jillypoet: mom trying to write

Each day I wish I had invented waterproof sticky notes (for shower inspiration) or pen-friendly diapers to get down all my quirky thoughts that I am sure are relevant and publishable. And so God (actually another writer-mommy) sent me The Blog.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Who's Your Earl?

It's those black-eyed peas! I'm listening to the Dixie Chicks on PBS.

So, who's your Earl? I think this has got to be the greatest prompt ever. OK, maybe not ever. Maybe not even great. But, it is good. And the Dixie Chicks rock. I always do my best writing listening to girl groups. I once wrote an entire 20 page (or so) short story listening to The Indigo Girls.

Your Earl doesn't have to be as bad as their Earl. So who's your Earl?

2 Comments:

Anonymous Alifair Skebe said...

I never thought about an Earl. I don't have one...oh yeah, mine's Earl Grey. Yeah! I do have an Earl. And the Emperor of Ice Cream is sort of like an earl, well, not really.

Hey, check out literarymama.com if you haven't already. There are some great moms getting their writing out there too!

;)

2:37 PM  
Blogger Carolee said...

Great prompt, Jill. I enjoy your creative suggestions and your vivid poetry. Here's my response to the "Earl" prompt. It's also posted on my blog (Carolee Dawn Sherwood).

If I could, I'd poison my discontent,
wrap it up in the blue tarp and bungee cords
I keep with my camping supplies and
stuff its stiffened corpse into the
stow and go compartment of my minivan.

If I could, I'd drive my discontent to a
secluded piece of nowhere-anybody'd-ever-look,
drag its lumpy sausage link-shaped form through
tall grass and sticky mud and thick clouds of
mosquitoes and heave it into a murky pond,
far away from remorse.

In its exile, my discontent will not be missed.
It beat me terribly in my kitchen with fists and
spatulas. It bit me and scratched me in my
bed, teeth bared, hands strangling my wrists.

I will think each day about how I survived, how
I took discontent by its throat and silenced its
raspy slurs. I will breathe freely without its weight
hulking over me, skulking about my jumpy feet,
until the seed it plunged into my belly
takes my blood away and I grow heavy
with discontent once more.

3:30 PM  

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