Pillow Dreams

At writing group we are given a list of prompts and 10-20 minutes to write. The idea is to just write. The result is a raw, probably unfinished piece of work. Below is what I wrote at group recently. This is very raw. I revised nor added nothing.

The prompt: What if your pillow collected your dreams and you could plug it in to your laptop and watch them over and over again?

Pillow Dreams

By Mary Patricia Bird

I awoke at 3 a.m. in a hot sweat. I had been dreaming. I know you should write down your dreams immediately so as not to forget them, but I was more concerned with my moist clothes and dry mouth. I changed my pajamas and got a drink of water, then I climbed back into bed and immediately fell asleep.

When I awoke in the morning my mind was blank. The dream had completely disintegrated from my mind. Frustrated, I sat up and stared at my pillow. It was a new pillow, one I had just bought the day before. I was just now noticing a black cord sticking out of the pillow case. I pulled on it but it didn’t budget. Upon further examination I realized it was actually attached to the pillow, the end a USB connection.

Curious, I grabbed my laptop and plugged the USB into it. Strange images appeared on the screen – colourful squiggly lines which eventually faded into darkness.

Like a movie, a scene began to appear. A tree, and then another tree, and then another. I was staring at a dark forest. It wasn’t just any forest though. It was familiar to me. I became mesmerized as I “moved” through the forest until I reached a clearing where an old cabin stood.

“Oh God,” I moaned. This was a scene from my dream. As it came back to me I felt sweat trickling down between my breasts. If this was my dream I knew what was going to happen. I tried to focus, to stay put, not moving, but the cabin grew larger on the screen as, obviously, I approached it.

My heart began to quicken and I brought one hand to my chest, the other to cover my eyes slightly. I didn’t want to look but at the same time I did.

A hand, my hand, reached to open the door. It was as if I was playing in a virtual reality game, but I knew this was no game and it was not going to be fun. I still could not remember exactly what lay behind that door but my mind and body were telling me it wasn’t good.

Should I hit the escape button? Unplug the USB? I couldn’t do it. I had to see, had to remember.

As the door slowly opened I walked inside the dusty old one-room cabin. My heart raced harder, my breathing quickened, my eyes widened in shock and fear………

~~~~

Time’s up. How will this story end? I don’t know. How would you write the ending to this bit of flash fiction?

It's All Downhill

From the writing prompt: “I never stole your bloody car!” I wrote the following story.

It’s All Downhill

By Clare McCarthy

            I could feel my face turn crimson as I roared at the old man, “I never stole your bloody car!”

            In actual fact, I had recently purchased Newt Lymbuner’s 1929 Model A Ford Roadster from him for what I thought at the time was the extravagant sum of forty-nine dollars. I had been saving all of my earnings from that summer’s jobs to purchase my first set of wheels. 

            You might think that I had committed a crime to pay an old man such a measly small amount for one of Henry Ford’s creations. But what you may not realize is the fact that the old man had bought the vehicle used and had driven it to work daily for twenty-one years. Thus, when I bought Newt’s Model A, it had been on the road for almost all of the eighty-nine years that Newt had been alive.   

            The number of miles travelled in all of those years can create a good deal of wear-and-tear on any piece of machinery. For the forty-nine bucks that I paid Newt Lymburner for his chariot, I had to replace a dead battery to get the car running again. All five tires (and that includes the spare) were worn as smooth as a baby’s backside. The brakes were in such bad shape, it took me five miles of dragging my feet just to get the old roadster to stop. The suspension was worn so loose, at times the front end would shimmy and shake, as violently as a Hawaiian Hula Dancer, with a bad case of nerves. 

            So, as you can see, I didn’t get much for the forty-nine bucks that I’d forked out for Newt’s roadster. Maybe the old man was the real thief in the deal when he charged me as much as he did for his worn-out vehicle.

            But all of this avoids the real reason why Newt thinks that, “I stole his car!” At the age of eighty-nine, Newt Lymburner lost his driving licence, because dementia had settled in. He had forgotten completely that he had actually sold the car to me only yesterday. 

            I understand that back in 1942, Newt in his roadster had even courted and proposed to his late- wife Nellie.  

            Sad, isn’t it?

            Besides parting with his beloved chariot, and all of its related history, the old codger has lost a host of cherished memories along with it as well.             

            Who, or what, then was the real thief here in this story?

~~~~~~~~

Posted on behalf of Clare McCarthy

Meeting Notes and Prompts February 18, 2017

At the next meeting (March 5th) we will be holding a Blind Book Exchange. Each attendee should bring two books wrapped in wrapping paper, newspaper, brown paper bag, comics, whatever. Anything that makes the book unrecognizable. Both of your books should be wrapped in the same paper so you know which books are your's. You don't want to end out taking home your own books.

The purpose of this is two-fold. One, to possibly introduce each other to new writers and/or genres. Two, we would like reviews of these books to be posted on this blog.

If all goes well with this Blind Book Exchange, we will arrange another one and expand it outside the group.

~~~~~~

Prompts:

1. What if your pillow collected your dreams and you could plug it in too your laptop and watch them over and over again?

2. My spouse made me coffee this morning and winked at me when he/she handed me the cup. I've never before been more scared of a drink in all my life.

3. I believe there comes a time when everything just falls in line.

4. She was grateful to be living in her very own version of happily ever after.

Keep in mind the possibility of future publication when writing from prompts this year.


"There is freedom in being a writer and writing. It is fulfilling your function. I used to think freedom meant doing whatever you want. It means knowing who you are, what you are supposed to be doing on this earth, and then simply doing it." - Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down The Bones

Next Meeting with Blind Book Exchange:

Sunday, March 5th, 1:30pm, Leader: Nancy

Meeting Minutes - January 22, 2017

Members of the Headwaters Writers' Guild are encouraged to attend this event. Everyone in Orangeville is encouraged to attend.

~~~

The HWG received the following email:

My name is MJ Moores and I am the Event/Vendor Coordinator for the Writers’ Community of York Region’s (WCYR’s) THE BOOKSHELF. This love-of-reading event is a not-for-profit endeavor created to fill a programming gap noticed across the GTA with regards to book selling opportunities in the Spring and early Summer months.

The 2nd Annual Bookshelf event will be held in conjunction with the Newmarket Farmers’ Market on Sat. May 13th, 2017 in the Community Centre. Local authors will be given the opportunity to read some of their work during this event.

In addition to vendor and author reading opportunities, we will have draws, spot prizes and a genre-based scavenger hunt for all ages. This year’s author readings will take the form of an “open mic” for the 14 available 10-min. time slots to be drawn for. Any author/vendor interested in having their name entered into the draw needs to register for a table
before the end of February 2017 and have contacted the Readings Coordinator (see online).
 
We also have in place an extensive advertising plan that covers a wide range of social media, online news outlets & event calendars for York Region, print news, radio, and TV.
 
It is our goal to establish a firm footing for this new book event with the goal of bringing in Readers and book lovers. We want to reach active York Region readers (and beyond!) to nurture a formidable venue to celebrate Canadian Authors and Reading.
 
Currently, we are looking to invite local indie authors, small presses, local book stores, and reading/genre-related craft people to participate in our vendor room. I hope you’ll consider attending and/or passing this invitation on to another potential participant.


WE OFFER THE FOLLOWING RATES: [all tables are 6’ in length]
FULL-TABLE - $30 (great for established indie authors with more than two books, & non-book vendors)
INDUSTRY DOUBLE-TABLE - $50 (perfect for writing groups w/publications, small presses, indie book stores, & large non-book vendors)
A $5 DISCOUNT is available to any returning vendor (discount option available when you register and check out).
 
Please visit our website at http://thebookshelf.wcyork.ca for more details, and to see the vendor room layout.

The group suggested that since we have several published authors, we might want to consider purchasing a table or two as The Headwaters' Writers Guild using HWG funds. We are inquiring as to whether only book vendors are able to participate. We believe someone selling home made jewelry, for example, may also participate. This needs immediate attention.

~~~

A discussion was had as to whether the group would consider publishing a book as a writing tool consisting of prompts of different forms. This will be discussed again at future meetings.

~~~
Congratulations to Sonja for leading the meeting for the first time. She did a great job. Her preamble and prompts are below:

Thrillers

“Thrillers deal with the really big subjects: death, violence, cruelty, good and evil. They are often all about important moral and ethical dilemmas. They invariable raise the question of nature versus nurture, heredity versus environment, and whether people are intrinsically good or bad.” Julie Parsons, (author of Alpha Wave, I Saw You, and numerous detective novels)

P.D. James, English detective novelist of Death Comes to Pemberley and the Adam Dalgliesh novels, says that the most dangerous emotion of all is not hatred but love. The thriller allows us to see the viewpoint of the villain and how he or she justifies their actions and beliefs.

Emotionally driven, a thriller requires the hero to foil evil. It is an “impossible mission” that puts the hero in terrible danger.

Different types of thrillers include, psychological, crime, paranormal, medical, legal, espionage (spy stories), and romantic.

Using the prompts below, imagine the villain of the story and write from their point of view. What do they love? What is their motivation in the scenario presented? What is their ultimate goal and the plan to achieve that goal?

Alternately, write the beginnings of a thriller using any of the prompts.

Prompts

1.       They said it was a miracle she survived the fire that killed her entire family. What they didn’t know was that death followed her, and he wasn’t done yet.

2.       Everyone thought she’d died from a heart attack, until they discovered the puncture wounds on her throat.

3.       The scribe’s apprentice discovers a hidden drawer in the library and realizes his master is not the man of God he thought he was.

4.       She went into the elevator alone and was never seen or heard from again.

5.       It always happens when he’s alone in the car.

6.       She was excited about having made a friend at her new school, until she learned that no one else at the school had ever seen or met her friend.

7.       The last surviving member of the Seven Crows lodge knew it was time to tell the secret he had guarded for so long.

8.       The exotic flower pressed between the pages of her book was proof that he was still alive, and now she knew where.

9.       His imaginary friend “Johnny” had always been a lot of fun, until one day Johnny brought another friend with him.

1.   She was working late, putting the final touches on her speech for tomorrow’s reveal of the corporation’s new product, unaware of the assassin outside her door.

The next HWG meeting is Sunday, February 5th, at 1:30pm at the Orangeville Public Library, Mill Street location.

Clare will be leading.

HWG 2017 Meeting Schedule

Headwaters Writers’ Guild

2017 Meeting Schedule

Meetings take place at Orangeville Public Library

1:30pm – 3:30pm

Sunday, January 8 – Leader: Judy

Sunday, January 22 – Leader: Sonja
Sunday, February 5 – Leader: Clare

Sunday, February 19 – Leader: Don
Sunday, March 5 – Leader: Nancy

Sunday, March 19 – Leader: Judy
Sunday, April 2 – Leader: Sonja

Sunday, April 23 – Leader: Clare
Sunday, May 7 – Leader: Don

Sunday, May 28 – Leader: Judy
Sunday, June 11 – Leader: Sonja

Sunday, June 25 – Leader: Clare
Sunday, July 16 – Leader: Don
Sunday, August 13 – Leader: Nancy
Sunday, September 10 – Leader: Judy

Sunday, September 24 – Leader: Sonja
Sunday, October 15 – Leader: Clare

Sunday, October 29 – Leader: Don
Sunday, November 5 – Leader: Sonja

Sunday, November 19 – Leader: Clare

Saturday, November 25 – Christmas Luncheon

Remembrance Day and the Perfect Gift

Remembrance Day and the Perfect Gift

By Nancy Rorke

I have a confession to make. I’ve always been intuitive. I inherited it from my father, which is ironic because he doesn’t believe that I’m his. I’ve never believed him. It led to a tumultuous and complicated relationship.

Even though his disdain of me created a miserable childhood, almost a decade after we stopped talking, I forgave him. After I mailed him a reconciliation letter, we began a new relationship. But even then, he wanted a DNA test. I refused.

After my cousin published our family tree, I shared it, along with family stories, with my dad. It gave us something safe to talk about. We both love history.

          “You know more about my family than I do,” he often said.

          In the spring of 2010, I woke up with the feeling that even though my father lived on his own and was in fair health, this would be his last Father’s Day.

Even if he didn’t love me, I wanted him to know that I’d always loved him. What special gift could I give a man who had everything? I decided to compile all the old family photos and other memorabilia that I could track down into a memory book.

By mid-May, I borrowed my paternal grandmother’s photo album and began scanning old photos. My cousin Ralda, mailed me copies of all her photos including those of my father’s beloved grandparents.

Glory, another cousin, had become the keeper of the family memories. She mailed me a photo of my grandfather, Edgar Rorke, and copies of postcards that our grandparents, Gertrude and Edgar had exchanged during WWI. She knew the addresses of every place our grandmother had ever lived, as well as where Edgar was buried.

We contacted cemeteries about our great-grandparents, great aunt, and Edgar. I took photos of all the graves to verify dates, and of all the residences.

My mother told me that my paternal grandfather died of tuberculosis and that’s why; they vaccinated me against it when I was born with a lung infection. I have a scar on my left shoulder. Edgar and I are linked forever.

Glory shared Edgar’s story with me. He’d caught tuberculosis from the war.

With scanning the photos and fixing them, taking pictures of the graves and residences, and trying to compile all the memorabilia, I never finished the memory book in time for Father’s Day.

          Two months later, we were told that my ninety-year-old father had a stroke. The day after Thanksgiving, the hospital admitted him again. At 9:00 a.m., my older brother phoned me.

        “Because of the stroke, Dad can’t take care of himself. We have to find a nursing home for him.”

        By 5:00 p.m., my younger sister called. My father had brain cancer and wasn’t expected to live. In late October, they admitted him to palliative care.

        Between visits to see my dad, I continued to spend every other moment completing the memory book.

          Every visit, I brought him a gift. One week I brought him a CD and discovered he’d stopped listening to music. Another week, I brought him his favourite snack foods and realized that he’d stopped eating. I wanted to celebrate my father’s ninety-first birthday early in December ‘cause I knew he’d never make it to January 14. I begged my older siblings repeatedly, but they said no. 

          Time slipped away along with my father’s health. With the weekly drive to Toronto, there just wasn’t enough time to finish the book. I decided to take it to my father anyway. He couldn’t read the documents, so I resorted to bringing him the old photos, along with childhood photos of our family.

          When I showed him the photo of his grandparent’s last residence, he said, almost in a whisper, “That’s my grandparent’s house.” And, when he saw his grandfather Timothy’s photo, he held his breath. “That’s grandpa.”

          I smiled inwardly. I’d finally brought him something he loved. And then I showed him the photo of Edgar, and his father’s grave. My dad’s eyes widened. He didn’t say a word. He looked down at the floor to hide his tears.

         Thoughts bombarded me. You idiot. Why would you bring a photo of his father’s grave? He’s dying. He doesn’t want to see photos of graves. What were you thinking?

Finally, he spoke. “My father’s funeral happened three days before my ninth birthday, and I’ve never known where he was buried.” 

         On Remembrance Day in 2010, Dad left the hospital. My older sister drove him to the cemetery, and he stood at his father’s grave for the first time in eighty-one years.          Finally, I’d given him the perfect gift.

         Every November 11 before that, I mourned the loss of lives due to war. But that year, it became personal. I’d never had a grandfather because of the war. Now, I wept for the grandfather I never knew, and for my father who would soon join him.

Posted on behalf of Nancy Rorke

October 30, 2016, Meeting

On Tuesday, November 8, 2016, at 7:00pm, Clare McCarthy will be launching two new books at BookLore in Orangeville. Please come out and support him.

On Tuesday, November 15, 2016, from 6:30pm-9:00pm there will be an Open Mic Night for authors and poets at Euphoria Cafe in Orangeville.

Writing Prompts:

FICTION

1)  Pick two radically different genres of fiction (for example: science fiction and western!). Write an outline, or the beginning, of a story that includes elements of both genres.

2)  Pick 2 or 3 people you have seen featured in the news or on social media lately and use them as the basis for characters for a fictional short story.

3)  If you had an evil twin, what sort of mischief do you suppose the two of you could get up to?

4)  If a cosmic ray managed to penetrate the atmosphere and reduce you to a smoking ruin, what sort of superhero do you think would rise from the ashes of your past life?

5)  The phone rings and a mysterious voice whispers, “It is done!”

6)  Pick a common household item (examples: a hairbrush, a key, a dishcloth), but don’t tell us what it is. Make it a character in a short piece of fiction and ask the group members to try and guess what it is when you read your work aloud to everyone at the end of the meeting.

NON FICTION

7) Write a letter to the editor of a local newspaper about an issue of importance to you.

 8) What would you like your life to be like in 5 years?

9)  Tell us about the most memorable Halloween you ever had.

10)  Write a letter of advice to someone who is just starting out in a hobby or craft in which you have some expertise (eg. sewing, carpentry, gardening, masonry...whatever).

The final meeting of 2016 is on Sunday, November 13, 1:30pm in the meeting room at the Meridian Credit Union, 190 Broadway, Orangeville.