We, being several writers of varying levels of experience and diverse backgrounds, plan to use this space to share what we're learning along our literary journey. By pooling our collective skills and interests, we hope to create a source of motivation, information and support for ourselves and other writers we meet along the way.
We've talked about the importance of creating this kind of community for some time now. As Disney says, it's time to start doing. Hopefully, as life permits, more of our writing group will join in.
MEET THE CONTRIBUTORS
Katie Drake fell in love with books when she found the author V.C. Andrews. Ever since, she has been hooked on stories which span several books--she is a series fan. (more)
Solange Hommel is a "newb" to the writing game. She's been an avid reader since the age of 4, when her Daddy first taught her that squiggly lines tell stories. Now she's trying to wrangle squiggly lines into stories of her own. (more)
GETTING WRITE TO IT
Now that you know who we are, let's play a game! Below are our responses to a fifteen minute writing prompt:
A woman carrying a large box flags down a cab in the rain.
Can you match the writing sample to the author?
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A cab pulled up, splashing through the water collecting by the curb, as soon as she raised her arm. The inside of the cab smelled of stale cigars and sweat, but rain had already begun to drip from the ends of her hair into her collar and her arms ached under the weight of the cardboard box she carried, so she climbed in. Her shoes stuck to the filthy carpet and she tried not to think about what might be crawling from the matted upholstery to the back of her coat.
“Where to, lady?”
“Salvation Army, please.”
The driver flicked a switch on the dashboard and the cab lurched into the steady stream of traffic. She dropped her arm over the water-spotted top of the box to keep it from sliding as they rounded a corner. The gesture reminded her of how her father's arm would swing across the car during sudden stops – the pressure of his hand sudden and firm against her chest – long after she had grown past the need.
Her eyes stung with the realization that her father's arm would never hold her back against the safety of the passenger seat again.
Sweat tickled down her neck, wetting short curls against her skin. The damn thing was awkward. Bigger than a microwave box, heavier than a basket of wet laundry, and losing its shape at the corners from being banged down one stair after another.
Regretting the hasty choice of flip flops, she took one more risky, backwards step down, feeling for the edge of the step with her toes and pondering the consequences of letting the box tumble its own way down to the ground floor. The ground floor, as in rock bottom.
Crawl under a rock, don’t rock the boat, between and rock and a hard place, she thought with each thumping step closer to her goal.
At the landing, the box of things she should have thrown out the window was pushed across a floor of cracked black and white tile and then rammed through the too narrow doorway while she held the heavy, old, wooden door open with her back.
The cab was there. And it was raining. The cabby stepped out, offered to help her, but she waved him off. This box was her burden and she would carry it.
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Thanks for reading! Please, take a second to introduce yourself in the comments below. Don't forget to make your guesses about the authorship of each sample. Even better: set a timer for 15 minutes and share what you've written!
We'll let you know who wrote which sample next week. Good luck!