History writing

so, i was told to post the History writing story, and i finished it, and i really don't know where else to post it, so here it is! just a short little story!
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The days where getting longer for Anna B. Lynch. She ran when she was able to, played with her many friends when she was able to. She was a smart little girl; she knew what was going on. Her mother tried to tell her otherwise, that she had just over exerted herself. True, the swelling would go down after she rested. But she knew. The angels had already visited her in her dreams, telling her her time was coming and to enjoy herself.
That is why today little Anne stole of pair of her brothers shorts and a top, deciding to go explore the woods. She downed the warm tea that was placed on her bedside table and washed her face before stomping out of her room, parading through the house.
“Anna Lynch! What on God’s green earth do you think you are doing?!?” her mother cried when she saw her daughter parading about in her brothers clothes.
“I am going to go explore the wood, mother,” she said, grabbing a plump green apple from the wicker bowl on the table.
“You will do no such thing,” her mother scolded, scowling at her daughter, “Now march upstairs and put your dress on, young lady,”
“Mother, I don’t have much time,” she said, taking a bite of the apple and heading towards the back door. She could feel her chest tightening.
“Anna, what are you talking about?” her mother asked, her hands stilling on the pan she had been scrubbing.
“Just what I said, I haven’t much time, and I want to explore and enjoy myself.” Anna said, her hand on the door knob. She knew that this hurt her mother, for her to say things like this. In her mother’s eyes it was like she had given up. All Anna had done was accept reality.
“Well, I suppose so, just do not let anyone see you!” her mother said, turning back to scrubbing the pan.
Anna smiled and raced out the door, running down the slope and into the woods in their backyard. She stopped and huffed, clutching her chest. When she regained her breath she started through the woods, marching and looking around her.
The wood is so beautiful, she thought as she looked around her. I wish I had come here before.
It was late summer, so the leaves on the trees where changing color. There was a painter’s pallet of colors around her, reds, greens, oranges, pinks, and every other color imaginable. The grass was a bright green; the sky was a wonderful blue, rich and deep. She looked around her in awe, forgetting for a few precious moments that she would soon die, her body giving into the Diphtheria that was consuming it.
She came to a babbling brook. She smiled as she envisioned the mermaids and water sprites that must live within it. Anna gingerly stepped onto a rock, taking her shoes off and setting them down beside her. She dipped her toes into the water, closing her eyes when she felt the coolness lick her toes.
“Hello, little bird,” she cooed to the bird singing in a tree on the other side of the water. “How are you today?”
The bird chirped. She envisioned him saying,
‘Very fine, thank you. And how are you today, Miss Anna?’
She giggled. “Very good, Mr. Bird.”
The bird chirped again and flew away.
“Goodbye, Mr. Bird,” she called, waving a little. She looked down into the water and saw a little fish, looking at her toes with interest. Anna tried not to stir as the fish gave her a little peck.
“Hello, Mrs. Fish, how are you today?” she asked to the water. The fish darted away, having felt the vibration of her voice from her toes.
She smiled and sat back, watching the clouds and naming the shapes she saw within them.
“Bunny, an elephant, a giraffe, and oh! That one looks like a baby!” Anna giggled to herself.
“ANNA!!!! ANNA!!!” she heard the faint voice of her mother calling her. She sighed, glancing at the sun and realizing she had been here longer than she had thought.
“Goodbye, brook. Goodbye, fishes. Goodbye, mermaids and water sprits. Goodbye everyone!” she called, imagining the water sprits and mermaids and everything else waving to her.
She pranced through the woods, content with her experience.
Suddenly she felt her chest tighten, and her throat start to swell. She ran faster, her eyes growing wide as she struggled to breath. Finally she got to the house, her mother waiting for her.
Anna’s mother took her in, giving her hot tea and telling her everything was going to be all right.

This is why I write

Photo courtesy of J Phillipson

What is it that I see when I close my mind to this world and open it to that other one? That place beyond the glass from which ideas fly--to be let into my room at my whim and leisure.
When we close our eyes to bright sunlight, the shapes of things are still visible against our closed lids. Violet and orange, the colors of flame--they wait, licking at my fancy, static and patient--for me to let them in. And so I pick up my pen and open my soul's eyes, and I give those fiery forms their true design.
A tree outside the window, its leaves a blur of green, becomes THAT tree, the only tree, the first tree. Its bark is gnarled with wise age, its limbs are fingers that point to things beyond my ken, and its leaves--the leaves have renounced blurriness. They are unique, each quivering with particular life, each its own shade of life-green, verde vitae, and each limned in gold, fire-veined. This tree speaks to me as its whorls and knots spin and shift to become a face that is distinctly itself. I am the Source, it says. And I don't need to question what the source is. There is no quest for more, just complaisance as I wait for knowing to roll its golden path through me.
I stand beneath the branches and stretch out my arms to either side, and I marvel at the play of green and gold on my skin. And I wait there.
This is what writing is to me, this deliberate step into a new world, my own world, a place I create as I move through it. There is no sense of desperate urgency here--only contentment.
I know that if I stand here long enough, poised for any eventuality, it will come. And I will record it: I, Life-giver, will record it in my book.

This is what we look like...

...when we write...

...when we are pretending not to notice the camera that
is interrupting our conversation with the muse...

...and when we edit...

...and polish...

...when the teachers are not looking...

...and when they are...

...especially when one of them is sitting right next to us...

...when we get stuck in our writing and need to take a break...

...and when we get inspired again...

...when we find the courage to share our stories with others and
risk their criticism. And find joy in their praise.

This is what Mustang Summer Writing Camp looks like.

Chuggin' Along

I don't know about you, but after all the comments yesterday I woke up this morning with cherry scones on my mind. I was able to hold off my rumbly tummy until I got to school, and I must say they didn't disappoint. They were warm and yummy, a perfect combination to get my writerly mind up and moving (I'm sure the coffee helped too.) Thanks Mrs. Genthner for the homey goodness you brought with you today.


From "Yummies" time we went on to our Sacred Writing Time. This morning's prompt has us imagining a window. As everyone shared their work I was blown away at how creative our group is. I love the fact that we all start with the same prompt and come out with writing that is so different. We heard about all kinds of windows, some with curtains, some without; some open, and some closed; and even some with eerie black-clad girls lurking in them! As I listened and thought about what we were going to be talking about next (using vivid language) I realized how good you already are at creating pictures with your words.


We had a nice chunk of time for writing today. I don't know about you, but I had a tough time getting going today. I spent most of my time getting my thoughts in order. How is that time going for you all? It doesn't seem to matter if I'm brainstorming or composing though because the time flies by. When the time rolled around for us to meet in our writing groups I had reached a point where I was "in the writing groove", but I wanted to see the progress of my group members too.

Too soon it seems that day two came to an end. Before I knew it, it was time for us to all go. Hmmm....maybe we need a longer day for next year..... What do you think?


Finally, I have a few thank you's and a warning. First, thank you all for coming back today. Since this is our first time doing this I wasn't sure how you all would like it. I knew I would have a blast, but I'm a little weird. Secondly, thank you for your willingness to participate in the writing prompts and the writing groups. I know how difficult it is to share your writing. It isn't always easy to open yourself up for others to see. Finally, here's your warning (it's not as dire as it sounds), even though this is only day two, we don't have much time left so you may want to spend some time in the afternoons or evenings composing or polishing your anthology piece. You'll be surprised at how quickly Friday comes. I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow, until then - happy writing!




Kiley was kind enough to stay after and give me some of her thoughts on how the MSWC is going for her. Check it out and add your own comments on your experience so far.

I really don't know what to write on the blog so, hi. Oh and cherry scones sound pretty good. :)

First Day Done

I wonder if any of you had as much trouble sleeping last night as I did. I get these jitters before any exciting event in my life. First day of school. Vacation. New job. Going on a date. I toss and turn the night before each one, blinking at the clock as each hour slouches past, waiting for morning. I always set my alarm just in case, but I don't need to: I wake up well before it goes off. This morning was no different.
Finally, the sun was bright enough that I felt like it wasn't insanely early to get out of bed, and I started getting ready, letting the excitement ease itself out as I ate some breakfast and made some coffee.
By the time I got to school, I was so calm you probably had no idea that I hadn't slept well. You didn't, did you? That's how good I am at acting.
And the nervousness was all for nothing. The morning went just swimmingly. We had enough time to do everything, even though I felt rushed at the end during our group sharing time. I'm thinking we should maybe lengthen that for tomorrow; what do you think?
But I loved hearing about your name stories, how you find ideas, getting to know you all better.

And I really loved the writing time. I don't know about you, but even though I consider myself a writer, I don't do a very good job of setting aside time each day dedicated just to writing. I distract myself instead with other things, like eating chocolate, going for a walk, reading, or making something.
Do you find yourself making excuses, or have you developed the writing habit? I hope that maybe this week will be good for all of us, myself and Mrs. Valente included. We want to become better writers, too, and we're hoping you will teach us as much as we teach you.
So come on, share your ideas about how to find time to write or your frustrations. Tell me about what you liked or didn't like about the workshop today. And tomorrow, I'm thinking I'll bring in cherry scones. Sound good?

hi

HI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!