It’s with sadness tinged with a little excitement that I say this is my last weekly writing summary for a few weeks. I am cutting my posts down in order to focus on finishing my novel. But I will store up any challenges I complete and do a bumper post at the end of next month.
Esther Newton my wonderful tutor has a weekly writing challenge, last week her challenge was: There’s scope for you to write a longer story (a length of your own choosing) but it must feature the following words: ‘obstinate’, ‘lemon’, ‘diabolical’, ‘guzzling’ and ‘suave’.
Here’s my entry:
Not going to lie, feeling pretty good about this weeks Haiku. For the first time ever, I think I actually wrote a half decent one, that makes sense and hopefully fits the right number of syllables, and sentences! Ronovan’s challenge this week was to include the words love and last in a haiku.
Never love an ex,
leave it in the past because,
that love didn’t last.
“God, isn’t the curve of her bottom simply marvellous, Jude? It just seems so much more exquisite because it’s made of the hardest Carraran marble. Do you even realise how difficult it would have be to excavate that rock?”
I glanced over at her, but she was face deep in a sandwich and scrolling through her phone.
“Jude, really? You can’t put the boy down for five minutes? This is meant to be a girls trip.”
She scoffed at me and used the sandwich to gesture over to the corner of the gallery.
Everything went dark. Something was shoved over my head and my arms wrenched behind my back.
“Jude… Jude. Help me,” I screamed as a writhing panic crawled across my skin. I wriggled and squirmed trying to get free of the spade like hands gripping me in place. I was lifted from the ground and carried for what felt like an age.
Why was no one in the gallery stopping to help? What’s wrong with these people?
I was dropped into a chair and the black bag covering my face ripped off.
“Jack, you arse. What the hell is going on?”
Jack’s big brown eyes and floppy blonde hair looked up at me. He was grinning and knelt in front of me.
I scanned the huge room I was in. It was an empty gallery. Just me, and him, and…
“Oh my god, it’s the D’arcy. Look, Jack, look,” I said standing up and flapping at the site of the only painting in the room. One I had adored my entire life.
I felt the familiar rough skin of Jack’s hand cup my own. He was still knelt on the floor.
“I’ve loved you for a long time, Lara, and I will continue to love you like D’arcy’s timeless art, for eternity.”
I’d lost myself staring at D’arcy’s masterpiece, but Jack’s words slowly filtered through my mind.
“Wait, what?” I said turning to face him.
“Lara Julia Johnson, will you marry me?”
My breath caught, my chest tight, I let go of his hand and squealed.
“Yes, Yes, a thousand Yes’s,” D’arcy masterpiece faded into the background as I gazed at the love of my life, my fiancé, I bent close and planted a kiss on his lips, one, two, three more. “But honey, the kidnapping really wasn’t necessary!”
Then there was my weekly writespiration, a challenge to write a scene where a character got criticised. Here was my response:
My legs kept betraying me. Every step closer to her office, they shook harder. I could feel my colleagues averted eyes desperate not to look at the dead man walking passed.
“Good luck,” I heard someone whisper. A last salute before I got crucified.
The door towered in front of me, dark and ladened with the blood of victims before me. Each one brutally criticised, crushed and finally, sacked.
My hand reached for the door knob, a surge of adrenaline fired through my body. I stood straight, shoulders back. I could take her. I wasn’t going to let the bitch beat me without a fight.
“Yeah,” I said to myself, eyes wide, and poised on tip toes ready to pounce into the room.
“Yeah,” louder this time.
With two shrill words, I was cut from my prime. I shrank back and trembled my way inside her office.