Happy Friday. Hope you’ve all recovered from any Mardi Gras festivities you participated in this week. I’d love to say I celebrated with bourbon, beads, and beignets, but sadly, that was not the case.
Maybe next year.
Instead of pre-Easter celebrating, this week was filled with an assortment of tedious tasks, including the annual ‘Shredding’ event at Ye Olde Day Job. The idea is to get rid of all the paper that seems to accumulate in the offices. Apparently even corporate American isn’t immune to the lure of Marie Kondo’s clutter-free-message.
I’m happy to report my desktop and file cabinet are remarkably clutter-free. Although, to be honest, that has little to do with this week’s ‘Shredding’ event and a lot to do with my own naturally tidy tendencies.
Anyway, now that everything is tidy and the shredding-bins are full and ready for pickup, it’s time to get back to work and do some writing. I think I’ll warm up my creativity during lunchtime by giving today’s writing prompt a try.
Care to join me?
For those of you working away on a story (whether a first draft or a polished version on its way to publication), if you’re not feeling random, we’d love to hear a bit – whether it’s a scene, a paragraph, or even a phrase that you are especially pleased with and would like to share.
If you don’t have a story in progress, or just want to work on something new, I hope today’s story prompt and/or random words will catch your creative fancy.
Ready?
What if: “Your if your character found a packet of old love letters?”
Feel free to include any (or all) of the following random words:
bald opposition bittersweet ash
costume regret lemon ebony
genetic marble delightful chill
gloves voice fluent brick
I look forward to seeing your stories in the comments. If you’re not feeling in the writing mood today, or don’t have time, feel free to post suggestions you might have for future “what-if” prompts. Ideas are always welcome.
Happy writing to all!
Eight Ladies Writing 
Maybe not my best, but I felt like a little boost today! Here we go.
The Letters
Luna Cordero finished the last bite of her delightful lemon bar—incentive for the task to come—dusted her hands, and climbed the narrow stairs to the attic. Today she’d clear everything out of the cavernous space. Her parents were gone, had been gone, for quite a while. It was time.
The stairs opened to a high spot above the eaves, and as she put on her gloves, she looked around the chilly, cluttered space. Hanging onto the past seemed to be a genetic trait. Where to start? She could almost hear her mother’s voice: “At the beginning, dear.”
The boxes and trunks revealed nothing more exciting than broken furniture; childhood toys, bald with age and loving; old clothes; fireplace tongs, still grimy with ash; holiday costumes and decorations; and other miscellaneous household detritus. The objects, as shabby and worn as they were, generated bittersweet memories for her, tinged with regret. Had she done enough for her parents in their last days? Could she have done more? Now, faced with a lifetime of memories filled with kindness and joy that they had given her, she wasn’t sure. The thought weighed like a brick on her heart.
She flung open the lid of a dusty trunk, packed to the top with clothing so old and dated it could not have belonged to her mother, but to her grandmother. Perhaps she could donate these items to the local theatrical group, if they were durable enough. She lifted out a few dresses and discovered underneath a beautiful ebony box, about a foot square. Luna opened it. It was full of letters, bound in a red ribbon, all from the same person. She didn’t recognize the name on the return address. She opened the first letter.
My dearest Rosa, the letter began. Rosa was her mother’s name. So these were letters to her mother, stored in her grandmother’s trunk?
I long to see you, the letter continued. I do not understand your silence. It breaks my heart. Have your parents forbidden you to speak? Their coldness is like marble.
Luna turned the page, looking for a signature. I will always love you, the letter ended. Your devoted Eduardo.
Eduardo? Her father’s name was Victor.
Luna sat back. Her mother had received love letters from an Eduardo. But her own parents had been in opposition to the match? What could have put them against the faithful Eduardo, who wrote such elegant letters in such fluent English? Had her mother even seen these letters, or had her grandmother concealed them from her? Had her mother wondered all her life whatever had happened to Eduardo?
She picked up the packet of letters and put everything else back in the trunk, closing the lid and dusting off her clothes.
The attic could wait. She had a mystery to solve.
Oh no, not a cliffhanger! Tell us more . . please?
Ack! Not just a single letter, but a whole box full, so beautifully written and bound with a ribbon? And you end it on a cliff hanger? NO fair 😉
I’m so sorry! You’ll just have to wait for the movie. 🙂