Thursday Live Writing -- 5.15.25

The prompts for our first Live Writing Session of the season

UPDATED: Our first Live Writing Session was a grand success — writers from England to Colorado, Michigan to Vermont, Harlem to Georgia. The writing was fantastic — as were the comments, both verbal and written.

What we learned from this, though, was that several preferred to have their posts (done as comments) be made private. Hmmm. Not easy to do on Substack. So… I’ve created a new, private Substack, just for my future Live Writing Sessions and Workshops. If you are interested in joining us, DM me, or go to https://writingwithgg.substack.com and subscribe (be patient, I have to approve it when you enter your email so it won’t happen immediately.)

I have included below in comments a few of the posts that the authors were happy to make public.

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HERE IS THE DRILL:

The session will be held on Zoom. We’ll begin with quick hellos and intros and then I’ll go through the prompts and readings (below). We’ll then mute our video and audio and write for 20 minutes choosing one of the prompts — or writing whatever is on your mind. The aim is for you to write fast and get to the end; imperfection is appreciated. ALL genres welcome — fact, fiction, prose or poetry. And feel free to snag a line from either reading to start your piece.

After 20 minutes, post your incomplete, imperfect piece as a comment to THIS POST (if you wish). I will then read each piece aloud (or you can read) and if you want feedback, the group will provide you their thoughts verbally and/or in comments.

The prompts (and readings)

• A Random One: I bumped into this headline on a Substack piece: “All of a sudden the woman sitting behind me on the plane — a total stranger — started talking about my husband.” Go with it.

• Love: Tell a story about a love: One that worked, didn’t or could’ve or hasn’t yet. Or a love constrained by odd circumstances.

  • The Quiet World

    By Jeffrey McDaniel

    In an effort to get people to look

    into each other’s eyes more,

    and also to appease the mutes,

    the government has decided

    to allot each person exactly one hundred

    and sixty-seven words, per day.

    When the phone rings, I put it to my ear

    without saying hello. In the restaurant

    I point at chicken noodle soup.

    I am adjusting well to the new way.

    Late at night, I call my long distance lover,

    proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.

    I saved the rest for you.

    When she doesn’t respond,

    I know she’s used up all her words,

    so I slowly whisper I love you

    thirty-two and a third times.

    After that, we just sit on the line

    and listen to each other breathe.

• Window: Imagine a window, real or made-up, literal or figurative. Where is this window? What do you see? What story comes to you as you look out the window?

  • Windows

    By Rachel Sherwood

    From this height

    the sunset spans the whole world

    before me: houses and trees are shadows

    neon flares between them like sudden fire

    the freeways run, always

    strangely vacant with riderless cars

    empty air

    the windows up here

    refract the blue slate and rose light

    making the hills on the horizon collide

    with ideas of Sussex, piedmont

    or the cold clear wind of the Abruzzi

    but that is never what is out there.

    At home, the lamp curls its aurora

    into the corners of the room

    and out the windows

    squares, rectangles of light

    stake out a territory on the ragged lawn.

    In the center of things

    between the pressing of the window and air

    — a small space —

    there is a meeting that defines

    nothing, everything.

• Rant. There is so much to be angry about in the world right now, but sometimes it’s the little things that get to us, that really make us pissed. Think of a moment recently when something small got your dander up. Take us there. And, if you can, inject some humor into your oversized reaction.

  • A Poison Tree

    By William Blake

    I was angry with my friend;

    I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

    I was angry with my foe:

    I told it not, my wrath did grow.

    And I waterd it in fears,

    Night & morning with my tears:

    And I sunned it with smiles,

    And with soft deceitful wiles.

    And it grew both day and night.

    Till it bore an apple bright.

    And my foe beheld it shine,

    And he knew that it was mine.

    And into my garden stole,

    When the night had veild the pole;

    In the morning glad I see;

    My foe outstretched beneath the tree.