Write Anything Wednesday #17

Today you are going to write something, anything. Do some flash fiction or a short story if you have time. Free-write if your time is limited. If you lean towards poetry, write a new one, or polish up an older one. Make an outline or character sketch. If you only write for blogs, then write a few for your backlog so you always have something to post when life gets too crazy. Take advantage of lulls to get your writing in.

I know not everyone has the time to write every day. Hopefully you can find time to write at least once a week. Why not Wednesday? If you’re too busy today, try another day of the week. Pick a day that you have the least to do and set aside some time, maybe an hour, and write something. Anything at all. A paragraph written is more than you had before, right? If you make it a weekly thing then it becomes part of your schedule and you will always get some writing in.

If you don’t have a dedicated amount of time, my advice is as you can, make a list of the things you want to write about. If you’re like me, ideas pop up randomly. Write them down, every time. Then you can come back to it later and not have to worry about forgetting.

If you already write every day then maybe Wednesday can be set aside for specific projects. For example, today could be used for flash fiction if you are working on a novel the rest of the week. Perhaps it’s a good day to get out of the house and write somewhere new.

If you would like to use a prompt:

  • Religion. Do what you will with that word.
  • Do you play pranks on friends and family for April Fool’s Day? Best/worst prank?
  • Take the most interesting setting in your WIP and write a paragraph or two from the perspective of an animal that lives there. If not an animal then write from the viewpoint of a person seeing it for the first time.

Once again, I’ll be working on my class and hopefully by tomorrow I’ll be ready to put some more flash fiction up. My schedule is slowly getting back to normal, finally!

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5 comments

  1. The stately castle was in the background, rolling grassy knolls rising up to meet the darkened, weathered stones of the walls and towers. I wondered what clan had dwelled in those ancient halls, and if any of their energy remained in the barren ruins.

    I walked up the steep, rolling hills. Each step I took seemed harder than the last. There was no wind, but something was trying to push me back to the narrow road where I had left my rental car. It was a thickening in the air…I guess that answered my question as to whether there was energy left in the mausoleum-like fortress. It was difficult to see clearly in the gray pre-dawn mist..

    As I continued to struggle against the silent, heavy atmosphere, I imagined I could hear the wind whipping through the cracks in the large river rocks that formed the base of the old castle. Yet nothing disturbed the few baby-fine tendrils of sandy-colored hair that had fallen from the clip at the top of my crown. The ends of my curly hair lay heavy on the back of my neck. Not a whisper of a breeze.

    I felt like I was caught between worlds. The reality was not my own, but it was not the castle’s hayday either. Weeds, thorns, and thistles, some taller than myself, spread out in tangled confusion around me. There were stones that had fallen from the parapets hiding in the deep grass to trip me and scrape my bare ankles exposed by my capri-length jeans. Why did I continue? What was up there that I had to see?

    I glanced back and could no longer see the compact car that had brought me here. I had come to Scotland with a group of other college students from America. It was a trip we’d all signed up for together…an art excursion in a small village on the Isle of Skye. What had possessed me to wander off in the car on my own so early in the morning? Something or someone had been calling to me in my dreams.

    The castle loomed large before me. The incline leveled off. I was where I was supposed to be.

    I looked down and saw a faded homespun skirt curling around my ankles and bare feet. A heavy wool tartan shawl was tied around my shoulders, Somehow I knew it was The MacLeoid of Lewis plaid, dark blue with strands of faded yellow and berry red. My hair was free and long, way past my waist as it blew in the wind. It was brighter than the dull dark-ash blonde I was used to. It was glowing in the scant shard of sunlight that had just risen behind the beautiful castle of Dunvegan. It was magnificent, glowing in the dawn. For the first time in my life, I felt that I had come home. That I belonged.

    THE END

    by Deborah A. Bowman, http://www.bowmanauthor.com

    Liked by 1 person

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