Yesterday, I wrote about reading. Today, I'm writing about reading about writing.
I am reading another book by Elizabeth Berg--Escaping Into the Open: the art of writing true. In it, there is a chapter, a very long chapter, full of writing prompts. Thirty-two pages of writing prompts. I've read the book before. The first time I read it, my sister Missy and I were taking turns giving each other "assignments." We used a couple of prompts from the book.
This time, I am stubbornly working my way through every single prompt. I'm not halfway through yet, but I've gone far enough that I don't want to quit. Some of the prompts are what I like to call stupid, i.e., "If you are a man, write about what it's like to have small breasts. If you're a woman, write about having a small penis." But I'm doing them. It's as if I think Berg is going to read them, and say to herself, Well, I'll be damned. I didn't really think she'd do it!
Anyway, yesterday I scrawled a story in my notebook that made me cry a little bit. I have no idea where it came from, but I thought I'd share it here. The prompt was: "Write a scene featuring a brother and sister washing dishes peacefully together."
He had always felt like drying the dishes was a ridiculous waste of time. As a kid, he'd argued daily that he and his sister would alternate nights of washing the plates and cups, if only they could be allowed to air dry in the plastic draining rack. Years later, when he shared dish washing duties only on his weekends home from college, his mother had told him she'd insisted that the two of them work together because she'd wanted them to form a bond--even if it was the bond of a united front against their mother, who was forcing them to do menial labor.
Now Jeff handled each plate with great care as Meg set them in the drainer. Arthritis had made his fingers stiff, and there seemed to be a lot more breakage these days. He sensed that Meg was being extra careful, too, but maybe that was just the heaviness in her heart.
A few hours earlier, the house had been filled with people who had come to pay their respects to Meg's husband, Pete. Many of them had offered to stay and help clean up, but Meg had insisted it would be a comfort for her to wash up later, the way she and Pete had always done.
Jeff laid his towel on the drainer and put his arm around his sister's shoulder. She leaned her head on him, and he could feel her tears. He felt grateful for the bond the two of them had formed so many years ago.
