Week 3: Write for 5 right now

photo by gayle mavor

photo from Creative Commons CC0-public domain

If it’s Saturday morning, it must be time to Write for 5. Or not! This is Week 3 of doing this and I’ve so enjoyed reading the writing of those writers who have taken the time out of their hectic schedules to sit themselves down and courageously face the blank page and screen.

If you’ve participated before, you know the routine.  If not, here are the guidelines:

·         I post a photo (or two) here at 8am on Saturday morning.

·         You look at the photo(s) above this blog post.

·         You take as much time as you need up to Sunday at 9pm

·         When you’re ready to write, set the timer for five minutes.

·         When you’re done, you post your results in the comments.

·         Do I ever look at what I’ve written and change a few words, and fix it slightly? Of course. I wouldn’t want you to put up what you don’t feel comfortable sharing. But perfection is not the goal. Heck, it’s not even possible. Five minutes. That goes FAST. But that’s the challenge and for me, that’s the fun.

·         Form is open: poetry, CNF, Flash fiction. You decide.

·         After it’s over, on the following Monday, I’ll let you know whose writing touched me in that moment in some way. Usually, it’s in a way that I’m not always able to define as to why. Then, I choose a book for that writer from one of my books and mail it to them. It’s an awesome way to cull my books, and to give someone a nice surprise.

Good luck. Give it a try!

PS: I probably won’t be posting my own response until Sunday morning. No time this Saturday. Very thankful for the scheduling feature in WordPress.

9 thoughts on “Week 3: Write for 5 right now

  1. *unedited*
    I’d taken only what fit in my school backpack, only underwear and small pieces of clothing that didn’t cause a suspicious lump to raise under the gray canvas.

    “See you in an hour. Just off to the library. I still hate chemistry!” I called out to my mother. I tried to close the back door casually behind me, tried to walk, not flee, down the back stairs and to the lane. I felt a tremor in my core.

    At the end of the yard, I turned right, past the recycling and the open garage door and the garbage can tipped on its side by racoons. I began to run. My heart took only seconds to move from my chest to my throat, thumping, my pulse keeping its beat in my ears. I ran.

    Puddles filled by the morning rain formed an easy obstacle course – only two in my path were unavoidable. When my feet slammed into the muddy water, the splashes soaked my jeans past my knees. I kept running.

    When I was six blocks farther in the opposite direction of the library, I saw the suburban bus slowly moving down Smith Avenue making its way to the intersection. The intersection. The bus stop.

    There was an elderly woman fighting with her umbrella while she waited for the bus. The wind had blown it inside out and no matter how many times the woman clicked the mechanism or shook the handle, the material wouldn’t go back the way it was.

    I reached the stop in plenty of time. I’d worn navy blue leggings under my jeans. As I caught my breath waiting for the bus to travel one more block towards the intersection, I peeled off the jeans that had never fit right and discarded them on the bench.

    The elderly woman took notice, and threw her umbrella on the bench in solidarity, just as the bus exhaled at the stop and the doors crashed open. I smiled at the woman, she nodded, and in silence we stepped up onto the bus to begin our journeys.

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  3. I’d just arrived the night before in San Miguel de Allende. I’d slept late. When I walked out of the hotel, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes before a young man, I think he was wearing a speedo, but he had a skull on his head, and he came running towards me, Senora! Senora! and then he plopped this massive sombrero down onto my head. A flash went off. Someone took my photo. He grabbed my arm, linked it in his and I was caught up in, I didn’t know what it was. Day of the Dead? Gay Pride? Carnaval? Or just some weird local tradition? I can’t say. He was so friendly. Someone else came up and kissed me on both cheeks. He handed me a doxen. What do you call those wiener dogs? It was on a leash with flowers around its neck and I was swept up in this wonderful, brassy, loud, exhilarating chattering Mexican parade. We picked up other tourists sashaying down this wide boulevard. It was so hot but I let myself go and the more I took on my new part, Senora out of control and liking every minute of it, I was having one of the best times I’ve had in my life.
    I cherish that photo. I was going through an old box of photos the other day, cleaning up and I must have looked at that thing for at least 5 minutes, transporting myself back a few years, Was it five now? When for a short hour, in that beautiful old town, surrounded by those colonial buildings, yellows and pinks, I knew I was glad that I’d made the trip.

  4. Can’t stand the rain,
    I’m off to sunny Spain,

    Forget the umbrella,
    I’ll grab a young fella

    Will let you all know
    When we reach Mexico.

    (Forgive the doggerel, it’s all I can do today).

  5. Maybe if I put this silly hat on I can remember where I left my pants. Why did I get into this situation? If I had worn the hat, I would not have wanted to take the umbrella, except as a fashion statement.
    This was not a good disguise for a bank robbery. Even though I could put the loot in my hat, I still would be embarrassed by leaving my pants on a park bench. The umbrella totally does not fit the scheme, either.
    What I never told anyone… after I was arrested, read my rights, and booked into jail… was the lottery ticket in the pants pocket. I will never know if it is the winning number. It will be a while before I get out of jail, if I ever do. Wearing a broad brim straw hat in a serious fashion crime. The bank robbery was a minor matter in comparison. It certainly gives you something to ruffle your eyebrows over, when you are trying to get someone to accept the collect call from the jail.

    • Wouldn’t that just be like too many people’s lives? “But, but, but, I left the winning lottery ticket in my pants. Honest, officer!” Thanks for playing, man with bag over your head. I like your line of creative thinking. Remind me to never hire you to carry out a bank heist. Happy Sunday wherever in the world you are. Come back to my blog tomorrow to find out who wins a book. Have a great day. We do this again next Sunday. I hope you’ll come back.

  6. How do you like this, Violet? Me in my latest hat creation? It’s my granddaughters who got me up in it. Treat me like their prize doll, those two, plopping me in this shocking pink and yellow sombrero the size of a small planet, then wheeling me out onto the terrace for all the world to see. Midday sun and all. Didn’t even bother taking me out of my bathrobe, those two little minxes. Afterwards, they took pictures, giggling their sweet little blonde heads off. I couldn’t help smiling, except now when I look at the photo, it’s come out the way Mother smiled when she was fed up to the back teeth. With the non-smile, and my eyes popping out over the top of my dollar store spectacles, I look a proper caution, don’t I? It’s nice to be around the young, though, don’t you think? Takes the edge of this old place with all its sad stories.

    • This brought me directly back to a memory as a kid when my brother and I used to get dressed up in our sisters dresses and high heels and they’d help us. Your description of the two young granddaughters is so sweet and who wouldn’t be able to see the fun they were having, grandma getting caught up in their youthful joie de vive to deposit a happy moment into her non descript weeks. Thanks Sue for “playing.” I hope you enjoyed it. I’ll decide tomorrow who I’ll send the book to. Have a lovely Sunday.

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