Wed Feb 1 prompt

[Joan McCormick]

Yes I tend to just type as it comes to me like a movie director. I can think and see the same thing in different ways and get them entwined as I type . Then on reread I just don’t see them. It’s how I write my poetry, more as a reader not the writer and am often surprised what lands on the page, not always for the good
It takes me time to proof read. I have to leave it aside and come back to it as a stranger to edit. I will try to do better, I promise

[nancy]

draft 3 tell me when to get a new hobby ladies.

I still dont think I'm in the present yet!



There came shouting, the sound of a crowd, of women screeching
and lit torches lighting the night. Her mother roughly pushing her
into hiding, telling her “hush” and not to move just before
the door was kicked open, she froze.

They were out for blood; Marana could almost taste the hate flying
on the wind before them as they kept each other buoyant with fear
and excitement. She had ran all the way from the village
after the child died, having done her best, but she know
her best was never going to save it. The boy was born weak
the mother frail and the husband a drunken bully
had caused the early birth. But his first born and wife were dead
and someone was going to pay. She had seen his malice,
the way he had shouted after her that she had put a spell
on his whole family when the witch catchers were at the Inn door
listening . People, both stranger and friend has stopped
and watched her flee from his ranting, She only hoped
his drunken slanders would cease when he sobered up.

I like that you introduce new scenes with each draft.
Stating the obvious, the word ‘had’ is overused, here, in this paragraph. That’s probably why you have a sense of not being in the present with this. lol“

No time, no time” she knew they came for her.
“Hush hush, hide Annie and when they go run to the woods”
She spun, just as the door crashed open;
hands seemed to grow out from the blocked doorway
for a second an hour? Time resumed and they reached her
in a harsh and brutal grip, she panicked kicked and fought
and was punched in the face for it and then dragged
from the cottage by her long red hair. Flames from a thrown torch
licked at the hay bedding as the last shod foot went
over the doorstep leaving young Annie to slip out
from under the burning cot. With crackling hay burning
though her small shift she cried out for her mother
while flames erupted even higher scorching her pale skin as she ran,
the heat and smoke stealing at her breath. Instinct took her
to the small opening that served to draw the air and light
into the cottage and again she pulled aside the rough material
as she often had. It was her place of happiness where she would sit
and hear her mother sing while she made broth
while Annie sat looking at the birds about their business in the woods.

She fell out the open window choking past the acrid smoke,
away from flames licking at her face and body just seconds
before the thatch burst into flames. Cries of ‘witch” and “kill her “
sent the child into a blind panic she stumbling on, landing face down
in the murk beyond just as the walls collapsed.

A small sharp hot stab hit her between her shoulder blades
she, gasped with pain felt something cool and wet spread,
almost hearing her mother’s coos that soon she would be better ,
she knew she slept deeper than she had ever known ,
deeper than the land she lay on. She felt she was sinking, cooling,
healing, dreaming on the edge of time and long ago awareness,
of mother and cool water in green woods,
and an overpowering sense of a new purpose.

Annie stirred rolled on her side and slowly opened her eyes,
she gazed bright eyed at the land where her home had been
but never recognized it, overgrown with wildflowers and berries
that added beauty to the place, and somewhere deep in her mind
she felt a loss. “Mother” she needed a mother,
but she had no idea what a mother was.

She stood up naked and unafraid and felt a sharp hunger
in her empty belly. Instinct took her to the brambles where she ate
hungrily letting the sweet juices run down her body.
In her forgotten mothers unkempt root garden she found
young black carrots, juicy and sweet she nibbled at the kale
and other small root vegetables all growing healthy and young
this late in the year. She turned hearing the sound of water
and walked fast to the side of a fresh flowing stream ,
stooped and drank deeply in this unlikely place of peace,
where Eden now existed in one small part of the woods. Too green,
too lush, too very quiet, now all respectfully ignored by the villagers
who would rather forget the coming of the inquisition months before.

She stepped without hesitation into the cold water, walked out
to where it rose to her knees then lay back and let it rush over her
flaking skin and dirt, letting it wash off and leave clean healthy pink skin ,
not wicked scars; leftovers from the severe burns.

Feeling the cold turn into heat she lay back , pulled her head under
opened her mouth wide and drank deep. Letting it fill her lungs
her eyes open watching the patterns of the water rush past.

Water is life, she felt alive in a billion ways;
there was a rush in her blood as she sat up and expelled the water
with one deep breath.
She knew she was too young yet. She needed a mother,
someone to care, to protect to, make a home.
She needed to grow, and to survive.

I love what you’ve done to the rest of this, it moves along very nicely- gives the sense of total creation- poetry is my medium so I enjoy watching this process of picturesque elaborations with each draft.
The tense feels personal; it's good.
Thanks for sharing this, Joan. I hope you are feeling better. And, don't give up your hobby.

[Joan McCormick]

It is something I want to take further now, and I want to really try this time. I have too many irons in the fire but! I have my girls house in the middle of a reno job! Bathrooms kitchen walls to put in! got the water back in today. We bought 2nd hand front load washing machine and dishwasher , just so we could get the pluming all in place. $200 and they are working better than any we have bought new before!! She is stoked!. tiling sitting in the background
But! Bloody accounts! Stuff to catch up with, like! real life shit! How do you all find the time! . I’m booked in for the op in the next 30 days. So I might be getting a top up of the creative juice. Was it Hemingway who liked morphine for his muse? And there is a lot of research I need to do as well> this writing malarky is not all having fun is it. They bloody make you work! AND I had my hair done dark pink today lol