Good morning! I hope your day has dawned as sunny as our Sunday has here in upstate New York. Af ter a few days of drenching rain, it's rather welcome.
Let's try something new today, okay?
Frankly, I'm tired of editing for months on end. Sure, it's the natural extension of writing a dozen books - and every new book I write means there's another editing job looming on the horizon. Seems like there's not nearly enough time for just fun writing anymore. You know what I mean: that wonderful experience where the story gushes from you in dazzles of color and bursts into glorious action. Mmm. That's the best.
I just want to soak in some brilliant hues and write something fresh and new. I'm craving it, badly, and I think this morning we all deserve a few moments to stop, think, and write something deeply satisfying.
How about you? Ready for a break? Would you like to participate?
Above is a haiku I wrote last year, with an accompanying photo. Do any of the following images inspire your writer's soul?
If Haiku is your thing, try your hand at it. Post your work anytime this week, and I'll add it to this article, beneath the photo that inspired it. We'll all bask in the beauty of your words. Or something like that! ;o)
I'll post your work beneath the photos when you either send it to me via email at aaron dot lazar at yahoo.com, or simply type it into the comments box. Be sure to let me know what image inspired you.
By the way - Marta inspired me yesterday to play a bit with flash fiction through inspiration, after I'd written the above haiku/imagery piece. Funny, I guess June 14th was the day for inspiration all around. Well, it was flag day, wasn't it? Maybe there's something in that! I've posted my piece written in 15 minutes below - not very elegant or "edited," by any means, but it was fun. I based it on the challenge by Donna Sundblad's Pumping Your Muse writing prompt blog to write about a crime that takes place while hiking. Sorry it makes this blog a little long today, but most of it is just pictures!
Sky reflected in stream
A blameless sky at my feet
Today, I'll touch it
- SW Vaughn
Still morning water
Reflecting glorious sun
Also stills my soul
- Rhetta A.
Salmon poppies in early morning
Fluttery and pink
Lifting flirty twirling skirts
Dancing a can can
- Patricia F.
Ah, the wild glory
A field of salmon poppies
- Rhetta A
Like pink tissue bowls
Holding berried cabernet
Raising us a toast
- Patricia F.
Salmon poppies sing
Delicate pink and black songs
Refreshed I am now
- Cori Anders
Light through windows, courtesy of grandson, Gordie (4)
Foggy field at dawn
Roses in afternoon sun
Day has come and gone
Her roses swallow the light
Hold it there for me
Hills gilded in pink
Wake my soul
Come home soon
I wait here.
- Patricia F.
"He went out to get some kindling," Mary said, looking through the clouded window at a robin on a branch. "Never came back. Just left the barrel there on the stoop." Her knarled hands lay in her lap like nesting birds."But he'll come home again. I'll just wait here. He can't be too much longer.""Miss Mary?" A voice rattled the windows of her mind. "It's about time you got out of bed. Breakfast is getting cold. And there's Bingo today down in the Rec Room."Mary closed her eyes against the light. The robin tapped at her window, begging to be let in.
- Patricia F.,
Here's the flash fiction I wrote based on Donna Sunblad's prompt. Just for fun!
She saw it all in slow motion again, sitting there on the rocks high above the Letchworth Gorge. She saw the blood pool in the dirt on the trail and the calm hand that pulled the pocketknife out of her boyfriend’s back.
The musty smell of wet leaves coated the inside of her mouth. She ran her tongue over her lips, noticing for the first time a warm salty wound where she’d bit through the skin. Somehow, it tasted good. And the distraction felt welcome.
This way, she wouldn’t have to think about him. The way his dull brown eyes had dimmed and gone dark when she’d turned him over. She banged her fist against her head over and over again.
“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
The attack had been unexpected, out of the blue. She turned her attention to the rock on which she perched, ready to fly into the abyss. Mica sparkled from its crevices. She picked at a large piece, dislodging it and looking at her spooky eye in the reflection.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. But her brain clamped down on her so hard she had to squirm in place rather than give in.
Squinting at the crows that cackled overhead in the beech tree, she shouted up to them.
“Shut up!” They responded, and one flew in lazy circles, close to her.
She felt the panic rise again. Pictured Fred’s eyes when he told her about Lucy. Pictured the calm red surf that had filled her heart and had made her reach for the knife, oh so slowly.
Oh yes. He’d deserved to die. He’d really had it coming.
She stood, brushed her bloody hands on her jeans, and leapt from the cliffs to the glistening river water that curved in a metallic ribbon below.
Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. The author of LeGarde Mysteries and Moore Mysteries enjoys the Genesee Valley countryside in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his websites at http://www.legardemysteries.com/ and http://www.mooremysteries.com/ and watch for his upcoming release, MAZURKA, coming in 2008.