WRITERS COLLECTIVE OF CANADA

Saturday, July 13, 2024

Hi there everyone,

    I have been absent here but remembered to write. Summer is pool time and taking care of my small garden. These last workshops have been full of surprises for me. I am getting my groove back and the writing is flowing quite easily. So here we go with a few short writing from these workshops with WRITERS COLLECTIVE OF CANADA

As always, thanks for stopping by,

Wednesay June 26, 2024

3 DRAFTS

Prompt: Write to the line I am not done yet

I'm bored, he said.

How can you be bored when there are so many things to do.

I'm not talking about household chores, she says.

What about just sitting down and looking around you.

You could explore something in your room, the house, or outside.

Hm, I don't know Mom. I'm just so bored.

By then she had left the kitchen.

The child looks around in search of something. 

He's trying to make up his mind on this idea.

He lands in the living room and notices old photo albums filled with family pictures.

He grabs a few and goes outdoors to show his Mom his find.

Looks at his Mom, hesitating to ask because he is curious about his Grammys and Papas,

Can you look at these with me?

She smiles at him proudly and taps a place next to her.

Peggy Elms, writer

Prompt: I have to be courageous when... (write about the most courageous thing you had to do recently)

The moment she decided to say yes and... felt simple enough

No grandstand, no fireworks, no spotlight on her decision

As soon as she arrived at the cottage she had rented

Her mind was made up to show a new side of herself

Not a too-proud one, not an in-your-face one either

Yet she wanted all the people she had gathered around her,

 People she loved and respected

To witness the most courageous thing she would do that day

She would then see who stood with her or not.

Peggy Elms, writer

Prompt: (Write about something new or challenging in your life, that you are finding the courage to face.)

For some time he dreamed of the possibility of moving out

At twenty-one, having a well-payed job he enjoyed

His only obstacle was not having someone to move in with

He had seen this pretty girl several times in the building

She worked on the 10th and he on the 12th

From then on, he made a point of always finding something

to say to her before she got off

She would smile that crest white strips smile she wore,

Wave at him and get off

Peggy Elms, writer


Sunday, June 30, 2024

3 DRAFTS

Prompt: (write about implicit signals used in your culture)

Walking home from school, he hesitates knowing 

There is going to be hell to pay

If she gets there before him, he'll know from afar

Hands-on her waist, waiting for him to come in

She'll want him to explain why his chores aren't done

As usual, she will shove her index in his face 

While telling him why they should be done before school

Unfortunately, this is not new to the child

We have a routine, admonishes him

Asking God, what she's done to deserve such an unruly son

He will seem like he is listening because he knows 

Her reprimands more than his grammar

In the end, she will roll her eyes out of exasperation

Add one or two chores to the list

Suddenly, he finds himself sitting in a swing at the park

Feeling somehow some kind of relief at the idea

Of moving back and forward, up and down in the air 

The coolness of it, the freedom of it

So what if he stays a little longer

Peggy Elms, writer

Inspiration: Rejected from my origins

Being biracial in the sixties in a suburb of 

about six hundred was a rare thing

Dad was such a social butterfly 

But for our white neighborhood families, he was a person to be afraid of

He had such a beautiful dark brown skin, high cheekbones chiseled artfully

His smile was the most engaging one honest and so bright

His eyes were brown and big talking of softness and peace in one look

So once the neighbors did get to know him they all wanted to be his friend

Mom was young and so beautiful also, her alabaster skin, her nice brown hair

which she curled daily and eyes as friendly as my Dads.

She, like my dad loved the company of people

Peggy Elms, writer 


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