The Conference is Over...Let's Keep the Ball Rolling With a Writing Group

I'm in Newnan, GA...I would have come to the conference, but I couldn't afford it. :(

Do you want the writings posted here or in another thread on our own blogs?? I could go either way. I can't guarantee I will remember to chime in each week, but it should still be great fun.

Let's do it!

Sounds like a great idea, count me in!

What a great idea Kelly!  Can't wait to read more!  Best, ~h

I'm excited too! How about we do it like this: 

Every week I'll post a prompt that we can write on. 

Everyone who wants to participate can write their responses on their own blogs (so they don't lose traffic) and can put a link to said blog as a comment on my blog. Sound good?

Yay! Excited to meet more Skirt ladies and to get more creative this year. 

Here's a link to my first post, http://skirt.com/dburke/blog/taking-challenge 

I love this idea. And, your exercises sound like fun! Okay, count me in.

I specifically told Marcus not to be an asshole. I remember that much. Every time we travel together he has this obnoxious habit that makes him seem like even more of a Westerner (as if his Rolex, bleached white teeth, spray tan and white blonde hair don't draw enough attention in our own country) than what he already is. Last year we flew to Italy and as I stared at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, amazed, I noticed Marcus in the corner, simultaneously flipping through his Rick Steves guide and checking that damned watch as he smacked on gum. It’s the worst possible example of the ugly American. He never eats what the locals eat, he speaks louder if people don’t understand him the first time, he whips out money anytime he’s afraid. In other words, he’s the polar opposite of me when I travel and he's completely embarrassing to be around. But he's also kind of helpless and I don't think he's aware of how he's perceived. 

I can’t remember anything about yesterday or how I arrived where I am now, in a cage. In a jungle. With Marcus, who’s unconscious and drooling in a ball at my feet. We must be 20 feet up? I look around and at least my surroundings are beautiful. I know that I’m in Africa, how far from Nigeria I’m not exactly sure. I don’t see my tape recorder or notepad anywhere and Marcus is without the videocamera, which should terrify me. But it doesn't.  

 I touch my lip and there’s blood. My hair is down, covering my shoulders. I look down at my pants and my lightweight shirt, both are still on, and they still look clean. My wedding ring is gone, so is my purse and the diamond studs I’d been wearing. 

What happened yesterday? Where the hell am I? Who put us in a cage and why?

Here’s what I can recall: The fight with Marcus on the plane to stop drinking so many Bloody Marys. The phone call to my mother that ended in me hanging up on her. The first peek at the mountains and the email from my boss to call a new contact, an inside man  going by the  name Nancy Drew. Then nothing. 

My mind is blank. 

Marcus is out cold when I find a way to pee outside of the cage. I see a vine just close enough away that I can reach it through the grates. Maybe I can swing us back and forth hard enough to knock us against the tree over there and snap the cage open?

I’ve been running back and forth for a solid thirty minutes, a vine in my right hand, swinging the cage high in the air and whacking into the solid trunk to my left when Marcus snaps awake. 

Gone is the cocky, self-centered Marcus I've grown to hate. He looks like a small boy, scared of the thing beneath his bed. 

There is a loud rustling below and Marcus goes pale. “Jessica,” he says. “Jessica, don’t move.” 

Ok, I'm intrigued.  I love the opening line, " I specifically told Marcus not to be an asshole."  Right from the start, you capture the reader, bring them into the story.  And I love how it is so grounded and real, like this could be anyone I know, kind of an everywoman.  I really want to know what happens next, and most especially, how they ended up in a cage?  I definitely think this could be something more.