Storytelling. It is weaving words into a tale of great adventures or a scary ghost story around the fire pit or a fairy tale of happy ever after to a rapt audience. Truly the best time of the day is tucked under the duvet with cold feet on the husband, reading a good book lit by a tiny book light.
Didn’t read or write for many years, well, life interrupted. Now, I’m reading and writing a lot, ever since a trip to Alaska with a friend. My poor friend was confined to bed in our cabin with recurring health issues while I read everything in sight.
Something sparked deep inside and the voice said, “Do you want to be on your deathbed, regretting the death of dreams?” NO.
So I bought a piano and started taking creative writing classes, Discovery and Revision classes. Playing in the writing sandbox lead me to many wonderful writers, (too long to name everyone), and storytellers and bloggers and The Betties Community of wonderful, funny, amazing women and a few good men.
From the Coastland, my journal of sorts, I blogged about my UBC creative writing classmates. Stormy wanted to read them.
For Stormy~ my entry in the Choose Your Weapon* writing contest
* The premise was to choose an item which is not often thought of as a weapon, pick a gender, and write a 150 to 200 word mini scene in which the protagonist defends against or knocks off the antagonist. A post card story is 500 words. This was tough to get everything in 200 words or less. It was an excellent way to choose words carefully.
Meg stood over the toilet, swirled the brush around the bowl and watched the blue water foam as she contemplated her next move. Kayley sat outside the door, back pressed against the wall, arms wrapped around her legs, her head on her knees.
“You’ve got me cleaning the bathroom when we could be on the road,” Meg said. “We have got to get out of here now, Kayley.”
“It has to be clean. It has to smell clean when he gets home.” Kayley said.
“It’s a mausoleum in here. How can you stand all this white marble? Colour, you need colour in your life again. Almost done, now let’s go.” Meg flushed the toilet.
“No…” Kayley screamed as her husband lunged down the hallway.
“You are not going anywhere. Get out of my house. You keep forgetting what I know.” Doug yelled. Meg whirled around, brush dripping water and bleach over the marble floor.
“Yes, we are!” Meg raised the brush like a baseball bat and smacked hard against Doug’s head. He slid on the floor and fell hard against the counter. Meg shoved the bristles into his mouth.
“Run.” Meg slipped as she scrambled around Doug.
So…there you have it, Stormy, my little foray into the world of choosing a weapon. It was a great exercise. There are flaws in the writing and it was…so much fun.
Stay warm, safe, and loved.