I've had lots of practice at being in love with everything inside the world's rainy arms, I think it has rained every day since they introduced drought measures. This has to have been the wettest drought on record.
Since I've spent the last month with access only to the pen and paper style of writing, I have become addicted to creating scenes that way. Yesterday, I drafted, and typed up, one scene using Word. Last night, I wrote an extended conversation and added layers from the plot and back story to drop into the scene. If I hadn't been addicted to pen I would never have been as technical in my writing.
Spring Cleaning Time!
Theresa Paolo and Courtney Pearson are hosting the Dust It Off Blogfest. I was late entering but the opening of FLOWER just seemed to be too appropriate to miss posting.
FLOWER
Chapter One
Life goes on
The water raged down the pane until
it puddled on the deep, white sill. Not the dribbling dot-to-dot now, the
constant streams were blown sideways by the breeze. I tracked the movement of
one rivulet with my index finger, prodded and hoped to stop, to have any affect
on the running raindrops with about as much success as I'd had with
everything else, lately. With the distraction of walking washed away I'd have
to wait in the house with the fosters, not literally The Fosters, just the
family who'd been doing their best while I'd been doing my worst.
"We could still go out for a walk," Jo said. She
was close, but not touching.
Even with the wind
whistling through the crack at the base of the patio door, and the black clouds
slashing the rain down, I still would have gone out. I needed any kind of
distraction
But little Amy
and Hannah were stretched out in front of the TV. They were singing and playing
with their dolls. Mostly, they were banging the dolls’ heads together. As the
silence grew louder, the plastic dancers became as still as their owners.
"No.
Thanks."
Waves of relief
rolled down the room from the mini pop-princesses. Hannah and Amy went back to the
practice. Who would have thought dolls could audition for TV talent shows.
“Well, not long
now anyway, Flower." Jo patted at my arm before she straightened up and went
back to the kitchen.
I stared at the drops
that fell so easily. Moments later, a little plastic head rubbed at the spot on
my arm that was still weirdly warm.
"Flower? Do
ya' wan' my doll?"
Hannah was
making the ultimate sacrifice and she was making a habit of it.
What I learned from the first piece of writing I ever started as a novel is that, even though I know the theory of how they ought to be used, I have a tendency to treat commas artistically - to paint in breathlessness with tiny black marks.
HAVE YOU EVER FOUND INSPIRATION SOMEWHERE UNEXPECTED?
