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Why I Write
When I write, I draw on my experiences as a woman with a painful past, a rapturous wife and mother, a world traveler, and a spiritualist. For me, writing is an art form. Like an artist, the work becomes more than I imagined it would be. When I set out to write a story with a particular idea or character in mind, words I cannot claim as my own flow from a magical and mysterious place through me and onto paper. The work takes on a life of its own; it is living art. The process fascinates me, satiates me, and makes my life more meaningful.
Please read my stories! If you would like to offer me feedback on my work, please click here and sign up for a free membership: https://heftynicki.Writing.com
I hope to see you there!
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Blog, Blog, Blog #665365 added August 27, 2009 at 10:41am
Restrictions: None
Drawing a Blank
(This writing assignment is actually the second entry I've made today. Please also check out the WDC Birthday Activity I created featured in today's previous entry!)
This assignment is from "Invalid Item" 
Drawing a Blank
Capturing a visual moment with your pen is a great way to get your inner writer into gear; we are, after all, translators. Whether you are in your home, out and about, or sat at your computer, you will find art everywhere (even the doctors surgery waiting room!). Find a picture, study it: is it bland or inspiring? Either way, can you imagine a story behind it? This could be the artist's story, the buyer's story, or just a mood you captured from it.
Write
For no more than 15 minutes writing, take your reader into that picture's story.
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(10:05 am)
From the north side of the room, Monelle stared through the lens of her prized Nikon mounted on a tripod. The sun streamed through sheer drapes that covered the entire span of the east wall, from crown molding to wide planks of mahogany flooring, including the windows. Monelle could see the ghostly outline of the half circle window atop the plate one below it and scoffed to herself at the choice to cover a gorgeous window like that. The light illuminated the alabaster walls and played off the texture in the brick fireplace that had been painted with high gloss white paint. Monelle straightened to survey the room with her naked eye and clucked her tongue. The overstuffed sofa and all its throw pillows were white, as was the pair of Louis XIV chairs opposite the chrome and glass coffee table, piled high with stacks of large white books with alluring titles like, “Guess Who.” Underneath the table was spread a zebra hide that was intended to be, she supposed, a playful splash of color along with the black and white gingham throw draped across a white ottoman as if it had been casually discarded there the night before. Monelle chuckled without smiling. This room is an asylum, she thought. She knew her editor wanted her to capture the chic elegance of this hoity-toity apartment, but the artist in her was rebelling, hard.
Suddenly, she remembered the lovely landscaping she admired when she approached the place that morning. She called to the butler who had been stationed at the great room entrance since her arrival. He raised an eyebrow when she demanded scissors, but he fetched them quickly just the same. Marching with her weapon in hand, she exited the house and chose a young shoot from a dwarf Japanese maple at the corner of the building. It took just a minute to cut-saw through the narrow branch, though she had to hold it at arm’s length back into the building so she didn’t trip as its fullness obstructed her view of the stoop.
She reached into the deep neck of the rectangular hurricane-style holder on the coffee table and lifted out the chunky, foot-tall white pillar candle. In its place, she set the large branch. The emerald leaves popped against the sameness of the décor, and seemed to breathe life into the room, drawing the eye to the center of the space. Monelle’s heart began to race as she snapped frame after frame, and her trained eye knew she was seeing through the camera lens a contender for next month’s cover.
(10:33 am -- Oops  )
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