Before I get into the festivities, I'll give you the links to the rest of the bloggers participating today, be sure to visit them all and see what creative geniuses they all are.
com Baking In A Tornado
blogspot.com/ Spatulas on Parade
blogspot.com The Bergham’s Life Chronicles
com Southern Belle Charm
blogspot.ch Confessions of a part-time working mom
com Someone Else’s Genius
blogspot.com/ Stacy Sews and Schools
com/ Sparkly Poetic Weirdo
blogspot.com Eileen’s Perpetually Busy
com Juicebox Confession
com Battered Hope
So today my words are Snow, Paint, candy land, remodel, yard stick and they were submitted by the awesome Sarah at The Momisodes
She stared at the blank screen, the familiar feeling of terror creeping into her stomach, as it always did when she tried to write these days. The snow white page mocking her as it dared her to write something, anything. "Go ahead and try" it said to her, "you know you'll delete the first twelve drafts anyway, so you might as well get them over and done with." She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, silently cursing herself for volunteering yet again to go through this stomach churning process. When she was younger, writing seemed to come easier to her. The fear of rejection was not as strong as her self assurance that she was good at this. But time had been cruel to this woman, or rather, she'd been cruel to herself. Years spent being her own worst critic meant the voices in her head were no longer encouraging, but rather derisive, and spiteful.
She glared at the screen again then pushed her chair away from the desk. She grabbed for her cigarettes and pulled one out. Lighting it she inhaled deeply, the burning in her throat distracted her from the lump in her stomach momentarily. Once upon a time she could paint a scene effortlessly with her words, but those days seemed to be long behind her. These days the thoughts that swam through her head as she tried to write seemed to be the same ones that would come through while she was trying to make love, small mundane thoughts designed to distract her from what was once an enjoyable process, but these days just left her feeling numb. It just seemed unfair.
Part of her problem had come from meeting the women she was trying to write for now. These weren't ordinary women, they were writers too, and well out of her league. They were masters of the written word, and a massive yard stick to be measured against. Sometimes she wished for the anonymity that came from being a small fish in a big pond. One tiny piece in a massive game of Candy Land. She realised too late how comforting it was knowing that no one was reading what she had to say. The expectation she felt to entertain people with her writing was almost paralyzing, as was the tiny voice repeating over and over again, "What if they don't like it?"
Taking a deep breath, she straightened up and poised above her keyboard, began to type;
"Don't remove what you can remodel"
Sighing she slumped back in her chair exhausted from the effort. "I didn't choose the fortune cookie life" she said as she lit another cigarette, "The fortune cookie life chose me."