Leaving

Welcome to my very own Creative Writing Month where each day of the month I am focusing on a topic and spending fifteen minutes reflecting and writing as inspired by the topic. For more information about why and how check out my post, Writing Down the Bones.

Good Writing

Today’s topic: Write about leaving and whatever ideas that word brings to your mind.

“Juliana! It’s time to leave!” Her mother shouted toward Juliana’s upstairs bedroom.

Juliana sat in the centrifuge surrounded by fully-packed cardboard boxes. She glanced about her room and noticed a stray object near her window sill. Standing, she made her way toward the object of her attention. Moving as a serpent through the maze of boxes Juliana made her way to the window and reached out her arm to take hold of a book.

It was dusty and forgotten. The leather binding was worn and the imprinted title was rubbing through the canvas cover. Juliana opened to the title page.

The Holy Bible

Zondervan Printing

Copyright 1931

The wooden floor creaked below her feet as she shifted her weight to sit atop a sturdy, secured box. Juliana flipped through the old pages. She allowed the musty smell of old books to overtake her soul. The scent reminiscent of the day she spent in the attic with her grandmother. One day last  winter they had spent hours in the attic going through old clothes and belongings preparing for the impending move.

“Granny, may I try this one?” Juliana giggled as she held up a pair of old denim overalls.

She and her grandmother had spent a day laughing as they sorted through box upon box in the old room. Sunlight leaked through a small circular window in the front facet of the room. The heat from the furnace upstairs kept them toasty as the snow built up outside below them.

How could she have known that this would be her winter with Granny? That the last days with her would be spent in a hospital surrounded by non-familiar people and machines which kept her from fully embracing the Granny that she had known.

Juliana sat on the box hugging the Bible which Granny had given her the day they spent in the attic. Juliana had found it buried in a box filled with photographs of Granny’s siblings and Juliana’s mother as an infant.

“Do you like it?” Granny had asked Juliana when she caught her wrapping her arms around the book. Juliana nodded. “Then it’s yours. Have it and keep it. It was passed to me from my mother. Keep it in the family and give it to your children.” The memories flooded her mind.

“Juliana! The moving van is here.” Her mother cried once again, This time she heard her mother’s feet on the stairs moving toward her bedroom. “Juliana!”

Her mother entered the doorway to her bedroom and found her wrapping the Bible in her arms.  A single tear was escaping down Juliana’s cheek.

“Honey, it’s time to leave now. The men are here to take the boxes,” Her mother pushed her way through the boxes and placed a hand on Juliana’s shoulder.

“I know. I wish she was going with us. It was her idea.” Juliana referred to her Grandmother’s idea to move south.

“I know, me too, dear.” Her mother pulled Juliana in for a true embrace. “She is with us wherever we go now.”

“But this is where the memories are. The new house will have not known her. This is where she lived. This is where we all lived together!” Juliana’s tears had began to leak through now as though a faulty dam was giving way.

“The memories will go with us, Jules. No matter where we live or where we go nothing can take those away.” Juliana moved into her mother. She was sobbing now and clinging to the large Bible in one arm.

Her mother held her and gave her a few minutes to cry before she helped her to move.

“No matter where we go Granny is always with us. She’ll be with us in the new house and in your new school. So let’s go put the boxes in the truck.” Juliana stood to her feet and opened the nearest box.  She lifted the tape and stuck the Bible within it.

Her mother held out a hand which Juliana grabbed. Their fingers laced together forming a tight grip. Together the Robertson’s left behind an old house of memories and made their way toward the moving truck. Destination: South Carolina.

Future Novelist

Welcome to my very own Creative Writing Month where each day of the month I am focusing on a topic and spending fifteen minutes reflecting and writing as inspired by the topic. For more information about why and how check out my post, Writing Down the Bones.

*This weekend I spent some time away at the annual FCA Fall Retreat which I organize along with other local FCA Leaders and volunteers. Due to my lack of wifi I will be posting twice today to get caught up. 

Today’s topic: Visualize a place where you would like to be and give a detailed description.

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In my sweaty hands I am clinging to a copy of my first novel. A crowd has emerged in a small local bookstore. Rows of metal chairs have been filled with readers eager to hear from the author of their new favorite novel. Each of them armed with questions and details to bring to the forum. My heart is thudding as a woman at the podium introduces me and the crowd begins to clap lightly. My family is in the back of the room cheering me on.

My heels drag in the padded carpet of the bookstore on my way to podium. I place my copy of the novel and my note cards on the podium. For the first time in my life I am about to open up to a crowd of strangers about my newly released novel. Public speaking isn’t really my thing, but it’s expected in this line of work. I’m about to answer questions about a book that I spent over two years of my life on. Eagerness to hear the thoughts and questions from the dedicated readers fills my heart. I am thankful for the opportunity. It moves me to tears to see so many people who were touched in some way by the story I had crafted by divine intervention. I open with a short reading from mid-novel. A sentence that stood out to me as the author and helped me to determine the title of this first book. Then the floor is opened for questions and comments and hands are thrown up all across the room.

“Where did you get the ideas?”

“Why did you decided to…?”

“To you, what was the most important part of this novel?”

Each question proving that others had put time and thought into this work. That every minute spent struggling my way through the story was returned by readers. The message resonating with those who made the trek through the pages themselves. And in the midst of all of the newness and excitement I am reminded that none of this is because of my doing. That through it all God had been there giving me the words and perseverance to make this happen. He had put the story on my heart and given it life. He had inspired this dream and this moment and led me to fulfill his purposes.

Rise and Shine

Welcome to my very own Creative Writing Month where each day of the month I am focusing on a topic and spending fifteen minutes reflecting and writing as inspired by the topic. For more information about why and how check out my post, Writing Down the Bones.

*This weekend I spent some time away at the annual FCA Fall Retreat which I organize along with other local FCA Leaders and volunteers. Due to my lack of wifi I will be posting twice today to get caught up. 

Today’s topic: Write about your morning routine. Create a story surrounding these ideas.

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At eight o’clock this morning I awoke to mumbles and groans. My three year old daughter was groggy and shouting, “Mommy, my belly hurts.”

I rushed to her aid, swept her into my arms, and quickly carried her to the bathroom where she could get sick without ruining bed sheets or carpet. I absolutely hate when my daughter is sick. She loses all of her energy and personality and is overcome by a zombie-like coma.

After a dramatic beginning to the morning she took up residence on the couch. I granted her request to watch some of her favorite cartoons on Netflix and after providing her with some light foods and water I began my usual morning routine beside her on the couch.

It’s funny to say routine, because I don’t get the luxury of starting my day the same way twice. However, if I did have control over how each day started there would be a couple of things I would be sure to do each day. For one, I’d start each day with a pot of coffee. Not a cup, but a pot. And in a perfect  world no one would speak to me and I’d have no responsibilities until the entire pot was gone. However, this world is not perfect and that has happened twice in my life. I do have coffee at some point just about every morning.

Next, I have some quiet Bible Study and prayer time. The best days include some type of Bible Study even if it is only five minutes. I like to go through studies from apps like First5 and SheReadsTruth. Neither of these take too long, but are really well-written, relate-able, and life-changing.

After my Bible Study time I login to my AmeriBritMom site and check all emails. I reply to emails, send some out, and then check out my WordPress feed where I am able to communicate with my fellow writers and find inspiration. After catching up with those people I follow regularly I begin working on whatever post I plan to release for the day. That could be one I started a few days ago which just needs edited or on some days when I am less organized I have about thirty minutes to write, edit, and produce my post.

Once my coffee, Bible Study, and blogging are done I am free to live my day. I find that when my mornings contain all three of these activities that I am more energized and I find purpose in each day more clearly. When I don’t get those first few minutes to myself in the way I described I can be off my game and tend to be more emotional those days. Being a mom has taught me that every morning may not look exactly the same, but if I can try to fit each of these items into the first hours of my day I can be successful and OWN the day.

So as I sit on the couch beside my ill daughter I am able to work my way through these aspects of my morning routine today all while rubbing her back and passing her a water bottle every few minutes when she requests it. Fluids have been helping to return my daughter to her natural state. She’s keeping her eyes open again instead of just sleeping the day away. So I will check this last item off of my morning routine list and enjoy my day with my beautiful baby girl whose health is getting better by the minute.

Five Minute Friday: Dance

This week the topic for the Five Minute Friday link-up post is Dance. What is a link-up? Essentially a link-up is when you join other bloggers and write on a similar topic. You share your blog posts with one another and begin conversations via a host site. You can head over to Kate Motaung’s page to check out other entries from inspired bloggers. Here’s my five minutes of uninterrupted, unedited writing on this week’s topic:

dance

At one point in time I was quite passionate about dance. As many other young girls  do I also dreamed of becoming the next musical sensation. I grew up in the Britney Spears era, which meant that some of my celebrity role models were the all-in-one pop singers. They could carry a tune, or lip sync, their way through concerts all while executing  perfect professional choreography. I’m embarrassed to say that I spent many an evening in my bedroom in front of a mirror trying to perfect my own rendition of the dances that were popular during my childhood.  Today those same dances would cause me to be the target of all laughter at any dance club or party.

However, as life moved on other things became bigger priorities, and I soon traded in my show choir heels for running spikes.

I went through a phase where running was all that mattered. I worked hard to be the best and was really hard on myself when that wasn’t the case. Over time, I built up my stamina and became a decent runner. I put many hours and miles in during this part of my life. Running taught me a lot of life lessons and made me a stronger and more confident person. I thought I had found my niche in running, but eventually I lost interest in that as well.

Many more phases were to follow this one. Over time I’ve evolved into the person I am today through a series of phases. My dreams and goals have changed, but I’ve finally grown into some of the roles I was destined to fill. But, I would never change those things that led me into who I have become. When I think back to my dancing and running days I laugh, but I also remember how these experiences taught me dedication. It’s a discipline to be a part of a dance routine and to commit to running a half marathon.

That’s about all I can get into with a five minute limit. I guess, more on me and my evolution at a later time.

Happy Friday :)

Wishing I Was at Niagara Falls

Welcome to my very own Creative Writing Month where each day of the month I am focusing on a topic and spending fifteen minutes reflecting and writing as inspired by the topic. For more information about why and how check out my post, Writing Down the Bones.

Today’s topic: Write about one of your favorite locations giving life to lifeless objects.

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Niagara Falls

The stampede picked up momentum. Each droplet raced blindly toward the cliff. Bumping and absorbing the others around it.

“Where are we headed? Why are we moving so quickly?” Misty thought to herself as she was becoming lost in the race.

For miles she had floated comfortably, at times risking stagnation. She had wound her way through rivers and streams before dumping into Lake Ontario. Her short lived water cycle had nearly run its course. She was on her way to cross over to the next life. Things had moved rather quickly since she found herself in a small stream after a dreadful storm last week.

She remembered nothing of her life before the storm.

Misty and the crowd of droplets that surrounded her were within vision of the drop-off point. So many others had dreamed of this view and opportunity.

The undertow had taken hold of her. It dragged her toward the plummet that was now only feet away. Misty contemplated fighting until the last second, but instead decided to allow the natural pull of tides draw her into demise.

In the last moments of her life as a water droplet she accomplished one of the greatest achievements of a member of her race. Upon impact on the falls below Misty lived up to her name and became a part of the wall of mist which shields the lake below. In this final act of courage Misty crossed over to an evaporated soul.

Navy Blue Notebook

Welcome to my very own Creative Writing Month where each day of the month I am focusing on a topic and spending fifteen minutes reflecting and writing as inspired by the topic. For more information about why and how check out my post, Writing Down the Bones.

Today’s topic: Pick a color. Take a walk and notice all the things that color and write about it.

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The color navy blue has captured my attention lately. The halls in the school where I teach are lined with navy lockers. Floors of navy and gold tiles line the pathways from each classroom down never ending corridors. My wardrobe today is reflecting my adoration for the color as my camisole and trousers match the array. Students pass me as I journey the campus all adorned in their navy and gold regalia.  But of all things navy blue in my close quarters today I must discourse about my notebook.

My notebook. My lifeblood. Where my thoughts go to live.

It is rare to find me in a place without this notebook. A phone with a notebook app will never quench my insatiable desire to put pen to paper and really bleed onto a page.

My notebook contains thoughts, prayers, quotes, stories, and ideas for my writing.

When given the luxury of a few moments alone I turn to the navy blue, leather-bound, spiral vault of ideas. This small book embodies the restlessness of my mind. To an outsider this book may seem like a jumbled mess, but to me it is my life. The things I ponder and those I cherish are all contained herein.

So although my eye was met today with a variety of navy blue objects I am drawn most of all to the smallest of those objects which I store in my large navy and green purse: my Writer’s Notebook.

*If you choose to write on the same creative topic/prompt as the one above please link your writing in a comment below! Happy Creative Writing month :) 

The Great Book Abandon

Welcome to my very own Creative Writing Month where each day of the month I am focusing on a topic and spending fifteen minutes reflecting and writing as inspired by the topic. For more information about why and how check out my post, Writing Down the Bones.

Today’s topic: Pick something you feel strongly about and write about the opposite viewpoint.

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Throughout my adult life I have had a subconscious rule to finish all books that I begin. Even if the book is terrible and I lose interest, I’ve made a point to suck it up and finish strong. One reason I’ve pushed myself to finish every book that I start is because I know that someone went through a great deal of trouble to make that book happen. The author spent countless hours painfully trudging through dark and lonely places of writing. The least I could do is show them the respect of reading their work.

Somethings that have made it difficult, but not impossible to finish a book for me would be things like:

-disjointed scenes and chapters

-little to no movement for an extended amount of time

-over 400 pages (unless it is so fabulously written that I don’t notice the length)

-too much description and not enough interaction with characters and setting

This summer I decided to challenge my reading game, however, and I chose to read a popular novel, All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr. From the onset I knew that it was a rather lengthy book, but since the chapters were shorter I thought it would help to propel me through the text quickly. So many people have raved about this book so I decided to give it a try.

In the beginning, I really enjoyed it. I was learning about the characters and the context of Paris and Saint Malo, France during World War II. Very few novels have been written about that time period in France. My reading started out strong. I spent a day or two really diving in to the first two hundred pages, and then I reached the great abyss.

After page 200, the story began to slow down. The action came to a halt, and the author became more in tune with describing what was going on and less concerned about making me feel like part of the story. For some reason I began to lose interest. The book no longer excited me.

Because of my disinterest in the book I put off reading. I couldn’t bring myself to abandon such a popular novel. Instead I just made excuses as to why I couldn’t read most days. Now and again I’d pick the book up and read a couple of pages. This practice really stinted my reading progress. Here I have a list of novels I want to read, but I’ve got a major road block between myself and that list. A road block the in the form of All the Light We Cannot See.

So as I enter the third month of currently reading this novel I think it is time to cut the ties. Clearly this book is not working for me. I cannot remember the last time I abandoned a book mid-read, but sometimes we have to give in. It’s good to possess a discipline to finish what you begin, but when finishing becomes a hindrance to moving forward sometimes it’s just best to abandon the job, or in this case the book. One of my reading heroes, Donalyn Miller, even discusses her own experience with abandoning books in her book,The Book Whisperer. If Donalyn Miller can give in to the desire to let a book go then so can I.

So for the first time in years I am walking away from a book unfinished. Some may say I gave up too soon; that this is a great book, but I have made my decision for the time being. Down the road I may pick it back up, but for now I’m finished.

What’s next on my list?

I think I am going to look for a light-hearted, short read to get me back into my reader’s groove. Any suggestions!?!

*If you choose to write on the same creative topic/prompt as the one above please link your writing in a comment below! Happy Creative Writing month :) 

I Remember…

Welcome to my very own Creative Writing Month where each day of the month I am focusing on a topic and spending fifteen minutes reflecting and writing as inspired by the topic. For more information about why and how check out my post, Writing Down the Bones.

Today’s topic: I Remember… I’ve tried my hand at free verse poetry. I oftentimes steer clear of poetry, but occasionally I dabble in the art. Here is my memoir, free-verse poem.

Frozen Mochas and Fudge Doughnuts

I remember the birth of my coffee addiction.

I was around nine or ten.

The frozen mochas stored in their glass containers,

Held in the freezer,

Thawed and served with chocolate fudgies.

The cement ramp leading to your home.

The creaking stairs announcing my arrival,

As I wound my way up to the second floor apartment.

I remember the joy on your face when you welcomed me in.

The way your place felt like home.

Photographs of the ones you loved strewn throughout the immaculate rooms.

The excitement as you led me into the kitchen.

And atop a bright colored place mat sat a ceramic plate;

A doughnut all for me,

And a frozen mocha.

This is where I go when I taste the cold espresso today.

My mind takes me back to those visits.

How precious are those memories: my great-grandmother, frozen mochas, and fudge doughnuts.

All Too Bright

Welcome to my very own Creative Writing Month where each day of the month I am focusing on a topic and spending fifteen minutes reflecting and writing as inspired by the topic. For more information about why and how check out my post, Writing Down the Bones.

Today’s topic: Light

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“Terrance, draw the curtains!” Mother pleaded with me. She was using a blade to open a can of beans we had stored for emergencies in the pantry. I replaced a corner of the black-out curtains on the living room window. Curiosity had gotten the better of me as I hoped to catch a glimpse of what was going on outside the four walls of the Locke home. My mother, Buzz, and I had awoken from another night of sleeplessness. The temperatures were rising and even with the black-out curtains in place the strong rays of sunshine protruded the opaque shields. Not ideal conditions for finding rest.

It’s been four days since the sun last set.

These four days have been quite unusual. At first, it took a while for people to begin to notice. Not many people paid attention to the sun’s movements before. As a civilization we had taken for granted that the sun rises at 7am and sets at 9pm. Technology had made it irrelevant to use the sun’s location to determine time of day. It wasn’t until about 7:30pm on the first day that things began to seem different. Usually the light would wane about that time, but the rays stayed bright and grew brighter with each passing moment. At 8:00pm the news stations began to report the irregular pattern of the sun.

“It is believed by astrologists that at 1:30pm EST today the sun set itself into an irregular pattern. All residents of Earth are being cautioned to limit their time outdoors and to wear protective eye gear until the sun’s pattern is re-set. It is likely that tomorrow morning will bring that re-set.” My family sat in shock around our television set watching the reports from the local news. Three hours later we would be without power along with the rest of the city and most-likely the rest of the planet.

Day two the sun’s rays became more violent. The heat and luminosity of the sun was growing and evident. Mom and I ventured by foot to the local grocers to pick up some items like canned food, toilet paper, and bottled water. Of course on our journey we passed half of the town all donning their UV protection eye wear and carrying loads of their own necessities.

Day three the government came door to door issuing the black-out curtains.

“Hello, boy, is there an adult present?” An officer questioned me as he opened the door.

Buzz opened the door wider and motioned for the officers to enter our bright home. Mother was seated on a couch in the living room reading a book from the shelf upstairs. She looked up from her book to greet the uniformed men.

“Excuse us, Miss, but the President has ordered that all residents receive a government-issued black out curtain for each window of the house. These are to be installed and remain in place until the sun resumes it’s orbit.” My mother nodded and the man retreated to bring a hoard of others into the home. It took about fifteen minutes, give or take a few, to install all of the curtains.

“By order of the President, you are not to move or remove these curtains until another official order gives you permission to do so. Is that understood?” The officer spoke robotically to my mother who nodded in silence. After visiting every house in the city he surely was beginning to feel like a robot.

“Mother, why are they hanging these curtains everywhere?” I asked my mother who had not moved from the couch in hours. She had grown stolid. Most likely it was a combination of fear and exhaustion. The addition of the curtains yesterday had not provided her the rest she was lacking.

“Hopefully, so we can all sleep. It’s been far too bright to get good rest. The citizens must be getting agitated.” She was exhausted. The lines on her forehead were bolder and saggier when she was tired.

Buzz had been sitting at the coffee table with a deck of playing cards. He joined the conversation without skipping a beat in his game of solitaire.

“Think about what this means for the ocean levels. Thank goodness we don’t live on the shoreline.”

“What do you mean?” I asked my older brother.

“Well, the moon controls the tides. I’m sure that the houses on the shore are being washed away as we speak.”

A sudden horror came over me. I hadn’t really thought about the moon. I guess the focus had been so much on the sun the past four days that I had forgotten all about those lessons in science class. As the three of us sat in silence weighing our chances of outliving the week there was a knock on the back door. We all made eye contact which revealed the fear that had arisen from the banging of the door in the back of the house. The knocking continued until Buzz walked through the kitchen and unlocked the deadbolt on the backdoor. He opened the door slightly.

“Mr. Lewis?” Buzz questioned as he opened the door wider and our elderly neighbor strode through to the kitchen.

“How are you guys holding up?” Mr. Lewis inquired.

“We’re doing fine. Pretty tired, but we have food and shelter so we can’t complain.” Buzz answered on behalf of our family.

“Listen, I know a little bit more about what’s going on then what everyone is letting on.” Mr. Lewis was beginning to sound a bit like a conspiracy theorist. “The government’s not being completely truthful.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Lewis?” My mother questioned the man that was beginning to sound like he had been deprived not only of sleep, but of oxygen.

“We don’t have enough time for me to explain. I came over to let you know that I have a way of escape. Whether you believe me is up to you. But, if you choose to stay here everyone will be dead by tomorrow. Come with me and we can be safe. Or, well, safer than we are now. What do you say, Ms. Locke?”

Mother weighed her options. Stay in her home with her three boys where the temperatures were rising and the sun was growing brighter or escape in some underground bunker with their seventy year old, paranoid neighbor.

“I don’t know, Mr. Lewis. I need more details.” Mother spoke.

“Melody, I don’t have time to explain. You’re either coming or you aren’t. I’ve made up my mind to leave as soon as possible and I won’t have you slowing me down.” His urgency was persuasive.

Mother looked at me. “Okay, Mr. Lewis, take the boys. I’ll stay here.”

“Mother, no, we stick together. If we leave you do too!” I shouted.

Mother looked away. She removed her eye wear and headed toward the couch. Buzz grabbed my arm and shoved me toward the kitchen door.

“We can’t just leave her here!” I shouted.

“Come on, Terrance. She won’t leave Dad you know that. We have to go.” Buzz struggled against my body weight which was pulling the opposite direction of the door.

“But Dad’s dead. He’s ashes. Mom, come with us.” I shouted as Buzz threw me over his shoulder. Mr. Lewis opened the backdoor and nodded toward my mother. Buzz followed behind Mr. Lewis with me kicking and screaming on his back.

We shut the door behind us and ran quickly to Mr. Lewis’ house next door. Each of us was wearing our UV Protection eye wear, but even through them were able to see the blinding brightness of the sun.

Inside Mr. Lewis’s house he led us to his office on the first floor. It was lined by a library of encyclopedias and academic journals. I stood, taking in the beauty of his collection of books. I wondered about how long it had taken him to build up this library. Probably half his lifetime if not more had been dedicated to this room alone. On one wall hung a framed diploma from The University of Michigan.

“Terrance!” Buzz shouted as he had lost my attention.

Mr. Lewis bent down and pulled up one floor board from the wooden floor below.

“In here, boys.” Mr. Lewis instructed. He led us down a dark stairwell lined with kerosene lamps and cobwebs.

“What is going on?” I asked Mr. Lewis as soon as the boards were re-fastened concealing our location.

“Not a natural disaster that’s for sure.” Mr. Lewis answered.

Just as my foot reached the bottom of the stairwell the floor above us began to shake violently sending bits of plaster raining on us below. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. Buzz rushed to my aide to make sure I was okay.

“And that, my friends, was the end of life as we knew it.” Mr. Lewis breathed.

It is unlawful to plagiarize any of the original work from The Ameri Brit Mom. No permission is given to reuse this text or ideas without written consent. Always give credit where credit is due. 

Writing Down the Bones

November is National Novel Writing Month also known as NaNoWriMo. Each year thousands of writers nationwide commit to writing a 50,000 word novel in one month. That equates to 1,667 words per day. It’s a huge commitment and although I’m quite intrigued about the discipline I have decided not to participate this year. I am, however, planning to focus this month on my own creative writing and I have set a goal to write creatively for fifteen minutes each day. That will put me nowhere near 1,667 words per day, but the idea that I’m practicing each day should still help me develop as a writer.

Over the past month I have been reading the book, Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. In her book Goldberg challenges her reader to find the life in every object and scene and capture those thoughts, feelings, and words in your writing. There are so many principles I have learned through this book and I wanted to find a way to incorporate her tips and ideas into my writing. So, I am going to call November my Creative Writing Month and I am going to use some of the prompts that Goldberg gives in her book to prompt my fifteen minutes of creative writing per day.

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If you would like to join me on this quest here is a look at the writing schedule for the month:

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Each day that you use a prompt from this calendar please feel free to copy a link to your post in my comments for that day.

I will leave you with one endearing quote from this book, “…if you want to be a good writer, you need to do three things: Read a lot, listen well and deeply, and write a ton.”

Happy NaNoWriMo!