Page 1. is titled "IN THE BEGINNING"
Use the words: Brood, Dastardly, Dulcet
Page 2. is titled "IN THE MIDST"
Use the words: Ebullience, Felicity, Inglenook
Page 3. is titled "IN THE END"
Use the words: Inure, Penumbra, Woebegone
Give yourself 30 minutes to write/create and 30 minutes to edit/re-write.
I am going to start posting these writing exercises regularly- maybe every day or once a week- most likely sporadically, whenever I think of it so check back often or watch your Facebook as I'll also post it there, too. I would like to invite everyone who wants to participate to join in! I would also love to feature everyone who does these exercises work so we can all read each others. You can participate and keep it to yourself, obviously, but think how fun it will be to do this together! So, when you are done e-mail it to me: andiebottrell(at)yahoo(dot)com and I will start posting them under the exercise's description with the Title and Author of the piece (you may sign it anonymous if you are shy). I will also post my own. Happy writing!
*Oh, and you definitely don't have to consider yourself a "writer" to do these, if you're just a geek who likes having homework, or an artist of another kind looking for new ways to unlock inspiration, or if you just want to practice your writing and grammar skills or expand your vocabulary- these are all great reasons to join in!
"On This Intermission"
by Andie Bottrell
IN THE BEGINNING
I brood, I admit. Can’t help it. I feel and it shows. I’m transparent. This dastardly move has brought me closer to a game I never wanted to re-enter. This game of “life conventional.” Seemingly dulcet creatures greet you with teethful smiles and trustworthy handshakes and talk your ear off when you just want a quick transaction for a cup of coffee, black.
IN THE MIDST
Felicity eludes me- replaced with lethargy, but don’t worry- I’m fighting it. I am armed with St. John’s wart and energy drinks and internal pressures of failing. These great motivators pull me out the inglenook when my sleepy head falls too low and for too long. I may not have yet found that same old ebullience I once and at times have had the pleasure of living with, but I strive, dammit, I strive on.
IN THE END
I dream about the end of this when I’ve become inured- a deadened paste, calloused and withered, but retaining inner moist and garden. Eclipses of the sun occur to frighten, delight and re-introduce us to our sight. I’ve lived through several in my life and can say this one only qualifies as a penumbra- partial in every way, though not light enough for me to stay to the end of my day to days. No, I require my woebegone to be woe gone away for good and to lay roots in the inspired land that makes my inner garden grow.