Sometimes, There's Cake

This is a very short fictional piece I wrote based off a daily writing prompt from Sarah Selecky.  The assignment was two parts over two days.  First, make a list of 10 unrelated sentences.  Second, each sentence became the first sentence of a scene.  Then you write for 10 minutes. Here's what I came up with:

Sometimes, there's cake.

A rich chocolate.  A moist carrot with tangy cream cheese frosting.  Or maybe something decadent: a red velvet or a black forest cake.

Sadly, today is not one of those days.

Cupcakes.  I'm so tired of cupcakes.  Tiny little pre-portioned nuggets of cake.  When what I really want today is a big slice of overindulgence.

I make a face at the cupcakes as I pick one up for a closer look.  White cake.  Vanilla frosting.  With Sprinkles.  Sprinkles?  Are we a bunch of eight-year-olds gathered for a birthday party?

With that image in mind, I stick a finger into the mound of fluffy frosting and swipe it into my mouth.  The sugar hits my taste buds and clings there.  Immediately I begin to concede my former opinion.  Cupcakes might not be so bad after all.

I peel back the paper and take a bite. Cupcakes are technically cakes.  Just smaller.  Mini cakes.  But cakes all the same.  Another bite melts the last of my resolve, and my grumpiness.  

The cupcakes win.  For today. Tomorrow, there might be cake.

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Just Write

“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot.”  ~ Stephen King

I've got the reading part down.  I read.  A lot.  With no end in sight.  It's the "write a lot" thing that has been lacking. 

I used to write when I was younger.  Mostly poetry.  Bad poetry.  But there were a few flowers among the weeds.  Every now and then I even ventured into a bit of fiction, or a memoir of sorts. 

I constantly made up stories in my head as I went through my day.  Narrating what I was doing to make it seem more interesting, or creating fictional or fantasy stories to entertain myself while I did more mundane things such as homework, walking to the bus stop, or chores.

"Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia." ~ E. L. Doctorow

As always happens, life moved along.  I found myself with two children to raise and little time for writing.  It was a busy, happy time.  I didn't miss the writing.  I didn't even think about it during those years. 

Now the kids are grown, or mostly grown.  Either way, they are developing lives of their own.  They are no longer dependant on me for every tiny thing, and for every second of the day.  Now, there are spaces.  Spaces that are easy to fill with cleaning, reading, crochet, or a multitude of other activities. 

Such as writing.

I find myself thinking about writing.  Thinking about putting pen to paper.  Looking for writing prompts and exercises.  Making up bits and pieces of stories as I do dishes, laundry, or driving in the car. 

Writing is now something I want to do.  A drive to bring words to life.  Perhaps it was always there, and the blogging has just helped to breathe new life into it. 

“If you want to be a writer, you have to write every day... You don't go to a well once but daily. You don't skip a child's breakfast or forget to wake up in the morning...” ~ Walter Mosley

I've made myself a promise to write everyday.  For this purpose, blogging doesn't count.  Real, honest to goodness, pen to paper writing.  It doesn't matter if it's good, bad, boring drivel, or something with potential.  I will write. 

Now I find myself craving a notebook and a stash of pens specifically for writing.  A lovely, journal type notebook. Something of decent size with plenty of blank, lined pages for writing.  And good pens.  Pens that don't leave globs of ink or drag on the paper.   That along with a few words of inspiration, and some time to sit quietly and let my thoughts flow.

"We do not write because we want to; we write because we have to." ~ Somerset Maugham

The Road Ahead

She closed the door and glanced over at the pile of items sitting on the passenger seat beside her.  A jumble of thirteen years worth of memories.  Gripping the steering wheel tightly in both hands, she rested her forehead between them and pondered the step that had just been taken. 

She had been running on auto-pilot most of the day.  Going through the usual motions and duties associated with her job.  And now that her shift was at an end, she had time to finally process it.  She was gainfully unemployed for the first time in many years.  By choice.  And the concept was both terrifying and exhilarating, all at once. 

One moment her heart sank to the very pit of her stomach, weighed down with fear and uncertainty.  "What if this was all a big mistake?", she thought.  The implications of this change in her life swept up and over her, making her feel overwhelmed.

But in the very next moment she soared, lightened of the burden of the responsibilities and stress of the past years of employment.  She had an endless expanse of possibilities out in front of her.  There were new things to try, and new memories to make.

She smiled to herself as she put the car into gear and pulled out onto the road.  Knowing that change is never easy, but nothing can happen without it.