MMWUC: Writers Write

Even if you listen to music
just keep on writing.

Your Monday Morning Wake-up Call (MMWUC) is short and sweet today: Write. No pretenses. No excuses. Get the cat off the keyboard. Tell the family there's cereal, bread and butter, frozen TV dinners. There will be another sunny, rainy, snowy, windy day in the future to explore the outside. 500 words. Do it! Do it, now! Don't make me get Jillian Michaels on your case to sweat out those words. I know it's math 500 words a day x 300 days is 150,000 words. Hey, it's a novel or two!

I'm guilty just as you are of not giving myself permission enough to write. Let's stop that. Before you go to the next blog, twit, Facebook picture of fuzzy kittens, go write for 20 minutes.

Okay. It's the wake-up call. And it's short. I have to go write.

- - -

Ronald stared at the girl. She was in her mid-teens, maybe sixteen if he had to put an age to her face: light blue eyes framed by thick shoulder length chestnut hair-a Maureen Sullivan look. The small button nose centered or slightly oval face, and the lips were in need of puckering, primping, lipstick, and kissing to make the fuller. She wasn't perfect, but she was perfect to him, especially when she smiled and the dimples formed. How can the mere appearance of a dimple make him almost fall to the ground and blow in reverence in her direction. The girl listened to her friend, the more iconic blond cheerleader-type chatter on and on and on. He couldn't hear her words, but heard her nasal high-pitched voice and squeals of laughter when she said something she was obviously in love with. The girl...too impersonal, she was Robin to him wore a button-down brown coat with leather trim that extended to just below her knees. Her brown boots rose to meet the hem. She had a habit of touching the cheerleader on the shoulder with her brown-gloved hands. Leather also, Ronald assumed. The action always toned down the cheerleader as though Robin sensed the one-sided conversation had grown to loud even in the open air park shortly before noon on that Sunday.

He'd seen Robin twice before, distance glances, too brief to snack on. Today, was an unexpected feast. She's been there alone for five minutes, when he first thought about approaching her, but then the cheerleader arrived. Now, twenty minutes later, whatever courage he had dissipated.

Ronald had tired of his parents' continual arguing and left with his e-reader for the park despite the cool temperatures. The weather, however, was on his side. No wind stirred and the sunshine warmed his chosen little alcove. Early daffodils, grape hyacinths, and a trio of late-blooming Daphnes filled the air with a strong fragrance. A few early strollers lingered over the smell; he suspected they wanted the small bench he occupied. Not happening. He pilfered a soft drink, three egg bagels, and grabbed a handful of jellies and jams in little packets from the kitchen when he left. He'd eaten one of the bagels with grape jelly. For him, it as a gastronomical delight. He was there for the long haul, and seeing Robin was the bonus that crowned his day.

A boisterous voice up the path to his left yelled, "Yo!"

Robin and the cheerleader looked up. His stare met Robin's for a micro-second that burned in his heart.

- - Okay, 20 minutes up. 427 words. Just do it! - -