The beached tree

First Write on Wednesday for 2012 and I'm feeling a bit rusty! I did manage to get a few pieces written over the holidays, you can scroll to these on my blog if you like.

Thankyou Gill for your ongoing hosting, support and inspiration for WoW.

from Story

As he gazed at the tree he wondered at the majesty and strength of nature. How could this massive tree, have just appeared, stricken and lifeless, on the beach? He turned and gazed toward the horizon as thoughts of storms, waves and the boat trip swelled back into his consciousness. The breeze rising, her face slid unbidden into his mind as he felt the gentle kiss linger on his cheek.

The idea of a weekend away had been hers, a time for them to take a breath from the shop and her studies. The cabin had been perfect, they’d slept and laughed and loved. Weather checked, the grizzled sea dog had reassured them that it was the right day and that to leave it any longer would be risking missing out completely. So off they sailed into the bay, to find the legendary lover’s beach.

And stunning it had been, just as they had been told. As they drowsed under the palms, he realised gradually that something had changed, that the birds had quietened. He stretched and stood looking seaward, and saw the gathering threat. Waking her quickly, he grabbed her by the hand as they raced to their craft and set the engine roaring. The waves mounted and the walls of water became harder to scale. Their faces pale and pinched, the wind whipped their hair slickly against their greening skin. And then it came – the monster wave to which he had forfeited all. One moment, one dreadful moment, and she was gone.

And as he looked back to the tree, battered, beached and powerless, he understood how it come to be so.

WoW - Notre Dame de Paris

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 26 - Look at the photo at the top of this post. What does it inspire in you? Set your timer for 5 minutes. With the photo in mind, write the first words that come into your head until the buzzer rings. If you aren't a visual person, you could try lighting a few candles and writing by candlelight. Different sensory experiences can be useful for inspiring creative writing so please play around to make the prompt suit your writing needs. If you do try writing by candlelight, let us know. I'd love to know how it works for you!


Link here for this week's WoW Notre Dame de Paris

I don't know why such a grim story came to mind...

She slid into her head, dredging memories from her past as she gazed at the flickering flames . The thick sandstone walls were cold and still, she shivered slightly and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. The world had changed – what had once been condoned by silence was no longer ignored, but that was of little consolation to her. As she knelt, she wondered why she had – kneeling felt like what she should do in such a place, but prayer would not come to her.

She saw her young self, innocent earnest face above white robes as she followed the holy man, walking in his footsteps and self opened in trust. She fleetingly felt the confusion again, before she closed down the memory.

She stood slowly and turned toward the back of the church. For the last time, she gazed at the beautiful glass windows, bathed in candlelight. She thought of the implications of her next move, of the telling and the consequences. Wondering if she had the courage to go through with it, she knew that she must.

Sit under a tree and write..WoW Exercise 17

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 17: This week, we are going with Karen's idea for an open choice week. So take a look at the old writing exercises (you can find them listed in my sidebar: WoW Writing Exercises), find one you'd like to try (or retry!) and link it up to the linky below.
5 minutes inspired by a picture.
I can't work out how to copy it, but you can see it here. http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/2011/07/sit-under-tree-and-writeits-write-on.html

No-one knew of course. She could never let them know or too many would be at risk. The warnings had been rumbles of mumbles and murmurs, but none had heeded them. Not in their land, not in their homes.

Of course, the political word had been out, that there would be change when the new regime took over, but the extremes that it would go to were never envisaged. As the daughter of a city academic, life had been comfortable, never the sunburnt toil of the country folk. School, enough to eat, a pretty home, space of their own.

And then the trucks and the soldiers, the dictation of enforced poverty and an agrarian state.  Just yesterday the neighbours were taken, told that their new life would be in service of the better good. The screams of the children still echoed in her ears.

She ran to the tree, in the green glade, a special place, her special place. Checking over her shoulder, she made sure she had not been seen. A tear dropped as she slipped her treasures into the rootspace.