Woke up *tired* this morning. I’d set an alarm so I would have plenty of time to write if I really got into something (instead of just sleeping until I woke up.) Writing more than 30 minutes turned out to be wishful thinking on my part. I’m exhausted. Am going back to bed after this post.
Was this a successful writing practice? I was here and I wrote for 30 minutes. I figure that has to count for something. I don’t feel as though I did anything particularly creative though. The prompt was “write about your mother’s cooking”.
I started off with a page or so describing fresh baked bread, which was rather oddly written in second person. Not enough images to qualify for a prose poem (IMO) but there might be something there.
Then I wrote about my mom’s cooking — first person POV story — not really my mom, but with many of her elements. It honestly isn’t something that I felt strong enough to face this morning (for those of you just joining my mom died about a year and a half ago.) There were several places where the story could have gone — how my friend Bridget’s mother had much better cooking (magic/witchcraft), or how the mother in the story (who’d died of cancer) had been exposed to something in her lab which had both ruined her tastebuds as well as killed her. . . But nothing held my interest long enough for me to actually want to write it.
I think that this is just today. I don’t think that I’ve completely run dry of words, though that’s kind of what it feels like right this minute. I think I should just go back to bed for a while and see what I feel like after a nap.