December 29 – Defining Moment. Describe a defining moment or series of events that has affected your life this year. (Author: Kathryn Fitzmaurice)
Like my friend blogger, Susan of The Evening Pie, commented, I also am tired of talking about myself and my past year and finding “magical” moments that have turned my life around, or not. I think Reverb10 needs to take a serious look and reach for more of a variety for next years prompts, especially toward the end.
So, instead, I’m posting the piece I wrote from my writer’s group this afternoon. We gather every Wednesday to write from a prompt. Most of us are elementary school teachers or retired teachers with little personal writing experience. But that doesn’t stop our fun. We write because we enjoy doing it and each other’s company. These are not earth-shattering pieces, or polished works to knock your socks off. They come from 10 to 15 minutes of quick writing and then we share with one another.
I have to say that I relish my Wednesday afternoons. My co-writers are brave to share un-edited works and to be so open to comments. What is so magical, though, is what we learn about one another. We surprise ourselves. It is a group of supportive people and I thank my lucky stars to have them in my life.
So here is what I wrote today. If you want to read more, you can go to the Facebook page called “Wednesday Afternoon Writers.” We’re just beginning to post our work. You are warmly invited to join us!
This afternoon’s prompt from the terrific book, Take Ten for Writers by Bonnie Newbauer, gave us each a different character caught doing something by someone who doesn’t know the whole story. We were to write in the present, first person, and be the only voice. The person who caught us couldn’t speak in the piece. We wrote for 15 minutes and had to start with “This isn’t…”
My prompt: You are a psychic raising a seance table with your knee when a cameraman who was running a hidden camera turns on the light to reveal himself.
Red-Handed
by Lexanne Leonard
This isn’t a tanning booth, Mr. Glenn. Turn off that light.
You think you are so clever, Mr. Glenn. I know you think you know what is happening, but you don’t. I know you have a camera under the table. I am psychic, for Hecate’s sake.
So sit down. Relax and I’ll take you with us on our journey. It looks as if I was raising the table with my leg? I was. I knew the camera was running and wanted you to reveal yourself before I began. Now SIT and be quiet and don’t embarrass yourself again.
Everyone clasp hands and close your eyes. Breathe deeply and think about the loved one you are missing. Mr. Glenn, SIT UP! And hold hands. You may roll your eyes as much as you wish, but you will stay till the end.
Mr. Glenn, I see a face calling, no, clamoring for your attention. Who can that be, Mr. Glenn? I see green, a forest. Yes, but it is dark. Night. It is coming clearer. I need to touch, you, Mr. Glenn, for a more direct connection. Don’t fret. I’ll only lay my hands on your shoulders. I want to see who is screaming for…no, not screaming for you…screaming at you. She’s a pretty thing, Mr. Glenn, except for the red…poor little pixie… red running down her face, covering that sweet swan neck.
Mr. Glenn, not so clever now, I think. Relax. I ‘m sure the light will go on and you can explain to us why her hands are red, too. Such a pretty thing. A light summer dress of voile with blue flowers. No. No. Butterflies. A little sprite leaving this earth in such a disagreeable way. Oh my, Mr. Glenn, she’s stopped moving. I see a hand reach down and grab the scarf clutched against her breast. It’s maroon…won’t show too much of the blood, will it? I see feet running away through the leaves, crunching in the still of the night. I feel heavy breathing and drips of sweat exploding off the peat of the forest floor.
Want to turn the lights on, Mr. Glenn?
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