I’ve had so many writing assignments with the last few weeks of this quarter that posting on my blog wasn’t exactly high on my priority list. My desire to write was already being satisfied. Granted I was writing about some pretty dry material, but there was this one assignment that got my creative juices flowing. I got to pretend for 500 – 700 words that I was an artist from the Renaissance and had to log my work into a diary of sorts, recounting day by day my efforts to create a masterpiece. That I also had to create a title page and a reference page detracted little from the creative part of the assignment.
It was an exercise in fiction that I found fascinating. The best part was that I got to write it all out. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that fiction is not my strong suit. If you’ve read my two books, you will no doubt agree with me. But this was much shorter, and quite fun to accomplish.
In case you were wondering, I got an ‘A’.
In the process of completing my end of quarter assignments, I completely forgot about the contest I was going to enter. I was going to regale the judges with my stories of Max, the ghost who lived in my dad’s house in Fredericksburg. I don’t presume to think I would have won any prizes with it, but it is an interesting little story. Some day when I’m done teasing you with it, I’ll tell you about it. I might as well, especially since the deadline has passed for the West Virginia Writers Association. I can’t do anything else with the story except to put it here. Maybe you’ll like it.
There’s been a flurry of activity lately that has probably helped to dampen my writer’s mood. In addition to my course work, my youngest is about to graduate. Her senior prom is in a couple of weeks. We have been dress shopping, there have been hair appointments to make, and prom ticket purchases. There have been senior pictures, cap and gown orders, and matching a cummerbund to a bright orange dress. And let’s not forget that we’re facing the very real possibility that she might be that one half a credit shy of being able to walk across the stage with her classmates.
I told somebody at work the other day that if she makes it, if I finally get to see her walk in her cap and gown, so much pent-up stress will leave my body that I may shed 40 pounds and shrink 3 inches right there on the spot. It’ll be worth it, on every count, it’ll be worth it.
The coming to a close part of events lately has had me a little melancholy. Sometimes it’s had me a little angry. I made a department store manager come over to participate in my shopping experience the other day. I told him that he ought to be ashamed of himself for letting the store get to that point of disarray in which I was forced to shop. When he complained that the fault was with the kids they had to hire, I told him that their laziness was his fault for allowing the behavior. I spoke about how his lack of pride in his product was evident all around me. I stomped my foot a little while I scolded him. He should have told me to leave if I didn’t like it, but I think he was afraid I’d snap my fingers, extend an arm, and send him to his room with pointed finger.
I used the word ‘un-thought-ed’ at least once.
I think I’ll wait a few weeks before I go back. Maybe he won’t recognize me.