Saturday, July 8, 2017

Morning Pages

“Mom had her first starring role in Supernatural last night.”
That was what Emalee said after I told her about my nightmare:
The ghost girl from The Ring started killing people. I chased her into a dark closet, and she hid inside a garment bag. Of course, I had a huge machete-style knife—the kind that Sam and Dean always keep on hand with which to lop off the heads of monsters. Except I didn’t go for the head. No, instinct told me that I needed to cut this chick in half. I stabbed at the bag, hoping my aim was right. And then I sliced across the girl’s midsection. Gross.
But that wasn’t the end of her. It never is, right?
Samara came back, with bad guy friends. One was a creepy old man. They chased me into a room where Emalee suddenly appeared. I hadn’t been all that afraid before, but now the stakes shot sky high. I had to protect my baby. We locked the door and looked around for something to reinforce it with because Samara was already rattling the knob. She’d break through any second.
And then I woke up. Dang it! I didn’t get to see how the story ends.
There. This is my first attempt at “Morning Pages.” An author at one of the writing conferences I attended last month suggested we write whatever comes to mind first thing every morning. I’m pretty sure that was Ann Dee Ellis in her “Vulnerability” workshop at WIFYR. I didn’t follow directions very well, though. (Do I ever?) Upon waking and pondering the bad dream, a really great first line popped into my head. But instead of writing immediately, I bumbled around for a while. First, I put the finishing touch on a gift basket. Then I whipped up a pancake puff for breakfast.
After preparing fresh fruit in a bowl, I noticed tracks of red all across the kitchen tiles. A raspberry had fallen to the floor and I unwittingly stepped in it and smeared juice and slime between the counter and the sink. It looked like a bloody crime scene. Emalee agreed. Cleaning the mess, I pretended that I was a character trying to get rid of the evidence. Next, I took my sandals out to the lawn and rinsed them off in the sprinkler. I came back inside to the oven timer beeping and Emalee pulling out the pan.
The whole thing reminded me of my nightmare, so I told her about it as we ate our gourmet breakfast. (It’s okay, we’re both writers, we can handle gory conversation during meals.)
Finally, I went to the computer. By then, that really great first line was long gone. I’ve learned over and over not to believe myself when I insist I’ll remember something without writing it down. And yet I still fall for that old trick sometimes. *sigh*
Anyway, this was a fun exercise! Just thought I’d share.