Making up a story: Breakthrough Tip for the week of August 15, 2016

Do it. Here is your inspiration. The heart is four feet across. IMG_0269 (1)Write for at least twenty-five minutes. Keep your pen moving. Write anything that you are thinking, i.e.: The heart was impossible. “Is that blood?” my lover said. “Is that snow?” …Now what? What lover? Who are these people? Where are they? Okay, here’s more: We had wandered off trail – in more ways than one… 

Please send me what emerges. In response our August 12 prompt (Let me know if you’d like to be added to the prompt list – I send them out every Monday and Friday.), Theresa Souers wrote:

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I’m here.
I’m exhausted.
I can’t believe I did it.
I still can’t believe he is dead.

Forty-three years later and she’s still in disbelief.

She lingers behind the steering wheel of her Volvo, engine idling, sipping on a warm flat cola.  For the past twenty minutes she has been sitting and staring at the vast Mojave Desert.  She’s barely aware of the nonstop loop of his songs “She”, “Wild Horses”, “Love Hurts”, “Juanita”, “In My Hour of Darkness.”  The same loop that has been playing since the pilgrimage from Fort Worth began.  Aware that she is burning needless gas, she reaches forward to turn off the ignition.  As she stares at the strange trees, wondering if that is even what they are, she notices their various shapes appear to have personalities.  Some tall and proud with arms outstretched.  Some shy and cowering, their heads cast downward, arms protectively curling inward.  It’s almost as though if she were to drive off, they would come back to life and continue their chatter amongst themselves.  “I don’t get it, Graham.  What was the appeal?  What drew you here?” she speaks outwardly.

As she pulls her stiff body out of the car and stretches, she notices the light change.  Looking up, she sees no clouds.  As her eyes turn to the right, she freezes.  She rubs her eyes and looks again.  Her breath catches and she wonders if she is just seeing an illusion perhaps caused by heat waves. “Graham?” she whispers.  A gentle voice answers and her senses rise to high alert.  “Just sit awhile and wait.  Wait for the gentle breezes to touch your skin. Wait for the evening light to soothe your eyes.  Be still and let the quiet fill your soul. Wait for the stars to to show you the way.  You’ll understand.  Just wait.”

She did wait.  She did understand.

 

 

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