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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 #723141 added April 28, 2011 at 8:24am
Restrictions: None
'X' is for...?
Yesterday's A-Z prompt word was 'Wanton.' That was a fun one to write!!
It's the final stretch!! Today's 'X' prompt word is depicted by a character in the excerpt below. See if you can guess what emotion/feeling/state of mind I've described that begins with 'X'. (There really aren't many 'x' states of mind!) Can't wait to read your comments!
So without further ado, here is my entry for the day:
Las Vegas, Nevada. July 13, 1991. Ten o'clock a.m.
Brenda glared from behind the safety of her register counter at the crowd in the convenience store. Every aisle was clogged with wiry, dirty-looking young people, many dressed in ridiculous assortments of tie-dyed clothing. Long lines of them snaked from the restroom doors and down the length of coolers. Her eyes shifted when the men's room door opened and two barefoot girls in tube tops and peasant skirts emerged.
The bell over the entryway jingled and she turned her head in that direction. A tall man with no shirt and ratty dreadlocks to his waist bounced in, carrying a boom box on his shoulder. Sugar Magnolia blared. Heads began to bob. The girls in the tube tops broke out in a swaying dance that had their skirts swirling and jingle-bell anklets jangling.
"Hey you!" Brenda called out. "Turn that thing off in here!"
Damn you Mikey for calling in sick today. And damn you Jerry Garcia for spawning this generation of filthy, free-loading, hippie throw-backs. Once a year this circus descended for a weekend of Vegas shows, and every year it was the same. Not one of these losers will buy anything. They're here to take a piss and shove as many moon pies and beef jerky sticks down their pants as possible.
"Excuse me, miss?"
Brenda jumped, her heart clawing its way to her throat as her glare shot down to the man standing at the counter. His gray t-shirt may have started out green, but it was tattered and stained and looked like it hadn't seen a washing machine in months. Emerald eyes gazed at her from a bronzed and heavily bearded face. The faint aroma of marijuana floated around him.
"Yes, what do you want?" Brenda's voice quavered.
"I was just wondering if you could give me directions to the post office? I want to send my mom a post card. Tour's only half over and I miss her like crazy, you know?" His smiled sheepishly.
Brenda narrowed her eyes and wondered what he was up to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
So what do you think? What state of mind/emotion/feeling have I described here?
Thanks for reading and have a wonderful day!
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