by Barbara Studham
Our writers’ circle gathered around the table with pens and paper at hand. All eyes turned to the teacher.
Striving to get us writing, she displayed a large photograph.
“My husband is the photographer,” she proudly announced. “But this session is not about him. It is about you. Getting you writing. So, look at this photo and write down the first thing you see.”
I reached in my purse for my reading glasses. As I rifled through its contents, my heart fluttered. Where are my glasses? Darn it! I forgot to bring them! I stare hard at the photo, but it’s a blur. I see shadowy, colorful objects but little else.
Our teacher continued. “What do you see; an object, a landscape, an event?”
I try to focus. There appears to be something hanging from sticks. Is it water? Yes, I’ll write water. Oh no, here comes a second photo and I see even less. Lot’s of pink, I get that, but what is the subject?” Glancing discreetly to the floor where my purse now sits open, I pray my glasses will glint back at me.
“And how about this photo?” she asks She puts down the pink photo and raises the next. “What do you see?”
I glance around the table. All I see is the group furiously writing their answers. I stare at the new photo. There is a lot of orange, but I can’t make out the scene. I’ll write orange. After all, orange is the first thing I see, so orange it will be. For several agonizing minutes my ordeal continues. For each photo, I write a color. Purple… blue… green; darn it, how could I have forgotten my glasses?
Fifteen photos later, it is time to share. “I’m sure your answers are diverse,” the teacher says. “Who wants to share what they wrote?”
Not me. I shrink back in my chair and think. I need to appear I am not interested in sharing. I glance at the table and see my coffee. A long, slow sip will cover my disinterest, but as I reach for the cup, something from behind glints at me. It is my glasses! I must have laid them on the table when I first arrived. Darn it!
* * *
For the past twenty years, Barbara Studham has parented four grandchildren, all diagnosed with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Her two memoirs: Two Decades of Diapers and, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, The Teen Years, describe her challenges during their toddler years, and teens. She has also written fiction, including a six-book series titled, Under The Shanklin Sky; set in the seaside town of Shanklin, on the Isle of Wight.
www.amazon.com/author/barbarastudham
www.barbarastudham.com
www.challengedhope.com
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Would you like to participate in Friday "Speak Out!"? Email your short posts (under 500 words) about women and writing to: marcia[at]wow-womenonwriting[dot]com for consideration. We look forward to hearing from you!
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Our writers’ circle gathered around the table with pens and paper at hand. All eyes turned to the teacher.
Striving to get us writing, she displayed a large photograph.
“My husband is the photographer,” she proudly announced. “But this session is not about him. It is about you. Getting you writing. So, look at this photo and write down the first thing you see.”
I reached in my purse for my reading glasses. As I rifled through its contents, my heart fluttered. Where are my glasses? Darn it! I forgot to bring them! I stare hard at the photo, but it’s a blur. I see shadowy, colorful objects but little else.
Our teacher continued. “What do you see; an object, a landscape, an event?”
I try to focus. There appears to be something hanging from sticks. Is it water? Yes, I’ll write water. Oh no, here comes a second photo and I see even less. Lot’s of pink, I get that, but what is the subject?” Glancing discreetly to the floor where my purse now sits open, I pray my glasses will glint back at me.
“And how about this photo?” she asks She puts down the pink photo and raises the next. “What do you see?”
I glance around the table. All I see is the group furiously writing their answers. I stare at the new photo. There is a lot of orange, but I can’t make out the scene. I’ll write orange. After all, orange is the first thing I see, so orange it will be. For several agonizing minutes my ordeal continues. For each photo, I write a color. Purple… blue… green; darn it, how could I have forgotten my glasses?
Fifteen photos later, it is time to share. “I’m sure your answers are diverse,” the teacher says. “Who wants to share what they wrote?”
Not me. I shrink back in my chair and think. I need to appear I am not interested in sharing. I glance at the table and see my coffee. A long, slow sip will cover my disinterest, but as I reach for the cup, something from behind glints at me. It is my glasses! I must have laid them on the table when I first arrived. Darn it!
* * *
www.amazon.com/author/barbarastudham
www.barbarastudham.com
www.challengedhope.com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Would you like to participate in Friday "Speak Out!"? Email your short posts (under 500 words) about women and writing to: marcia[at]wow-womenonwriting[dot]com for consideration. We look forward to hearing from you!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
