Well, it's 8:15 pm, and I still have no piece completed for my class.
I also still don't have a solid idea, which is kind of hampering the progress.
I spent most of the afternoon and evening supervising my daughters and their friends as they ice skated. Originally, I planned that I could be writing while I kept an eye on them. But one of the other moms came along, so that obligated me to chat with her and be friendly.
My daughters are telling me to just lie and make something up. I'm like, No Way! It's Memoir; I'm not going to lie about my life.
It just wouldn't feel right for this assignment. Okay, my first idea of writing about a hotel I love completely flopped. I could tell from the first paragraph that it wasn't going to sing. I'm going to try writing about patience learned from parenting.
Here's all I had written earlier:
It is so beautiful here, with the lights beginning to turn on and twinkle, little bits of gold sparkled about in the trees and on the buildings.
I come awake in the early morning light, with that sense of confused in-between that often accompanies waking. Trying to figure out where I am, I slowly open my eyes and take in the room. Shell pink walls end in wood molding. White curtains flutter in the breeze of the open window, ushering in the gentle hum and bustle of traffic noise from the street below.
(Boring right? I mean, it's okay for a description of a very generic room, but hardly a hook-y opening.)