Getting back to writing. How to get started.

So I'm chatting through my 'getting back to writing' process on youtube, but as promised; Here's this week's prompt, and what came from it. (And if you've stumbled across my page and don't know what's happening, here's the vlog.)

It was a creative writing prompt baed on a book by Chuck Palahnuic. The truth is, this is a seven step process… of which I followed the first two. (At best.) But the positive for me, is it got me writing. Pencil to paper. Racing against the clock before the experience was over and I lost my train of thought.

(The note to self on this; not stopping to think. Not stopping to second guess myself. Not stopping to doubt.)

The Prompt.

You have three to five minutes to;

Choose a place, 

Describe a face,

Pick up two props...

You have ten minutes to write; Go!

This is a mash up of what sunk in, and here's the unedited zero draft;

* *

Her footfall crunched in rhythm on the dirt trail as she ran through the woods. 

It had rained last night, and she kept pace with the faster moving river as it flowed alongside her.

The bend in the path was thirty paces ahead.

Keep going. Keep going.

As she hit the twenty seventh footfall she tucked the water bottle under her arm, and unstrapped her Apple watch.

Making sure the lid on the half empty bottle was tight, she fastened the watch tightly around it.

Following the trail as it curved, her breath lodged in her throat.

Out of sight. Out of sight!

She tossed the bottle in the river, and watched for a millisecond as it disappeared below the surface.

“No.” Her gasp was left unfinished, thankfully, it bobbed back to the top. It current caught and started floating away.

Go. Go. Go.

She had seventeen minutes before she was supposed to be back in sight.

Seventeen minutes before he’d look up from his desk, stare from the window of his first floor office, and watch her run down the drive.

She could see the windows on the house behind her closed eyes. The sun reflecting, making the panes look as dark as the man who lived within them.

A mewling sound left her lips, as she staggered forwards, then back. Wasting precious time, until the noises of her own panic filtered in.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she tasted blood.

Her own blood.

No.

Coming to standstill, she stared up the embankment.

It was now. No choice. No take backs. Now.

With a groan, she threw herself at the incline, grabbing grass and shrubs in handfuls. Pulling herself ever upwards.

The two keys she’d unearthed from their hiding place this morning, dug into the outside of her thigh, through the close fitting pocket of her running leggings. 

…

End.