It's my line and I'm editing it. |
Here you'll find sentences, paragraphs, character descriptions some of which have been edited out of previously worked on pieces. Some are just waiting for the 'write' story to come along. In other words...ALL of these entries are Works in Progress. |
I do my best writing before I ever get out of bed. Usually, its during the predawn hours. Before I’m dressed or showered, before my lips feel the hot smooth liquid of Kenyan coffee. If I’m lucky, I remember enough of my words to jot down later, stab at recreating the moment…mostly, I forget my words, only remembering how nice they sounded before alertness flashes my nerves, jolts my brain and somehow manages to destroy me creativeness. "If everyone used a few energy-saving bulbs, it would be like taking eight million cars off the road each year." |
I am inspired by creativity in its many varied forms. I am motivated by humor in everyday life. I am amazed at the beauty that materializes when laughter/creativity sparks in the eyes of individuals whom otherwise appear ordinary. Robin Bateman "When you walk onto the court, get ready to play the game." --Joe Arias Change Five Lightbulbs |
Three words and I am lost. Off on a journey your voice takes me. Yeah, yeah, yeah The cadence swirling in seductive tones,wrapping around my heart Yeah Melts the walls of my soul Yeah My wings have spread and I take flight. Another version. still working on this... Reverberate Three words and I am lost Off on a journey your voice takes me “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The cadence swirling in seductive tones, Brushing against my core. “Yeah.” Melts the walls of my weakened resistance. “Yeah” My fingertips search for surface to tap. “Yeah.” My lips move in synchronized words. I am yours Surrendered Is it minutes? Or hours? Succumbing to the promised journey. Dancing with my feet kicking up the sand Taken over Surrender You are next to me I feel you through me In me A brief moment we are one You talk to me And I to you only because you have allowed me Allowed me to surrender my…. |
still working on this one: I am here again In the middle of miles Surrounded by nothing My fingers reach out For thick branches to grasp Stumble and fall. But where is the ground? Pounding in |
My bare feet darting against the hot summer sand. Your little fingers cling tight against my neck. “Mommy.” You say, your voice tiny at my ear, Your soft lips give me a quick peck. “Will you buy me a sno cone?” Still running, across the asphalt now, my feet burn “Please mommy. I’m hot.” You beg and whine. Without thinking, I reach deep into my shorts pocket My fingers grope for money, finding only a dime. “I don’t have enough money.” Yanking open the car door, I plop you down “But Mommmmy” Your bottom lip quivers “I’m hot. And thirsty. Pleeeeeease.” My tanned body weary from the sun. Your skin burnt deep red “Mommy’s tired.” I tell you But you haven’t heard a word I said. “I want a blue one.” You tell me “It’s cold and I’m hot.” You whine. |
You can spew about winning To your little heart’s content Post imagery, and hyperbole The best you have in store for me Your boast – they do not bother me... I will whip up my words and crush yours with 'em! |
A large office chair I pick up and hurl Landing on your face. I see your lip curl Before you can move, I bare my sharp teeth Sinking them into your flesh Will be nothing but sweet You lunge at me strong Pushing me into the ropes But my right knee lifts hard Proving your efforts a hoax Before you make challenges You can’t carry out Robin will stomp on your words Leaving little doubt That she is the winner You will admit your defeat As you drop to the floor And give a kiss to her feet. |
“Oh My God!” She tapped her index finger several quick times against the glass window of the driver’s side ford tarus. “That’s the guy.” Like I’m supposed know. Before I can respond, she answers, in that quick speed never take a breath until you’ve spit out five sentences delivery. You know, teenagers and young adults all have it. Listening makes me gasp for the air I know she must need. “Three shots, skinny, no foam latte. You know!” She gives me a quick glance. “I told you about him yesterday. The creepy guy?” It’s been a long day. I search my memory. I sorta recall some story, told in that breathless tone, about some guy who gave her the creeps. Was I only half listening to her then? I laughed, a sort of repressed laugh, which came out like a snort. “What?” Should I tell her? It’s funny to me; how young people talk. How she knows this man by the drinks he orders at her job? I smile. “I love you.” I know, it’s so off topic, but she flashes me a quick smile. “I know.” She senses my weakness. My motherly warmness, and she dives in. “So, do you love me enough to pay my Visa bill?” “Um.” I hesitate, trying to grope for a sarcastic response. “Mom...” Again, theirs that smile, the one with the dimples. “I’ll pay you back.” And after a small pause. “I’m just not sure when.” She’s bought me lunch several times lately and I can’t resist. It must be tough going to school AND working. When I was a sophomore in college, I just went to school. I did not have to work thirty to forty hours a week. I admire her efforts. “Okay.” She smiles. Now it’s her turn. “I love you.” |
Trivial. My words, my thoughts, images in my head. Spinning Desperately trying to clutch onto concrete substance. Lost in this sea of distant memories, vivid yet unreachable. Driving toward an element of creative design. Always thrashing Always swimming Always splashing Always reeling Keep from drifting Reaching the shore Gathering together the images in my head, my thoughts, my words. Fundamental. |
The sledgehammer comes down hard Whack Chunks of brick ricochet Sharp pieces pierce my flesh. Embedding themselves deep into muscle, Scraping bone. Ignoring the pain, I continue Whack Clouds of dust invade my nostrils Settling in the depths of my lungs Smothering my breath. Sometimes, destruction is necessary Stumbling on the rubble Balancing my footing on unstable debris I wonder Can I rebuild? |
sometimes, going unnoticed is a good thing. like when you dropped a bottle of salad dressing on the kitchen floor. When your dad doesn't notice the sliver of glass sliding into his heel, he can't yell at you for it. I love you!!!!! thanks for being my teacher. |
“Where have you been?” Hand on hip, she is screaming. No one should have the unfortunate experience to be woken up in this manner. “Um…err…sleeping?” my voice filled with grogginess. I slid my body deeper under the covers. “I’m serious.” She continues. She yanks the covers off of me, scposing my toasty warm skin to the brisk cool air. |
Backwards steps Awkward attempts Silent responses Silly nuances Crying in pain Clothes bloodstained Salt covered face Devoid of his trace Mind in a race Only to chase... |
i have plenty of days where i hate everything. or, worse, where i hate myself, allowing the barrage of self-criticism and doubt attack my wounded soul....sending me further into a state of negative ness. Relish the good days and take the bad with a cup of coffee, or lime coke, a bag of Doritos and a dose of Napoleon Dynomite. oh, as a reader, i loved the line....'tapping me on the shoulder'...great stuff. i love you!!!! |
born from self-preservation inspired by guilt expressed in silence resulting in pain |
I'm always coming up with these paragraphs that never make it anywhere. maybe i should just write a short story from them....who knows, ‘URGENT’ was all the note said. Harry folded up the small peoice of paper and shoved it into his shirt pocket. He swiped up his brief case from the top of his desk. Pushing and shoving his way across the hallway, he uttered barely audible apologies. |