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Southern born, Southern reared. It's a quirky place and we are unique folk... These are my people and these are my stories.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Something New ... and Creative!


Lately I have found painting/prints on the internet and have "pinned" them to my Pinterest account. At Pinterest I am allowed to write about 90 to 100 words about whatever I have pinned. I began to see if I could write the "story" behind the painting/print. 

As a writer, I've enjoyed this exercise very much. How about you? Give yourself about 100 words (you can type in a .doc and then copy and paste in the comments below). What does this story tell you? (You can see my story in the caption)




Book Shop, she thought, was not necessarily a creative name for the store. But she walked in anyway, drew the musky dust into her nostrils, and ran her fingers along the crackling leather. When she came upon a title locked somewhere in her memory, she slid the book from its tight place, found a seat on an old churhc pew, and opened the volume with reverence. "Ah," she said, after reading the first few lines. "I remember you. I remember you so well." And then she read some more.
Copyright: Eva Marie Everson

8 comments:

  1. Book Shop, the name lured her inside. Lover of books that she was, BJ realized that all the creativity resided within the covers of the various volumes, not in the name of the shop. After browsing through the old books, she found two favorites. Walden by Henry David Thoreau brought back memories of reading on a summer day, but a ragged Bible, her all-time favorite stirred her very being. Yellowed pages crumbled in her fingers, dust flew, and the smell of old books assaulted her senses as she read one of her favorite verses from Matthew.

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  2. Book Shop, she could never seem to pass by one. As Emily walked through the door the memories came flooding back to her. Memories of holding her Daddy's hand on their special Saturday dates. Her sweet Daddy used to buy her a book weekly and one day her mother had packed them all up and given them away. Emily's hope was always the same...one day in a book store, she would find one of her old books and give them to her own little girl.

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  3. Jim sat behind the dusty counter, hunched over an early edition of Moby Dick. He’d read it before, but the as cool autumn air blew past the shop’s open door, the smell of leaves and musty book covers led him to one of his favorite escapes. He’d taken the job at the Book Shop to scale the invisible walls around his small home town. Nothing happened in Smithville, except the 4th of July parade, and the Summer’s 4H County Fair. At 23, and with a farm hand’s education, college was out of reach too. Nothing ever happened in Smithville. Then Amelia stepped through the doorway.

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  4. A victim of cabin fever after the flu, Maggie meandered down Main. Her eyes were first drawn to the colorful pots of blooms outside, then the name overhead. Book Store. What? A new one. Awesome! She’d read everything in her meager library at least twice. Inside, she lightly traced gothic titles with her fingertip, her mind already on its way to some far-off exotic place. Ahh…just what she needed—a trip to anywhere but here…just somewhere over the rainbow. With a jaunty step, she paid for Jane Eyre and hurried home to read her favorite romance again.

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  5. Vincenzo looked at the shop with hopeful expectation. He couldn’t read the sign, but it was obviously a book store. Maybe they have a dictionary. Since leaving his on the train, Vincenzo has had to rely on broken sign language, and even worse English. Memories of his grandfather and the books Nonno would read to him came rushing back as Vincenzo stepped through the narrow entrance. From behind a stack of books, a voice called out something he didn’t understand. “I sorry”, Vincenzo replied. “No good English.”
    “Nessun problema”, came the reply in crystal clear Italian. “I’ve been expecting you.”

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  6. Thanks, love the idea. Here's my contribution:

    That’s what she loved about the little southern town along the coast. Walking along the sidewalk and exploring the quaint shops. Her heart started pacing as she eyed the ‘Book Shop’. The building was shaded by a canopy of trees with the late summer breeze blowing from the ocean. The leaves danced in a rhythmic motion ushering her to come in and linger. The aroma of the old books enveloped her almost into a trance. Their pages yellowed with age but still full of life and yet she sensed the history of those before her who once held and digested their every word.

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  7. Sandra stopped beside the barrel of red flowers and leaned over to scan the odd assortment of titles on the weathered bookcase. Every volume came from another time—without a single just-off-the-press one in sight. When she examined her reflection in the glass, a faint smile crossed her unlined face. She noted the words above the door, Old Books. No one knew her here. No one would ever imagine her age from her appearance. She took a deep breath and entered a place that represented the past to others, but held her present.

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  8. Fun exercise! Here's mine:

    She stepped inside the Book Shop, and the man behind the desk looked up.

    “Hi, Daddy!” she said brightly. Her Daddy’s blue eyes crinkled with his gentle smile.

    He said, “Hello, Sugar!” Then he looked back down at his work on the desk, and she stood for a minute, enjoying the scent of old books.

    She walked over to a shelf and scanned it. Ah—there it was! She carefully took the book out and headed for the back of the store. Before buckling down to homework, she would enjoy her little retreat, her journey to another world.

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