My last writing assignment

Another creative course has come to an end, just like another year is about to. This class was called Writing Your Life Story, and although I plan to do that in the future, it was not for now. I still got a lot out of the class and have a better foundation for when the time is right for me to share my story. This last writing assignment called for us to write “200 words or less, tell me how you feel when you capture in your notebook or writer’s journal the essence of people and places that appear in your writing. Are you excited, afraid, puzzled, delighted, daunted, or a combination of all these feelings?” Since I was not actively gathering information on the people I have encountered, I wrote something a little different. The instructor’s comment is at the end.

For as long as I can remember, pen and paper have been an obsession of mine. When I was around 10 or 11, I started writing letters to pen pals around the world. There was Keiko in Japan, Farhana in India, and Sandra in France. It was so much fun buying colorful stationery and unusual pens and pencils. My handwriting was quite neat and legible back then, and I would constantly play with new ways of writing, sometimes slanting, sometimes in all-caps, sometimes straight up and down. Sometimes it depended on the paper and the pen I was using at the moment. As I’d get used to writing one way, my handwriting would eventually become sloppy and I would make up another one.

Every summer growing up, I would stay with my uncle in Finland. My cousin Anne was just as fascinated with papers and cards as I was, so we would visit a little paper shop where I was first introduced to everything Japanese. Well, maybe it wasn’t everything, but to a paper-obsessed young girl, Hello Kitty! was quite exciting. In that little store, I would stock up on writing pads, erasers that smelled like strawberries and other little notebooks, postcards, and gadgets.

As a funny twist to my obsession, I was more interested in collecting the pads and note cards than actually writing on them. If it wasn’t a letter being written to Keiko or Sandra, I liked the pages left blank. My love for everything paper-related made it challenging for me to actually write something in something so pretty.

When I started my first online writing course a few months back, I was encouraged to start journaling. Around the same time, I started attending a Single Moms group at church, and Claire, the leader, supplied us with pens and journals—it must have been fate that she encouraged us to write. I loved the little black notebook with pink and purple butterflies she handed each of us. It even had an elastic band to keep it closed. I immediate starting using it for my writing class and begged Claire for another one for the group. She was glad to give me one and told me they were from Target. I went and cleaned them out. They are cheap and they are the perfect size to carry around without having to buy a suitcase to lug them around. I also love the elastic. It’s not quite a lock on a diary, but it still gives me a sense of privacy, knowing it won’t fling open at a bad time.

Journaling in this inexpensive little book has given me the freedom to abandon trying to make my handwriting perfect and to just follow my thoughts, random as they are at times. I can also feel liberated in knowing that, although my daughters know how to read or are learning to read, my handwriting is so atrocious they would abandon their attempt to trying to decipher what I’ve written. I feel like my thoughts are still my thoughts and that they can remain private. In a cheap little black book with pink and purple butterflies.

My dear colleague Katja: This IS the best writing you’ve ever done for me, and you’ve done some excellent piece of work.
May I nudge you? I could see this in any women’s magazine that takes essays. OR how about a regional, or local one like Points North? Or how about one of the Christian women’s magazines that you read?
All that said, my friend, do not let this languish in your computer. We must, according to our beliefs, not hide our light beneath a bowl. Right? Eva

New course, new assignments

My second assignment in the new course I’m taking online, Write Your Life Story, has us practicing dialogue. The assignment called for no more than 100, but this turned out to be 150 words. Oh well.

“Welcome to PF Chang’s,” our waiter greeted us. “My name is Rob, I’ll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“I’ll have your iced tea, please.”

“Same for me,” answered my dining companion.

We both reached for the menus handed to us and said, “Thank you,” in unison.

“Do you know what you want?” I asked him.

“I have no idea. I haven’t eaten here for a while. Do you have anything to recommend?” He opened the menu and perused the selections.

“Well, I haven’t had anything here that I didn’t like,” I answered. “Of course, I tend to pick between my two favorites every time I come here. Maybe I’ll try something new today for a change.”

We both sat in silence for a while, looking at all the options as Rob returned with our drinks. “Can I interest you in an appetizer?”

Writing Assignment No. 5

Marianne felt the phone in her pocket vibrate and answered it before it started playing the tune of "You're so Beautiful." "Hello?"

"Hi, it's me. It's an emergency." On the other end of the phone was Marianne's dear friend Caroline.

"What's going on?"

"I just got off the phone with Thomas. He's threatening to take me back to court again."

"On what grounds?" Marianne asked. She felt for her friend. She has been through so much already, Lord, she thought, isn't it time she got a break. "Hey, give me a second, I have to get off Ziggy and open the gate."

"You're talking to me while you're on your horse?" Caroline started laughing.

"Yes, and I had to stop and open the gate and join the others on the trail," Marianne chuckled. "I have been neglecting him lately, and he was none too happy about the short ride today, but enough about us. What's going on?" she asked again, as she closed the gate behind her and got back up on her Tennessee Walker.

"So, Thomas called me about the girls and the upcoming holiday and before I knew it we were arguing about money again. He is now severely behind on his child support payments, and somehow he still makes me out to be the bad guy. Now he's supposedly got an "ace" up his sleeve and is taking me back to court. I know I should put my trust in God, but I am so tired of fighting like this."

"Tell me exactly what he said," Marianne encouraged her friend, knowing that a burden shared weighed less. She had been there herself just a few years earlier. The ugly divorce that came just nine months after her wedding vows. She struggled for so many months on her own and learned from her mistakes that she should have reached out to her friends, no matter how scared she was to appear the fool for marrying Harry after only knowing him for four months. From her own experience, she learned that everyone needs someone to confide in, but more importantly, everyone needs someone to pray for them.

Caroline recounted the ugly phone conversation she had just had with her ex-husband and waited for Marianne's reaction. She was sure of one thing: Caroline had handled herself much better this time. From the sounds of it, she had not fallen apart, and she had not hung up on him or threatened him in return. She'd come a long way from the young blushing bride she had been ten years earlier, when she and Thomas had married. Maybe she had needed to grow up a little more. It seemed unfair that this was the way God had chosen for her to mature, but no matter how difficult they would sometimes seem, Marianne was confident in God's ways. She continued to listen patiently as her friend relived the last half-hour. She knew how much Caroline had already been through, losing her husband, losing her house and taking care of two children on her own. When Caroline finished talking, Marianne thanked God for her friend before offering her encouragement.

"It sounds to me like you handled this very well, Caroline. I am so proud of you for not falling apart and for keeping your composure. Remember, we don't fight flesh and blood, but the powers and principalities." Marianne knew that Caroline was familiar with the scripture she referring to.

"I know. And thank you. I'm proud of myself, too."

"I really don't think Thomas has a leg to stand on. What judge is going to listen to a man who is already breaking the law by not giving you what has been court-ordered?"

"Well, that's what I was thinking, too, but I still get so scared that he is going to be able to hurt us in some way."

"Let's pray right now for God's protection and for His strength and wisdom," Marianne said as she began to pray for her friend.

(668 words)

And the instructor said:

It's going VERY WELL, Katja. You know we must be creative and you know why. So just let it flow into your private writing time. Eva

Writing Assignment No. 4

As I look at my necklace, I begin to remember where I was at the time I made it. I was living in the only house I’ve ever lived in. A lovely split-level house that I had made a home for my husband and our children. I had recently picked up a new hobby I had been thinking about for quite some time. I remember my first trip to a bead store and how overwhelmed I was. I looked in awe at all the sparkly and shiny stones and beads in all shapes and sizes hanging on the walls. I have become quite familiar with bead stores since then, but that day I felt like a fish out of water. I looked at all the treasures in all the different colors and walked out without purchasing anything. I didn’t return until years later, when I had a plan and a purpose for my trip.

I remember leafing through one of my favorite catalogs at the time. A catalog filled with handcrafted articles, such as leather belts, boots, skirts, sweaters, and jewelry. The most beautiful jewelry I had ever seen. With each book that came in the mail, I was intrigued with each of the artists’ individual style. I also realized that I would never be able to afford any of them, no matter how simple they seemed. I thought back to my first visit to that bead store and thought, I can make something like this. With a picture of a very simple pearl and silver necklace in mind, I returned to the store and bought a strand of pearls, a bag of sterling silver balls, beading wire and a lobster clasp. Armed with my purchases I went home and made my first necklace.

As my confidence grew, I created my own version of the very popular Y-necklace and that is the necklace I have in front of me today. It was birthed out of love for citrine and peridot. I can’t recall if I realized the significance of those gemstones back then, but they are not lost on me today. My birthday is in November, which has citrine as its birthstone. Peridot is the birthstone of August, the month my two daughters were born three years apart.

This necklace, in its simplicity and its complexity, represents me in a different place. I have since gone through a heartbreaking separation from the love of my life. I have survived a divorce I believed I would never have to face. I lost my house before foreclosures became a trend. For the past three and a half years, I have shared custody every other weekend with the man I thought I would grow old with. This necklace takes me back to the time before and makes me sad. This necklace also brings me to the present, making me look around and see all the things God has blessed me with. I have a job I love. I have too healthy girls. I have friends whose shoulders I am allowed to cry on and who I can support in return. I have a roof over my head, a reliable car, clothes and shoes, and we have never gone hungry.

More than that, God has blessed me with creativity, with resilience and with unconditional love. I have learned that I can do it. When I think that there is not one more ounce of energy in me to raise these girls on my own, I find myself doing it. When I feel utterly defeated, He sends someone along with a word of courage. When I am in need of being comforted, He brings me love in little arms and little kisses. This necklace is proof that things made with care will last, and items treasured become more valuable with time. Whether they are children, friendships or the love of God. (646)

The only thing my instructor said, was:

Nudge: Check the guidelines for www.faithhopeandfiction.com. Okay? Eva

Hm ... I guess it's not negative, at least?!

My Third Writing Assignment

Jonas turns the light on in Molly's bedroom and gently puts a hand on her back. "Time to get up, Sunshine." Molly stretches and tries to open her eyes. This morning, she doesn't want to. She turns her back and tries to pull the covers back over her head to keep the light out. "Molly munchkin," Jonas prods her, "if you don't get up, I can't fix you happy-face pancakes." Molly peeks from under the blanket. "Five," she says. "That's a lot of happy faces. Are you sure?" "Mmm. Two." "OK. Two it is."

Jonas leaves his precocious 4-year-old in bed and starts to prepare breakfast. Soon Molly comes and wraps her little arms around his legs. He treasures their sweet little morning ritual. He often finds himself prodding her along, but he still treasures the sweet, sleepy girl he has been blessed with. "Let's eat some pancakes," he announces, "and then we have to brush our teeth and ..." "And put some clothes on," Molly finishes his sentence. "That's right!"

Today Jonas decides to walk Molly to preschool instead of taking the city bus. There is a fresh blanket of snow on the ground and they laugh as they make tracks on the sidewalk. Jonas slides his feet to make it seem as if his feet are as long as skis and Molly giggles as she tries to do the same. Her giggles stop when they reach preschool. "Daddy, are you going to pick me up?" "Of course, don't I always pick you up on Mondays?" "I think so, Daddy." "How about I promise you so." Jonas bends down to take off her jacket. He gives her a squeeze. "I will be back to get you in six hours." Molly watches her father leave, assured that he will be back later. (302 words)

I didn’t make the dialogue breaks here, thinking I’d save some space!

And the instructor's reaction:

You gave me chills, this is wonderful. Is it part of a novel? Tell me yes. Eva

I think I am totally excited and soaring and on cloud something or other! On to the next assignment, right!

Second Writing Assignment

Write about a color in the first person. Yeah, right! I thought this little exercise was going to whoop my fanny! Sheesh! The easier it sounds the more complicated it can get. Anyway, here’s what I came up with …

I am calcium aluminum silicate. I know, I don’t sound very exciting, do I? How about if I tell you I am more saturated than the green in a Christmas tree and more lucent that the lichen on the rock in your backyard. I am less valuable than emerald and tsavorite, but far more precious than green quartz and hessonite. I can be as varied as from lime to kelly, from avocado to olive, from spruce to Douglas fir. If you shine a light on me, I might be so dense that no light will pass through me, or I may be so translucent you will see a whole world in me. I am vivacious, but never listless and dull. I am moss on some days and fern on others. Some might call me plain old green, but there is nothing plain about me. My name implies I have been likened to the gooseberry. My name is in fact grossular garnet.

__________

I am floating right now, as I got this is from my instructor:

I didn’t know, have never known and this was a whole new world for me. Good job. The images jumped from the screen and connected to me at once. I’m delighted with your writing. It is tight and clever (clever is good), and that’s important. You’ve conveyed strong images too. I’ve discovered that the writers who do well with this assignment, seem to truthfully thrive for the remainder of the course … Eva

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)