Writing of all Things

 Jack’s legs were still milling in the air when he saw the treetops below him.  He had been a few feet behind and to the right of Layla when she dissolved into the shimmering air that moved like water just before the white mountain cliffs.  She was leaning into her half running stride and it was her head that first entered into the undulating green leaves, then her shoulders, her arms holding Ashe and, lastly her right arm trailing behind the rest of her body pulling Lillian in with her. Jack stopped moving his legs and looked below, through the full lush boughs of the tree he saw Layla lying on the lush green grass with Ashe on top of her chest.  He called out hoarsely.  Layla put her hand on Ashe’s back to comfort him and her head turned toward where Lillian lie, motionless. Layla reached out her arm and touched the edge of Lillian’s pink and white top.  Jack called out, loudly this time.  Layla closed her eyes and let her head fall back. His voice e...

  Layla was running now, pulling Lillian dangerously.   Ashe squeezed his arms around her neck so tightly she could scarcely breathe.   Jack would be behind her, but she could not stop to look for him.   Layla put as much distance as she could between them and the boy-soldier with the bayonet and the invisible companion in green uniforms.   The other recruit might not be as generous. The woods were coming to an end.   The woods around the village were filled with caves disguised by underbrush.   If someone heard them coming, surely they would peer out to see who was coming.   The men and boys from the village would recognize her and pull her into their hiding places.   Layla did feel something pulling her, but it was not the hands of one of the villagers. In front of her, she saw the air move in whirls.   The green of the trees was brilliant, the leaves floated as if they were in the water.   The white mountain face was just beyond ...

  “Jack, come ON!” “Layla, shuddup.   I am going faster than you.” “Damn it Jack, help Lillian!” Layla hissed. “I can’t carry her.” “And I can’t carry two. You want to leave one of us behind? That’s a good way to get us all caught.” “They are burning the church.” “I know it. Christ. Just move.” “Where was Mom?” “I don’t know.   Be quiet.” “Did she go out to the wash-house?” “Yeah…I guess. Told me to watch Ashe this morning.” Layla ran tugging the three-year-old behind her. “Why didn’t she take Lillian? She always wants to go.” “Jack, please, move.   And be quiet.” Layla’s voice was hushed and breathless. “She wouldn’t go to wash alone, someone has to help her carry the clothes.   Did she go with Gramma?” “Jack -” Layla angrily raised her index finger perpendicular to her pursed lips. “Gramma would have wanted to go to church on the way.” Jack lowered his voice but insisted, avoiding the dry chestnut leaves on the ground. “I kn...

 Week Three Provocative Ideas  Establish your character from the very first line, what he or she wants, obstacles.  The plot grows from the central conflict. A stranger comes It was James’ turn to talk.   Elisabeth was furious.   It had been his fault entirely.   Marley had been an event he had no control over. What did he value in Elisabeth?   James searched his mind.   She was an excellent mother to the kids.   This was a credible answer, it was the first thing he on the list and he recited it until it took on a life of its own.   She was foremost a mother.   Elisabeth stayed with him because of the kids.   That is what Marley told Elisabeth James had said to her.   Their marriage had been transactional.   Maybe that was the thing he should say now, but that would be counterproductive.   James’ focus was on being collaborative during the sessions with the therapist.    Marley’s things accumulated in t...

 Week three blog Provocative ideas  Sketch the beginning of a story, establish your character from the very first line Connection Claire The desire for efficiency made Claire number the boxes.   #1 kitchen utensils.   There was not much, but no sense leaving it behind.   #2, #3, #4 were filled with books and sensibly she put separated paperwork in #5 and #6.   Neatly wrapping in pages of saved newspaper small framed pictures of Paris and Madrid with the children smiling, Claire protectively positioned them in another box.   Half-way through packing up her life in two oversized grey Samsonite suitcases which, in their previous existence, had sailed on conveyor belts at the airport for trips to Prague and London, were now tasked with transporting the inanimate objects that had made up the last 18 years of Claire’s life,   Claire Michaels was folding the clothes meticulously, patiently.    Businesslike, eyes focused on her work, Claire arra...

  Timing Mickey stood on the side of the road, a car whizzed by.   He could feel the tears coming.   They would be in trouble, but that is not why the moist burning started behind his eyes.   Mickey could hear Ben barking and whimpering.   It was the whimpering that got the tears started.   When Ben whimpered by the door, Evan toddled over and put one hand on the knob.   Evan knew better and waited for someone to come to Ben’s rescue. Today the adults were scarce.   Mickey's father was sleeping off his scotch and they had not seen their mother since Evan was born.     Their father’s sister was tall and had long brown hair that fell over her shoulders, swaying like grass in a field when the two boys wrapped their arms around her neck tackling her to the ground as she exited her car on her weekly stop to drop off groceries and make sure the boys had clean clothes.   She smelled like flowers. Mickey saw a break in the traffic, his ...