Writing Prompts

Word Prompt: Press | Story Prompt: from the book “Trickster Drift” by Eden Robinson

‘The clouds finally broke into a sullen drizzle after a muggy, overcast day. Jared Martin flipped up his hood as he turned the corner onto his street. His mom’s truck was in the driveway. The house he’d grown up in was two storeys high, white with green trim. The large porch was littered with work gear. his mom rented out two of the rooms and the basement to pay the bills. Most of her tenants were sub-subcontractors, in Kitimat for a few weeks and unwilling to shell out for a pricey furnished one-bedroom or a motel room. Or they were hard-core smokers who wanted to be able to light up in their rooms and found a kindred spirit in his mom, a dedicated two-packer who hated being forced outside.

He paused on the sidewalk, listening. Things seemed quiet. Which didn’t mean it was safe to go in, but Jared went up the steps and opened the front door. Not visiting his mom before he took off for Vancouver would save him a lot of grief, but it would be such a douche move. She’d never let him forget it.’


July 13, 2022 MEC

I’ve not been able to sleep tonight, lots of tossing and turning. Thought of Grandmother Moon and wondered if she was calling me to get up and write, so thought this would be a good time to write to her.

I’ve been so fortunate over the last month to be able to do a little of many different things, there are many threads coming together. I have picked up my journal a little more often than before too, so it’s a step in the right direction. I’m putting more thought into writing projects and thinking that I’ll be able to jump into them more in the fall.

The words haven’t been coming because I haven’t been sitting down to listen, to write. Every day is a new opportunity to begin again. Forgive. Release fear and connect with the wholeness of life. Breathe. I think too far ahead sometimes, there is only now.

Fears of lacking, of running out, of not enough. Am I afraid of being taught and the changes this might bring? This gives me pause. Am I ready? ‘When the student is ready the teacher will come…’

The teacher is already here, has been here all along. Grandmother Moon. But I sometimes need her to shout as my ears are full of ringing and I cannot hear her loving whispers – yet I know they are there. My job is to listen and pay attention.

Thoughts? Feel free to share them here.

Leave a Reply