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"Your Mom at Five"

Exercise #34 - "Your Mom at Five"

Today's exercise is courtesy of Leslie Pietrzyk, a novelist and short story writer who lives in Alexandria, Virginia.
Imagine you are your mother. You're five years old. What are you seeing / thinking / doing?

What?? I mean... WHAT? I can't even wrap my mind around this one. To me, it seems like I would have to know an in-depth knowledge of my mother's childhood which, I hate to say, I do not. I know a little bit, but I can't even begin to start this exercise. I'm a big proponent of "Write what you know," and... I just don't know this. Not only that, but me and kids... Well, we're not exactly on good terms. I don't understand them and have no idea how they think. Sure, I was a kid at one point in time (and still am, really...), but who remembers anything from when they're 5 years old?

But then again, it's a writing exercise, so it doesn't really matter all that much in the end. I guess I'll give it a fighting try? Wish me luck...

Disclaimer: Mom, I have no idea where you were living when you were 5, but I remember you talking about Mississippi... So that's where you're going to be in this exercise. Forgive me for the historically incorrect lies I am about to weave.

5 minutes start ... now.

It is a warm spring day in Mississippi, and I am outside playing with my pet turtle. I've named him Chuckles, because he looks like he's smiling. My brothers, Wayne and Eric, are playing catch over by the clothesline. Mommy and Daddy are inside, but Daddy keeps coming out to check on us. I think they're reading inside or something.

5 minutes up............

That was an utter FAIL. Maybe it was laziness or an unwillingness to delve into what I perceive to be my mother's childhood, but I'm going to say that I was completely blank. I tried, really I did... But when I tried to think of something that could have possibly happened, I got absolutely nothing. Sorry, Mom. I love you. I just don't know anything about where you grew up.

I do know, however, that when she was a baby she tried to climb out of the window of her house. In fact, I think she succeeded and was hanging out on the roof right below the window when her Dad came to get her.

I also know that when her younger brother, Jeff, was born, she and her brothers used to tell him that he was adopted and called him Fluffy. I think that's right.

Oy. This was kind of a worthless post. I'll have to post something later on today that actually has some literary merit... or a topic. A topic would be good.

Once again, I beg your forgiveness. haha

I guess I shouldn't be begging forgiveness, because I am also of the belief that one should never apologize for their writing. So... I'm not sorry, damn it! hah

Anyways, that's all for this post. Check back later to see if I've posted something else.

Peace.
Stef.

Comments

Deb said…
Hey! Marks for actually doing it. I don't think I'm going to attempt it :)
Susan R. Mills said…
What a great exercise! I'll give it a shot!
Stef Howerton said…
Thanks, Strange Fiction. I guess I've got to give myself that one, don't I? Props for trying, even though I failed miserably. haha

Lazy Writer, good luck! Hopefully you're foray into the childhood of your mother will be more prosperous. :)

Thanks to you both for the comments!

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