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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 #722561 added April 18, 2011 at 2:46pm
Restrictions: None
'O' is For...?
Today my off-site writing partner,Jessica Bell and I are showcasing excerpts we wrote for a prompt word that starts with 'O.' After reading the passage below, can you determine which emotion/feeling/state of mind I've depicted? After you guess in the comments, please follow the link to Jessica's blog and read her offering!
Here's my 'O' entry:
Reverend James loomed over his daughter, his shadow falling across her slender form. “Where do you think you’re off to at this hour, Andrea?” His voice was dangerously quiet.
“It's only four o'clock, Daddy. I’m going jeans shopping with Karen. Mama said I could.” She added the last part in a rush.
Reverend chewed on his inner cheek, shifting his lower jaw which heightened the look of disgust on his face. Slowly, he shook his head. “I forbid you to go to that shopping mall without an adult chaperone. You’re too young to handle yourself with the crowd of people that hang out there like it’s a tavern, or something.
“Daddy, I’m almost seventeen years old!”
“My point exactly,” he roared. When she’d lowered her eyes, he went on. “I want you to go upstairs. Wash that silly make-up off your face. Then, you’ll retire to your bedroom for the rest of the evening. Spend time on your knees, girl, asking God for guidance. When you have thought long and hard about the mischievous yearnings in your heart, then – and only then – will you come to my office and ask my forgiveness. Understood?”
A car honked on the street. Reverend James narrowed his eyes at his daughter, then nodded his head. Andrea reached for the door handle and swung open the door. Karen leaned across the front seat of her beat-up Chevy, a gift from her parents when she turned sixteen, and waved from the driver’s side. Andrea smiled as a tear ran down her cheek, and she waved Karen on.
Any guesses?
Thanks for reading and have a fantastic day!!
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