I came upon this book, 642 Things to Write About at a thrift store the other day. Naturally, I bought it, because I have nothing else to do in my life. Also ignore the fact that I already have 131 drafts of posts that I could work on instead.
My good friend Taylor recently shared some prose with me that he wrote as part of an exercise, simply to push himself as a writer. Um, why am I not doing this? I have aspirations of writing all kinds of books, eventually. A memoir, a cookbook, a collection of poetry, a novel (???), among other ideas. These prompt responses aren't a huge time commitment, and I would love to hone my skills as a writer, so I'm planning to post my responses to the prompts here on the blog now and again.
I hand-wrote this scene in the book and used up all the space, which explains why it is so short. I could use some training in brevity.
Here's the first prompt: You are looking down through the skylight as chefs prepare dinner for your ex-fiance's wedding.
8/14/15
I was glad to see that there was a tray of of pigs in a blanket. Pigs in a blanket? What is this? Third grade home room? "Costco Deluxe Events"? I couldn't believe that someone who was once in love with me could now be in love with someone who serves pigs in a blanket at a party that's supposed to express the flavor of one's romance.
I was glad to see this because I felt less certain that Anthony really belonged with me if he was marrying a Pig in a Blanket. I wish I could say I was a leather-clad vixen burglar, and that's what I was doing on this roof top, but I'm more of a pathetic drunk with an ungodly ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I looked down again at the mini weenie fest unfolding below, only to see the last one disappearing into the mouth of the sous chef's daughter. I had missed her before, sitting under the 5th industrial sink, coloring with crayons. The other thing I missed that night was the fact that a room away, Anthony was pledging his life away to two men.
Nothing is ever as it seems.
My good friend Taylor recently shared some prose with me that he wrote as part of an exercise, simply to push himself as a writer. Um, why am I not doing this? I have aspirations of writing all kinds of books, eventually. A memoir, a cookbook, a collection of poetry, a novel (???), among other ideas. These prompt responses aren't a huge time commitment, and I would love to hone my skills as a writer, so I'm planning to post my responses to the prompts here on the blog now and again.
I hand-wrote this scene in the book and used up all the space, which explains why it is so short. I could use some training in brevity.
Here's the first prompt: You are looking down through the skylight as chefs prepare dinner for your ex-fiance's wedding.
8/14/15
I was glad to see that there was a tray of of pigs in a blanket. Pigs in a blanket? What is this? Third grade home room? "Costco Deluxe Events"? I couldn't believe that someone who was once in love with me could now be in love with someone who serves pigs in a blanket at a party that's supposed to express the flavor of one's romance.
I was glad to see this because I felt less certain that Anthony really belonged with me if he was marrying a Pig in a Blanket. I wish I could say I was a leather-clad vixen burglar, and that's what I was doing on this roof top, but I'm more of a pathetic drunk with an ungodly ability to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I looked down again at the mini weenie fest unfolding below, only to see the last one disappearing into the mouth of the sous chef's daughter. I had missed her before, sitting under the 5th industrial sink, coloring with crayons. The other thing I missed that night was the fact that a room away, Anthony was pledging his life away to two men.
Nothing is ever as it seems.
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