A Road Less Travelled

Theresa mentioned on her blog that she’s starting a new writing curriculum with the children. I’m sitting in on the exercises (hup, two, three… no wait, wrong kind of exercises), the first one of which was to fill out a questionnaire about writing preferences and write a vignette about someone. Probably the most interesting question turned out to be, “Where do you like to write?” My first thought was “Outside, definitely.” Then I stopped. I don’t write outside. I write holed away in my room. Huh. Why don’t I write outside?

The result of this train of thought is that I am now leaning up against a post in our yard, swatting mosquitoes and letting the damp grass stain my clothes. I think I’m going to like this…

The vignette, we were informed, should be a brief glimpse of what a person and his or her life is characteristically like. I thought the writing in mine was only okay, but I like the impression I got across. I don’t have it in front of me at the moment, but as best I can remember, it went like this:

Gabrielle’s vibrant orange dress swished around her legs as she swept into the room, child on one hip, cast iron skillet in the opposite hand. “So,” she said, turning the on faucet in the kitchen sink full blast as she slipped the skillet in, “I had this great idea!”

Oh, and besides these writing exercises, I got another writing assignment from Seth. So, um, when I finally finish that one, anyone up for playtesting a roleplaying game about creating fairy tales by committee?

As far as writing outside goes, while I was sitting here I had a bumblebee either fall asleep or die on my pant leg. Has anyone else ever had a bumblebee decide to sit down and die on them? Is my writing really that boring? Or is just my sparkling personality? Sigh. Maybe I should move back inside.