TT: Writing Exercise
Written By: Jane E. on March 3, 2009
7 Comments
Hey everyone, it’s time for another writing exercise. I’ll probably do these every other Tuesday; next Tuesday I hope to post my interview with Marci Baun, publisher of Freya’s Bower.
On another note, the first review for Puppy Love is in, I’ve posted it on my website. I hope you’ll have a look. Thanks to Diana Coyle of Night Owl Romance for the review.
Now, on to the writing exercise! Please post a poem, story, or song based on the picture below. I’ve decided to take out the 200 word or less restriction and just let you write what you feel like writing. We all look forward to reading your entries!
~Jane
Tags: photo, TT, Writing Exercise
Is this where you dropped your contact lens?
See the heather fine before us
Let’s play together and sing a chorus
A sepia tone
I think we’re alone
In this field, we’re so cute, adore us.
Thanks you two!
As usual, Leigh, you write something good no matter what the photo is!
Aw, thanks, Jane! I thought it was to be a sonnet, but the limerick came out.
Sorry I’m late!
Christopher frowned as he trudged through the meadow, ankle-high grass parting with each step. He knew he shouldn’t have left his little sister Charlotte behind. But he needed to be alone, needed to think about the letter he’d read earlier. Mother had MS. He remembered the paper fluttering to the ground as he stood there trying to understand why the floor of his world had suddenly and violently tilted, upsetting him in an emotional free fall.
“Christopher!” He winced at the plaintive voice and turned. Charlotte stood there in her plaid jumper, long blond hair partly obscuring her face. She gripped a blue balloon in one hand. It bobbed and weaved on the breeze as if trying to escape its mooring.
He shook his head. “Go away,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. She looked too much like Mother. But he couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. And then she surprised him.
“I know about Momma!” Her voice carried across the meadow, thin and high. He heard a tremor in it.
He hesitated a moment and then held out his hand. Charlotte reached forward with extended fingers, releasing the balloon. Together they watched it float heavenward.
So now we know who’s terse, who’s lyrical, and who goes right for the emotional jugular.
Omg! I’m so glad I wasn’t drinking coffee when I read your last comment, Jacquie. I’d be cleaning off my monitor.
At least we’ll never accuse each other of plagiarism.
Happy Writing!