[Write On Wednesday] The Artist’s Way

Welcome to your first post-May prompt of 2018!

We’ll meet every week to write a story. Feel free to share in the comments, or just tell us what you wrote about (if you’re saving your story for publication).

The Prompt

Write about an artist (not a writer) struggling with a personal and a professional challenge on the same day

Tips

  • Use the lessons you’ve learned in your writing, but transfer them to another art form (e.g. a pianist is struggling to practice; a digital animator is on deadline and the power goes out…)
  • Allow their professional and personal struggles to inform each other (Do they struggle with putting their own needs last, in their personal life? How does this impact their work? Is their work a refuge from their personal life? How does this affect their relationships? Is the powercut threatening the safety of their loved ones, as well as their deadline?)

What did you write about today? Leave a comment!

 

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8 thoughts on “[Write On Wednesday] The Artist’s Way”

  1. Had fun planning this story out and starting. There is a beginning, middle and end but I have to come back and fill in.

    Artist struggles with pieces his SO wants but they are commissioned pieces. There is a lot of conflict in the relationship with other areas too.

    Here is the working opening line:
    The latest fight started over a piece of fruit, a banana specifically. I like to keep the bananas in the freezer for banana bread I never get around to making. Who knew the yellow plant could be so controversial.

    Happy writing everyone!
    So happy for a prompt today!

    1. You are a glutton for punishment, Tammy! Glad you survived the five prompt-less days since May!

      That’s certainly an intriguing opening and premise. I love it!

  2. I wrote about Emilia, a sculptor, who is having trouble focusing on her current project because her boyfriend is acting secretive, and she can’t figure out why.
    ~~~~~~~~~~~
    Emilia circled around the table, trying to see the already finished project in her mind’s eye. It would be a lot different than the current lump of clay laying in front of her.
    But, she just couldn’t see it. Why couldn’t she see what it should be? She could always see it.
    She stepped back and put her hands on her hips. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. Why the fact she couldn’t figure this out was making her eyes burn.
    Except that wasn’t true at all. She knew what was wrong. And it had nothing to do with this lump of clay.
    “Stupid idiot man,” she muttered.
    “I hope you’re not talking about me.”
    Emilia turned her head and saw her cousin—sort of, really her cousin’s cousin—standing in the doorway. “Connor, I don’t think anyone would ever call you stupid.”
    He flashed her a grin. “Ames has, on occasion. Usually because I’m being stupid. Let me guess. Tate?”
    “How’d you guess?” she asked, sinking into a chair on the side of the room.
    Connor moved over to her. “’Cause it’s the ones who care the most about us that get us so upset. What’s he done?”
    “I’m not sure he does. Not anymore.”
    He put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure that’s not true. I saw the two of you at the last family gathering. That man’s totally gone over you.”
    “Then, why has he been avoiding me for the past week? I know he hasn’t been working late. His dad said they haven’t had any jobs working that many hours. He just doesn’t come home. Not until I’m nearly asleep. And he’s gone well before I’m awake in the morning. I just don’t get it, Connor. I thought he still loved me.”
    “I do,” a deep voice croaked from the doorway.
    Emilia jerked her head around. Tate stood there just inside the room. He nearly filled the whole doorway. “Tate. I thought you’d be working late again.”
    His gaze dropped to the floor. She could see his chest heave, though, as he drew in a deep breath and let it out again. “I screwed this up,” he said in barely more than a whisper. “I haven’t even started, and I’ve already screwed it up.”
    “Screwed what up, Tate?” she asked, pushing herself up from the chair. Her legs felt too heavy to make them move, though. Instead Tate moved toward her.
    “Everything, it looks like. And that was the last thing I meant to do. I’m sorry I’ve made you doubt me, doubt everything we have.”
    “Then, what’s going on? What are you doing every night? And so early in the morning?”
    “I’ll just head out,” Connor said, but Emilia didn’t take her gaze from Tate. He didn’t look away from her, either.
    Tate took a couple more steps toward her. “I’ve been leaving early to go talk to Nolan,” he said.
    She shook her head. “You can talk to your brother any time. Why so early?”
    “Because when he’s on shift at the fire department, it’s the only time I can talk to him. When he’s not on shift, he’s either going home to sleep then or he’s busy helping the kids getting ready for school or taking care of Brody.”
    “And what’s so important you have to talk to him so early?”
    He looked back to the floor. “About how screwed up my head’s been. My fears that you’re going to leave me. That you’ll…”
    “I’m not Rebekah, Tate. I’m not going to cheat on you. I love you.”
    “I know,” he said. “I do know that. And yet the fear was still eating away at me. You know Nolan went to school for psychology?”
    She nodded. “But, he joined the Marine Corps instead. But, you all still go to him when you need to talk something out. That still doesn’t explain why you’ve been out so late at night, too.”
    “I was working. Not for Dad,” he said when she opened her mouth. “I took a temporary second job to earn some extra money. I didn’t want to get this on credit, so I’ve been trying to make enough.”
    “Get what?” she asked, her breath backing up.
    He pulled something out of his pocket then slowly lowered to one knee. “Nolan was also helping me work out exactly what to say. But, I guess I’m going to screw all that up as well. So, I guess I just have to say it.” He opened the small box in his hand. “I love you, Emilia Stiel. I always will. So, please, even though I’m an idiot, will you marry me?”
    Emilia’s heart started beating out of control. This was really happening. She’d started to think it never would. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back to his feet. “Yes,” she said before pressing her mouth to his. “Of course I will. I thought you already knew that.”
    He slipped the ring on her finger, and suddenly an image of formed clay popped into her mind. She knew exactly what to do with that lump on the table now.

  3. And once again I’m late. I wrote a story that I wasn’t thrilled with, about my Kifo Island potter character, Corinne, who’s dealing with the effects of jealous vandalism of her studio as well as….the effects of something else.

    Not sharing the whole thing, and coming late because I needed time before I tried a revision, but here’s a snippet from toward the end.

    “She stared at the collapsed ginger jar; a dead and crumpled body impaled by the pottery wheel. Even the thought of pulling that half-formed lump from the wheel was too much.

    All she could do was try not to get sick at the smell of clay – because, if a potter couldn’t smell clay, she couldn’t work.”

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