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Welcome to The Inkwell, the blog site of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) of Colorado.

Each week on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, you can find a wide variety of topics and insight
from inspiration to instruction to humor and more!

For detailed information on ACFW, click here to visit their main website.


Monday, March 9, 2009

Ask the cat. She knows everything

Writing is hard. Hours and hours of sweat and tears, rejections and rewrites not only add a few deep lines on our faces, but drain us from the creativity that sparked out desire to write in the first place.

My Words for the Journey friends like to joke about writers lurking on the "dark side" coming into the light (fiction or non-fiction depending on your primary genre). When someone pokes their hand into the air above their head and makes a sheepish announcement that they've secretly been banging out cozies, a group of us whoop and holler. Same said when one of us "liars" is plunged into the realm of writing reality.

Should writers be super-glued to one type of writing, or does a blend of fiction and non-fiction enhance the over-arching writing experience?

More than a month ago, I started writing real stuff for a news and "info-snacking" website that delves deep into Denver's many characters. My assignment is to publish a minimum of 4 article each week on the subject of outdoor recreation. Dang. I can't even come up with four blog entries in an entire month!

Slamming the journalist's hat on my head, I slung my camera over my shoulder and set off to stalk stories that would generate a high volume of page hits.

Approaching the ordinary from a unique angle sharpened my observation skills and stories showed themselves everywhere.

So much so, I have to look at my idea list and choose the direction I want to take for a few days.

Most surprising is how my writing the real stuff ignited a steel-melting inferno of story ideas for my fiction writing! Developing my journalism self is enhancing my fiction and vice-versa.

Knowing I need to grab attention with my headline and first sentence, my ideas need to be twisted. I must play with words and ideas. Play. Imagine that!

In the spirit of play, I'm gonna ask you to join me. Don't be a pooper - trust me, this will jump start your brain. The prompt below is from the Writer's Digest Writing Kit.

You realize one day that your cat has the ability to time travel and that he's been checking in on you from time to time throughout your life. Tell his story from his point of view.

Darcie Gudger is a member of ACFW. She completed her first novel which is being pitched by her agent. She also writes for as an outdoor recreation columnist/journalist. When not writing, she can be found Booger wrangling or in the woods trying to get lost.


D. Gudger said...

Chloe lifted a tiny white paw to her mouth and stroked it with her tongue.

He-who-sits-on-cats thundered around the house chasing Esau waving drumsticks. A mere inconveince considering the fame and fortune that annoying creature would someday bring to the house.

Last night, Chloe overheard Mommy and Daddy arguing about those horrid drums. Daddy held one of the round blue things He-who-sits-on-cats shoves The Blob in and bangs out a rhythm to music on the radio. Poor thing was so traumatized she didn't eat for days.

Wait. That's not such a bad thing. For once, Chloe got to savor her entire meal!

"But he likes drums, John," Mommy said twirling a stick in her fingers.

"I still think he'll have more options when he's older if he plays French Horn."

Pushing her chin toward the ceiling over outstretched paws, Chloe yawned. If Daddy only knew.

Yesterday Chole had gone on one of her adventures. No one but her knew of the time continuum vortex in the back left corner of the green litterbox. If you peed on it just right, time travel to any era was possible.

Chloe found herself dodging the feet of millions of dancing, jumping and singing people. Trying not to become a cat-pancake, she pivoted and hopped to the front of the mob.

The he was. He-who-sits-on-cats, uplit with golden stage lights, blurred wedges at the end of his hands that had to be drum sticks. Sweat poured off his fuzzy not-so-little head onto the snare head.

A few hits of the toms and a cymbal before the crowd erupted into a frenzy.

He-who-sits-on-cats pushed the stool away, picked up a funny box with strings and walked to a mic. Fingers dancing, he dipped his head and had started singing about Jesus.

"Honey, I know he likes to bang around on these things, but seriously, there's no way he'll ever play in more than a garage band."

A white paw swept through white whiskers. Mommy and Daddy? If you only knew.

Paulette Harris said...

That is toooo cute Darcie. I love the story and that picture. What a cool picture that is. I could come up with all kinds of stories for that picture. He looks a little traumatized don't ya think?

Good job!

Paulette Harris

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