed away with the tears.
The engine revved as I pressed too hard on the gas as the key turned. I had to leave now. It was now or never. Yet it was done. Finished. Time to leave.
It was final. I’d done it. A done deal. Time to get over it and get on with it. But get on with what? I wasn’t sure what I would move onto, but it was time. The act of putting the car into gear and stepping on the gas felt good, in control, confident. A wipe of my eyes cleared my vision. I let my foot off the brake and rolled down the driveway.
I had plenty to move on toward, I assured myself. Let’s start by turning left.
The following is one of the prompts created by members of Writers in the Grove in response to Prompt: Round-Robin Writing in a Group. Please note that there was an overall time limit for the writing and not all stories completed well.
Susan: The smell was familiar and touched a deep place in my heart. It took a moment to register but it was an Avon scent. Roses, Roses. I remember the bottle clearly as it sat on the mahogany vanity. It was made of a silky looking, almost clear glass in the shape of a flower. The center of the flower had a small plastic cup that turned, and when opened, delivered a heavenly fragrance. It was a very special bottle and was only used on rare occasions. The last time the bottle was opened as when Dotty went to the dance at the old grange hall.
Margaret: When I got there I was taken aback by the big crowd. There were a lot of young men there. I thought I should be able to take my pick, but every time I looked again, he had disappeared. What should I do now, she wondered. There was nobody there I knew. Maybe I should just leave.
DK: As I turned to go, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder and a soft voice asked, “May I have this dance?”
I looked up into the face of the most handsome young man I had ever seen. My words fled from my brain and my mouth, and I was barely able to say “yes.”
He put his arms around me. The music was slow. “My name is Brad,” he whispered. What’s yours?”
“Monica,” I replied.
“What’s that perfume you are wearing? It smells wonderful.”
Lorelle: I blushed and dropped my head to his shoulder. I could hear the beat of his heart echoing through my body, and felt my heart slowly match his rhythm as our feet moved across the floor of their own volition. As I seeped into him, pressing closer, his breath warm through my hair, tickling my ear, I knew I’d found home.
The scream of anguish cut through my peaceful senses. Brad and I whirled toward the noise as everyone came to a halt on the dance floor. The musicians instruments made awkward screeching sounds as they trailed off to quiet.
Dotty stood at the edge of the dance floor, tears pouring down her face. Her dress was dirty and torn, bits of dark flesh peaking through. She put her hands up to her face and screamed again, then pointed at me.
Cheri: Dotty and I had a history, and much of of Dotty’s history was wrapped up in histrionics. She was drama, and when you couple that with her desire to receive the most attention, her fit made sense. Was this another attempt to get attention? I wouldn’t hold it past her. Last year at the church picnic, she almost “drowned,” men flocking to her side to “save” her. It was always something. But the real injuries on her body seemed like something more, something real – after all, how do you fake real injury and why would you want to? But the real question was, “What does this have to do with me?” In a million years I wouldn’t hurt a soul. Does this have something to do with this amazing man I just met? Suddenly it all made sense. Dotty was…
Susan: …willing to die to get all the attention. Everyone here knew her and her games. It appeared as someone was tired of them and had shot Dotty. Dotty was dramatic but harmless, so why would someone shot her? Someone had obviously called 911 and the paramedics were arriving. I was pushed closer into Brad as they passed by. Brad’s arms held me closer with a firm loving grip. It was as if we had know each other all our lives.
Bev: But why had she pointed at me before she collapsed? Or had she? In the crowded room I could have mistaken her pointing at us. Maybe she was reaching out for help? I pushed through the crowd and rushed to her.
“Dotty, what is it?”
“Monica, I’m, sorry,” she whispered.