Today’s word prompt is ’beloved’. Come join us at 6am PST (2pm in the UK) for 15 minutes of writing inspired by the word.
Please feel free to add your dash piece to the comments section of this blog post below.
If you want quick feedback attend the event inworld at 6am PST http://slurl.com/secondlife/Milk%20Wood/79/56/22
For more detailed feedback join the private Daily Writers’ Dash group.
N.B. Some call it hot penning or free writing, we like to call it a dash. If you are attending inworld, you’ll be provided with a word or picture prompt and the timer set for 15 minutes. Write whatever comes to you. Don’t fixate too heavily on what you are writing and disengage your inner editor. After the dash there will be an opportunity for you to show your work to the other participants.
If you can’t make the meet but want to dash later inworld, just set the timer and drop your notecard in the grey pencil by the caravan when you’re done. Anyone can click it for a folder of dashes from the day.
If you are dashing outside of Second Life® we welcome your dashes in the comments section below.
Look out for the daily prompts on Facebook, Twitter and Second Life® .
Beloved
Friend of the hackneyed
Apostle of the bedfast
You lie beside me as night falls
And cradle my cotton wool head
In your comforter arms
As sleep souses the sheets
©2012 Harriet Gausman
BELOVED
To be loved by family and friends
makes a world where
you’re not alone.
People care about you,
share time and events with you,
help when you’re in need
–healthwise and otherwise.
They’re happy for you
when you’re successful,
healthy, satisfied with your life.
To be loved by a special One,
whom you also love,
makes the world glow.
Together you…
rise above almost all obstacles,
feel healthier, smarter, better-looking,
braver, and more creative.
Making a commitment to your Beloved
is an emotional, thought-out act…..
if you intend to
be combined with your Beloved
“for the long haul”.
©2012 Franja Russell
The clouds slide by in a dance of blues and whites and grays. There is a moon in the sky and the child asks her mother “why is there a moon? I thought the moon was only out at night?” The mother has no time to explain. She knows. She asks herself why, a different why but a why as strong as her child’s why. They will not own her, they will not own her, she repeats incessantly until the murmur in her mind fades away. By then her child is gone while the moon still shines above dancing with clouds in blue and white and gray.
©2012 Lizzie Gudkov
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