Tag Archives: Fiction

Writing Circles: Growing Writers’ Creativity and Skill

We all have different stories behind why we write.

We love words; we love painting pictures with sentences, capturing moments, journaling the purest and rawest of emotion.

We writers write because we cannot not write.

But in writing, there are writer’s blocks we authors sometimes blindly slam into; we all know the scenario of coming up blank when we’re brimming with emotion or hesitating before pushing publish or wish for just another set of eyes to read what’s come spilling out of our fingertips.

We don’t just need inspiration, a stirring prompting to let creativity flow and grow us in our art; we also need other writers to surround us and give praise, encouragement, constructive criticism if we are to really come into our full writer skins.

Perhaps, you’ve read some of the Reading Circles posts by the magnificent Jade, and it’s stirred your desire to really begin honing your craft and skill? Maybe you’ve hit a plateau and need some inspiration? Or maybe you desperately need another voice to help shed light on your own written words?

Whatever the case may be — whether you are a seasoned writer or have recently found the love of a pen in your hand {or keys at your fingertips!}, Bigger Picture Blogs Writing Circles might be just what you need to stretch your writerly mind and heart.

Here are the details:

What: A group of three to five writers will come together via Skype with the aid of Google Docs to share a written piece in the genre of “Fiction/Short Story” to hear each piece read and then give engage in a praise/critique session with each writing piece. A prompt will be assigned and a word limit will be suggested a week before the Writing Circle meets.

When: Sunday April 29 8 p.m. CST

Your host/moderator: Melissa from Peanut Butter in my Hair

Genre description: Fiction: something created and  imagined by you based on a prompt. It can be a short story or a scene from something bigger.

How and Where: Via Skype and Google Documents in the comfort of your own home!

Details:  Writing Circle is absolutely free of charge, but there is only space for FOUR participants. The first four people to  register will be accepted. Please fill out this form to register.

Comments? Questions? Leave it below and we’ll be sure to answer!

Our first Writing Circle was a huge success and everyone had a great time! You can read some of the post from that writing circle (genre was Life out Loud/Memoir) at Undercover Mother, Alita Jewel’s Treasures and Sassy Irish Lassie.

Live. Love. Write.

Time Worn

hands of 87 years{ photo credit gaspi*yg via flickr Creative Commons }

I pick her hand up from the bed cradling it in mine. So small and frail. Her hand is my hand only worn down by the passing of time. Made soft by the beating and receding waves of time. Long bony fingers encircled by rings of gold, now tarnished and aged like the fingers they rattle and clink on. Worn down until tired and thin, unable to hold things tightly. I squeeze her hand a little tighter and blink back the tears, time is running out.

I look around the room, take in the things on the walls, her form in the bed. The light is streaming in through the sheer curtains at the lowered angle of a late summer day. It casts a golden hue over everything in the room. Making the items look less worn out and more vintage. The golden and orange hues of a an old photograph. Like a timeless antique fondly ogled over by visitors instead of just stuff. Stuff that has been worn down by time and use. Most only bearing special meaning to those in this house, those gathered in the room at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for their time, their moment to say goodbye.

I take in the rug and the worn paths, thinking of the time spent pacing these floors with colicky babies, with nervous anticipation and with worried fear. Time spent in joy and pain, and the everyday mundane. I look back at my grandma, so small and frail yet still so vibrant and present, even in her half conscious state. Time may have softened the edges but it don’t not wear her down, it never broke her. She never fought against the waves of time. She didn’t run headstrong into the crashing waves being knocked over, she didn’t try to outrun the waves, she just rode them. She let time take her where it needed to do what it needed, she was there for the ride, making the most of the smooth times and keeping her head above during choppy times.

I feel the tears welling up, someone so inspiring, so loved. I lean down and kiss her hand, my hand, the skinny boney hands of our family. I up her family bible running my hands over the time worn and softened leather cover. I glance at the names on the inside, births, deaths, weddings, time passed through the stages of life and family. I gently open to her bookmarked page, her favorite psalm and begin to quietly read to her. Letting the waves of time pass over us, washing away any fear or longing. We just are. Hands entwined, young and old, past and present. One ride ending as calm and accepting as it was lived, and another learning, learning how to ride the waves with her head above water calm, accepting, and free.


Written by Melissa, Originally published 6 September 2010.  Melissa is a mom of 2 kids and one angel and is expecting another bundle of joy and messes. She writes about Love, Life, Loss and everything else that gets stuck in her hair at Peanut Butter in my Hair.