Day 5 - 9/27/19 Daily Writing Prompt: “Exploding the moment” Assignment: Show, don’t tell. Readers don’t want to be told information, they want to experience the writing. As we’ve already discussed this week, we experience life through our five senses and we experience writing when those senses are explored on the page in a concrete way that we can understand as readers. Think of a moment when you did something that got you in trouble. It could be from childhood or something more recent - or you can make something up. First, write it in “told” form, and then explode that moment.
Moment:
I forgot to call my mom one day after school in 3rd grade. Instead of going straight home, I got lost in fun, and went home with my friend Mindy. I meant to call my mom when I got there, but we were so excited to get to her backyard to play with her rabbits that we ran straight there and bypassed the house via the side gate, so I forgot to call. My mom shows up suddenly at Mindy’s house after frantically searching the neighborhood with my little brother in tow, and she’s hysterical with worry, and then once she finds me, she is irate with anger.
Exploded moment:
The tiny baby bunny sits in my cupped hands, like an oversized gray cotton ball, looking back at me inquisitively with shining black eyes. “How many babies did Ariel have?” I ask my friend Mindy, turning my gaze upward, since she is a good half foot taller than myself. We wouldn’t learn about the mechanics of reproduction until next year, in fourth grade sex education classes. But I had heard through the grapevine that rabbits were prolific when it came to producing offspring. “She had six at first, but the runt of the litter died a few hours after it came out,” Mindy answered, her breath smelling like graham crackers. I nodded. We scooped the other babies out of the hutch, and piled them into a basket, where they looked like wriggling furry Easter eggs with tall ears.
We march the basket into the house, with the intention to find some soft things to line the basket and make a bed for the babies. The kitchen is bustling, Mindy’s many siblings yelling and vying for speaking time, steam and the scent of mashed potatoes fills the air. I hear Emily, Mindy’s older sister, talking to someone at the front door, her voice rising, “I already told you when you called 30 minutes ago, Jessica isn’t here!” Noticing my name, I peek around the corner to see who she is talking to. My stomach suddenly drops to my feet, cold dread making my hands go numb.
My mom is standing at the door, her face creased with worry. My younger brother Tim is clutching her hand, his eyes wide with fear. Realization dawns on me and fills me with panic: I hadn’t remembered to call my Mom and tell her that I wasn’t coming straight home from school. I was in big, BIG trouble.