Today is that start of my new writing year, which means the launch of a new monthly project. From December to November I will be posting every month on the 2nd as I have for the past few years :)
This year I’ll be posting visual prompts (photos that I’ve taken) along with my written responses to them. But I’m also inviting whoever else wants to join in! No length requirements or limits, I’m leaving this year super open and low-pressure to help me deal with a bout of burnout and a bunch of other obligations.
If you find yourself inspired and want to join in use the tag #wch20 and I’ll share them :D
I’ll be sharing the first prompt this evening (along with my response which will be short as I’m pretty out of it today!) and will be responding to any other posts over the next couple of days. Hope everyone’s having a good start to December!
It’s the second of March and I am full of soup and ready for bed. But duty calls. It’s time for this month’s prompt.
For anyone unfamiliar with this tradition, every month on the second I post a visual prompt that any and all are welcome to respond to. I also share my own short writing in response to the image. If you want to participate feel free to tag any posts with #wch20 or tag me directly.
MY RESPONSE
(under the cut)
The water tugs at her hand as it trails over the side of the boat. As she drifts between islands, letting the familiar currents and tides do most of the work, she keeps a keen eye out for other craft.
Her mother’s old cast net lies at her feet, still damp and glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. The fish she’d caught lie in her belly. A warm temptation, to pull up on one of the passing beaches and to doze under a tree, washes over her. She flicks salty water into her face. Sits upright. Slowly scans what can be seen of the horizon.
An old white house peers out through the cap of trees on its island. The old captain lives there, and she visits once a week to make sure there’s enough food and to do any repairs. Today is not that day.
Splashing by the bow draws her eye. A flash of fin. A writhing tentacle, too big for comfort. Stories of creatures lurking in the channels between the larger islands had scared her as a child, and even now her skin crawls.
She decides to use the engine for the final stretch home.
Rounding the final headland she approaches her own jetty with relief. An unfamiliar boat comes into sight as she’s tying up, and she pauses to watch until it’s passed. A final knot of tension relaxes as they disappear behind an outcropping on rocks.
It takes a moment to call up the protective spells over the jetty, and the effort leaves her dizzy. But the spells keep them safe, so they’re worth it.
It has been an intense month over here and it's hard to believe that it's actually February. January seemed to last longer than it's usually allowed to.
But moving on! It's February the second and time for another prompt. For anyone just catching up now every month I'm sharing a visual prompt for everyone and anyone to use to inspire their writing. My own inspired response is included below the cut.
If you want to share your own response just use the tag #wch20 or tag me personally in your post. (The previous prompts can be found though the link in my bio.)
MY RESPONSE
Cicadas screamed in the nearby trees as a woman walked through the walled garden. A broad hat shielded her face from the midday sun, dark glasses covered her eyes.
Small dark bees circled the flower strewn beds, pilfering pollen from the tomato and mustard blooms as they hummed their strange songs. The gate creaked. A breeze chased the few fallen leaves across the hillside beyond the wall, threatening to steal her hat as she followed a thin dirt track toward the gully.
Acacias crowded beneath a handful of ancient eucalypts, all trying to claim space on the banks of a thin creek. Tough sharp grasses held their ground wherever they could.
Patchy and at times indistinct, the track wound through the scrub. Small puffs of wind cooled the sweat on her neck as she walked through the hottest part of the day.
It was nearly sunset by the time she arrived.
The thin creek had grown into a deep silent stream, which flowed into a small lake. He waited on the shore.
Dressed similarly in dark colours with a wide hat shadowing his face, he watched the tree line. Luminous fungi was beginning to glow beneath the trees but he was just out of reach of its light, standing amongst the deep shadows cast by the lake. A shiver moved him as she stepped into the open.
Tension stretched taught between them as she approached. Without a word they circled each other, stepping in and out of the shadows and the light.
His hand twitched but hers was faster. Moving with fluid savagery she pointed to his chest, eyes alight with power and triumph. Colourless and soundless and entirely undetectable except for the tingle it sent down her spine, an energy leapt from her outstretched finger to his heart.
He collapsed.
Cicadas screamed in the surrounding trees as a woman walked along a thin dirt track, her path lit by glowing mushrooms.
This month I’m using this photo as a prompt for a short writing piece, and you’re welcome to do the same! Share your results with the tag #wch20 and I’ll check them out and share them :D
My own response under the cut (super short and unedited).
She makes her way up the slight incline, knees creaking with age. The tree waits for her and waves like an old friend in greeting. It had overlooked the farm through her youth, watching as she’d left for a life in the city and when she’d brought friends home for holidays. It hadn’t said anything when she never brought home a partner or children, unlike some others in the neighbourhood. Always it offered her shade and its fresh smell of warm chlorophyll.
She rests beneath its aged boughs, breathing heavily and leaning against the smooth trunk of her old friend.The farm that she had inherited and the valley beyond spread out below her. She should bring a bench up here, to sit and look over the familiar vista. With a cup of tea.
