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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.
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Blog, Blog, Blog #721876 added April 9, 2011 at 9:20am
Restrictions: None
'H' is for...?
Guess which emotion/feeling/state of mind that begins with 'H' I've depicted today in the short fictional passage below.
3:00
Marnie pushed the start button on the microwave timer.
2:59…58…57…
She kept her gaze on the changing numbers, forcing her eyes not to drift towards the stick, lying on the table on a single sheet of paper towels. She’d been waiting fourteen months. It was a long time to wait. But nothing felt longer than these last three minutes.
2:28…27…26…
She and Chad had begun trying on their wedding night. They kept it no secret, confiding in anyone who would listen. Friends and family asked every time they saw them. And it had gotten more and more painful to keep saying, ‘No, nothing yet.’
2:02…2:00…1:58…
Marnie wrung her hands until they nested all by themselves into a prayful clasp. Please, God…I know it’s wrong to ask. I know I must accept your will. But if you let it be, if you just let it be…please let it be…
1:40…39…38…
The morning of their first wedding anniversary, her temperature had peaked and then dropped off. Conditions were perfect, and they took full advantage. But being it was their anniversary, they’d forgotten about the thermometer and the ovulation charts on the bedside table and had gotten blissfully lost in their love. Three weeks later, Marnie got her period.
:57…56…55…
Look, if it isn’t meant to be, it isn’t meant to be. Think of all the unwanted children born into the world every day. There is more than one path that leads to parenthood. You’re young. You have your whole life…
:23…22…21…
The glowing numbers swam, ran together, and Marnie blinked rapidly. Oh, to feel a baby move inside her, to waddle beneath the weight of a gloriously swollen belly, to face the fear and pain of delivery, all to see born a perfect product of her and Chad’s love. It was the last chance to see their genes mixed, their blood mingled, for Chad’s legacy to live on.
:11…10…09…
Marnie closed her eyes tight. She wished Chad were here. He would have been so supportive. Tears leaked from squeezed lids, spilled down her cheeks. “Please,” she whispered.
Beep...Beep...Beep...
So, what emotion/etc. have I depicted here? I look forward to your comments!
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