Rules

Rules:
1. Read the writing prompt, but only the prompt. I don't want your writing to be influenced by my (or anyone else's) response.
2. Sit down and spend 15-30 min writing whatever comes to mind. Poetry, prose, whatever you want, just write something. Don't make it something you labor over. Write. Enjoy.
3. Share in the comments.
4. Please keep it PG-13 and under. Don't go all 50 Shades or Chucky on me.
5. There is a time and a place for constructive criticism. This is not one of them. This is a stretching exercise. Please remember the words of Thumper, "If you can't say nothin' nice, don't say nothin' at all."
***All material on this site remains the property of the original author. Do not copy or share without permission. Thank you! **


Monday, September 14, 2015

Grab a book #5

I like these prompts because I get to see what other people are reading.  So, grab the nearest book (or the book your mind is most obsessed with right now, whichever works for you)!

Find page 142, first full paragraph, first sentence.  That will be your prompt for the week.  (If there's nothing on page, try 143 ...)

Remember to share in your response what book it is and what your prompt line is.

Enjoy!

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My response:

I have Ally Condie's ATLANTIA on my shelf by my computer.  On page 142, it reads, "It's a terrible story," Maire says. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

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McKay held the half-door open, and I stepped into the swaying gondola.  The chaos and music of the fair melted away as we rose into the night sky.  From above, the lights of the fairway shone like fireworks.  McKay slipped his arm around my back, and I leaned against him.

"Worth the drive?" He whispered.

I chuckled.  "Yes.  Definitely worth the drive."  I'd been skeptical when he'd told me where we were going, but he was right.  This little county fair had been just the thing to raise my spirits.

We watched the lights glide by, and McKay handed over another set of tickets, so we could ride again.  I didn't expect his next question.

"It's been nearly a year now."  I could hear the hesitation in his voice.  "Are you ready to talk about it?"

There was no question what he meant.  But no.  I wasn't ready.  I pulled away from him.

"No."

He pressed further.  "You refused a therapist, even though the college would have provided one.  You won't let your Dad pay for one.  I know you're not talking to Sara about it, and you're not talking to me.  You can't keep it bottled up forever."

That was where he was wrong.

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