I, Jennie Blaser, promise to uphold my prompt posting pledge.
June 7, 2012
Writing prompt #4: The 5 love languages
I recently attended a church meeting full of sisters of all ages where we learned about our love languages. I had a stand-out winner: words of affirmation. What is it about words that affect me so?
As a child, my parents never said, "I love you" as often as I try to say it to my kids. We just weren't a lovey-dovey, sappy type of family. But, I know I was loved. And, it isn't 'words of love' that is the love language. It is words of affirmation. And, countless times, my parents expressed their faith in my, their trust, their support, their belief that I was beyond extraordinary.
Today, words still affect me more than any other form of emotional language. An unexpected compliment can feed my soul for days. I will lie in bed and relive the words over and over, not in a prideful way, but in a "I am worth something" sort of way.
I can take a kind thought or generous praise with me through difficult trials, boring exercise classes, and cold, lonely nights. Chocolate, roses, or even a tender kiss won't do that!
For better, and sometimes for worse, words leech onto me and it is hard to shake them off. I try to use discretion with which phrases I bond with, trying to cement the positive and distill the negative. But, like with all words... easier said than done.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Writing prompt #3: Blejski Vintgar
I, Jennie Blaser, promise to uphold my prompt posting pledge.
Writing prompt #3
June 22, 2012
Writing prompt: The color green
Blejski Vintgar. Forever in my mind those two words will conjure up visions of lush green life. A half a mile up a mountain trail from the scenic lake Bled, hidden by pine trees and forest growth, unless you know where to look, is the small entrance to a breathtaking gorge. A winding canyon covered from floor to ceiling with more shades of green than could ever be named.
Earthy green moss hugs rocks and sides of tree trunks, swallowing up any harshness that might come about from their ordinary brown undertones. Wet new leaves cling to branches, still green with birth from a myriad of trees and bushes.
Water, but unlike any water you might have heretofore seen, rushes by, drinking in the forest, the emerald, the foam, the pine, the deep and the light, reflecting back a brilliant, transparent flowing green that mesmerizes even as it moves.
A thin wooden walkway, planks worn down with countless enchanted visitors hugs the side of the canyon, blending in perfectly to its forest surroundings. Bridges crisscross the gorge, trading sides to facilitate travel.
I stop half-way across one of these bridges, enveloped by every color of green and shout, echoing with the life so abundantly surrounding me.
Writing prompt #3
June 22, 2012
Writing prompt: The color green
Blejski Vintgar. Forever in my mind those two words will conjure up visions of lush green life. A half a mile up a mountain trail from the scenic lake Bled, hidden by pine trees and forest growth, unless you know where to look, is the small entrance to a breathtaking gorge. A winding canyon covered from floor to ceiling with more shades of green than could ever be named.
Earthy green moss hugs rocks and sides of tree trunks, swallowing up any harshness that might come about from their ordinary brown undertones. Wet new leaves cling to branches, still green with birth from a myriad of trees and bushes.
Water, but unlike any water you might have heretofore seen, rushes by, drinking in the forest, the emerald, the foam, the pine, the deep and the light, reflecting back a brilliant, transparent flowing green that mesmerizes even as it moves.
A thin wooden walkway, planks worn down with countless enchanted visitors hugs the side of the canyon, blending in perfectly to its forest surroundings. Bridges crisscross the gorge, trading sides to facilitate travel.
I stop half-way across one of these bridges, enveloped by every color of green and shout, echoing with the life so abundantly surrounding me.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Writing prompt #2: Haiku or two
I, Jennie Blaser, promise to uphold my prompt posting pledge.
Writing prompt #2
June 7, 2012
Prompt: Write Haikus
Frustration growing
Deep breath, eyes closed, inhaling
Peace and courage come
A bird is chirping
The wind is whistling hello
Morning has broken
Bikes clatter and fall
Backpacks drop. Voices clamber
School is out again.
Pulse racing at the
inevitable question:
What is for dinner?
Writing prompt #2
June 7, 2012
Prompt: Write Haikus
Frustration growing
Deep breath, eyes closed, inhaling
Peace and courage come
A bird is chirping
The wind is whistling hello
Morning has broken
Bikes clatter and fall
Backpacks drop. Voices clamber
School is out again.
Pulse racing at the
inevitable question:
What is for dinner?
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Writing Prompt #1: remembering a sound...
I, Jennie Blaser, promise to uphold my prompt posting pledge.
April 12, 2012
Prompt: Right a memory inspired by a sound
"Do -- do -- do... if you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again... do -- do -- do"
Tittering laughter elbows me on my right and I fight not to join in. My mom is saying one of her prayers and our knees have all adjusted to the indents in the carpet. Fidgeting has started. And the beige phone, taken off the hook by my dad just before my mom started, has already gone through the cycle of busy beeps, tri-tones and the female robotic sounding voice three times.
My dad forgot to place the phone inside the second drawer and cover the speaker with the stack of well-used phone books. Well-used as muting devices during prayers, especially my mom's prayers. I know she can hear the distracting tones, the interrupting voice as well as the rest of us, but she is trying to make a point. Prayer is sacred. We should all be showing proper respect for the real communication happening.
But I smell the hot rolls sitting on the table, the smell of melting butter emanating off the lazy susan and tickling my taste buds. I try to focus on my mother's words. I am impatient now. All of us kids are hungry. Fighting back the giggles. And I think, "Come on mom, you've lost us. Enough already. If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again."
April 12, 2012
Prompt: Right a memory inspired by a sound
"Do -- do -- do... if you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again... do -- do -- do"
Tittering laughter elbows me on my right and I fight not to join in. My mom is saying one of her prayers and our knees have all adjusted to the indents in the carpet. Fidgeting has started. And the beige phone, taken off the hook by my dad just before my mom started, has already gone through the cycle of busy beeps, tri-tones and the female robotic sounding voice three times.
My dad forgot to place the phone inside the second drawer and cover the speaker with the stack of well-used phone books. Well-used as muting devices during prayers, especially my mom's prayers. I know she can hear the distracting tones, the interrupting voice as well as the rest of us, but she is trying to make a point. Prayer is sacred. We should all be showing proper respect for the real communication happening.
But I smell the hot rolls sitting on the table, the smell of melting butter emanating off the lazy susan and tickling my taste buds. I try to focus on my mother's words. I am impatient now. All of us kids are hungry. Fighting back the giggles. And I think, "Come on mom, you've lost us. Enough already. If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again."
The Prompt Posting Pledge
I've decided to post some of the results of writing prompts of five years of writer's group meetings.
If you don't understand what that means, let me explain. Five years ago, three dear friends, Liz, Kami, and Liz invited me to join their writer's group. We meet about twice a month and start of each meeting with a writing prompt (a phrase, a situation, some key words, really, it can be anything). We then have 10 minutes to write about that prompt. Then we share and critique our results. So, I thought it would be fun to post some of those. (Some would be too boring to even re-type, let alone read).
But, to make it more interesting, I came up with and will abide by my my Prompt Posting Pledge:
I, Jennie Blaser, promise to post exactly what I wrote during my 10 minutes of writing, and not to edit it (except to correct a typo) whilst typing it on this blog.
Signed,
Jennie Blaser
If you don't understand what that means, let me explain. Five years ago, three dear friends, Liz, Kami, and Liz invited me to join their writer's group. We meet about twice a month and start of each meeting with a writing prompt (a phrase, a situation, some key words, really, it can be anything). We then have 10 minutes to write about that prompt. Then we share and critique our results. So, I thought it would be fun to post some of those. (Some would be too boring to even re-type, let alone read).
But, to make it more interesting, I came up with and will abide by my my Prompt Posting Pledge:
I, Jennie Blaser, promise to post exactly what I wrote during my 10 minutes of writing, and not to edit it (except to correct a typo) whilst typing it on this blog.
Signed,
Jennie Blaser
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