My First Writing Assignment

The assignment was to finish one of five sentences, of which I picked "Looking at Paris in this light ...," and to finish it in roughly five minutes and under 300 words. Here's what happened:

Looking at Paris in this light really reminds me of walking down Champs Elysee close to midnight, after a lovely evening with Jean-Paul. I wonder where he is now? What ever became of him? Does he still set up his easel at Luxembourg park every morning and watch that beautiful group of people do their tai chi? Does he stroll along Rue du Fabourg smoking his Galoise, telling some beautiful young woman she should become a model. I wish I had listened to him back then. Back when I still had the looks and

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And that's as far as I got in five minutes ... I seriously think there was something wrong with my egg timer! Well, a little bit discouraged, especially since I made the mistake of reading some of the other entries, I had to do a lot of talking to myself (is that a bad thing?!) to get the courage to try again. I tried planning my story a little better, and here is my second attempt:

Looking at Paris in this light takes me back to that night when I met Jean-Paul. I wonder what ever became of him. Does he still take his easel to Luxembourg park and paint while the others are doing their tai chi exercises? Does he still walk along Champs Elysees with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth? Does he still tell that young lady that she should become a model? I should have listened to him. I should have taken that bold step back when I still had the looks.

"Mammy!" the voice of my grand daughter brings me back to the present.
"Bubby!" I give her a big hug, grateful for the love she is willing to share with her ailing grandmother.

"Mama, what are you doing with that old shoe box?" My precious daughter, always looking out for me and my well being. "Are you looking at those old postcards from Paris again?"

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Now I wasn't at all happy with that new beginning, so back to the drawing board, so to speak. I wanted a combination of the two, so this last one is after five minutes of writing (from the beginning) and about seven minutes of editing. I'm a terrible typist, which is my second excuse for not being able to produce nearly as many words as everyone else. That and that dang egg timer!

Looking at Paris in this light really reminds me of walking down Champs Elysees close to midnight, after a lovely evening with Jean-Paul. I wonder where he is now? What ever became of him? Does he still set up his easel at Luxembourg Park every Saturday morning and watch that beautiful group of people do their Tai Chi? Does he stroll along Rue du Faubourg smoking his Gauloise, telling some beautiful young woman she should become a model. I wish I had listened to him back then. Back when I still had the looks and ...

"Mammy!" The voice of my grand-daughter, Barbara, pulls me back to the present.
"Babby!" The name she called herself when she was just learning to talk became my sweet nickname for her. I lean over and give her a hug, grateful for the love I always get from her.

"Mama, what are you doing with that old shoe box?" My precious daughter, always so full of concern for my well-being. "Are you looking at those old postcards from Paris again?"

"Yes, dear. Come sit here," I pat the space next to me on the bed. "Tell me about this one," and I hand her the post card with the upper left corner folded over and the little notch on the bottom. My daughter begins to tell me of the river running through the scenery on the card with the Eiffel Tower on the right-hand side. Just like I remember it when I had folded that corner over when my sight was starting to fail me. (261 words)