[stylist] new writing prompt

Mon Feb 6 22:12:18 UTC 2012

Barbara,
I enjoyed this piece, and it's nice to see you experimenting with prose. We
had a long hill in a farmer's bull pen that ran down to a creek. It had
several dips like you describe, and you had to vere off at the end to avoid
the creek. One day, my brother hit a tree and broke his arm. I don't
remember sitting cross-legged on our sled, but that's how we sat on our
coasters. My guess is that this is the closest I'll get to snow this year,
as we're having an extremely warm winter.
Donna

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Barbara Hammel
Sent: Friday, February 03, 2012 3:41 PM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] new writing prompt

Hey, for once it's not a poem!

SLEDDING

Erin couldn't feel the coldness of the dented metal saucer sled she held in 
her mittened hands, but she knew it was. Her housemother said it was ten 
degrees, colder than it was yesterday when Anna got her tongue stuck on it. 
Why did little kids always have to try that? She'd gotten her tongue stuck 
to the window frame on the bus a couple of years ago which taught her that 
lesson.
Erin set the sled down at the top edge of the first of three hills behind 
the Old Hospital building. She sat down on the sled and pulled her booted 
feet out of the foot-deep bank and folded them Indian-style.
She fumbled with the rope handles before she finally got her hands tucked in

them. Then rocking herself back and forth, she finally propelled the sled 
forward.
The sled made a squeaking sound as it began to pick up speed. By the time it

reached the level before the second hill, it was whooshing along.
The second hill gave her more speed and she practically flew over the level 
before the third hill.
Going down the third hill, the snow sprayed in her face as she rushed along.

She almost felt butterflies in her stomach going down that hill.
She sped across the flat ground and as the sled began it's ascent toward the

street, Erin tipped into the snow on purpose. It didn't matter to her if it 
wasn't a busy street; it was wrong to play there and she wasn't going to do 
it, even if by accident.
As she wiped the snow out of her face, she laughed with abandon, as only a 
child can. That was exhilarating! She couldn't wait to get to the top and do

it again.
Just as she got to her feet, Emily slid into her and knocked her back down. 
She was glad the snow was deep.
For the second time she wiped the snow out of her face, and struggled to 
gain her footing. Three pairs of jeans made it hard for her to bend her 
knees and two shirts and her bulky winter coat made moving her arms hard. 
The two extra pairs of socks were keeping her feet warm but her pants had 
come untucked and snow was now inside her right pant leg.
Through her two pairs of knitted mittens she again had a difficult time 
grasping one of the ropes so she could pull the sled.
The snow was deep but Erin was glad it had so recently fallen. For, even 
though she had to flounder through the deep drifts up the fairly steep 
hills, it wasn't icy like it would be once sled and foot tracks were worn 
into them.

Barbara

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
-----Original Message----- 
From: Barbara Hammel
Sent: Wednesday, February 01, 2012 12:38 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] new writing prompt

Even though tomorrow is Groundhog's Day which will set hearts yearning for 
spring, we haven't had much winter here in the midwest and I'm longing for a

bit of it.  Tell about your favorite thing to do during this time of cold.
Barbara

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
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