(From Lisa-Jo Baker's blog. She's started a fun Friday thing I'd like to start doing, and it would be great if you would join in, too! Here's the scoop, in her words.)
"Got five minutes? Let’s write. Let’s write in shades of real and brave and unscripted.
Let’s just write and not worry if it’s just right or not.
Let’s just write and not worry if it’s just right or not.
Because:
“Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar.” ~E. B. White –>click to tweet this.
1. Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Be generous and leave an encouraging comment for the person who linked up before you. That’s the best part about this community.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Be generous and leave an encouraging comment for the person who linked up before you. That’s the best part about this community.
And if you don’t have a blog, feel free to leave your five minutes of writing as a comment. And we’ll love on you there.
Today's word: Song (set your timer and.... GO!)
There was always a song in the air at my house when I was little. My dad played classical, or The Irish Rovers or something from a musical on big vinyl records. He would sing along, or whistle. And often we would dance.
There was music wafting through the air, mingling with the fragrance of his Irish breakfast. The bacon frying alongside diced tomato. Eggs on top of pancakes. Funny things like that.
I loved Monday mornings when I'd come home from school to his day off. Dad in his white shorts with blue terry cloth trim. I don't know why I remember those shorts.
He played music in the car, and he'd drum on the steering wheel, and he whistled along. I loved to ride to school with him in the big white Oldsmobile with burgundy pillowy seats. I sat in the middle, even though no one needed the passenger seat.
My dad is my sweetheart. His accent is music. He lost his speaking for a short time after a stroke, and his voice returning and his Irish lilt making a comeback is the most beautiful music my ears and my heart have heard.
We talked of Ireland, of going there one day, and maybe we will. Maybe we won't. I don't know. Some things we plan don't happen. But some of the things that already happened live on like songs in our hearts. My memories of him from childhood are swirling always inside my soul, like a melody. Like song.
We talked of Ireland, of going there one day, and maybe we will. Maybe we won't. I don't know. Some things we plan don't happen. But some of the things that already happened live on like songs in our hearts. My memories of him from childhood are swirling always inside my soul, like a melody. Like song.
(STOP)
Now it's YOUR turn, friend! That was my maiden voyage to the Five Minute Friday prompt-land.... come along, won't you? It's so fun and freeing to write with no editing, no second-guessing, no planning, for five minutes!
