Saturday, May 15, 2021

Writing Workshop: This is What America Looks Like

 Gaithersburg Book Festival offered an online workshop this morning. Here's what I wrote during the 5-10 minute writing prompts.


I am standing here,

On a dirt road,


Yes I could live here.

I’m looking at a panorama of mountains,

A highway,

With trucks and cars heading east and west.

No people that I can see,

Far or near.

Houses behind me. 

I saw a man walking his dog

As I drove up the hill.

It’s hot, 

A dry heat

That doesn’t cause drippy sweat.

Later, I will wash the dried salt and grit

Off my face,

And make my decision.



What are 4 or 5 things that are essential to you

  1. Water and food

  2. Place

  3. At least one musical instrument

  4. Running/walking shoes and clothes

  5. Paper and pen or iPad and electricity

I need water and food so I can remain living.

Everything else I need 

Relates to my happiness

And how well I live.


A view

A peaceful place to walk

Mountains, canyons, 

water trickling or streaming over rocks,

Singing to me.


A friend or two who don’t question my quirks

And enjoy some of the things I like to do.


A ukulele or guitar or keyboard,

My voice

Others playing instruments and singing


iPad, laptop, paper, pens,

A place to sit

People to watch

News and stories to read and hear.


Shoes and clothing for outdoors

I don’t care what I wear indoors

Outdoors, I need the right clothing

So I can run, walk, hike up mountains and into canyons,



America is…

America is a beautiful day,

And a stormy sky.

Happiness and hope

Sadness and despair.

Ancient trees, newly planted trees.

Burnt and insect ravaged forests

Quiet contemplation,

In your face loud questioning.

Colors, accents, cultures, 

Innocence and guilt.

Truths and lies.

Lines drawn,

No retreat.

Running away,

Marching in the streets,

America is a house,

And to some a home.


Saturday, May 1, 2021

My Story

Today’s prompt came from a request that people in a group I belong to tell their story in a short video. 

My story is still being written.

Some chapters are boring

Work, walk, eat, sleep, together, alone.

The chapter I’m in now 

Is interesting,

And full of secrets

I don’t want to share.

Which makes it hard to decide what to write about.

Because I like to share what I write.

I’m human.

I like positive reinforcement.

I like getting a thumbs up.

I like seeing that people actually read what I write.

I like feeling like a real writer.

So instead of writing about my secrets,

I am writing a cryptic poem,

That I can share,

While I save my secrets, 

For the unpublished pages.

That are just for me,

My means of survival,

My personal form of therapy,

My thoughts typed as they come,

No filter

No censor,

No limits.


My truth.


The pieces of me I don’t want people to see.

The process of working out who I am

Isn’t meant for public consumption.