I cannot find a pair of dry shoes. So, I wear wet ones, and we walk in the woods where the maples are going bright red. My weekly writing group starts early, so I wake early and finish my preparation so that I can really appreciate a long ramble. In the afternoon I hear from a journal, DeLuge – they want to publish two of the three Charles River photos I submitted, and so I’m pleased I will see them in print. I lead two writing groups today; one morning, one evening; one in person, one online. Both are deep, rich, intimate. In the morning group, we write together from the prompt I created from a poem by Cecily Parks: Girlhood.

Fill in the blanks, using your own spontaneous verbs, nouns, adjectives. . . to describe a real or figurative “age” you experienced – following each prompt, using details with specifics of tastes, smells, colors, sounds, feelings, and especially action words – what did you do (what specific actions did you take?) during this age, who or what did you meet, and then what unexpected thing happened next?

Girlhood. . . was when I. . .

Dreamtime. . . was when I. . .

Escapehood. . . was when I. . .

Hungertime. . . was when I. . .

Sexytime. . . was when I. . .

Rebelhood. . . was when I. . .

Wallflowerhood. . . was when I. . .

Nomadtime. . . was when I. . .  

Witchingtime. . . was when I. . .

Losttime. . . was when I . . .

Conquerhood. . . was when I. . .