Goofing Around—11

Goofing Around—11


Excuse my absence.  Okay, excuses are always weak, so I’ll skip them.  Instead, let me share a new way for you to goof around some more.


Writing is all about making sense, discovering connections, and capturing meaning.  I honor that.  Now let’s turn that effort on its head.


Try to write something that has no sense, no connections, no meaning.  This is harder than you might think.  Instead of me giving you an example, I invite you to see how good you are at writing something with no meaning whatsoever.  Length?  Your choice.  Perhaps I will submit after a bit, but I’d enjoy seeing your most meaningless writing first.



68 responses to “Goofing Around—11

  1. Mr. Banks lost his. The shuttle was scuttled. Mrs. Wildlee had one as a young girl. Mr. Blake ran a mile in the rain. Miss Muffet sat on her lawn furniture. Molly was good golly. Pokla Dots in a row of squares. Mrs Avery’s ankles were fat. The Police sang in the shower. The journey never left the boat slip. Lennon wasn’t as good as Paul. They had a tough time with her. The book was written by a ghost. True crime doesn’t pay unless your a politician. Chocolate covered raisins. Supergirl looks better in tights than Superman. Walter was tired of Felix. Some people shouldn’t wear a bikini. Nothing from nothing leaves nothing.

  2. Tomorrow she sings, unless the sandwich is finished. Black is during the window, but I can’t tell whether he appreciates the skip. If we all sink to the haskins, it will take longer than my last petunia. Even if there isn’t one, I can’t say that it will for sure. My friend thought so, but she is often lacking in the pure mystery that is willingly sorrowful to transmit to our ambiguities. All of this is hardly due, I have to make issues! It can supply! Oh, truly.

  3. You screwed up, Walk. You wrote a sentence that makes profound sense, has personal connections for all mankind, and has universal meaning:

    “Crime doesn’t pay unless you’re a politician.”

  4. Crumpled and toasted tulips turned twice toward twenty twisted twin turnips. Aboard seaside ships sleet slithered inside out and pant cuffs filled with sleazy cream cheese. Monsters, muffins and muskrats slid under doors with money falling up while rain fell higher up to the clouds, the moon and the sun. The man swooped around the tight trees three times in a flour sack filled with numbers and crushed circles.

    Eternity rushed backwards to the beginning of time and then screwed into the bedboard like nobody’s business. Popcorn kernels lined the letter border and ketchup dotted the hem of his shorts and boots that slanted toward the wrong planet.

    Swept away and corn dogs blew sideways, twisted and then lower causing doors to melt and coffee drips spotting rusty floors.

    “Who ran under the floor and mailed dust motes via the pony express to the CEO of the ape cage in Transylvania?” asked nobody of the crystal chandelier.

    Crazy baby slithering more now than tomorrow before yesterday jumped in circles making ruts to heaven. The cow wrote a letter on parchment elastic with age, yellowed stains coming off planets spinning like rings off fire moths.

    [I hate to admit it but this comes really easy for me and is enjoyable as well. Sheesh! I could go on for hours creating this nonsense. ]

  5. Maybe I should just repost my Ouija poetry attempt…

  6. ***Part 1 (Whispered)

    Toasted rocks with jam
    Letters, cribs, and colored ham.

    Bloody liver, fire-to-show
    Limpid pools on a desk glow.

    Sleep comes like 1,2,3 shy slivers
    Poking holes, stamps quiver.

    Morons come, clocks tic toc toe,
    Mosquitos in envelopes crow.

    Which vampire cut the grass soup?
    Scratched, broken with labels drooped.

    ***Act 4 (please drop to the top)

    Lois said, “Go dry the car and shop for steam to cut into facts. One, two, three, twenty and zero. Fish, books, rolled and pricked twice for Sally’s coat. Do it yesterday and don’t wait.”

    “You’re stupid, drop the soap. Ten minus three equals a Volkswagon without a refrigerator and kerchief. My party is coming up last week. Rick came here too late and left the day before he got here. Sing, don’t forget. Listen: you can’t fly with your feet pointing eastward if your dog needs a new leash,” Marcie began to say but couldn’t while Ray mouthed it.

    ***Part 1 (discontinued)
    Birds barked while burgers flipped into the dog’s house. The cat wearing spike heels spoke French toast to the pope.

    ***Adendum to the prelude #-5 and question of the year:

    Can brand name man
    Scam a dame on a train?

    [Stop. Let cool, pour from sauce pan to tin can, reseal lid and put on shelf, go back to bed hungry and try it again yesterday? Who knew starvation could sit overhead dripping crumbs on the widows sack?]

    The men
    in white coats
    took Shaddy
    Wave and say

  7. No, yes, exerted! And while we aren’t, take his whisper off the manitoba draw. There isn’t trial for merganser until nightstand.

  8. Plenipotentiary without portfolio extols Ozymandias and giraffes. Belated wishes aggrandize cactus flowers while calendars mark the calories of their day. Spider mites row miles of legumes while touching their toes in tune with nothing but a drummer of unknown origin and unheard beat. Avast, ye lorries! What sayeth thou muted screams above the savannah. Inside, internal, external, exfoliate while you can. Time is but a vision, a mirage that centers the self without psychobabble. You read it, you hear it, it is a secret to be scattered upon the sea and contained in each droplet of briny bubbles scouring the lava. Nevermore, evermore, therefore, what for? So sayeth Ozmandias and the giraffes.

  9. The dog ate Johnny’s cash while Peter pauled Mary. Simon sat in his garfunkel. Kenny rogered his reba. The queen walked on rolling stones. Marvin laughed gay. Johnny and Edgar only came out in winters. Pablo rot chi. Lawerence welked out. Buddy sat on his holly. The carpenters fell into the 5th dimension and said “what the who?” Carrie feels under wood.
    Johnny ran through the brooks and fell on his dunn. And so am I.

  10. During the flag tile, Michael displayed fluent rice kernels. Gaspar sang under, hoping until percolators tumbled into mercurachrome night. If any doubt, only clap rarity to excessive stink! Ship the effervescence after skate.

  11. Hey, I think the whole bunch of us have proven ourselves to be stark, raving mad. We knew of our hidden talents previously but now we’ve confirmed it once and for all.

    We’re uncorked, unscrewed, undone….un…un… [Ahhh, now that makes sense, or does it? Since I submitted here yesterday, when I speak, people cock their heads and look peculiarly at me. I think I’m stuck in this senseless, meaningless, disconnected mode.]

    Thank you, Ann, for leading me to a writing form that allows me to spill out chunks of the nonsensical, but for me normal, thoughts incessantly bouncing merrily within the walls of my cranium. It feels so good, I’ve begun beating my head against the wall. Uh oh. I think I cracked something.

  12. Shy and KathyH,

    I miss you both. There’s plenty of room here for everyone. This is a golden opportunity to forget writing rules and let nonsense be your only guide.

  13. Scurry me down with buttons and bows
    Corner the miserly lilies gone but scant.

    Rivets, price tags, raindrops sewn carelessly to
    Clouds shrunken and smitten despite a clock.

    “How could midnight wear dungarees
    dark with unforeseen consequences,” silence whispered loudly.

    “I said knock it off, you leaves there. Shut up and grab the wind, eat it on wheat bread, upside down yet. A smattering of colored spools blended with moldy gravy, shook and capped well and put to bed hungry. (She’s gone but for bloody lined pages scalloped with bloated loneliness and lace, amid sad wealth once criminally stoned wearing a high straw.)”

    Cornelius and a dozen deadly off key roses stealing winks from audacious but subtle potting plants.

    Hey, Ann. Do you think there’s a market for my mindless masterpieces?

  14. Does anyone know the point of this exercise? Could it be to embarass the muse so she comes out of hiding?

  15. Gee, golly, Gully,

    I reckon the point is to build muscle and fitness as with any type of exercise. If we’re strong enough to write nonsense and yet retain some semblance of our prior sanity, we’re equipped to go forward with new confidence. If we don’t take ourselves into the land of the insane, how can we appreciate the priceless threads of sanity that dare to exist among the caverns of our minds.

    I guarantee it’ll roust your muse from her dingy hideaway if only to shake her finger at you and scowl with disdain. Pull her onto your lap and feed her chocolate kisses. (If only it was that easy to motivate her, right Gully?)

  16. For Ann,

    I just found a short fiction form we could use here. Let me know if you want to hear about it.

  17. From the depths within without. Her cries fell on flagstone. Her long hair singed with ice cream. She ran straight into blackberry jam. She only had eyes for ewes. She panicked when the Boston creamed pie. Her long legs slipped into wandering dusk. Her mother had an old hubbard. A shot in the dark lightened her load. Her muse wrote for toilet paper. Her large breasts pressed against his guitar stand. She loved, she lost, she asked directions. She turned over in bed, slightly done. And so am I.

  18. A one and a two and a three and a four,
    step right up and I’ll give you one more.

    Please excuse my need to write of things somewhat sensible and somewhat not. I’ve misplaced my life so you’re stuck with me for now.

    Walk picked up his pace and ran alongside
    Gullible who never was easily duped.
    Shy stepped into the spotlight
    Certain that Maureen would read with her
    On stage of the last petunia,
    Of mercurachrome nights and effervescence.
    KathyH stood atop the table
    She once hunkered under
    Not alone.

  19. Shaddy asked a good question. Is there are market for this stuff? I don’t know, but I do know I’d rather read much of what you guys write than most poetry books I peruse at book stores.

    Then Gullie asked the point of this exercise. Might it be to cajole the muse out from hiding? Perhaps. I like to think of it as a kind of head slap wake up call. Perhaps this is the same thing. Meaning is everywhere, as Walk shows us by enjoying his slide down its slippery slope. Connections! Cause and effect! Emerging clarity! Subtext! As I read what you all have written here, my brain loves trying to find the leap between seemingly unconnected words. As the anticliche exercise shows, there usually is one.

    Shaddy, you have something to share. Yes. We’d love to hear about your new form!

    Say hi to Zelda who has been considering putting her toe in the waters to see if any of the resident creatures bite.

  20. Zelda, Zelda, welcome to this goofing. Sense we are none to make. Lets hear your take.

  21. All hail Zelda, traveler from a song-lost land.
    Walk, O musical one, take the drum!
    Zel-Da! Zel-Da! Zel-Da!
    Got the beat?
    Now all repeat!
    1-2, 1-2, 1-2
    All hail!

    Gully, if you would be so kind,
    Didgeridulcimerdooo us
    to the end of the line

    (That sounds like)
    WAAAAAAAAAAAAA pling a pling pling WAAAAaaaAAaAaaAAAaAaaAAaaaaaa……

    everybody sing!

  22. “…mercurachrome nights and effervescence…” I LOVE THAT LINE!

    Anyway, I’m not sure how all this stuff here differs from the stuff I usually write…

  23. Perhaps I’ve found my genre. At long last, I’m home.

  24. Maureen,

    Good girl. You’ve left forensic evidence of having read my blog.

  25. Was it Jerry Rice or Emmitt Smith? One a wide receiver and the other a halfback, when asked why they didn’t celebrate after scoring a touchdown, replied, “I like to act as if I’ve been there before.” That’s class.

    Enter quickly, Zelda, as if you’ve been here before.
    We will note, Zelda, and carry on as if you’ve been here before.
    Because nothing, Zelda, will stop this madness.
    Enter quickly, Zelda, as if you’ve been here before.

  26. At first I thought I had night owl company. Finally, I thought, I am not left to my own strange devices in the changling hours of the dark. My cyberbuds are there for me, ready to pounce when the spirit moves. Then I noticed the time those light gray letters and numerals claim I posted. Six fifteen in the morning??? No way, Jose!

  27. Shaddy, you are on a roll! “…bloody lined pages scalloped with bloated loneliness and lace…” Wow.

  28. The otter floats
    on her back
    as she eat.
    It bumps
    her nearby pup,
    floating in sleep.

    I’m here.
    I will protect you
    as you sleep.

    Sleek, dark fur
    smeared and grimy,
    bathed in crude
    sucked from the earth
    eight hundred miles away.

    I’m cold.
    I cannot sleep.
    The water takes my warmth,
    gives back cold.

    I cannot protect you.
    I’m cold too.

    Black, tarry crude oil,
    meant to fuel
    a world
    to places far and distant,
    delivers death
    on the once pure waters
    of Prince William Sound.

    (Okay, I’m going to bed now. Today is the 20th anniversary of the Exxon Valdez oil spill in Prince William Sound, not very far from where I live. You can read more about it at my blog.)

  29. Thanks for that fantastic welcome, everyone.

    I tried Goofing Around-11. It kicked me. Maybe I tried too hard. Maybe that’s the point.
    Oh, well. Here goes:

    Nonsense meaning in the afternoon of discontent without the boundaries of my brain. I seek to make nonsense from these keys. Words. See them swim in the sea of the air before my eyes and hear them dance. Swallow them to keep them from fleeing. Go slowly unto the sunset and wash it all down with a glass of scotch tape to keep yourself together.

    I’ll keep trying. Had I been smart, I would have waited to see what Goofing Around-12 offered before I stuck my neck out.

    Gully, your poem sure hit that soft spot I have for animals.

  30. Zelda,

    I admire the courage you mustered up in order to jump in here with us. We’re an unusual group of writers as I’m sure you quickly noticed. We’ve waited a long time for someone fresh and new to gather with us as we become proficient at goofing around and possibly as writers as well.

    I can see by your submission that you’re one of us already. I hope you take that as a compliment! I especially like your words “wash it all down with a glass of scotch tape to keep yourself together.” That’s really good!

    (Please excuse my use of exclamation points. If you knew me well, you’d understand that I just can’t live without them.)

    Have you heard anything from Doby Gillis in the past 30 years?

    I look forward to reading more of you.

  31. Z: love the scotch tape line, but you’re making entirely tooooo much sense!!! You have a way with words, don’t you?

    Tell us, are you an Ann alumni?

  32. Her wrinkled hands slipped on the ice cold drink with foaming white collars splintered and feathered over centuries of translating virgin timber into cases of monotomy and ridicule.

    “Bury me under twelve minus eleven coordinated sleeves of mystery screaming for adoration beyond frustration when agendas scrape against hot fountains of cement, pockmarked by bird vomit and crystal balls,” called Fitzsimmons to his mother’s dead body.

    “Shut up. I demote your crusty locks instead of squeezing caterpillers from perfume vials stopped by rusty nails shattered at midnight inside where galloping werewolves refrigerated claustrophobia. Come close. I need to invent bristling blossoms of mischief to tantalize nightmares to infect your clandestine intestines. Hush. Listen to the scantily frightened fingernails swaying beside your back porch. Quickly now. Perchance skulls kiss gnats stuck to driving stakes,” Fitzsimmons’ mother’s corpse blue back to center.

  33. Doby Gillis, that’s where I heard the name Zelda before. Yip, the scotch tape line is a classic. We should start a book of classic goofing around lines.

  34. Crops of laughter pointed up to skipping lassies shining mirrors at some complicated monument. Drawn snickers quaked merrily as bubbling stars floated jerkily on her petticoat. Jack tripped daisies at Jill’s lilting bubblebath. Up and up, flags dive seaward aboard crimson Cinderella lollipops wrapped meticulously in cotton dresses bound at both ends.

    Hasten to strike out. Purchase gobs of laced chronic joy stitched amid durable spasms of glitter. Leap to avoid polka dot licorice ribbons woven haphazardly around the market square.

    Stand twisted under strict layers of post cards. Scribble straight before curly fries decorate your hair. Ring him up.

  35. Claustrophobia struck in time as Peter denied and spun red lies forcing the crowing of cocks, courtside.
    II Shaddy 33:9

  36. A red ball sits on a purple hand that usually holds water but today does not. We discovered that if poured on time it will be later and the goat in the garage will jump to attention at the words not spoken. As with the night, the day is driving a sports car. It charges through e-mails and wets the bed. Tomorrow, the fly on the dashboard will wear its glasses. Remember, before the headphones eat an apple one more time lest you spoil your dinner.

    Okay, so much for not making any connections! Goofing Around-11 may be too much for me at the moment but it’s fun trying and I need to let go and have some fun. I think you all are just the folks to help me get there.

    Indeed, I am a newly-minted Ann alum. I just completed Beginning Writer’s Workshop.

    Doby Gillis? I’m more of the F. Scott type. However, I would be amiss if I did not admit that somewhere in my mental library there is recollection of Judy Blume (just to keep you guessing). *wink*

  37. To Ann,

    This is the writing idea I recently found in a blog.

    “Nanofiction: 55er

    There are several forms of short fiction you can pen to get your creative juices flowing, from drabbles at 100 words to droubbles at 200 words and nano fiction pieces with even less. The two most common mini works are exactly 69 or 55 words.

    The 69er is freestyle, while the 55er is restrained by form. The 55er consists of 10 sentences. The first has 10 words and each sentence to follow decreases by one word until you’re left with 1 word.”

    Of course I had to give it a try. It’s not great fun, but it’s challenging. I tired of all the counting but eventually came up with this.

    Writer’s Block
    (my story in 10 sentences)

    Gray skies loom dropping buckets of rain on my roof. (10 words)
    Constant drumming and lack of light kills my imagination. (9 words)
    Grumbling, I scrounge up a matchbook and stumble. (8 words)
    Across the room sits a candle stub. (7 words)
    The short wick sizzles and flares. (6 words)
    I squint and it purrs. (5 words)
    My stalled heart sings. (4 words)
    Mental clarity returns. (3 words)
    May I? (2 words)
    Yes. (1 word)

    Do you want to use this as Goofing Around-12?

  38. Mock me with colored stones, repeat after me of ribbons of crepe paper forcing skyscrapers to bruise their knees.

    Garnets and rubies walk away, blistered by matrimony yet immune to questions signifying a crisis. Green skeletal spectacles lying naked listen to the sly snakes snoring.

    A toasted letter opener spread with jealousy met opposition. Purses bulging over the starving depths cranked low and hard. Enough quivers and rivulets strengthen as the crosses slide from Asia to Pluto.

    Magnetic darts coil and stop the influx of unrelated siblings who continue to pitch tangerines and mandolins.

  39. My goodness, what in the world is going on here? I come back here after being somewhere else and I open the door to this mayhem and madness! Kinda looks like Ann is using ya’ll in an experiment of some kind…hmmm…scary, ain’t it?

  40. Hi there Zelda. Nice to see a new face. The scotch tape line is incredible.

    Gullible: well now, I see your “color square” changed back. Awwww…I get it now.

  41. I read a few lines of my recent writings here in GA-11 to my coworker, Sue. First she laughed hysterically and then she asked me if I was on drugs.

  42. zip zap zippity pip,
    sklurp snap snap.

    pip pop pippity dip,
    blurp blap nap.

    snee snaw snurgity paw,
    snigglety snoo snee.

    pliff plaff pumblety paff,
    poogledy poog dree!

  43. Hey, Maureen,

    Are you going to be another Guinea pig in Ann’s questionable experiment? She’s working to discover how new writers respond to self-induced madness. As you can see, I’ve gone over the edge. I just hope someone is doing parallel research on a rescue plan.

    Think twice before you participate.

  44. Oops, I see I’m too late. You really take the cake with your poopey, poo, poo.

    Take a number and get in line for the insanity bail-out.

  45. Oops, again. I gave KathyH credit for Maureen’s sklurp and snurgity paw madsterpiece.

    That’s proof my brain’s been hard-boiled over easy and I’m batty to booty.

  46. Crap and poopy! I misdirected my warning to KathyH. I addressed it to Maureen.

    Dear Ann,
    Come quickly.

  47. Ack! Quick! Somebody get Shaddy a glass of Scotch tape.

  48. a different dimension, parrallel, no perpendular. time running into the flour barrel, turning the order of nature valley oats ‘n honey. the bees all flew into the alphabet soup and became sees. Mama told me not to come to the corner of doubt and rebirth. dad said to climb the mountains and meet at the fork in the roast beef. polly didn’t want crackers but a burnin’ ring of fire. the mind is a terrible thing to waste paper basket. hey, stimulus this. this verse is blind but about to finish. And so am I.

  49. Most interesting to see how different minds work. Most interesting.

  50. I drank snails for posterity and swallowed large seasoned death buds. At once, I sprouted eight appendages of weeping, festering marble, twisted and lifeless. Don’t expect elasticity to reveal aimless volts beating in tune to nothing.

    Listen. Adam’s lover slew dragoons with hand-me-down courage dripping deeply manic screams directed inward, but by now, mute. Smirk, bind or claw your evil axis in lieu of a platter of contempt.

  51. Insert B into slot A. Fold C on dotted line to form roof peak. Insert D into slot E. Place unit upside down on level surface, and insert E-Z SET bolts into holes as in diagram 1. Turn bolts 180 degrees clockwise with E-Z turn wrench. Place platform facing F on level surface as shown in diagram 2. Place side shelf G as shown, securing with 1/8″ assembly bolts (6). Align stabilizing bar H with predrilled holes as shown in diagram 3. Secure with 1/4″ assembly bolts.
    Do not tighten bolts all the way at this time!
    Use hammer to pound the crap out of stabilizing bar H to try to make holes align. Curse loudly when you strike your thumb.
    Very carefully turn unit upright. Two people may be required for this step, or you can lie on your back on the floor and lift it with your feet.
    Place top G in place, aligning holes as shown in diagram 4. Holes will not align unless you place one foot under unit and lean forward painfully, holding left edge with pinky and ring fingers of right hand while inserting E-Z SET bolts (4) with left hand. Turn bolts 180 degrees clockwise with E-Z turn wrench. Pound bolts 2 and 3 with hammer when they refuse to go in place.
    Smear toothpaste on cracks in cheap friggin ugly fiberboard where you broke it with the hammer. Important! Use white colored toothpaste for this application.
    Turn unit upside-down. Insert E-Z roll casters into predrilled holes as shown in diagram 5. Pound with hammer because they won’t go in. Use needle-nose pliers to remove the caster that snaps off. If that doesn’t work take a fork from the kitchen drawer, jam one tine into the hole, and step on the handle to pry the end of the cheap friggin broken caster out of the hole.
    Apply toothpaste in large crack that forms.
    Grasp broken caster firmly, and throw violently against the wall. Smear white-colored toothpaste in dent that forms.
    Place unit in upright position.
    Align stabilizing brackets as shown in diagram 6, securing with 1/4″ assembly bolts (4).
    Completely tighten all bolts at this time.
    Move unit to preferred location. Search house for perfectly sized piece of wood, metal, or plastic to place under one caster to stop unit from wobbling.
    Pound fist on top of unit when wobbling refuses to stop. Apply white-colored toothpaste to crack that forms.
    Go to kitchen, pour large glass of scotch tape and drink it down in three gulps.

  52. Ahhhh, yes, Maureen. I’ve been there and done that. Unfortunately, at that time I didn’t know about the remedial affects of drinking scotch tape.

  53. I’ve needed a couple bottles of scotch tape the past two days. All it did was make me sneeze when it tickled my tonsils. There must be a trick to drinking scotch tape. Do you use the double-sided or signle-sided malt?

    Let’s See:

    a. 2 snowplow jobs at $75.00 each.
    b. an irriated eye that somehow involved my left tonsil
    c. driving 100 miles home in a snarling blizzard, and the worst of it was in my valley
    d. forgetting to buy black oil sunflower seeds in Anchorage to feed the hordes of redpolls, grocbeaks, chickadees, rosy finches, pine siskins, juncos, and nutchatches that crowd my feeder
    e. discovering my entire septic system is frozen solid and the breaker for the lift station keeps tripping
    f. today’s the 45th anniversary for the big earthquake. Bad memories here.

    Heck. I don’t need scotch tape. I need a gin mill and lots of ’em.

  54. “pliff plaff pumblety paff,
    poogledy poog dree!”

    Gee, I wish I’d said that!

    Happy Saturday to all. I’m pondering Shaddy’s challenge. I once wrote a poem that had consisted of two columns of text. You could read it straight across or each side separately. It was about amphibians, if I remember right. Threw it away. (You’re not real wise when you’re young.) It’s fun when you let the form jam you into a box. Sonnets are like that too.

    I shall ponder a GA-12. (Sounds like an economic summit, doesn’t it?)

  55. Ann,

    Sunny Sunday to you.

    I promise I won’t throw a tantrum if you don’t use my 55er idea for GA-12. Composing a 55er is a tedious task since constant counting of words is necessary.

    I’m chomping at the bit to wrestle with whatever you decide on.

  56. Alas, my fair maiden, what a bumblyboo
    I err when I say watatoosiebaloozy
    For my love is maganginist
    Compared to Walter Mondale.
    So please don’t anmouseanate
    Return to your first bopine
    As for me, my fruittastiest
    I will wait, no I will constirmount
    Until I once again writeelikee
    A sentence, nay a paradelious
    That makes sense.
    Without made up words and punchgeeagetion

    (Disclaimer: Lack of sleep and coffee resulted in the above whateveritis. Words that are made up and have no meaning really have no meaning.)

  57. I get it now, Walk. May I add: Words without meaning are meaningLESS.

    I desperately need GA12. As you can witness from my comment above, left without a sense of direction, I default to deeply analytical thinking.

  58. Walk or Gully,

    I created a blog over the weekend. How do I create a link to it here?

  59. Shaddy, in the leave a comment under website you can add it and then your name will be underlined or changed color so folks know to click on it for the link. I think anyway, I’m still in the no-sense mode.

  60. I’ve created a blog:

  61. I missed you all over the weekend.

    Mondays aren’t that bad when there’s a new blog to read. Horray, Shaddy!

  62. The blog I posted yesterday is awfully long. It’s actually an account of a trip I took last fall. I transferred it from my saved documents to my blog. (All of my attempts to write in my blog yesterday failed, so I cheated).

    Perhaps I should create a separate blog for the endlessly long ones.

  63. I’ve been playing in my septic system the last five days. I’m really, really tired of it, too. I think I’ll just go to bed with a tall stack of books-to-be-read and not get up until May. Late May.

  64. Boy Gully, that stinks.

  65. As I wait for GA-12, I’ve been going through some of my word documents. I found these 500 words written after my second helping of Ann’s Beginning Writer’s Workshop. I hope it brings back warm memories of your BWW experiences.

    I’ll Take BWW Over My BMW

    I had 6 weeks to write 500 words in this online Beginning Writer’s Workshop or BWW. I deemed myself capable of creating an admirable piece of work in that big chunk of time. I envisioned at completion, a march from room to room with my head held high, waving its pages triumphantly, unashamed of the spectacle I presented. Instead, I hedged and made excuses. Guess what? I have 500 words, minus the handful of lines above, yet to gather and craft into something readable and at least a smidgen pleasing to Ann.

    Last year I enrolled in this same class, levitated in Lesson 1 and hit the ground again only after I was locked out after Lesson 12. I returned this year, for a second scoop of Ann’s flavorful wisdom and encouragement. Lesson 12 faced and taunted me in the classroom yesterday. For me, writing 500 words has become easy, but writing well stretches me to my limits. Yoga poses are mundane compared to the agonizing postures my brain assumes to secure a single word. My final project deserves several weeks of work and I apologize for my last minute attempt to display my writing improvements. Should haves are useless. Please know that my heart is now fully set on my task.

    Let me explain why I‘ve been delinquent. My daily writing habit, inspired by Ann in last year’s workshop, came to an abrupt halt when my mother died unexpectedly in June of this year. Daily writing had become as natural for me as eating and sleeping. I had shared my writing with Mom when I visited her in her assisted living facility apartment. Her eyes shone above her expressionless face; Parkinson’s disease had stolen her smile years ago.

    After she died, I focused entirely on the funeral arrangements, the family gatherings, the funeral itself and dealing with the emotional components of my loss. I returned to work and life went on. June and July were turned to the backside of my calendar. I was pushed and shoved by the changes in my existence after Mom’s death. Each day stretched endlessly long and left me feeling thinned out.. I picked up my pen and studied it. It felt foreign but fit in my fingers. I set the nib to paper and wrote from an altered perspective. A huge piece of my life was missing. I unfolded memories, shook them out and savored them. Then I quickly stuffed them into the aching and empty places.

    August packed her bags and left at the same moment September came in. As if on cue, when the leaves dropped to the ground, I stood up ventured on. I knocked on the door of BWW and stepped inside to see the old familiar gang: the candle, Martha, John and Lesson 7’s fearsome four sentences.

    I’m reaching the 500 word mark and now I don’t want to stop. I’m back in my rhythm after a long journey. Writing has regained its honored place in my world. It’s essential. I write when I feel lonely and small. I knit a blanket of words and wrap it around me for warmth and the touch of its weight on my soul.

    I’ve gained by my efforts and am buoyant again. Here. Take the keys to my BMW but don’t touch my treasured BWW.

  66. Breaking news just in from “The Heart and Craft og Life Writing,” regarding the suspension of onerous grammar rules:

    The need for complete sentences. Thought fragments are fine. Just get those words on paper.

    Comma regulations. “Commas have always been the most baffling and misused piece of punctuation. Authors should use them whenever they feel appropriate and let it go at that.”

    Dialogue formatting. Don’t worry about those pesky quotation marks, or where the commas and question marks go. Just write what you want to say and let the reader puzzle it out.

    Dangling participles. “You’ve probably remember this phrase from school days and have no idea what it means.

    Now prepositions are fine to end sentences with.”

    More about this exciting news can be found on the website

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