What happened here?
Write for 15 minutes.
Please share. 

My response to the exercise cited by Lucy, below…

Atop the highest shelf, well out of reach, I stand with head held high, staring skyward. What will waltz into my vision today? A fluffy cloud, thin enough to hold a center of swirling mist? A red balloon, set smartly against blue sky? The sun’s blinding orb, which passes without fail every day at 2 PM? A flock of me, animated, chattering and quacking, reminding me of a life now lost, trapped as I am in this Pinocchio pose, my aching neck an arc of wood pointing skyward, always skyward, my curse for which a thousand years pays no penance.

I stumbled across www.nakedauthors.com

and liked it a lot. Six authors take turns , each takes a day a week to write about literature and life. Since there are seven days in a week,  Must get Sundays off. Or is it Mondays? Their comments are sprinkled with lots of photos. I especially liked “A day at Hogworts” when Jacqueline talks about going back to school. All six authors have their photos across the top and links to their Web sites down the right side. They describe themselves as . . .The Naked Truth about Literature and Life
A cop, a Brit, a deb, a B-school grad, a guy with good hair, and a wisecracking lawyer wrestle with the naked truth about literature and life.

I love it. I’ll go back.

Bookmark this site - a keeper

Hello all,

post your writing exercise here and tell Cynthia and Greg and Leah and all the baristas, I’m sure they’d enjoy them, especially the one about the blender’s feelings . . .

Writing exercise: Look around the room, pick an inanimate object, write from its point of view
Writer’s Workshop, Thursday, Sept. 20 at Chelsea Coffee Company
“My name is Café Buselo. I’m a bright yellow and red package of coffee. I sit on the top shelf of Chelsea Coffee Company.
I’m lonely on my shelf. Below me are lots of bags of Sweetwater Coffee - black bags, red bags, silver bags.
People come over to look a the coffee selection. Greg and Cynthia and Leah and the other baristas talk knowingly about their favorite Sweetwater coffees and they pick up the bags.
But they never pick me up. Customers nod knowingly and pick up a Sweetwater bag, carry it over to the counter and buy it. What about me?
I have fine aroma. I’m Cuban to the core. Put me in a café con leche and hear me roar.
But here I sit, waiting to be noticed, to get a smile and a hand reaching up and someone whispering “Come home with me.”