Posted in Written Word Wednesdays

Written Word Wednesday: Just Getting Something on the Page

A friend of mine, both in real life and in the blogging world (check out her blog, The Glittered Pterodactyl.  It’s pretty spiffy!), is an inspiration to me because she practices her craft on a regular basis.  I love her artwork, even though it’s “just” the ones in her art journal.  For reals, guys, if she made them into prints and/or notecards?  I would easily run out of money.

Why am I bringing this up?  Well, for one, I really do think her artwork is awesome.  Secondly, I’ve been a bad writer lately.  I’ve fallen out of the habit of practicing my craft.  I used to make it a point to write in my journal at least ten minutes a day, and if it wasn’t that, then at least do a blog post.  Obviously I haven’t been doing well on the latter, but I’m just so disappointed in myself that I’ve (in my mind) turned my back and ignored one of the things I love the most.

Today I hope to break that cycle.  I’m not feeling inspired, but I did make a goal for myself to post every day this week, and I also miss writing.  So I’m going to respond to one of the daily prompts from The Daily Post (just fyi it’s not the current one–it’s a few days back).  I’m going to warn you right now:  it’s not my best, by any means, and I’m not putting much effort into it.  That’s why I’m not going to do a pingback, because I would be ashamed to put my rushed work amongst those who have put a lot more into it.

But I wrote something.  And for that I’m damn proud.  Here it is!


Greetings, Stranger

You’re sitting at a café when a stranger approaches you. This person asks what your name is, and, for some reason, you reply. The stranger nods, “I’ve been looking for you.” What happens next?

I felt like a glutton, double-fisting a sour cream lemon bar and tuxedo mocha.  It had been a long time since I’d treated myself to something that actually involved spending any money.  While placing my order, I told myself that I’d savor the mini luxuries, making both last for as long as I could.

I failed at the first bite and sip, trying to figure out how much and how quickly I could fit into my maw without choking.  I must’ve looked like the beginnings of a soft core porn, coffee dribbling down my neck and forming a muted caramel-colored circular stain on the white-and-lavender polka dot scarf I threw on in an attempt to look equal parts sophisticated and artsy, streusel crumbs sticking to my lip glossed smirk.

With as much decorum as I could muster, I grabbed the balled-up napkin I used as a coaster and dabbed at the corners of my lips before I responded.

“Have you, now?  And who sent for me?”

He takes his right hand out of his pocket and extends it towards mine to shake, his left hand displaying a text conversation.

“You said Violet, right?  Is this you?”

I glance quickly at his phone, skimming the important pieces and careful not to linger too much on what was obviously a private affair.  My eyes focus on the last two lines:

NMAllen:  7PM at Central Perk sound good?

ViVaVoom: Perfect.  See you there.

I think about this, look at my watch–6:55.  Wow.  Punctual.

“Hate to tell you this, dude, but one, I’m married, and two, I don’t even have a Tinder account.  For obvious reasons.  Good luck, though.”

Before he had the chance to look embarrassed, an obviously-extroverted woman burst through the door, red hair seeming to glow with the intensity of neon, bangles making a metallic clanking song with her movement.


“Nope.  Neil Matthew.  My last name is Allen.”

“Either way, I’m pretty sure you’re who I’m looking for.  I’m Vivian Vanessa?  ViVaVoom?”

The stranger looks relieved, and gives Vivian a warm hug.  “Ha!  Isn’t it crazy how we never even double-checked each others’ names?  Oh well.  We’re both here now.  Shall we?”  He opens up his elbow in a window for Vivian to insert her arm.  “Sorry about the mix up,” he says, tilting his head my way.

“Understandable.  Have fun!” 

As I watch them sit down to a table of their own, I giggle behind my cup, and resolve to try to make the last drops count.  Who knew what other potential amusement could happen in the next few minutes?

To Pushing Through It!



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