Man oh man, my writing well is dry. Dusty, echoing emptiness. I glare at the exercise page and that crabby little voice in the back of my head starts raving about how stupid it is and how I'll never think of anything to write about that and, by God, I don't. This morning I dated all the printed out Bonaire picture prompt writings and checked the pages in the calendar to find the ones I'd missed. I found a few I knew I had written about but hadn't posted, so you're getting one of them today.
Red orange walls flashed past as the truck sped through the sleepy village. "Stop," Edward said, "stop. That was a bar. I need a drink." But Louise didn't stop. She gave no sign that she even heard Edward's plea. "Louie," he whined, "I'm parched beyond reason. You kidnap me at the crack of dawn and drive me around this God-forsaken island covered with cactus that looks like it has been radiated, stark white rocks like moon rocks, and wild donkeys that..." His rant was cut short by Louise stamping on the brakes of the rental pickup to avoid running into one of the wild donkeys that had ambled out of a thicket onto the narrow road in front of them. Edward caught himself just before his head slammed into the windshield. "Maybe I should drive."
Maybe I should just go back to the beginning of the calendar and start writing again. I seem to be more inspired by pictures than words these days.
Stay warm!
--Barbara
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