The Spontaneous Pen: September, 2011

One jump line.  Ninety seconds to write.  Go!

This months jump line is:

I wish I could remember…

  • “I wish I could remember where I left my glasses.  How am I supposed to be a prolific, witty writer and amaze the world with my intellgence and charm when I can’t even see the keyboard?” – Leona Webb  
  • I wish I could remember what that cereal was that my mother used to cook over the fireplace when the electricity went out and there was no other heat in the house. It had a nutty flavor and the cream from the milk bottle and a touch of sugar made the rest of the day wonderful; or was that because school was canceled on account of snow?” – Jennifer Levens
  • I wish I could remember my grandmother’s scent, the perfect combination of Oil of Olay and grace. The day before she died, I leaned down to kiss her forehead and inhaled deeply, trying to hold onto her scent, trying to hold onto her.  She slipped away from me while I slept in her house and the next morning I dressed in her sweater, wrapped myself in her scent. Now that sweater only smells like the back of my closet, but every once in awhile she comes to me in dreams and when I wake up I swear I catch the faintest hint of Oil of Olay and maybe even a little grace.” – Alicia McCauley
  • In the dark, I let the rainbow effects play around the streetlight, as the light rays spilled like water. I loosened my focus, and I felt a sparkling effervescence of being. For a moment, I felt, as if I saw beyond. And, I was enthralled by it.” – Kathleen M. Griffin
  • In the dark, the deepest kind, moonless and shuttered, and thickly curtained, she comes to me.  In that black time our senses rise like two desperately blind souls with only hands to speak and only taste to hear.  And there, wonderfully, we make a choir and a symphony for us alone, and we pretend even God can’t see.”  – David Zobel
  • “I wish I could remember …his name.  He was so much fun that summer.  I remember his kisses, so deep I felt like I went unconscious in them.  I remember the feeling of sand in my bathing suit and not caring very much.  I remember he had blonde hair, and I remember his full biceps and his strong tummy against mine.  I just wish I could remember his name.” – Anonymous
  • I wish I could remember more moments of wonderment from my childhood because when I watch my son express his pure joy about new discoveries my heart sings.” – Darbie Andrews
  • I wish I could remember a time when she loved me. No, really. A time when I was the world to her, but it was not meant to be. I came from her deformed. I almost killed her. And at times, I wish I had.” – Linda Boyden

Take 90 seconds to finish the jump line and then post your response in the comments section.  All online comments will be posted here.  Due to limited space only, selected responses will be published in next month’s newsletter.

The Spontaneous Pen: August, 2011

One jump line.  Ninety seconds to write.  Go!

This months jump line is:

Letting my shadow write…

  • “I ask in silence to be guided to a friend or stranger in need.  With unconditional love I share a smile and kind words.” – Anonymous
  • because somehow I can’t find the words; I know there must be many—81 years is plenty of time to gather them.  But when I start to write, I cry.” – Pat Waldron
  • instead of my brain is fun.  I can sit back on cruise control and let Shadow take the wheel.  As I nap, Shadow drives us to dark places, not all at once but slowly, gradually.  We venture through grays of first grade memories, then on to the hard stuff.” – Linda Boyden
  • “is sort of like Peter Pan trying to catch his shadow in Wendy’s room.  Just when I think I’ve got an idea cornered, it darts away from me.  Isn’t that always the trick of shadows and writing?” – Alicia McCauley
  • is like letting the kids drive the bus!  Will it end up on the sidewalk?  Plow through the hedges?  Drive us over a cliff?  Or, will we end up having a screaming good time with laughter and thrills?  No one really knows.” – Anonymous
  • Birds chirping in vibrant chorus and fragrance of lilacs wafted through the open window.  I hopped out of bed, not having a clue that this day would forever change my life.” – Darlene Keppler
  • Even though my shadow has only a transitory existence, it makes a difference to how I write.  It has no one to impress.  It is only a shadow after all.” – Anna Hourihan
  • gave me the inspiration to start a short story about my grandmother and a bobcat that stood between the lake, where she’d gone to get water, and her safety in the house.” –  Chloe Winston
  • helps me to be creative and expressive and brings out the real me—all my experiences, thoughts from past lives.  It brings me into the present moment.” – Anonymous
  • feels a little like cracking a dirty joke at a Sunday School picnic.  Nobody should give voice to the shadow, tendencies we all have, or so says my overactive superego.” – Lee Baldwin
  • Each day starts with this wild canary by my sleep-filled room—the quail call to breakfast, and voices of walkers on the road, punctuated by the dog’s greetings.” – Anonymous
  • It creeps along the ground.  It is writing the sun’s timeline.  It is my timeline.  It is my life creeping along the ground, measured by darkness and light.  It is only a timeline.” – Anonymous
  • My shadow thinks it knows what I should write, but I know better.  If I didn’t stop it from writing all over the place, it would say things it really shouldn’t reveal.” – Anonymous 
  • “gives a voice to the feelings that are awkward to share.  Perhaps because they make me feel vulnerable or ashamed.  My shadow helps me find some distance between the present and the feelings I am trying to express.” – Ron Sutton
  • “is important to my inner light.” – Larry Watters

Take 90 seconds to finish the jump line and then post your response in the comments section.  All online comments will be posted here.  Due to limited space only, selected responses will be published in next month’s newsletter.