I’m Ann Linquist, freelance writer and online writing instructor. Whether you’re interested in writing fiction, creative nonfiction, or effective business documents, I invite you to explore this site and find out how to reach your writing goals.
I stand in front of the window. It has been painted so many times that I can’t get it open. But tonight I try. I wrestle it, pound on the edges, yank at the bottom, push at the top. This window has never been opened to my knowledge.
I am a time traveler. My home time is 2014, where I am a 47-year-old single male named Harold. I am about to go back to when I was seven to find out why we suddenly lost the Cadillac, the home on Miami Beach, and Mom’s mink and then moved to a shack in mountains of western North Carolina.
Today is the anniversary of my little sister’s death. She was fifty-eight when she died, with two young adult children and a loving husband. She died of cancer, after a long fight. I write today to fight back time. It keeps passing. The years when she was here grow ever more distant. Memories become reduced to repeated sentences that we use to conjure her up. Thin, so thin. Photos are also finite, though we have many; but there are no new ones now, showing her aging, attending graduations, creating new art, celebrating holidays as only she could. I weep but do not bleed. I would bleed if that would bring her back, but I know it will not. I line up these words on the page and conjure her one more time. Sarah.
Please share your words about a loved one that you have lost.
Jack in the box
Top of the Empire State Building
Blocks? Nope. Never have those.
Stewart sat at the head of his long gravel drive way with the car idling. He didn’t need to go home; he was a human being with free will, wasn’t he? He could take a right turn and leave the consequences behind. Or, he could turn all the way around and go back the way he’d come. If he went forward, he would have to face the music. He chewed his thumb nail.
Clothespin, tweezers, tape, and a rubber band.
We all run up against that wall. The excuses are endless: I’m tired. I can’t have one good idea. I’m too busy. I’m not feeling all that great. Everybody needs something. We had guests. Work has been a bear. And on and on.
I’m guilty too, not of all the above, but of enough of them to feel like a good head slap is in order. After all, what about “Keep going!” didn’t I understand? Didn’t I remember anything I taught?
So it finally hit me today. I’ve been waiting for inspiration. I’ve been waiting for that great plot focus to build around. I’ve been waiting for War and Peace without realizing I have what I need to get on with it. It’s odd, since I already have around twelve chapters. Nonetheless, the doubts crept in and I stopped. No more. I’m pushing on no matter how lousy I think it is. Took me long enough.
So my challenge for today is for you to share how it’s going. Where are you stuck and what are you going strong on? Even if all you’re writing are short pieces, are you at least collecting them in an organized way? What’s your balancing act?