Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Write a Revison

~the following is part of “Prompted Prose,” a series of posts from the prompts I’m working with during my Spring 2016 online writing course

2015-09-17_bohemian beach

You walked right past him the first time. Just another sun-tanned, shirtless man, on the beach, broad chest, golden skin, a rose tattoo on his bicep. You were there for a walk in your special seaside haven, and there was another half mile to go.

But as the afternoon faded, and the sun began to fall, you backtracked toward your car. He was still there in the sand, turning to look right at you, smiling, no hesitation. You were curious, but self-conscious, looking everywhere else: the red-hued cliffs, the open sky, the outstretched, rippled sea.

“Beautiful,” you gestured to the surroundings, as he continued to gaze upon you.

He nodded, smiling into your eyes. “Beautiful,” he said.

You kept walking, leaving him behind. You were moving towards the settling sun, getting closer to your car, when a voice inside your head asked,

What’s the hurry? Why not stay and watch the sunset?

So you stopped to circle with the shells, sneaking looks over your shoulder at the arms with the rose tattoo.

You each have your own version of this story. The one about that ‘beautiful’ day when you both met. Watching him from afar at sunset, you got butterflies in your stomach, so fluttery, you lost your breath, laughing out loud at yourself. He saw the air go pink all around you, and quietly asked God to make you his. And these things happened all before you knew each other’s names.

Eventually, he did walk right to the rocky outcrop where you stood. He made it seem so simple. “Hello.”

You talked easily together until the light fell and a rain shower came. He began to jog toward a nearby Kaimani tree for shelter. You stayed behind, unsure.

Ducking beneath the tree, he turned back to you, beaming. Raindrops splashed across his cheeks. Everything about him said ‘of course,’ as he called “C’mon!”

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Write With Fragmented Chronology, Use a Different Kind of Logic

~the following is part of “Prompted Prose,” a series of posts from the prompts I’m working with during my Spring 2016 online writing course

One

God comes in many guises. Here, he’s Rodney, an alcoholic in his forties, living at the beach, and continually telling you how good he is in bed. Just give him a chance. You may be wide open to anything, living in a 1978, olive-green Westfalia, camping by the beach in Hawaii, but you’ll never sleep with Rodney. He’s crude, but good at heart. Sometimes you let him sit with you at the picnic table.

Rodney drinks with crusty campers, including an ex-jockey who’s supplying the crew with cheap drugs. One morning Rodney tells you he’s been listening, and you don’t want to know what those guys have been planning.

He leads you to a quiet beach beside the Outrigger Resort. Introduces you to the night security. Asks him to keep an eye on you in your van. Shows you the pay phone and the public bathrooms. Saves you from who-knows-what. Still saying, “Girl, come on. It could be so good with me…”

 

Two

Six, sitting on the red cement steps by the ivy. You and a cattle dog, a rare moment, off the chain. You caress velvet ears, his black, damp nose poised, transfixed. Gazing into dog eyes, you sing through baby teeth, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Your little lashes are wet with a moment, two mammal hearts beating, down a gravel driveway, in the orange grove. Your first touch of Grace.

 

Three

“There is no name for what you receive.” So says the Healer in my friend’s back yard. His helper stands behind those receiving the transmission, because everyone falls backwards after the Healer hugs them. I doubt I’ll fall, and when the Healer approaches, he buries me in an embrace, zapping the center of my chest in a cascade of warmth. I go down easily, gently caught by the helper. Laid down upon the grass. Reverberating in rushes of Christ, the disciples, Mary Magdalene and a river, in some vast, familiar, ancient, abiding love.

 

courtesy of Abdy
courtesy of Abdy
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Re-write a Piece from a Different Point of View

~the following is part of “Prompted Prose,” a series of posts from the prompts I’m working with during my Spring 2016 online writing course

NOTE: Originally written in first person, the following is a re-write playing with the immediacy of the second person perspective.

NaPali Coast

 

You begin regularly hiking a remote trail that leads eleven miles down a distant coastline. There, you sleep under a canopy of sky. You record the sounds of a few musicians that spend time there. Bamboo flutes lilt above the swoosh of wind over rocks. Songs are sung, as water ripples through ginger-laden stream beds.

One of the musicians on that coast, is Rex. Tall, blond, and blue-eyed, he says he’s on his way to New York City, where he plans to pursue his music more seriously. His songs are about living in nature, and his love for being free and true. You offer to record his music in the coastal haven, one last session before he heads to a concrete jungle.

On the first night camping, you both stay up, star-gazing, naming the shapes of the clouds that pass above in the moonlight. If you see a dragon shape forming out of cotton billows, he sees it too. You feel a familiar connection with Rex, like a big exhaling sigh. It’s surprising, exhilarating, and calming, all at once, though it’s not necessarily romantic. In fact, you’re not sure you even have a physical attraction to him. But the link between you both is strong. You never go to sleep that night.

Somewhere around 2am, the breezes cool. Your bodies are outstretched on a bluff beneath the cumulus, and he offers to pull you closer, moving one arm, carefully, around you. With the contact, an instant reverberation floods every particle of your being. A clear voice from within, rings deeply through your body.

“This is the father of your child.”

You lie still, allowing his arm to warm you, not daring to speak of the words that are flooding your senses. Your mind cannot comprehend what is vibrating through you. You continue watching and naming clouds, sweeping the message to the periphery. You stay up until the sun rises, and as the sky turns pink with morning hues, Rex announces to the ether, “That was the best night of my life.”