Category Archives: journaling prompts

Friday: Fiction in Fifteen – Gathering Storm”

january friday fic in fif 2

http://wp.me/p45h2I-6ug 

[check out Paul's site at the link above! Thanks Paul!]

Isn’t this picture great? It elicits so many emotions within me as I study its depth. And as we all know, emotion is what inspires story!

So have at it! Set your timers for 15 minutes [if you need longer- no worries, take your time] Contemplate the possibilities before you begin to write.  If you do write something, we would love to see it!  Even the first sentence would be great.

I hope you are as inspired by this picture as I am!

Here is my piece:

A Gathering Storm

 A low, deep rumble reverberated through the gathering clouds above . The slow, persistent growl rolled through me and collected in the pit of my belly, churning its contents into a soup of anxiety. How fitting for a morning such as this. Consternation had been my friend for the better part of a year, and its culmination an approaching leviathan.

I averted my eyes of the rumble’s call, choosing instead to focus on the quickly waning strength within me to advance my steps. Squeezing my eyes tight, I asked for more; more strength, more hope. And then less too. Less of the fear and trepidation that threatened to consume me. The dread that I was experiencing only increased with the gathering storm, building to a certain crescendo. Its progress reflected the pattern of recent days, marked by a knowing.  

Morning always brought with it reality. The dreams of my sleep-state had become my refuge; where I felt happiest in the midst of confusion and despair. But each morning the same knowing: the inevitable judgement that we would face, together he and I. Judgement brought on by our own misdeeds. Choices that all led back to here.  I couldn’t be angry with anyone but myself, really.  There was no one to plead with, no begging would stay this decree. I wouldn’t even try. I couldn’t.

I asked for more courage, more strength. Not to deliver me from what was inevitable, but to prop up my shaky steps. No, I would take my punishment as it came, reap the consequences that I wove into the fabric of my life. Nobody’s fault but my own. After the chips fell, and the guilt washed clean from my soul, maybe then I would feel worthy. No, I’ll never be worthy, I felt that deep within. But to find myself back in the grace of God, was a gift I could not embrace now. Now was a time to weather the storm of my own making.

And then wait for a deliverance.

So what did you write in fifteen?  please leave a comment, if only to encourage us to keep writing!

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friday: fiction in fifteen ~ “hope feels”

hope feelshttp://wp.me/p45h2I-6qc “Hope sees the Invisible, Feels the Intangible, and achieves the Impossible.”

a great big thank you to paul militaru who takes such wonderful and inspiring pictures! Check out his site at the link above!

So – five minutes is just not long enough to write a creative short piece of fiction….for me anyway! I just love to create short pieces based on pictures; to contemplate what is going on between the lines. I would love to see what you have written during our friday ficiton segments.  Send me a message or post it in the comments..  Write for 5 or 15 – your choice! the point is to keep inspired and writing! Here is my story:

“Hope Feels”

by: lisa evola

I looked through the frost etched window at the shivering bird perched upon the ledge of my prison.

My prison. One of my own making really. I had been given choices. Choices to do the right thing, to admit my error and therefore join with the rest of the group in what they considered playful respite. I didn’t want it; the playfulness. I preferred instead to wallow in my misfortune, to breathe the frigid air of separation and guilt. I chose to sit, exposed and trembling, much like the sparrow outside the window now.

Like me, he has lost hope. He is unable to see the possibility of shelter all around him.  Shelter that would certainly thaw the blood slowing in his veins, that which would save the life so precariously balanced on that ledge. Life has a way of doing that; driving hope from an open wound in the heart. And so I close it up tight, so that not even a fractured ray can penetrate it. Then sit staring out, blinded to the light reflected there, the light that could achieve the impossible. Seeing only what my stony heart sees, which is but cold, icy frost covering all that I had once known as good.

I see the shivering sparrow. I see it still; its downy feathers puffed out to the elements, protectively encompassing his soon to be stony heart. Like mine. And a single tear runs down my cheek, the first in months. The tear clears a path through the skin, washing away the smudges left by careless word and deed. And a trail of heat is left, warming what is beneath. I touch my finger carefully to the tear, and as I pull it away from my face, more come. At first just a few, but then a river flows, ever widening the chasm. It washes my face, my heart – my soul. And as the tears soundlessly pour, I crank open the casement and reach for the tiny frozen sparrow. He does not resist my warm hands, but sits shaking intermittently in them.

Tucking him inside the opening of my sweatshirt, I coo, tears still falling. Falling from me to the bird at my breast, each drop causing him to flinch, then still again. Then he sees it, as I do too. The invisible. The intangible. The tears that would achieve the impossible.

To feel again.