Comments on: Writers: Give the First “Word Shot” a Shot! http://thewritersbag.com/word-shot-exercises/writers-give-the-first-%e2%80%9cword-shot%e2%80%9d-a-shot Writing tips for the real world. Wed, 08 Sep 2010 21:53:02 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.7 hourly 1 By: Gloria http://thewritersbag.com/word-shot-exercises/writers-give-the-first-%e2%80%9cword-shot%e2%80%9d-a-shot/comment-page-1#comment-15589 Gloria Mon, 08 Mar 2010 22:43:30 +0000 http://thewritersbag.com/?p=317#comment-15589 They had made it out. It was their destiny she supposed, that they were one of the few who did. They were tired of running now and needed to stop and gather their wits about them. She had grabbed hold of the small girl's hand in an effort to save at least one of the children from almost certain servitude. The thought of them working the sewing machines in a deafening- engine-like roar, with little opportunity for anything of the joys of childhood left a heavy dough-like feeling in her gut. Now that she had rescued one, whose parents had certainly perished in the most recent of the Earth's quaking, she knew not what to do next. She herself was alone, and her own attempts at having a child of her own had been for naught. It had ended the only long-lasting relationship she'd had. The child grasped at her hand, squeezing the blood into her fingers, crossing them in an unnatural way. As they looked over the dust filled valley across the expanse of future, there wasn't really anything either of them could say. Neither knew what the next few days would hold. She tried any way. "I know you're scared. I am too. But I promise to stay with you. I promise to take care of you." The Child's eyes said nothing, but the grasp of her hand spoke, and what it said, was more than any child her age should ever have to say. They had made it out. It was their destiny she supposed, that they were one of the few who did. They were tired of running now and needed to stop and gather their wits about them. She had grabbed hold of the small girl’s hand in an effort to save at least one of the children from almost certain servitude. The thought of them working the sewing machines in a deafening- engine-like roar, with little opportunity for anything of the joys of childhood left a heavy dough-like feeling in her gut. Now that she had rescued one, whose parents had certainly perished in the most recent of the Earth’s quaking, she knew not what to do next. She herself was alone, and her own attempts at having a child of her own had been for naught. It had ended the only long-lasting relationship she’d had.

The child grasped at her hand, squeezing the blood into her fingers, crossing them in an unnatural way. As they looked over the dust filled valley across the expanse of future, there wasn’t really anything either of them could say. Neither knew what the next few days would hold. She tried any way. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But I promise to stay with you. I promise to take care of you.” The Child’s eyes said nothing, but the grasp of her hand spoke, and what it said, was more than any child her age should ever have to say.

]]> By: Gloria http://thewritersbag.com/word-shot-exercises/writers-give-the-first-%e2%80%9cword-shot%e2%80%9d-a-shot/comment-page-1#comment-15588 Gloria Mon, 08 Mar 2010 22:37:45 +0000 http://thewritersbag.com/?p=317#comment-15588 They had made it out. It was their destiny she supposed, that they were one of the few who did. They were tired of running, now and needed to stop and gather their wits about them. She had grabbed hold of the small girl's hand in an effort to save at least one of the children from almost certain servitude. The thought of them working the sewing machines in the deafening- engine-like roar, with little time for anything child-like, left a heavy dough-like feeling in her gut. Now that she had rescued one, whose parents had certainly perished in the most recent of the Earth's quaking, she knew not what to do next. She herself was alone, and her own attempts at having a child had been for naught. It had ended the only long-lasting relationship she'd had. The child grasped at her hand, squeezing the blood into her fingers, crossing them in an unnatural way. As they looked over the dust filled valley across the expanse of future, there wasn't really anything either of them could say. Neither knew what the next few days would hold. She tried any way. "I know you're scared. I am too. But I promise to stay with you. I promise to take care of you. The Child's eyes said nothing, but the grasp of her hand spoke, and what it said, was more than any child her age should ever have to say. They had made it out. It was their destiny she supposed, that they were one of the few who did. They were tired of running, now and needed to stop and gather their wits about them. She had grabbed hold of the small girl’s hand in an effort to save at least one of the children from almost certain servitude. The thought of them working the sewing machines in the deafening- engine-like roar, with little time for anything child-like, left a heavy dough-like feeling in her gut. Now that she had rescued one, whose parents had certainly perished in the most recent of the Earth’s quaking, she knew not what to do next. She herself was alone, and her own attempts at having a child had been for naught. It had ended the only long-lasting relationship she’d had.

The child grasped at her hand, squeezing the blood into her fingers, crossing them in an unnatural way. As they looked over the dust filled valley across the expanse of future, there wasn’t really anything either of them could say. Neither knew what the next few days would hold. She tried any way. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But I promise to stay with you. I promise to take care of you. The Child’s eyes said nothing, but the grasp of her hand spoke, and what it said, was more than any child her age should ever have to say.

]]> By: Sean Callahan http://thewritersbag.com/word-shot-exercises/writers-give-the-first-%e2%80%9cword-shot%e2%80%9d-a-shot/comment-page-1#comment-1712 Sean Callahan Sat, 04 Oct 2008 21:45:18 +0000 http://thewritersbag.com/?p=317#comment-1712 Mom and Daisy left us that day. Just walked away from the family toward the river and the coal-fired electric plant that kept our lights on these past 40 years or so. Dad and Mom fought for the last time that morning. Mom never fought fair. One time I remember she called 911, getting the cops involved as her trump card because Dad didn’t get out of the house right away after she told him to leave. As she got louder and angrier, Dad got more stubborn, stood his ground, and told her he’d leave once she calmed down. Instead she became more out of control and pushed and pulled at him. But Dad was too strong and stood his ground. In the end, as always, Dad surrendered and left. The cops never showed up. I could see the sadness in his eyes when I knocked on my bedroom window to get his attention before he opened the car door. He looked at me, smiled, and waved an index finger in a circle around his right ear, indicating that he thought Mom was a nut job. I felt envious he was escaping the tension and chaos of home with my Mom, whose everyday moods were gray and hot and toxic like the smoke from that electric plant. I don’t know where he stayed, only that it was about a week before we saw him again, building a backyard shed when I woke up one morning. I think he still loved her until the day she disappeared with Maggie, my four year old sister, but I don’t know that. He never talks bad about her and we keep her photo by the small table next to the fireplace. She was a beauty. Maybe she still is. He’s a good Dad. Mom and Daisy left us that day. Just walked away from the family toward the river and the coal-fired electric plant that kept our lights on these past 40 years or so.

Dad and Mom fought for the last time that morning. Mom never fought fair.

One time I remember she called 911, getting the cops involved as her trump card because Dad didn’t get out of the house right away after she told him to leave. As she got louder and angrier, Dad got more stubborn, stood his ground, and told her he’d leave once she calmed down. Instead she became more out of control and pushed and pulled at him. But Dad was too strong and stood his ground. In the end, as always, Dad surrendered and left. The cops never showed up.

I could see the sadness in his eyes when I knocked on my bedroom window to get his attention before he opened the car door. He looked at me, smiled, and waved an index finger in a circle around his right ear, indicating that he thought Mom was a nut job. I felt envious he was escaping the tension and chaos of home with my Mom, whose everyday moods were gray and hot and toxic like the smoke from that electric plant.

I don’t know where he stayed, only that it was about a week before we saw him again, building a backyard shed when I woke up one morning. I think he still loved her until the day she disappeared with Maggie, my four year old sister, but I don’t know that.

He never talks bad about her and we keep her photo by the small table next to the fireplace. She was a beauty. Maybe she still is. He’s a good Dad.

]]> By: tina http://thewritersbag.com/word-shot-exercises/writers-give-the-first-%e2%80%9cword-shot%e2%80%9d-a-shot/comment-page-1#comment-1705 tina Sat, 04 Oct 2008 11:25:37 +0000 http://thewritersbag.com/?p=317#comment-1705 Sand. Sand everywhere. It covered the quarry beside the town in tall gray mounds and snaking rivulets, as if some god-child had been playing in his own cosmic sandbox with real buildings and a factory whose tall smoke stack spewed real, putrid smoke. Above dark clouds hovered sluggishly; the only sunlight that could filter through them was wan and gloomy, making the quarry look like a gray wasteland. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought that I was in the set of some apocalyptic movie instead of on the weedy hill at the outskirts of San Mateo, the town I grew up in. My sister Lena stood mutely beside me. Her hand was clenched around my small fingers in an uncommonly tight grip; I could barely feel the softness of her palm. She was staring at a little brown box beyond a wall-like mound of sand. When I squinted at it I could dimly recognize the squat outline of Ma's apartment building. Lena had hurried me out of bed and through the door while Ma was snoring loudly on the table, her half-empty glass of bourbon sitting quietly beside her head. I wanted to call out to her and say goodbye, but in my heart of hearts I knew better than to wake her up after she'd been drinking. Her screams and blows echoed in my mind as we stood in silence for several minutes on the hill facing the quarry. At that time I wanted to scream too, but no sound would form inside my throat. When Lena said, "It's time to go," I nodded and followed her over the other side of the hill. Neither of us looked back as we made our way down the barren path. -- Can I post this picture and my comment on my blog? I kinda like it ^^ Sand. Sand everywhere. It covered the quarry beside the town in tall gray mounds and snaking rivulets, as if some god-child had been playing in his own cosmic sandbox with real buildings and a factory whose tall smoke stack spewed real, putrid smoke. Above dark clouds hovered sluggishly; the only sunlight that could filter through them was wan and gloomy, making the quarry look like a gray wasteland. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought that I was in the set of some apocalyptic movie instead of on the weedy hill at the outskirts of San Mateo, the town I grew up in.

My sister Lena stood mutely beside me. Her hand was clenched around my small fingers in an uncommonly tight grip; I could barely feel the softness of her palm. She was staring at a little brown box beyond a wall-like mound of sand. When I squinted at it I could dimly recognize the squat outline of Ma’s apartment building. Lena had hurried me out of bed and through the door while Ma was snoring loudly on the table, her half-empty glass of bourbon sitting quietly beside her head. I wanted to call out to her and say goodbye, but in my heart of hearts I knew better than to wake her up after she’d been drinking. Her screams and blows echoed in my mind as we stood in silence for several minutes on the hill facing the quarry. At that time I wanted to scream too, but no sound would form inside my throat.

When Lena said, “It’s time to go,” I nodded and followed her over the other side of the hill. Neither of us looked back as we made our way down the barren path.

–
Can I post this picture and my comment on my blog? I kinda like it ^^

]]> By: Bruce Simmons http://thewritersbag.com/word-shot-exercises/writers-give-the-first-%e2%80%9cword-shot%e2%80%9d-a-shot/comment-page-1#comment-1694 Bruce Simmons Fri, 03 Oct 2008 21:42:11 +0000 http://thewritersbag.com/?p=317#comment-1694 'Tis out upon the sandy gray of our future that we witness that which is most necessary, yet that which can do the most harm. I welcome thee, as humanity evolves. It's future ever hopeful, ever bleak. ‘Tis out upon the sandy gray of our future that we witness that which is most necessary, yet that which can do the most harm.

I welcome thee, as humanity evolves. It’s future ever hopeful, ever bleak.

]]> By: Egle http://thewritersbag.com/word-shot-exercises/writers-give-the-first-%e2%80%9cword-shot%e2%80%9d-a-shot/comment-page-1#comment-1688 Egle Fri, 03 Oct 2008 14:52:04 +0000 http://thewritersbag.com/?p=317#comment-1688 No matter where I'm going. No matter when and how. As long as I'm with you, I'm fine. I'm home. No matter where I’m going. No matter when and how. As long as I’m with you, I’m fine. I’m home.

]]> By: gloria http://thewritersbag.com/word-shot-exercises/writers-give-the-first-%e2%80%9cword-shot%e2%80%9d-a-shot/comment-page-1#comment-1667 gloria Thu, 02 Oct 2008 19:46:48 +0000 http://thewritersbag.com/?p=317#comment-1667 "Golly, the Emerald City has sure changed since I was a girl..." “Golly, the Emerald City has sure changed since I was
a girl…”

]]> By: Afruz http://thewritersbag.com/word-shot-exercises/writers-give-the-first-%e2%80%9cword-shot%e2%80%9d-a-shot/comment-page-1#comment-1666 Afruz Thu, 02 Oct 2008 19:39:10 +0000 http://thewritersbag.com/?p=317#comment-1666 No. We are not stealing share of unborn kids. We are making sure that they will come to the world, and will deal with our sacrifices. No. We are not stealing share of unborn kids. We are making sure that they will come to the world, and will deal with our sacrifices.

]]> By: Gary Fletcher http://thewritersbag.com/word-shot-exercises/writers-give-the-first-%e2%80%9cword-shot%e2%80%9d-a-shot/comment-page-1#comment-1661 Gary Fletcher Thu, 02 Oct 2008 09:33:23 +0000 http://thewritersbag.com/?p=317#comment-1661 Hey Rick, nice start. When do we get the rest of the story...? Hey Rick, nice start. When do we get the rest of the story…?

]]>