It hides behind the fancy ribbons the glitter, the streamers it hides in plain sight behind white-toothed red-lipstick smiles is obscured by laughter and music
but then a sudden light– headlights through the window sweeping the far wall, someone leaves the bathroom or enters from the hall– and the shadows shift and I see it so clearly and then it’s gone covered again in laughter and the next song’s major chords
It hides under every plastic cup and every paper plate under every chair used to fasten a balloon I can taste it in every bite of cake there it is in the flicker of candles I smell it coming in the smoke when extinguished
It lingers longer this year as it lurks in the shadows and leaves a clingy film after the guests have gone
My days are flying by. Every day I think I’ll get more done than I do, but I’m enjoying putting extra time into this initial set-up with the intent to have everything come up again later. I started hopping around a little bit yesterday, and that helped me get motivated to go back and continue the scene from the day before.
How’s your writing going? How do you get and stay motivated?
Here’s the November daily prompts calendar I mentioned on Thursday. These words are much more abstract than the Halloween Challenge, but I’m hoping they will challenge me to create photographs that represent and inspire the feeling of these words while I work on my novel. I hope you will join me and post your links in the comments each day. I look forward to seeing how you interpret these prompts.
Today’s prompt, “Diary,” is a great prompt for a Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Today’s #SoCS prompt is “boo.” The prompt says to choose a work with boo in it and of course my mind screamed “BOOK!” which also brings me back to diary. These days I don’t keep a “diary,” I do morning pages in a journal. I once had the horrible experience of someone I loved and trusted, reading my diary and becoming angry at me–judging my personal, emotional, private thoughts–from what they read there. I tore out the pages and burned them on the back stairs. I never kept a diary again. My morning pages are about writing process and random mind clearing. I doubt they would make much sense to prying eyes.
Boo! Did I surprise you? I would laugh that you shook but you’re looking at my book which you must have mistook for anything other than my diary because I know you wouldn’t do that to me.
But my eyes don’t mislead: I’ve been forsook, or you took me for a rube or a boob. I am no newb to a rude goon rooting through my room for loot. You took so much more than my words you broke my trust. I am mute.
Like a kick with a steel-toed boot my stomach fills with doom as you hoot like a baboon, head a hot-air balloon. I feel a swoon but red heat is a boon. I grab my book from your grasp and get to task.
As I tear the pages, your anger is moot, its root in forbidden fruit A taboo you zoomed past without booze. As a lit fuse I set each page aflame, and dance in my moonlit release. I won’t make this mistake again.