Writing - grace grits and gardening

Conditions Apply

December 1, 2013 By Talya Tate Boerner

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Her journey began simply enough.

She had no real concept of the process.

After spilling her soul onto paper, publishers would clamber for her story.

Right?

After all, you can grow up and do anything your heart desires…

Now she understands.

Spirit and resolve and twisting words until they hum aren’t enough.

Other conditions apply.

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life

This was written especially for Write Tribe 55 on Friday. Write 55 words on the prompt: Conditions Apply.

Living Outside Herself

November 18, 2013 By Talya Tate Boerner

Each afternoon they chatted beside the warm fire.

He shared memories of his life as a young man, nearly century old memories.

She listened and sensed the man he once was when his life was full and productive.

Did you always want to be a traveling salesman?

No. I took whatever job came along after the war. I had to think of my wife and young kids. Did you always want to be a banker?

I never wanted to be a banker. I took whatever job came along after college.

Winter melted.

Soon he would leave.

As they sat together on the porch swing, he thought of yesterday.

She thought of something more.

She dared to imagine a different life.

Have you decided what you want to do when you grow up, he asked with a chuckle.

Write. I’ve always wanted to write. But change is scary, unfamiliar. She glanced to the trees searching for answers.

He nodded in agreement. When you start to live outside yourself, it’s all dangerous.

***

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

This post was written for Write Tribe – Hemingway prompt (weave a story or poem around a Hemingway quote…) “When you start to live outside yourself, it’s all dangerous.” – Ernest Hemingway, The Garden of Eden

Mother and Child

November 15, 2013 By Talya Tate Boerner

They sit together like this every night, his downy head nestling underneath her chin. Moonlight peeps through the window spreading a glow over the tiny room filled with baby things. All is calm, all is quiet other than the rhythmic sound of chair runner against hard wood floor. She considers all the babies soothed in this old rocker, handed down from past generations. He wraps his warm hand around her finger. She breathes him in. Powder, milk, sweetness. She wonders who he will become.