10-Minute Writing Exercise

[AuntieWOW]

Take the topic and write for ten minutes. Don't stop writing for those ten minutes and don't edit what you write.

Think of this as a sort of diving board. Come on...jump in!

If you want to comment on others' writing, please keep the comments positive...we don't want to discourage people from contributing.

Have fun!

[Terri]

Where do we find the topics?

[LiamFan!]

How about...

<font size=6>A torn sleeve</font>

[Terri]

Poised to pour my coffee from the pot into the travel cup I noticed the sleeve on my blouse was torn. I glanced at the clock and sighed in exasperation at the time. I had to leave so I grabbed the portable sewing kit I kept in the kitchen drawer, tossed it into my brief case and hurried out the door, forgetting my cup of coffee. As I wound my way onto the beltway for the drive into the city I listened to the news on the car radio. I wanted that cup of coffee badly and now I was preoccupied with the thoughts of what that caffeine could be doing for me. My eyes wandered to the sleeve of my blouse which was right in front of my face because of the way my arm was drapped over the steering wheel. Traffic was at a standstill, I could see blue lights flashing a half a mile in the distance. After a good ten minutes had elapsed I had a brilliant idea, I could fix my sleeve while I waited in the stopped traffic. I pulled out the sewing kit and deftly threaded a needle from the card of white thread that was provided in the matchbox like package. After making my knot I pierced the fabric but before I pulled the needle through I could see the dilema I was facing. This tear would have to be sewn from the inside of the sleeve because it was too large to possibly take just a few quick unnoticeable stitches. I glanced around me, the woman in the car next to me was reading the paper. On the other side were a male and female commuter both absorbed in conversation with each other. I decided to go for it. I slipped off my blouse, luckily I had chosen a full slip to wear under the sheer fabric of my blouse. I began to sew when suddenly the traffic began to move. I glanced around at the moving traffic and the horn in the car behind me started to sound so I tapped my foot on the gas and began to move forward. In my haste I had forgotten to look at the car in front of me which had NOT started to move yet and I smashed right into his rear bumper. Out of the car the angry commuter paced back to my window, all this before I had time to pull my blouse back on over my slip. Before I knew it a crowd had gathered to glare at me conspicuously. When I looked down at myself I saw that I was naked from the waist up and realized, this is just a dream.

[LiamFan!]

Most creative cross-post!!!

[Terri]

<BSG>, I won!!! Cool

[LiamFan!]

New topic:

<font size=6>An old newspaper</font>

[Terri]

Why am I always the one saddled with family responsibilities? I grumbled and complained to myself as I continued to sort through Uncle Bill's "stuff." It made me mad that not one of my three sisters or brother could find time to help with this chore. I'm the typical middle child I concluded as I tossed another old shirt into a plastic bag bound for the Salvation Army.

As I remove the hangers from the old mans closet the cultural contrast of the decades become glaringly obvious. Here is the uniform of a dashing young Army Captain. I remember how Uncle Bill's World War II stories differ wildly from those of the other combat veterans in our family. Uncle Bill was stationed in Bombay, India and his stories were not ones of sacrifice and patriotic valor but of young Indian women smitten with a tall, blonde, curly haired Captain from America, palatial homes where he was a treated like a diplomatic VIP and endless parties with plenty of wine and indulgent food.

The tailored, creased wool trousers of a young businessman with a trim waist are hung on wooden hangers neatly in a row. Beside them are polyester leisure suits and one lone Nehru jacket that seems it was never worn. I begin to giggle, picturing my Uncle Bill dressed in the pale blue leisure suit accessorized with the white patent leather Elvis loafers on the floor of the closet.

Memories come flooding back to me now. We kids putting on plays and cavorting for Uncle Bill making him laugh. An Uncle Bill who although he had a Chevy Biscayne, chose to walk everywhere he went in his hometown of Baltimore. Many times as a young teen I bused over to his house and we would walk the five miles to Memorial Stadium to watch the Orioles play baseball. Walking back to his house I would whine and complain until we got to his neighborhood and he said "Let's stop at Bella Luna's for a slice of pizza." He would always let me have a drink of his beer.

Uncle Bill was a prodigious reader and his house contains thousands of books, hard and softcover. I begin to leaf through volumns with titles as varied as Anthony Adverse, Ten Little Indians, East of Eden, Milton's Paradise Lost. I come across a huge old World Atlas and tucked in between the pages and the back cover is the Society section of the Baltimore Sunday Sunpaper dated August 1945. The old newspaper contains a picture of that smiling young Army captain with a beautiful raven haired, blue eyed beauty on his arm. My Aunt Marge. It's their wedding announcement. Aunt Marge has been dead two years now and Uncle Bill a week. He spent the last twelve years of his life sequestered in a nursing home with his mind confused and his memory more faded than the old paper covers on most of these books. Another old newspaper clipping tells of his accomplishments as an employee of Anchor Hocking glass comapny. I set the old newspapers aside to keep. They meant something to him, so of all the chattels contained in this old Baltimore rowhouse those are the ones I keep for myself. They ignite special memories for me. Too bad my sisters couldn't be here.

[creative_scrawl]

I sit back on the couch, legs propped up on Mother's antique coffee table. The table, I think, is even older than Mom.

As I pick up the remote, a fly buzzes around my face. With the wave of my hand, I shoo it away. I turn on the television, but I can't concentrate because the black fly is making a pest of itself. It continues to buzz around me. Twice it buzzes around my ear.

I try to remember where I put the fly swatter...when was the last time I used it? I think for a moment. I'm pretty sure I used it on my brother when he tossed a few water balloons in my direction. I shake my head; I have no idea what I did with it after that.

The fly buzzes near me yet again. I glance around and spot an old news paper on the floor. Silently I thank God that I was too lazy to clean last week.

I get up and pick the news paper off the floor, but before I can use it on Mr. Fly, I notice it is dripping with...water?

I hear a whine and look towards the back door. There is Puddles, my three month old puppy. Wasn't Puddles whining just a bit ago to go outside? He doesn't look desperate now...wait, if he doesn't need to go outside then this isn't water on this old news paper, is it....

[frozen5]

((((Terri)))) & ((((creative_scrawl)))) I would like to say that I enjoyed both stories. One was endearing and close to the heart and the other was just cute and funny. They gave me a spot of blue sky on this a dreary monday.

[Terri]

Let's have a new topic

[LiamFan!]

How about...

<font size=6>Getting Ready</font>

[DLC55]

Trips and packing just seem to go along with each other.

The things that keep me from leaving on time are all those little chores that you need to do to get ready for any trip. Making sure the cats have enough food, the tires are checked, the car is filled with gas, the cats have water, the bills have been paid so you have no surprises when you get home. It always seems those things take longer to do than the actual packing of the suitcases and the car.

Getting ready for any trip, I have found, is an exercise in self control. Do I pack enough for the three days I am gone or more in case I get stranded somewhere? Do I pack an assortment of play clothes and dress clothes? Do I take my curlers and blowdryer or go for the long sleek look? Makeup, should I give my face a break from the everyday regime of face products or go natural? Is the cooler packed to include enough stuff to keep me from those needless stops along the way which only make me later in reaching my destination?

Let's not forget what we wear to drive in. That's the most important thing. Do I dress for comfort or wear something to impress those I'm going to see? Does my choice of clothing fit my mood?

Getting ready is almost as important as reaching the final destination of any journey.

[Terri]

My friend Kenny died last Saturday. He was surrounded by his family and close friends. Kenny was truely blessed and he was a blessing to those who knew him. He had the rare opportunity of being able to get ready for his impending death. For a year he battled an acute case of leukemia. He yoyoed in and out of remission for a time. Some days hopeful and other days less hopeful. At the end he had everything in order. Kenny was told he had run out of options just a few days before he took his last breath. He was only 48 years old but he was ready. He lived his life in service to his family and to his community. Although he had very little in the way of material things, Kenny was rich in human assets. He was a devoted father and husband, elder in his church and loving son. Ken always put others first and would sacrifice what little he had to help others in need. He lived his life in a state of readiness so that in the end he had little to do but rest in the arms of his maker. He was a brother to me when I had none to turn to. I hope I can be as ready as he was when my turn comes. Thank you Kenny, and I thank God that I was fortunate enough to know you.

[Lou]

For underwear, the thick rag socks. Jeans, the black turtleneck, heavy old Irish sweater. Lace up the boots. Tell the kids: as many clothes as you can put on. And jackets. Everyone shoulders her own backpack. You there, with the pacifier--unload it. We're leaving light and fast. One teddybear each. One book each. Take my hand. Let me look at your eyes. Life will be long and good to us because we are women with deep hearts. Now . . .

. . . take one handful of dirt, drop it into the grave, dust yourself off. Let's go. We are ready.