Here's this week's prompt from Deb:
Today’s PROMPTuesday keeps it simple.
Read this poem (one of [San Diego Momma's] favorites):
Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock
by Wallace Stevens
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
In red weather.
Meditate on it for a minute. Then write whatever comes to mind.
Here are PROMPTuesday’s rules:
* You must write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kicks in. Just set a timer, make your kid count to 600 slowly, whatever. It’s an honor system. And I trust you.
* Keep to 250 words or less.
* Please have fun. Don’t put pressure on yourself. Together, let’s rediscover the simple joy in the writing process.
* Post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.
Write y’all. Let those red tigers escape.
Here's my PROMPTuesday entry for this week's exercise:
She perused websites, went to lots, and took a test drive or ten. After a considerable period of time filled with comparisons and discernment, she made her choice. Into a brown paper bag from Trader Joe’s went colored markers, a spiral notebook filled with doodles, his sunglasses, a bottle of hand sanitizer, a plastic container of baby wipes, a half-filled bag of raw almonds, a cell phone charger, two packs of gum promising to whiten teeth, a tube of Revlon ColorStay Sheer Champagne lip gloss, and a Betty & Veronica comic book. She opened the door and the scent from the new leather seats filled her nostrils. One by one, she removed the contents from the brown paper bag. The markers and notebook and comic book went into the built-in pockets behind the front seats, easily accessible to the hands of little passengers. The hand sanitizer, gum, and lip gloss were nestled in the compartment below the center console. The container of baby wipes rested on the front passenger-side floor mat, waiting to clean all manner of mess. The cell phone charger was plugged into the cigarette lighter that would never be used but to charge a cell phone or an iPod. The bag of raw almonds was stowed in the glove box, ready to soothe hunger pangs in a pinch. His sunglasses used to have a special compartment between the sun visors, in the old car. The new car had no such compartment. Where would she put them now?