Writing Prompt: Child Bride

My niece Tori stopped by tonight on the way to a Halloween party taking place at her Tae Kwan Do class. She wore the bridal gown costume that I bought her. I managed to corral her long enough to take a few pictures. This was my favorite.

Halloween

For tonight and tonight only Try on another face, a face of tomorrow a face of fantasy, a face of what could be

Breathe in childhood Twirl in the magic of youth For Halloweens are fleeting Years move swiftly Soon you will be asked to don one face for real

For tonight and tonight only Be a princess, a mermaid, A monster, a bird Become familiar with your faces and facets The realm of possibility So that when Halloweens are over You'll not hide behind a mask

But shine brightly with a youth well lived All the creatures inside you Not hidden but bursting forth with a flash of Trick or Treat eyes

Writing Prompt: What creatures hide inside you? What masks have you worn?

Writing Prompt: Seeing

The day I picked up a camera the world became a more interesting place. Tonight, I walked out of a bookstore and looked down at the grate on the ground. Three small yellow leaves created a path almost like footprints along its path. I took out my iphone, since my camera sat in my car, and snapped the above photo. The result is less organic than what I saw, more abstract, but I love the result. It seems this fall has been in a mix of gold and gray to me and I love how this photo captures both.

A thin strip of trees stands in the middle of the K-Mart parking plaza. I have taken pictures of the branches and the berries and birds singing in those trees. At night the street lights shine on them and through them casting a golden glow. I noticed it as I came out of one of the stores and walked toward my car. Again, I whipped out my i-phone and as I approached the scene, I realized one of the trees created a perfect frame for the others. Since I started creating my collages I am particularly drawn to pictures like this that can serve as a background for a story. This picture, however, also works well on its own. It draws me into a secret, magical world that stands right there out in the open -- like a parellel universe living alongside this one, that one can only see if one's eyes are open.

Writing prompt: When have you seen things differently?

Writing Prompt: Letting Go

Writing Prompt: Write about a time when you had to let go. What were the circumstances? How did it feel?

Writing Prompt: Flight

You do not live in the northeast long without witnessing the seasonal migration of Canadian geese away from our cold climes; their journey a harbinger of winter's rapid arrival. Late last Sunday afternoon, I felt less witness and more participant as the rush and roar of them seized something primal in me, sweeping me up in their journey. My sister-in-law and I were out shooting photos, when we felt a gush of wind and an assault of noise. SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK! I barely had time to lift my camera to the sky and snap this photo before they passed by.

What must it be like to heed such a call, to know when it is time to move and when to return? Often I have thought I could take flight if I only knew the direction, if I had inside me such an unwavering beacon. And, in that moment part of me lifted and soared to the possibility. And, part of me stood anchored to home and hearth, to the familiar. And, I'm not sure one path is preferable. We always dream of the flight, but there can be steel in the staying, seeing a path through. The geese? Perhaps they know the best of both. They come and they go, choosing here and there. And, I can look up and go with them and I can plant my feet and discover in both air and ground the totality of who I am.

Writing prompt: When have you stayed? When have you gone? And, how did you know it was time to do either?

Writing Prompt: Thursdays

Thursdays are my weary days -- my wet dishrag days, where I have little incentive to do much. Mostly, it is because on Thursday evenings I teach, which means the day is spent in preparation -- correcting papers, putting together lesson plans.

I come away from the class, late at night rejuvenated. I love to hear what my students have written, but I don't relish the preparation. Usually, on Thursdays there are other things I should be doing -- writing articles, conducting interviews, personal errands, but because the class looms at the end of the day I can never begin much, can never get too involved. That makes me weary. I don't like boundaries; I like the freedom to take flight.

I choose to teach on Thursdays because of this. So I can get as much done earlier in the week as necessary, so that Friday -- my favorite day -- looms ahead. Thursdays are nice days, in fact, I have always had a fondness for them, but they are slow days, deflated days, sometimes stressful days, depending on how much I need to prepare and how much else I have to do. They are sisters to Sunday afternoons only with work to do. They are not days of rest, but days with only one particular focus, one outcome, and a long steady stretch leading to it. I like the freedom to take side roads and byways. I like to be open to possibility.

Tonight, after class I will feel differently. Thursday nights infuse me with energy. I always wish I could bottle this and bathe in it on Thursday mornings, so I would wake refreshed and effervescent, ready to zoom forward. It doesn't work that day.

Writing Prompt: When do you feel tired?

Writing Prompt: The Fingerprints of God

The apocryphal Gospel of Thomas includes a passage that reads: "Split the wood and I am there; pick up the stone and you will find me there."

I understand these words, for it is in ordinary moments that I find God. I watch my pugs at their dance: a commonplace conversation to them, the mysterious, the profound to me. I am on the outside as they talk, privy to something beyond my understanding.Alfie grabs a toy or a rose petal in her mouth and Waffles comes for it. Alfie bows her head to the right, lifts her left paw and gently brushes Waffles' face. Waffles approaches and filches the bone or the toy or the flower from Alfie's mouth. Sometimes Alfie relinquishes it as if this is the expected outcome, sometimes she engages in playful banter. They speak. I bear witness.Sometimes it is just animals talking, sometimes in their conversation I see the fingerprints of God.Writing prompt: Where do you find the profound?

Response to The Face of Memory

I received back several lovely responses to the writing prompt: "What does memory look like to you?"  One of my favorites, and I assure you this is not simple nepotism, is by my sister-in-law Gretchin Gifford. You can read it on her blog: http://yourmomisstrange.blogspot.com/2012/09/memory-writing-prompt-from-pugs-... Gretchin is a new mommy and a graphic designer by trade, but there is more than a little writer in her. I am still thinking of her phrase "fire by the friction of major and minor chords."

Writing Prompt: The Face of Memory

In addition to being a writer, photographer and avid pug lover, I also teach memoir writing. When I launch my new web site, I thought I might try adding a writing prompt at the end of some posts such as this one.

When I went outside today I saw this fallen petal from yesterday's photo op with the pugs. Unlike most of the others, which had blown away or shriveled up and died, this one sat withered, but still pink, glistening with yesterday's raindrops. It had a fragile beauty that fresher blossoms lack. If memory had a face, I think it might look like this: a velvet petal tinged with the blush of youth; slightly worn and crumpled, holding tears and promise, and the hint of many soft smiles. Tears run off smoother faces tainting their bloom, here, they caress the wrinkled surface, refreshing it like dew. The weary petal embraces its identity, like memory it reveals past lives, discarded hopes, reawakened dreams.

Writing prompt: What does memory look like to you?