When I read Alice Walker, I see her. I see her smooth and beautiful skin, her tiny braids, her thin dreadlocks. I see her quiet deliberation when she moves her body. I see her delicate hands, gesturing.
I see how she looks at everyone, looks inside, listens to their soul speaking. I see how she loves the words, the ideas, the telling. I see her passion for justice and fairness, her motherness, her femaleness.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “read.”
When I read Alice Walker, I read greedily because I need it. I need those words that come to speak to me, to dazzle me. I often finish the book and turn back to page one to start again. I need it again, stronger and more beautiful after the first time, like an orgasm.
I read to see how she did it, how she turned broken English into poetry, how she turned poetry into truth, how she told a story all out of order and put it in order.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “read.”
I’m rereading Now is the time to Open Your Heart. When I read Alice Walker, I hear her voice. I hear the way she chooses each word carefully because it is important. I hear the way she understands the deepest problems of the human heart. I hear the way she listens with such attention.
When I think of how she listens, I want to tell her everything. Then I know I don’t need to tell her anything. She already knows all the secrets in my soul.
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That plate of fudge reminds me of Pooh Bear discovering waaaay too many pots of honey down the rabbit hole. After he slurped it all, he couldn’t get out the door. The kitchen is a rabbit hole, the fudge is waiting to trap me inside and turn me into a roly poly mama bear who can’t fit through the exit.
There’s only one solution. I take a deep breath, storm the kitchen, bravely grab the plate and . . .
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She calls the grass outside her house the garden, the living room in her house is the lounge, and the shoes on her feet are trainers. Yep, she’s a transplated Brit. She works and lives in the U.S. but home is across the sea and she clings to the vocabulary of home.
I often wonder why she doesn’t Americanize her language choices, since she knows the words. I haven’t asked her why, it’s too much fun to make up reasons. . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “the garden.”
Why doesn’t anyone point to the money spent in Iraq as the source of the economic slowdown instead of the mortgage morass? Why doesn’t anyone talk about the future of our children and grandchildren in relation to corporate profit taking? Why doesn’t anyone in the city have a garden full of vegetables? Why doesn’t anyone dance under the full moon instead of watching TV? Why . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “why doesn’t anyone.”
I don’t remember why I started giving in to other people’s wishes instead of insisting on my own. It couldn’t have been any sort of coercion from my parents. They never treated me that way. Maybe it was my status and an only child. I never had any need to stand up for myself. When I finally reached that stage in life, it was too late to learn . . .
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“Let’s play!” Martin streaked across the grass, scattering square hunks of plywood swiped from his dad’s lumber pile to serve as bases.
There were only four of them, Martin and his three sisters, but that was enough for a pitcher and a fielder for two teams. They often played for hours this way. Martin wanted Elana on his team, always, because she was the best catcher. That meant he could pitch. He . . .
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When I turned the car onto my street, I saw at least a dozen police cars in the street near my house. I quickly swerved onto a side street and drove up my alley to get home. Police in my neighborhood were not unknown, but I didn’t want to get in the middle of anything dangerous. I managed to get into my house and peered out the front window to see what was happening.
Offices with rifles in their hands walked on the street and lawns, apparently aimlessly. The rifles scared me, but the relaxed wandering made me think . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “the car.”
Eating out can be a celebration. An event. Or it can the fastest way to get dinner. Or the cheapest way to get dinner–two items at Taco Bell are under $5, can you feed two people for that at home? Eating out is a social event–you go out for a movie and a meal with a friend.
Eating in can be a celebration–the family gathers, company comes, it’s an event. Eating in can be the cheapest way to get dinner–a can of soup and some cheese and crackers run about $2, can you eat for that at a restaurant? Eating in can be fast–toss a frozen dinner in the microwave and three minutes later you’re eating.
The question becomes . . .
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “eating out.”
