This post is written in response to this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge: That’s Absurd. The challenge asks us us to incorporate something absurd or surreal into our post. Continue reading “An Unlikely Encounter”
This post is written in response to this Week’s Weekly Writing Challenge: the Difference Point of View Makes. The challenge is to tell the same story from two or more unique perspectives. Continue reading “On an autumn evening”
This post is written in response to this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge: Fit to Write. The topic to explore was health, and since I have never had any physical health problems, I decided to focus on mental health. My first attempt was an essay, but I soon got stuck. I was simply not able to write about my own experiences honestly. Maybe I am not quite ready for that yet? In any case, I ended up transforming my thoughts into a poem instead. Continue reading “Poem: Broken”
This post is written in response to this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge: I Remember. The task was to practice writing by first giving oneself 10 minutes to write down a memory and to come back and edit it a few days later. Below the final post you will also find the original 10 minute draft.
My first memory: a kindergarten playground in winter. The snow lies in deep drifts, sparkling in the quickly darkening day. I remember the sound of children shouting, yelling, laughing. My memory recalls constant movement, as my playmates run and play in the snow. But I am not playing. I stand still next to the fence separating my playground from that of the younger children. A day-care nurse stands next to me. She claps her hands and jumps up and down, telling me to play with the others; it’s too cold to stand still. But I will not leave my sister, who is on the other side of the fence. I think I am three or four years old while she is only two. I don’t remember her face. When I picture her I automatically paste an image from an old photograph and add a snow suit and hood around her face. I imagine her cheeks red from the cold. I imagine the cold itself, bright and sharp. Somewhere imagination and memory blur and I am not sure what is real and what I have added later. Because I know what cold feels like and how snow sparkles. I do not need memory to tell me that. But memory is what that tells me that there is a fence, and a sister on the other side. And memory lets me hear the sound of the hands clapping.
And as promised: First draft, written in 10 minutes, although I was interrupted and distracted once or twice so let’s say 7 minutes….
My first memory is from the playground at my kindergarten. It is winter and the snow is piled high. I remember the sound of children shouting, remeber the image of them running in the snow, playing. The kindergarten woman stands next to me, she claps her hands and tells me to play with the others. it’s too cold to stand still. But I will not leave my sister who is on the other side of a fence, in the younger childrens playground. I must be 3 and she 2. I don’t remeber her face. When I picture her I autmatically paste an image from some photograph and add a snow suit and hood around her face. I imagine her cheeks red from the cold. I imagine the cold itself, bright and sharp. But I see the fence and the toweing figure of the kindergarten lady. I see her hands as they clap repeatedly.
It makes sense my first memory should be of my sister. Until 5 years ago we were inseparabe and still people I have not seen for a while wonder how we can possibly be living apart. Even at the age of three I knew that she was more imprtant than snow flights and playing catch.
Greetings from Finland! To my joy my aunt Pirkko has joined the 21st century and has WiFi so I managed to participate in this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge: A Pinch of You. The challenge is to give a recipe for oneself, and you will find the result below.
I have been taking notes during my stay in Finland and will try to post something about my travels soon, but with so many relatives around it is hard to get a moment for oneself. Continue reading “A peculiar recipe”