Monday, February 25, 2013

Week 18 (16 on sheet) Treasure Awaits

Treasure Awaits
You receive a letter in the mail from an out-of-town relative asking you to drop everything and meet him in Boston. He doesn't say why, but signs off the letter (just above his name) with the phrase: "Treasure awaits."

My Creativity
I'd just sat down with my afternoon tea and had started sorting through the mail: bill, bill, junk...I stopped. I didn't recognize the handwriting on the ivory envelope. It was addressed to me, but the return address was smudge. All I could make out was the word Boston. Who did I know in Boston?

I examined the off-white envelope, deciding whether to open it. It was sealed with a tiny sticker. The sticker looked like some type of bird, maybe a parrot. The corners were a little bit tattered; had it been dropped in a puddle. It would certainly explain the smudged return address. Without even realizing it, I started opening it up. Hopefully the inside content hadn't been ruined.

For the most part it was ok. There were some smudged words, but none that I couldn't fill in or make out. My eyes instantly went down to the signature at the bottom. What caught my eyes first was the words, "Treasure Awaits". Just below was the name, Kyler. Wow, I hadn't heard from him in years. I think the last time I saw him was at another cousin's wedding.

Dear Mandy,
I know it has been awhile since we've seen each other, but it is urgent that I see you now. I have recently moved to Boston. You must drop everything and meet me. I can't say much more in the letter; I fear someone else might read it. Once you flight is booked, text me at the following number (555)-555-5555. Make sure all it contains is a single line was time of arrive. Nothing more. I will figure it out from there.
(Treasure awaits)

I retread it a number of times. Why so cryptic? What was he talking about? I couldn't just drop everything to meet him. Or could I? My curiosity getting the better of me. I pulled out my laptop to look at flights. There was one leaving in a few hours. Could I make it? Where was my passport?

I quickly booked my ticket, leaving the return date open, and then through a bunch of cloths and toiletries in a small suitcase. I grabbed my keys and looked around the room. Was I forgetting anything? I went back in and quickly called the office, "I won't be able to come into work for the next little while. There is a family emergency. I will phone once I have a better sense of timing."
I hung up; hopefully I would still have a job to come back to.

I was so frazzled when I got to the airport. I hadn't given myself much time. Of course I peep a number of time while going through security. Eventually we concluded that it was likely the underwire in my bra. I walked briskly to the gate and sat down. I barely had time to text "AC123" before they began general boarding.

I fumble with my ID, holding up the line, and tried to pull my carry one with the uncooperative wheels. When I finally sat down in row D, by the window, I took a deep breath. I'd made it. Shortly after the plane took off, I stood to go to the toilet. It was then that I noticed my pants were inside out.

Monday, February 18, 2013

Week 17 (15 on sheet) Anonymous Love

Prompt ~ Anonymous Love
You've been playing Scrabble with an anonymous person online. After some Internet chatting, you realize that you both live in the same town and decide to meet at a local pub. What you didn't expect was to fall in love.

My Creativity
I stood in front of the mirror with my third outfit on. Nothing that I chose seemed right. The red dress was too sexy and said I was easy; the jeans and sweater were to casual; the jeans and blouse were to business like. In the end I settled on a cute little shirt, leggings, and high boots. I wore my favourite 3/4 length shirt, with a v-neck line; underneath I wore a coordinating tight undershirt to hide some of the cleavage. Why was this so hard? I was simply going to meet a friend. Someone I've known for months: for months online.

There is was, the problem. Did I really know this person? Sure we've been playing scrabble for months and chatting for weeks, but did we really know each other? You hear all the time about people becoming someone else on line, creating a new persona. He seemed to honest though. I guess they all do. I only agreed to meet him because it would be in a very public setting. I figured that nothing could happen to me there. I also made sure that my friends knew where I was going and who I was going to meet. I gave them all the information about him that he'd given to me. I felt like I was being paranoid, but you just never know.

My hair was in a simple up do and my make-up was very light. I felt good. I grabbed my long red jacket and walked out to the cab. I decided that if the evening was a big disaster I could at least drink the night away. It never occurred to me that drinking also meant I'd be more vulnerable. Maybe I should have had a friend drop me off and pick me up?

I took a deep breath and got out of the cap. Even though it was cold outside, I stood in front of the pub door. What was I doing? I didn't meet strangers from online? I couldn't just stand him up. I took my cell phone out. I was prepared to call him to cancel. I was curious though. What did this stranger look like? Was he the same in person? Plus, it seemed a bit harsh to cancel when I was already at the bar. What if he'd seen my red coat get out of the cab? So, I walked into the pub and looked around. We'd agreed to meet by the pool tables. I had no idea there would be so many people at the pub on a week night.

I'm not sure how confident I looked walking towards the crowd of people, but as I passed a table I heard my name. Did I turn around? Could I pretend I hadn't heard him? As I stood there contemplating my decision, I felt a tap on my should? Once again I heard my name, only as more of a question this time. I put on my best glad to be here smile and turned around. He was just as I'd pictured him. Medium height and build, with dark brown hair (almost black), and hazel eyes.

"Hello" I replied

"I got us a table."

He pulled out a chair for me. "Um, thank you." Was this an act? Did gentlemen still exist?

"What are you drinking?"

I had sort of thought we'd have separate bills. I should have known he'd be treating. "Um," what was all my "ums"? He'd think I was an airhead. An articulate airhead. "Vodka Seven."

"I'll be right back."

I couldn't help but look at his cute little ass as he walked towards the bar. He wore a pair of jeans that weren't too tight or too loose, so they really shaped it nicely. It felt strange checking him out like that. Would I look at my other male friends' butts? I suppose I would or perhaps I've have.

He returned to the table and sat across from me. I thought the conversation would be awkward, but it wasn't. We were two people, two friends chatting. The problem was that as he talked I couldn't take my eyes of his. I don't even remember him leaning forward and taking me hands. The sat in the middle of the table wrapped in his hands. His strong hands. They were dry. His fingers were long. I noticed the way the corner of his lip turned up slightly as he said certain words. I watched his from his Os. Something was happening that I hadn't counted on at all. I was falling in love.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Week 16 (week 14 on sheet) - Rejection Letter to Your Past Self

Rejection Letter to Your Past Self
Write a letter of rejection to your past self, explaining why you needed to go through the rough patches that complicated your life to grow as a writer.

Note: I have to be honest,I am not sure that I understand what this prompt is asking me to write. I'm not sure if it is the wording or the fact that I am still half asleep. I will give it my best.

Dear Bronwen,
Life is full of failures and successes. Sometimes life goes along smoothly and other times life gets complicated. It is these complication that often cause feelings of inadequacy and full the desire to give up. The thing is, these rough patches actually help to change the individual that you become.

For as long as I can remember, you've wanted to be a writer. I remember a number of times when the possibility of that dream ever coming true seemed impossible.

You can't be a writer because you don't know how to spell, and your grammar is atrocious. Great writers do not have dyslexia or other non-verbal learning disabilities. No one wants to read things that are littered with errors. (Thankfully the invention of computers has taken some of the pressure off. Add to that the fact that mom is great at grammar. It is also nothing that a few English courses won't help with. In fact, one day you will even teach a tight-writing course.)

You find it difficult to complete longer stories. The end never seems good enough and there is always more you can say. Eventually, you do need to let go. A natural ending will write itself. Plus, there is nothing wrong with writing short stories or even a whole series. Don't be scared to end the story and move onto another project. I know that part of it is fear, but fear of what? Really ask yourself that. No one wants incomplete work.

Don't stop writing your poetry? It is a valuable release for your emotions. Write them for yourself and no one else. If you try to fit a certain mold, the poems will come across empty. No one wants to publish poems that seem false, unless of course you pay. Don't get discouraged by the awards that you "pay to win". Lots of writers have fallen for those.

When people don't like your writing, it is not a reflexion on you. As hard as it is, you need to separate yourself from your writing. They are not rejecting you. If a publisher says "no" don't stop trying. Grow. Ask yourself why they won't publish it.

Writing requires a commitment. Are you committed? I don't think you are. Now yet. You need to really want to be a writer. You need to explore various avenues to break into the market. Look at associations and opportunities to do readings. Enter contests, write for magazines...grow your experience and your portfolio. Practice the craft.

Above all, write because you enjoy it. Write for yourself.

Yours truly,

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Week 15 (Week 13 on Sheet) - Hypothetically speaking

Write a paragraph where every sentence contains at least one five-syllable word. Begin with "Hypothetically speaking..."

My Creativity
Hypothetically speaking what would change if all animals could talk? Perhaps even only telepathically. Would it change the classification of all being? Did I spark your curiosity? I think we, as humans, tend to underestimate what animals are capable of. We automatically assume to have the highest level of intellect. Is it a means of self-preservation? Many evolutionist agree that all things living are changing; even some neurologist agree. Change of any kind is inevitable.

note: This was really hard; as you can see by my lame attempt. I wish you better luck than I had.