Wildcard Wednesday for AUGUST: The “Get Discovered” Edition

 

 

 

Surprise!  It’s that time again.

This time, however, there’s a little twist! This time, WCW participants have a chance at having their stories appear in an upcoming anthology!

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So I’m helping Ellen Gable of Full Quiver Publishing glean stories for an as-yet-untitled anthology of short stories, all of which are to illustrate (not preach, illustrate) principles of St. John Paul II’s Theology of the Body.  If you link up your story here, there’s a chance FQP might pick up your story for the anthology.  It is my understanding that stories will be bought on a per-word basis, and all rights revert to the authors.  Even if your story doesn’t get selected, WCW is a great way to flex your writing muscles, to get your work noticed a bit, to help build your own mutual support society, and so and so.

It’s really not much of a gamble for you, if you ask me.  You in?

The WCW rules are thusly:  

  1. I post a writing prompt on a sort-of randomly selected Wildcard Wednesday.
  2. In 10 minutes or less, you write something based on that prompt.
  3. Post it to your blog.   After you’ve written your response to the prompt, add the link for your blog post to the list by clicking next to the little blue frog face below where it says “Add your link.”
  4. Please make sure that the URL you submit is to your response to the Wildcard Wednesday prompt, not to your main blog URL.
  5. Include a link back here in the post on your blog.
  6. If it’s PG-13 or better and you don’t have a blog of your own, feel free to enter it as a comment on this post, but please note that this is my house, so if I find your post offensive, it’ll be shorter by the head.  I love free speech, though, so take this as your opportunity to get thee to a bloggery.

I invite you to Tweet the link to your prompt with the hashtag #WCW so we participants can find each other on Twitter.  Another fun Twitter tag to try is #improv, which will connect you with anybody on Twitter doing any kind of improv. #amwriting is another goodie.

PROMPT:  In St. John Paul II’s teachings on the Theology of the Body, he points out four “originals”:  Original Solitude, Original Unity, Original Nakedness, and then Original Sin.  Your prompt today is to take one of those four Originals and spend ten minutes with it, creating a piece of fiction.  

A note on responding to the prompt:  Use the prompt as a jumping-off point and go from there.  Just write for ten minutes and share it.  Don’t worry about playing by writing rules, because I don’t have any here, and if you’re looking for rules to follow on improv like this, you’re probably looking for an excuse to not write, in which case, try another hobby.  Scrapbooking.  Quilting.  Swimming.  Anything but this, because writing brings new meaning to the term “hot mess.”

Now, here’s hoping the linkup stuff will show up here:

 

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20 comments

  1. Alright. It’s incomplete, and I was tempted to cheat and add more minutes, but I just stopped.

    Eva scooted onto the high bar stool and tugged at her sheath-like miniskirt. The skirt hadn’t looked that short or tight on the rack, but she had spent half her day alternately tugging it down and pulling it loose at the waist.
    “A glass of Merlot, please,” she told the bartender. She tapped her long, red nails on the mahogany bar as she waited for her drink, looking only at the muted talking heads on the widescreen.
    “Hey, pretty lady. Come here often?”
    Really? He was going to use that line? She turned to the baritone voice beside her. Tall, handsome, but emitting some kind of stalker-like vibe that gave her the creeps. He was wearing a one-piece jumpsuit that would mark him as a convict if it were orange instead of navy blue. His name was scrawled in embroidered script above the breast pocket. “Lucky.”
    Uh, not tonight, he’s not. At least not with me.
    “Never been here before. Just needed a drink after a long day.”
    He looked lazily up and down her wedge heels, bare legs, too tight skirt, and button-down blouse. “What do you do?”
    The bartender set her wine on the bar, and she gulped it. So much for a relaxing drink after work.
    “Dermatology.” From the faded pock marks on his face, she’d say that he could use some of her services. She took another swig of her wine and pushed the glass away. “Sorry, I’m in a hurry.”
    Eva tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table, nodded to Lucky and darted for the door. In minutes, she was in her car and on her way out of town.
    The classical strains of [piece to be named later] soothed her as she drove beyond the city borders. In less than a half hour she was there, her car rolling by the tall, wooden fence. The fruit trees on either side drooped with their juicy bounty, and she passed by them quickly, her car rolling under the sign for Theo’s Jardin.
    She parked her car amidst the dozen or so others and took a few minutes to make sure her attire was appropriate. The second her bare foot hit the ground she felt the peace she’d come to know and love. She walked through the gated entrance and took a seat in one of the many lounge chairs that girded the pool. Though she was greeted with smiles and waves, unlike at the bar, no cheesy pickup lines were offered. Only Adam approached her.
    “How was your day, love?”
    “Let’s just say I’m glad to be here.”

  2. Wow! I LOVED this prompt! Thanks so much for promoting this and I was so excited to become aware of some really great writers while doing this! I’ve linked mine in the Linkz (and it seems to be working out!)

    10 minutes was tough…but I hope we were allowed to take the few extra minutes it took me to take out all the spelling mistakes as I flew through it!

    Can’t wait to read the rest!

  3. I LOVED this prompt! Thanks so much for promoting it! I became aware of some really great writers doing this as well, so thanks for that.

    I linked my post using the Linkz (and it seems to be working, so yay technology!)

    Can’t wait to read all of the other submissions!

  4. Here’s the link: http://annefaye.blogspot.com/2014/08/wildcard-wednesday-readers.html

    And the writing:

    Theresa, a book tucked under her arm, meandered around the old college campus. Although she was several years older than most of the students, it was one of her favorite places. The ivy-covered buildings, the picturesque setting by Miller’s Lake, the trees just beginning to take on the colors of fall; it all brought her such a feeling of peace.

    She found an open bench and sat against the weathered wood, cracked open the book and inhaled deeply. It was the smell of knowledge. An e-reader could never compare to the sensory indulgence of curling up with a favorite book selected from the shelves of her local library. She often wondered about the lives of books themselves: the people who had read them before her; the places they might have seen, the untold history she could only imagine. Today’s choice was a biography of Helen Keller, an incredible woman by anyone’s standards. She began to savor the words, soaking up the knowledge, losing herself in a different place and time.

    “May I join you?”

    Startled, she looked up into the eyes of a white-haired man, leaning on a cane, carrying a book of his own. A kindred spirit.

    “Of course,” she smiled, pushing over to make room. He slowly lowered himself onto the seat, leaned his cane against the side of the bench, and opened his own book.

    They sat side by side, two solitary souls, sharing a moment of perfect bliss.

  5. Naked is the worst condition of being. It’s where everything is open and unprotected. Anyone can see and judge my tender parts. The underbelly of my insecurities, the lackluster way I pray, the phoned in effort of my heart when I make dinner involving any sort of box. Naked is frightening. It is no where to hid my belongings, or to show them off. Without wearing the trappings of my lifestyle, how can others admire my wealth? Without my adornments, how will anyone ever see who I want them to think that I am. Naked shows all the extra food I consume while others long for scraps. Naked lets the flaws beneath my makeup show, it shows too much time in the sun, too much vanity to wear glasses and admit I cannot see perfectly. Too much imperfection, opened up and laid naked on display is painful, embarrassing, humiliating, raw. I even try to hide my nakedness from God. He shouldn’t see the ways of my unfiltered thoughts. I need to wrap them up, pad them with entitlements and soften the sharp edges before he notices how ridiculous and selfish I am by nature. I feel uneasy letting him in on any of the primal thoughts, the lacking gratitude, the unvarnished ways that I select a volunteer gig for what I’ll gain in glory and recognition. Naked scares me for more reasons than I could possibly count–because it means without. Without excuse, without cover, without layers of justification and without deceptions…I am forced to see my heart as only Christ sees it, and that makes me feel fully ashamed for the control I think I gain by foolishly believing I succeed in disguising my naked self . I cannot bear to look past all defenses and layers to my own broken, nakedness. I would much rather look at my neighbor’s.

      1. Erin~ I kind of decided that I like this piece and would like to polish it up and submit it to SCN. Do you know when it will be “free” and “sharable”? I absolutely want to stay in line for Ellen’s anthology, but could work on it a bit and send it another direction too. 🙂

  6. Sorry, mine needed to go only here. It would deeply confuse my followers…since it has nothing to do with my blog topic! I did just post one about a boo boo I’d made several weeks ago that perplesed a lot of readers…when a 1st draft section of my novel was accidentally posted onto my blog for genealogists! Haha…it was like those dreams about showing up at school and realizing you had forgotten your clothes (and that’s a paraphrase of that post title actually 🙂 ). Thanks, this was fun and a little discomforting. I think I needed it! Kassie Ritman aka “Mom” http://youwhoineverknew.com

  7. It’s hard to say how long it took me to write this, only because I had to stop a couple of times to take care of my 7 month old… But, here it is! I don’t have a blog but posted the prompt and link to facebook. Here is my little short story prompted by Original Nakedness:

    Purity.
    I stared at the title, engraved so foolishly in the off-gold coloured plate displayed at the foot of the statue. A whirlwind of sentiments whooshed through my being, causing me to cringe. My face felt hot with frustration.
    Suddenly, my sister sidled up alongside me – Elizabeth. She was always so good at reading me that even now – I could tell by the wiry way she turned up her lip – she was assessing me, processing my thoughts.
    “What’s wrong?” she asked, wrapping her arm around me and laying her head ever-so-casually on my shoulder. Her big blue eyes blinked back at me, waiting.
    I grunted and sighed all at once, my gaze pulled back to the statue’s name. “Purity?’ she asked, looking from the statue to the title and back again.
    “I know, eh?” I scoffed. It was a magnificently chiseled work of art, there was no question about that. But it wasn’t the artist’s talent that was angering me, rather the boldness he had in choosing its most inappropriate name.
    “What?” Elizabeth asked in her innocent way. “I don’t see how that could be upsetting; she’s beautiful.”
    The statue modeled a young woman draped under the folds of fabric, contouring her stone figure with grace. Her expression was calm, with oval shaped eyes and full, un-smiling lips. She would be immaculately beautiful and pure if it weren’t for the blatant fact that the fabric peeled away to expose her bare breasts.
    “Well,” I spilled, “she’s practically naked!”
    I was suddenly and perceptively made aware of our surroundings when a number of alarmed tourists turned in our direction. Pulling Elizabeth away from the crowd, we made our way out on to the terrace. Looping her arm through mine, my younger sister smiled.
    “It’s confusing, isn’t it? That we should come all the way to the Vatican only to find a naked women smack dab in the middle of it all.” Clearly, she was better at interpreting my thoughts than I had assumed. I felt like crying. But she didn’t say anything. Instead, she did what she always did best and just comforted me by her presence.
    With no conversation to distract me, I just opened my ears to the sound of the gentle wind rustling the leaves of the greenery, and my eyes to the loveliness of the gardens. The beauty of nature soothed my heart, wiping away any turmoil from existence. I was now as blank canvas, waiting for new paint to leave a new impression.
    Scanning the courtyard, I caught sight of a mother sitting on a bench, cradling her newborn affectionately in her arms. The little bundle squiggled and my heart leapt. I listened for a squeal or giggle to reach my ears, taking delight in the precious moment.
    An almost imperceptible cry waded towards me on the warm breeze, the sound like a masterpiece in itself. How excited I suddenly felt to one day experience the joy of motherhood. And then, so naturally and so tenderly, the mother unclasped the fabric of her shirt from her shoulder, pulling it down across her chest to produce her nurturing breast. The baby took to her breast with excited ease, latching on with sweet suckles of satisfaction.
    The scene radiated a supernatural warmth that reached deep to my core. With tears in my eyes, I squeezed my sister and through laughter, said, “Purity.”

    1. Actually, Vanessa, I’m trying to find your email address so I can contact you about this piece, but I’m having no luck. Would you mind contacting me at emccolecupp at gee mail dot com? Thanks so much!

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