Go figure. Now before you get all judgmental about whether that’s a good pace or a horrible one, let me clarify that number means I wrote 4.23 words for each minute of the UIWP Writing Marathon 2014.
It just wasn’t my day. I’m celebrating that I participated and that I finished.
First stop: Smith Hall then the bubbling fountain to write.
Not knowing what to write wouldn’t qualify as a quandary, but I’m out of ideas for ways of writing about not having ideas to write about.
As the writing marathon gets underway, I’m excited to explore the beauty on campus once again. I never fail to appreciate something new each year. It is also a bitter realization of how my introvert ways have prevented me from exploring the world around me. When Melanie asked, “Do you think you can walk out on that balcony?” as we passed the conservatory. I really wanted to say, go make it happen. Instead, I said I didn’t know and blurted out something about never seeing anyone do it.
There are many things that I haven’t seen that have prevented me from exploring new frontier. I wonder how I got here.
Peace ruined by a bus stop– breaks and accelerations.
Second stop: Krannert Art Museum
Peace restored by a lovely painting and a frozen coffee drink.
Our presence has beckoned the security folks out of the secret doors. This feels odd. I feel that we’re inconveniencing them by having them make an appearance just because we’re here. Who can thoroughly enjoy something when they know they are being watched? Is this really necessary?
Holy cow there is life in this building. Not only does it sprawl, but there’s even an Espresso that will whip up frozen drinks. I wonder if Drake has been here? If he has, I wonder why he doesn’t come here often. I bet he hasn’t even been back to Spurlock since I took him that one time. Why wouldn’t he? Oh. Wait. I haven’t either.
I was so inspired after my second writing marathon two years ago that I declared Wednesdays would forever become mom and son writing marathon days. I looked forward to the bond this nonelective activity would forge.
Talk about painful. Sulkingly, the 13 year old got in the car. He knew not to even try to talk his way out of it. We went to the conservatory. We sat. I wrote. He doodled the checkerboard pattern from his notebook cover. I shared. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t share. He didn’t talk. We moved to the Spurlock Museum. We sat. I wrote. He doodled. I shared. He didn’t talk. Needless to say writing marathon Wednesdays didn’t last.
It turns out my escapade to foster the development of a lifelong writer didn’t kill his desire to write, as I expected to have caused irreversible damage. Two years later, when he started high school, he didn’t come home after school one day. We couldn’t reach him by text and he didn’t answer our calls. 5:00 came and he finally returned our calls, “Mom.
I’m at creative writing club.
Third stop: ACES library
Italy has a lot of gorgeous gardens. I know this because I just spent my whole time reading The Gardens in Time.