The prompt this week was:
Think of an episode or event in life, childhood, or adulthood. Think of where it occurred, when, what season, and those involved. Think in terms of senses other than sight. If you were a sculpture, what would the texture be for the sculpture you would make of this? What are the sounds, smells, touch, sensations other than sight? Use sight minimally or not at all to tell your story.
“The mystery of knitting … remains a mystery” was published in April 2017 on The Christian Science Monitor by Murr Brewster. Her essay went viral and became our prompt this week.
That’s just freaky. Because knitting makes no sense at all. A knitter, by definition, creates holes by surrounding them with string, using sticks, a clickety-clickety noise, locally sourced air, and goodness.
Those of us who suspect we are not innately good can barely aspire to the art. And yet, I so aspired. I wanted a hat.
I bought a ball of string and some sticks and I found a tutorial online. After stopping the video four or five hundred times, I cast on 50 stitches. Then, staring hard, and trying to make my sticks and string match up to the video, I succeeded in making an entire knit stitch.
Then I made another one. And somehow, with great care and deliberation, I soldiered my way to the end of the row, 50 knits in a line. It was a triumph of historic proportions.
Slow, yes; challenging, sure; and yet majestic and powerful. I felt like Hannibal marching his elephants across the Alps into Italy.
I consulted the tutorial. They don’t warn you about this when you’re learning how to knit, so I’ll tell you now: You can’t just learn to knit. You have to learn to purl, also.
“Hit the boats!” I heard Hannibal shout. “We’re headed to Sardinia!”
Nuts! I studied the video again, and I manufactured a single purl stitch, and then another, and eventually rowed my way back to the beginning. According to the calm and cheerful woman in the video, that’s all there is to it. If you can make a knit stitch, and you can make a purl stitch, you’re on the road to glory. You can make cable-knit trousers for an octopus. I was beginning to be suspicious of her, but I carried on.
Our prompt, based upon this article, was first to study it and discover what made it work, and not work. We explored:
The next part of the prompt was to write something based upon this example and use humor.
The prompt this week is around the idea of communication and how you manage and convey expections.
The prompt this week is:
Does travel broaden the mind or only the beam?
The prompt this week is to write a story based on shoes and it has two parts.
The April prompt-a-month for our Writers in the Grove members is:
Just Desserts
The deadline for submissions is 5/1/2017. Submissions will be published during the next 30 days.
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.
The prompt this week came from an article in the March/April 2017 issue of Writer’s Digest: 20 Prompts To Banish The Blank Page by Bonnie Neubauer.
The prompt chosen was #17, “France With No Pants”:
You have just won a free two-day trip to France, but there’s a catch: You must leave immediately. There’s no time to go home and pack. All you can bring is what you are wearing and carrying with you today. You are given 15 minutes and $55 to spend at the airport store. What do you buy, if anything?
Tell the story of your adventure to the person sitting next to you on the return flight home. Start with: What a whirlwind …
Now really, what more needs to be said? Write it!
The prompt was to set a scene as a writer for a particular purpose and use at least four of the bodily senses to contribute towards that purpose.
The prompt came from “Fire Ice” by Clive Cussler, with Paul Kemprecos:
After several minutes, during which the city lights faded to a glow, the car whipped down a darkened, garbage-strewn street into an alley not much wider that the vehicle. Austin’s companions hustled him from the taxi and stood him against a brick wall while they bound his hands behind his back with duct tape. Then they pushed him through a doorway along a dim hall and into the lobby of an old office building. Grime covered the marble floor. On one wall was a brass floor directory black with the patina of age. The smell of onions and the muffled cry of a baby indicated that the office building was being used for human habitation. Probably squatters, Austin surmised.
His escorts nudged Austin into an elevator and stood behind him. They were hulking men, as big or brawnier than Austin, who had never considered himself to be a pigmy. The space was cramped and Austin stood with his face pressed against the cold wrought iron of the ornate gate. He guessed that the elevator must date back to the time of the sultans. He tried not to think of frayed and neglected cables as the elevator slowly jerked and rattled up to the third and last floor. The elevator was more nerve-wracking than the speeding car. The elevator cracked to a stop, and one his escorts growled in his ear.
“Out!”
He stepped into a dark hallway. One man grabbed the back of Austin’s shirt in a bunch, used it to steer him forward and brake him to an abrupt stop. A door opened, and he was maneuvered inside. There was the odor of old paper and oil from long-ago business machines. He felt pressure upon his shoulders, then the edge of a chair bumped against the back of his knees. He sat down and squinted into the darkness. A spotlight flashed on, and Austin saw sunspots as the glare hit him in the face. He blinked like a suspect being given the third degree in on old gangster movie.
Set a scene for a particular purpose and use at least four of the bodily senses to contribute to your purpose.
The prompt was to write using metaphors and similes to describe an experience without telling us what it is.
The prompt came from “Jitterbug Perfume” by Tom Robins:
Thus, even though his back now was turned to the allure of the morning star, even though a stout breeze flattened his beard against his Adam’s apple, even though his damp clothing clung to him like frost, he whistled from stump to rock as if he was a tea kettle leading the pack in the annual pot-and-open cross-country marathon.
Write using metaphors and similes to describe an experience (as in this example that this is a man on a walk) without telling us what it is.
The prompt this week was to write about sleeping or dreaming.
Write from your experience about this.
Writers in the Grove 