First words…

Those special moments when first words tumble from a baby’s mouth bring so much joy to parents.  How we live to hear  Ma-ma or Da-da, utterances of recognition that soon grow into jumbled, giggly little sentences as the toddler emerges.

Vocabulary grows with the child;  the structure of thoughts molds the individual personality of that person.  Emotions are openly expressed…or deliberately hidden.

For adults,  first true words aren’t spoken until much later,  often through writing.  The person behind a book or a blog can be someone else entirely, miles away from all that developmental dialogue that guided them into adulthood.

Does this make sense to you?

In some ways, I’ve always been a writer.  Stories hid inside my head and page after page waited anxiously to be shared with others. Chapters came out in conversation but never managed to land in print until a few years ago when I started writing my book and  “Another cookie, please!” was born.

Then came the great crash!  Read about it here.  I can’t bear to re-hash my stupidity.

Once my panic subsided from the above incident and I entered the world of blogging,  I realized that I hadn’t lost anything.  Not at all. Those words circled in my head like an airplane waiting to land and since I’ve taken the blog-plunge, it feels as if I’ve been doing it forever.

It’s only been a little over one year.  Imagine that!

I see it every day on sites I visit.  People who start blogging to share mommy or other stories; photography, recipes…you name it, they write about it.  Very often they venture out in response to a writing prompt for fun or to try something new.  Their incredible words appear on the screen and the talent behind a post blossoms, as if it had been hiding, just waiting to be urged into the sunshine.

And then…our words run smack dab into a wall, that dreaded Writer’s Slump/Block..call it what you will. That’s where I’ve been of late and from several other bloggers that I’ve visited, it’s fairly contagious.  Actually, it majorly sucks!


This too, shall pass.  I’m sure of that.  The very fact that I finally published this post (which has been glaring at me from my drafts folder for the last three weeks) is evidence that the writing doldrums are easing.  I’m working hard on getting a whole new bunch of first words ready for the reading world.

Eventually. This post doesn’t count.  Just didn’t want my imaginary friends thinking I stopped yapping via my keyboard.






 

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The strip

 

 

 

Metal between my fingers.

Cold, small.  I hold the gateway to power.

One “click” and the familiar roar turns into a purr.

Clutching, gripping.   Getting into line.

Wait.   Anticipate.

Burn-outs.  Staging.  Lights flash, from red to green.  The signal.

Screaming determination guided by my hands, feet and brain.

Pavement whizzes by.  Stay in line.  Never look sideways, only forward.  Concentrate.

To the finish line.

And a win.


 


Your memoir prompt Conjure comes from Assistant Editor Galit.

This week I want you to conjure something. An object, a person, a feeling, a color, a season- whatever you like.

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Look away…

 

She constantly refused to look into a mirror, any mirror.

My mother.

It wasn’t because of vanity or due to failing eyesight.

She could see clearly, without eyeglasses, towards the end of her life.

It didn’t matter.

The reflection staring back was unrecognizable

To her.

That person, that old woman with gray hair and wrinkled skin was someone else.  “A witch” she often said as she quickly looked away from what she had determined was some creature hiding in the glass.  She would cover her face with both hands.   It wasn’t her, not by any means;  she was young,  in her twenties, still with dark hair and red lipstick.

In her mind.

Mother lived in long ago realities; the aging process stopped and did a U-turn back about fifty or more years once Alzheimer’s took control.   In some ways, I was envious.  She didn’t have to deal with life’s sorrows and responsibilities but that was nothing new.   For as long as I could painfully remember she always managed to look away from bothersome issues,  seeing only what she wanted.  Comfortable, happy reflections.


I was never her mirror of choice.




Flicker of Inspiration Prompt #18: Objects In the Mirror

It’s a standard warning on car mirrors: “Objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear”. Mirrors don’t always give a truly honest reflection. Sometimes, the mirror is warped; sometimes, it’s only our perceptions. When Alice went into her mirror, it was the world itself that was distorted. And yet at times, the mirror will show you true things that you weren’t aware of; something around a corner, or behind you, or on another spectral plane. People can even act as mirrors; they can show you yourself as others see you.

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