This is what my gifted The New Yorker subscription got me....

So, I've been taking a couple of online classes recently just to keep my mind busy with something other than the newest plot lines on Real Housewives of Atlanta (Though, let's be real, what's more enjoyable than the lovely Nene Leakes? Few things dears, few things.). Anyway, the assignment that I completed last night was pretty interesting, so I thought I'd share my finished product (along with the prompt) with y'all. I was also gifted a year subscription to "The New Yorker" by my work husband, so that's where the picture referenced in the assignment comes from. Side note: I've recently become obsessed with Selena Gomez and as such, have decided to forgive her for the Justin Bieber thing. HE WAS MY MAN WOMAN!! Though, him cutting off the hair swoop kind of killed it for me. Or, as a doctor might say, "Lowered my Bieber fever". Yuk yuk. I partially blame the ghey bars for the sudden Selena obsesh. They played TWO songs of hers back to back on Cinco de Drinko. Talk about brainwashing. Anyway, more on that another time. Just wanted to put that out there while I still remembered. Sadly, the picture isn't of her, but I was listening to her catchy "Come & Get It" while writing this piece. Writing assignment after the jump.


Exercise: Find a picture in a magazine--it can be of a person or a car, a house or a plane. Set a timer for ten minutes. Begin writing a descriptive overview of the scene and what the people (present or not in the picture) are experiencing at the very precise moment in time.

When the buzzer goes off, begin rereading what you have written. Circle the sentences\ ideas you like the most.

Rewrite these circled passages on a second sheet of paper. Set the time again for another ten minutes.

Using the second sheet of paper, begin writing based upon the ideas that appealed to you.

You can continue this exercise over and over for an hour or more, eventually pooling all of your favorite ideas into one concentric story.

Send me your final short work.


Tamara hadn’t been on stage since she was five and competing in the Little Miss Sunshine competition in her home town. Since that debacle, she’d been afraid to sing in public. Despite joining the choir and avidly singing in the shower, she’d never been able to bring herself to sing alone in public. When she saw the open mic poster at the local college bar, she thought that this might be the place to face her fear. Tamara rigidly swayed her head and body along to the music. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the tiny bar and her mouth felt dry in anticipation. The heat of the stage lights weighed down upon her and the music that the drummers and bassists played swirled around her, like a blurry dream. She could hear her cue to sing coming up in the song and she wondered whether she would choke.  She’d choked at the Little Miss Sunshine pageant and gotten laughed off the stage. All of sudden, her mouth opened and the deep syrupy quality of her voice poured out over the microphone. Not shaky, but strong and confident. She felt as though the sound was completely independent of her. She was a spectator in her own body. The energy and confidence that she’d lacked prior to being onstage seemed to seep into her veins during the performance. She gave into the feeling of freedom and the music and let it wash over her. The billowy sleeves on her shirt flowed along with her movements, complimenting her every move. She became drunk off the feeling and before she knew it, it was over. She felt jerked awake by the sound of the audience cheering and she realized that the band members were smiling back at her. She was drenched in sweat and her clothes were clinging to her, but she seemed to shine under the lights of the stage. She felt calm and at ease. She bowed for the audience. 

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