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Karma Free Writing will be offering 27 Days of Karma Free Writing Prompts starting on the 1st day of Spring. These writing prompts are designed to stimulate the creative process for writing your personal story - and beyond.
27 Day Karma Free Writing Prompts - Honorarium
The 1st 14 days are free. To go the whole 27 days there is a $27 honorarium.
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March
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- DAY #12. THEME: "REVISIT"
- Day #11 - Theme: "For me? You shouldn't have!"
- Day #10. Theme: "Turning Points"
- Day #9 - Theme: "Body Parts Know"
- Day #8. Theme: "I am HEALED!!"
- Day #7 - Theme: "Fun or Fear"
- Day #6. "Buying a pair of shoes."
- Day #5. "That Part Of My Live Is Over Now."
- Day #4. "That which is no longer."
- Day #3. "My Whole Life Was About To Change - I jus...
- Day #2. "Should of, would of, could of ... IF ONLY"
- "Prompt #1 - Things my parents taught me"
- KFWB - 27 Day Writing prompts - Intro
- Tomorrow We Start !!
- Almost there !! Two More Days !!!
- 5 More Days until the 27 Day Karma Free Writing Pr...
- One Week - Saturday March 20th 2010 - The 1st Day ...
- 27 Day "Karma Free" Writing Program set to start M...
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March
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About Me
What I find most intriguing is how the prompt touches in and skims the surface of the event. After the buzz, when my mind slows a bit, a deeper, richer truth evolves – turns out, the shower is my favorite place for this reflection on the bigger picture. Today I have compassion and a gentle space in my heart for the girl of nearly thirty years ago.
ReplyDelete“I miss you sweetheart. Have a safe drive home. I love you.”
ReplyDeleteHow sweet, a love note, but how the hell did he find my car, here in the sea of vehicles at LAX? No matter, he doesn’t know I’ve landed, there’s still time to play. Now where is that guy? Oh, here he comes now, don’t loose him.
The voice is loud and clear as I follow his sleek black Porsche down Sepulveda Blvd, Turn here, go on, turn here. Your husband is waiting for you. Go home now! You’ve already made a big enough fool of yourself today.
Green light, go. Shit, I’m still following him.
Don’t loose him. This is fun, an adventure. Besides, we’re going to his office, I can see the inside of a big label record company. Who knows what could happen there.
Haven’t you had enough? I can’t believe the guy next to us on the plane actually asked to be reseated. How embarrassing, it was just a little hand job, we didn’t get really serious until we went to the bathroom.
Yea, back in the day, one of the low points for the party girl. I was so torn apart, the hungry nose always won. What if I’d turned right, had gone home, had been happy to go home? Instead I followed Mr. Rock ‘n Roll Manager to his office, then to the by-the-hour hot tub place.
Okay, fine, can we go home now? Rush hour has passed, traffic is no longer an excuse, besides, how much more blow can you snort?
Ah, come on, the party is just getting started. The evening is young.
Jeez, the guy can’t even get it up anymore.
DAMN IT CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING?! I schreached, and threw a tupperware bowl and lid at him.
ReplyDeleteHe picked up whatever was near and threw it at me. Flower pots. Pans. The tray to the baby's chair.
I ran to get my keys.
He grabbed my neck. He squeezed.
I ripped away and reached for my keys.
He grabbed my hair. He pulled me, kicking, across the floor.
I ripped out a fistful of hair, got my keys, my pen, my notebook and ran to my truck.
I was mad. I never wanted to be her chaplain. I was tired. It was too close. she was sexy and a little wild. She had a boy in third grade, just like me. But she wanted me to be her chaplain...after her friends brow beat her into it.
Work, soccer practice, tutoring, church, and my secret. I was married to a man who beat me left me with nothing to spare.
I didn't want to be her chaplain.
Now I had to get to her house to meet with her husband, a widower, her mom and her priest. She had asked that I preach her funeral sermon.
There was so much to do before that meeting, and all he did was sip coffee, listen to music, read the Times and nap. He was upset that unloading the dishwasher had disturbed his nap.
I could have kept my mouth shut, but I was mad.
I stopped at the dive on the way to her house. I slurped a Guinness to settle my shaking.
I knocked on their door and went in.
The husband looked ashen, the priest looked priestly and the mother looked dazed.
As I introduced myself the mother looked up. A light flickered in her eyes. "What's wrong with your neck?"
I reached up and felt the handful of bloody welts that stretched across the neck.
"Oh, the roses. The roses must have gotten me when I was out working in the garden. It was a beautiful day wasn't it?"
They didn't know I had no roses.
Did I wake you?
ReplyDeleteI have to get the dishes unloaded so I can put the dirty dinner dishes in. I don't think I'm going to be up to much when i get back.
I was loud? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be. I'm just trying to get the dishes put away.
Sit down and be quiet?
Maybe I should, but I've got so much nervous energy. I don't want to go talk about her funeral. I'm mad.
Maybe it is dumb to be mad, but she's my age, she was full of it all just a few months ago,and now I'm supposed to preach her funeral. It was awful. She died awful. It hurt and she smelled bad and she knew it. It was everything that scares me.
I don't think I can talk right now.
No, I'm not mad. Yes, I am mad. i don't know at what. Everything. Nothing. I don't know. I guess I'd take care of it if I knew.
I think I need to settle myself before I meet her mom and husband. I'm going to leave this for later.
Bye.
I wish I had chosen a different first scenario...or cheated and read on so that I would have chosen a different first scenario.
ReplyDeleteI don't like either turn of events. WAAAAAAAAAAA
Shame Shaman....your story is so powerful. I love all the different voices speaking at once in your head.
ReplyDeleteShe looked up slowly to us both…calmly, with a slight tell of fear, “You guys….” She let it hang there for a full half second. “There are two babies in there.”
ReplyDeleteWow oh wow. Such power today.
ReplyDeleteShame Shaman: I "feel" the whole scene. It's electrifying.
Inkydinkyparlezvous: the first scenario was perfect.Gripping. Raw. Tragic in all three ways.
Skull Swinger: keep going!
Seven thirty and the phone is already ringing.
ReplyDelete"Jesus," I thought, "can't I find any time to think?"
I was well into the day, I had risen at 4:30 a.m., fed and changed my 19-month-old baby, showered and dressed, and driven an hour and a half to my office in Cambridge.
Seeing the sun reflecting off the Charles River turning the Beacon Hill brick buildings a warm orange was I time I loved. A quiet time to get organized before the madness.
"Hi, it's Ellen."
"Ellen, what's up?"
"Well, I'm not feeling well. I'm in the hospital for some tests."
Of course she's not feeling well. We were on the hook for the bank deadline today.
It was always something with Ellen. The babysitter didn't show. My husband can't drive me to work. I can't get to work by 9 because we only have enough money for an apartment way outside the city.
I wanted to scream into the phone, "Ellen, I'm running a business here. I'm not a fucking social worker."
Instead I asked, "What will we do about the deadline today?"
"I'm not sure," she said. "Listen, maybe I'll be able to get in later this morning."
"OK, let me know," I said. "And I hope you feel better."
The words were what you're suppose to say, but the tone was icy and curt.
Let the chaos of missed deadlines begin.
Three hours later Ellen's husband called. "Ellen died this morning."
I put my head on the desk of my corner office overlooking the regal Charles River.
"What a shit I am."
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteHow amazing and so powerful the sharing is today.. This one was particularly hard for me, so must be digging deep!
ReplyDelete--------
He stood there between her and I. Physically filling the space between us. It was protective and kind, but also like he was trying to block and hide me.
I was like a deer in headlights. My light and happy mood had been snatched away in a heartbeat. I desperately wanted my heart to start pounding, but I was stuck as if frozen in time. It was probably just 30 seconds, but felt like eternity. Total agony. They were talking, arguing and I wanted to mediate. Be calm. That’s what I thought a quiet voice inside me said.
But when she lunged at me and tried to punch me…. I could see there was no calming this situation down. The weather was picture perfect. Blue sky, no humidity, cool morning air, but a dark cloud was following us.
My heart kicked in and I felt the adrenaline rush. I turned and hurried away; I started to walk really fast. He was chasing me down the street and calling my name. Calling my name. Why was he doing that? I wanted it all to go away. I wanted to disappear.
These stories tear the curtain away. Truth in desperate moments.
ReplyDelete(1) The Castro at 8:00 on Saturday. Parking is impossible. After fifteen minutes of searching and not even seeing other people get a space, I see some guys putting bags into their trunk at 19th and Castro. They get into the car, and I ease around the corner into the red zone right behind them. The space is mine!
Uh-oh. Someone who has just driven past slams on his brakes. The departing car squeezes out and around the double-parked car. I pull right into the empty space. The waiting car backs up even with me as I turn off the lights and the ignition. In my peripheral vision, I see their window go down. With reluctance, I turn the key back on and lower my window.
Two guys. Very shrill. “That’s our spot. We’ve been waiting for it.”
“Well, I was waiting for it, too. It’s my spot.”
“No. You’re wrong. We’ve been sitting up there waiting for it.”
In the past I would have given in, but I find myself saying, “No. Legally I was in the correct position to pull into it. If you’d been waiting behind their car, it would be yours. “
I raise the window and turn off the car. When I get out, they start screaming, “Shame on you.”
I yell back, “No, shame on you,” and I walk away.
Later, walking back to my car, I remember the rage of the two guys who thought I took their parking place, and I get nervous that they might have keyed my car. There aren’t any marks on the paint, but there is a piece of white paper tucked under the passenger side windshield.
It says, “Good luck with your car. You might want to see a mechanic. Karma is 3.”
Good lord. Bomb under the hood? Sugar in the gas tank? When I get home, I check under the hood and look for white granules around the gas cap. I can’t remember for sure whether I’d locked the car. How long will it take for their revenge to manifest?
(2) (Re-do) “That’s our parking place,” scream the two guys in the car next to me. “We’ve been waiting for it.”
“I’ve been waiting for it too. It’s my spot.”
“No, it’s ours.”
“Well, shit,” I say. “What are we going to do? We both think it’s ours.”
“Clearly, we saw it first.”
“And obviously I think I saw it first. And I got into it first. Do you really think you can bully me out of it? “
“Well, right is right, lady. “
I wonder where they’re going. I think about where I’m going and how I don’t even want to go there. Maybe I should just give in and use this as an excuse to go home. But I don’t want to let them win through bad behavior.
I sit there and look at them.
Something is terribly wrong here. This is big-city, rats-on-a-sinking-ship behavior. Do I want to be part of it? Nope, I don’t think so. But I also don’t want them to win by acting like jerks.
“Where are you going anyway that you’d fight someone for a parking space?” I ask them.
They don’t want to answer, don’t want us to become human to each other.
“I’m going to an A.A. meeting that I don’t really want to go to,” I offer.
“Well, good luck. Go find your own parking place and have a good time at your meeting.”
I raise the window and just look at them. Finally they drive on. As soon as their red taillights disappear around the corner of 20th and Castro, I pull out of the parking place and go home.
Gosh...we are brutal creatures.
ReplyDeleteLois, your tale is the most perfect tidy example of this prompt. Thank you.
Jan, I love the fact that you waited to give in to giving in and going home.
Blood Red Roses..."I wanted to meditate" while someone is about to punch you!!!! One of those real/startling/hilarious/horrible examples of what goes on in our heads in dramatic stituations.
Skullswinger...I repeated your lines at a dinner party last night...we all wanted more.
Peter and I had to serve divorce papers and we made a decision for me to serve him at the ocean front café at Shutters Hotel. We were having a tense lunch together when a gross-looking fat, unkempt man entered the restaurant. He stuck out like a sore thumb. This was an upscale place where everyone was dressed nicely. This man wore a dirty white t-shirt that rode up over his large hairy belly, which protruded and hung over his pants. I saw him talking to the maitre’d and then bulldozing his hefty body towards our direction. It felt like everyone was looking as he approached the table and handed Peter the clipboard to sign for the documents. Heart wrenching for me to see Peter suffer through the humiliation. Years later we would laugh about it, but at that moment in time, it was the worst I’d ever felt.
ReplyDeleteAnd now, for how I would have wanted it to go . . .
A nice looking man entered the restaurant. I noticed him from a distance. He moved with grace and elegance and was dressed impeccably. I admired his yellow tie and dark gray suit with his crisp blue collared shirt. He was holding a briefcase and I thought to myself, this must be him. The man was speaking with the maitre d’ when I saw him glance over at us. He began moving slowly towards our table. He had a smooth gait and wore polished black dress shoes. He nodded to Peter, extending his hand as he arrived at our table. “I think you know who I am and why I’m here,” he said with a pleasant smile. “I know this must be difficult for you.” He opened his black leather briefcase and reached in for the papers. He pulled them out gracefully and handed them to Peter, offering his pen as well. Peter signed the papers and handed them back to the man. Peter glanced at me with a wistful look in his eyes and said, “Well, this is it.” “Yes,” I said, somewhat relieved while feeling terribly sad. Who knew what the future would bring? Peter was a good partner. I just didn’t want to be married. Ever again.
Somewhere in the distance
ReplyDeletebetween an eclipse and the moving sky
Perplexities
of the digestive kind
Linger - impatiently
Somewhere,
just around the corner
The sound of Gregorian Chants
Whisper offers of undying promise
An event I wish I could to over... hmmm, there are so many to choose from -- the lesser of many evils. How about I get to do my life over? How about all of high school at least two years of college and the last twenty years. One even? You've got to be kidding. I know that sounds like a pity party, boo hoo, but man, one door slamming? Try twenty. Okay, sitting in Bill Walsh's office hearing him tell me that he thinks, "I should do something else." That is other than be an NFL quarterback. Sorry, it's all I've thought about since I was twelve!!! Then driving home to my little town of Walnut Grove and seeing the Sacramento Bee sports page with the headline, "BARRY CUT". Okay, yeah, would love to have that day back, but that ain't gonna happen. So bitter bitters. As you can see, I've clearly gotten over that day. Specifics, you say? Ok, Redwood City, CA, San Francisco 49ers headquarters, might as well be the Pentagon. No admittance for mortals, only muscle-bound, juiced-up pro-ath-e-letes. Woo hoo. Sounds official. Upstairs in the big man's office, he of gray hair and wise mind, sits waiting for me behind the big oak desk. He's uncomfortable, like I care. He stammers, and mumbles until finally telling me to go pound sand. I want to punch him until I feel sorry for him. You know, having to tell me to go get a life. Poor guy. Then, hours later, eating my breakfast cereal like I'm twelve at my parents' house I pull the sports section from the Sacto Bee, dirty rag that it is, and see that stupid headline. Hey, I'm a real guy over here, a modern man who knows how to cry. Boo hoo hoo. This may be news in somebody's world but for Johnny Unitas' sake, let me finish my damn cereal before wrecking my entire day.
ReplyDeleteThe way I wanted it to turn out. That's pieces of cakety cake in my hand: I stroll into to Bill's office, he hugs me, pats me on the back. "Scott, you are damned best quarterback I have ever seen, and I've seen them all. Joe Montana, might as well be Hannah Montana. You have a future with us, my friend. In fact, not only are you now a member of the San Francisco 49ers and the NFL, but we're going to triple, no, quadruple your contract! How you like them apples?" "Bill, mind if I call you, Bill, of course you don't. Listen, that's a lot of money, you shouldn't, but really, when I think about it, you should. So thanks." He goes on and on about how downright great I am that I have to stop him. "Bill, take easy, everything you're say is true, everybody knows that, but I'm just one guy, save some of that for the rest of the team." I say that not because I believe it but because I want old Bill, god rest his soul, to get off his knees and stop worshipping me. It's embarrassing. "Hey, Bill, nice talking. I'm gonna grab a massage and a steam and head for lunch. I'd invite you to come with but I have a date with two strippers I met last night who think even more of me than you." Nice chatting, coach.
Anne,
ReplyDeleteI do believe I will have a permanent grin on my face. Ha!! So funny, so real and yep a permanent wide grin