Writer In Motion Forum

Wow! Thank you everyone for sharing their stories and critiquing. I have learned a lot from this experience. It was my first time to do Writer in Motion and I am happy I decided to participate. I didn't post about my steps in the last two drafts so I thought I would post some about it here. For each draft, once I received critiques I copied off their notes and went through them one by one making changes (not every change needed to be made). I always find critiques helpful and have thick skin (thanks to graduate school) so I have no problem with people tearing apart my writing. I will write more about my experience this coming week.


"You'll feel free." They said. "Empowered."

Lies. All lies. It was hot, dirt clogged my mouth and nose and I hadn't taken a shower in days. My legs were hot noodles of pain, my thighs swollen three sizes too big and instead of self-assurance I gained existential crisis. Divorce should be the lowest point of life. Or infertility. Or rehab at thirty-two. Or the time a flock of birds pooed, not once, but multiple times in your hair during your first kiss. But no! This moment, when I am bare-foot, pants ripped, ass hanging out and miles away from any source of humanity--this was worse.

I took a hesitant step, cringing as spiky needles and hidden pine cones assaulted my feet. I sighed. The trail I was following was still nowhere to be found.

Hiking should provide peace by filling the body with endorphins until you say, "I've conquered this motherf'ing mountain and I can climb whatever hill of bullshit you throw at me now, life."

And to be fair that did happen. I reached the peak of the motherf'ing mountain/hill and I gained an oh, so brief, but exhilarating moment of clarity which I commemorated with the everlasting selfie. Who would have believed my journey without photographic evidence? Plus, I had planned for the moment. I stripped out of my hiking clothes, reveling in the suns warmth before donning a black ensemble. Hair perfect, body slimmed, camera timer on--I lit a flare stick, held onto a metal safety post and BAM! The perfect selfie.

I even had a thigh gap from which sunshine shone through like freaking rays of angels. It. Was. Perfect. I looked like I was flying. I looked like a hippie bad-ass.

But that was before IT happened. Before everything came crashing down, myself included, so fast every fat cell in my body rippled. Damn pigs. Who knew they could so mean? You see the movie Babe and you think, Awwwww! I want a baby piggy. But then an overgrown, hairy, monster charges you, and you have a new understanding.

Could anything be more humiliating than being mauled by a pig? A PIG! Maybe it was punishment for eating all those schnitzel dinners. Do I regret eating the pork--No, but now I would be more appreciative for its salty goodness.
 
Stabbing pain ripped me from my reverie as I stepped on a hidden pinecone. "When does the misery end?" I yelled to the forest gods, hopping on one foot.

The bushes to my left rustled. I froze, my heart hammering. Not again, not again, not again! I waited, scanning for any sign of a snout or horns or devilish beady eyes. The rustling stopped and I sighed in relief. I couldn't handle another flight for my life. One was humiliating enough.

My ears were still ringing from my pursuer?s piercing squeal during my mad dash only an hour ago. At least I thought it had been an hour--time no longer exists in the wild.

After another ten minutes wandering, I knew I was hopelessly lost. The trail was gone. I couldn't find my supplies, my shoes, food--ANYTHING! It was official. I was going to die there. The most I could expect was to be found in a week, emaciated and mentally unstable. Tears stung my eyes. I never liked hiking. Nature always tried to kill me. First by anaphylactic shock when a bee stung me on my wedding day. Secondly when bats dive-bombed me from a pine tree in front of my in-laws. My skirt had flipped up exposing my nethers and I could never meet their eyes again.

I let loose a devastated sob. Why me? Reese Witherspoon may be able to go WILD and hike like a goddess of nature, but I was no goddess.

Wiping my eyes, I noticed a figure in front of me. Watching me. I froze. It couldn't be! But it was! The same ravenous, territorial son of a bitch had hunted me down. It must have followed my scent of despair and mid-life crisis.

With a snort and growl it launched at me. I let loose an earth shattering wail and ran like hell. It didn't take long for me to trip and slam to the ground. I screamed. Impending doom advanced my exposed behind ready to gore with porcelain tusks. Frantic, I grabbed the nearest stick, turned and squeezed my eyes shut.

Blood sprayed across my face and I screamed. I am dying! I knew it was happening but...but...where were the flashes of my life? Was nothing worth remembering?

The squealing died down. And despite the fact I was drenched in blood I didn't feel any pain.

I peeked open an eye sealed shut by salty tears, and my mouth gaped. On the end of the stick, skewered through the throat was the wild boar, its eyes still lucid.

I scrambled away and dry heaved into a bush. My body shook when I looked back at the grotesque scene, mortified.

I did it! I killed the pig. That son of a bitch would never chase a helpless divorcee or middle-aged selfie enthusiast again. Finally, I was the master of nature. Suck it Reese!
It kicked a cloven hoof. I screamed and fell backwards into the nearest bushes, landing right on my missing back pack. Clothes, shoes, food, everything! Maybe I wasn't going to die after all.

On my feet again, I stared at the now motionless pig. "Hell, yeah!" I threw my fist in the air and leapt on my blistered feet. I was a survivor. Not a hopeless without a man. I was a bonafide, chauvinist pig-killer. "As soon as I get back I'm having bacon, baby!"

Thank you so much. This has been a great experience.

"You'll be free." They said. "Empowered."

Lies. All lies. It's hot, dusty, I haven't taken a proper shower in days. My legs are hot noodles of pain, my thighs swollen three sizes too big and instead of self-assurance I have gained existential crisis. Divorce should be the lowest point of life. Or infertility, rehab at thirty-two or the time a flock of bird's poo, not once, but multiple times in your hair during your first kiss. But no! This moment, when I am bare-foot, pants ripped bad enough to know my ass is hanging out and I am hundreds of miles away from any source of humanity--this is worse.

I take a hesitant step forward aware I am in a minefield of spikey needles and hidden pinecones. I sigh. The trail I was following is still nowhere to be found.

Hiking should provide peace. It fills the body with endorphins until you say, "I've conquered this motherf'ing mountain and I can climb whatever hill of bullshit you throw at me now life."

And to be fair that did happen. I reached the peak of the mountain/hill (but for my own gratuity it is a motherf'ing mountain) and I gained an oh so brief but exhilarating moment of clarity which I commemorated with the everlasting selfie. Who would believe my journey without photographic evidence? Plus, I had planned for the moment. I stripped from my hiking clothes, relishing in the suns warmth before donning a black ensemble. Hair perfect, body slimmed--I lit a flare stick, held onto a metal safety post and BAM! The perfect selfie.

I even had a thigh gap from which sunshine shone through like freaking rays of angels. It. Was. Perfect. I looked like I was flying in the sky. I looked like a hippie bad-ass.

But that was before IT happened. Before everything came crashing down, myself included, so fast every fat cell in my body rippled.
 
A pine needle pricked the bottom of my foot, ripping me from my reverie and I hopped around shouting to the forest gods, "When does the misery end?"

The bushes to my left rustled. I froze, my heart hammering. Not again, not again, not again! I waited, scanning for any sign of a snout or horns or devilish beady eyes. The rustling stopped and I took a deep sigh of relief. I couldn't handle another flight for my life. One is humiliating enough. Two is when the angels have turned their back.

My ears are still ringing from the piercing squeal of the pursuer during my mad dash for salvation only an hour ago. At least I think it?s been an hour?time no longer exists in the wild. Damn pigs. Who knew they could so mean? You see the movie Babe and you think, Awwwww! I want a baby piggy. But then an overgrown, hairy, monster pig races at you, nearly knocking you off a cliff and you have a new life understanding.

Could anything be more humiliating then being mauled by a pig? A PIG! Maybe it's punishment for eating all those schnitzel dinners. Do I regret eating the pork--no, but now I will be more thankful for its yumminess.

After another ten minutes I know I am lost. The trail is gone. Without it I can't find my supplies, my shoes, food--ANYTHING! It is official. I am going to die here. The most I can expect is to be found in a week emaciated and mentally unstable. Tears sting my eyes. I never liked hiking. Nature always tried to kill me. First by causing anaphylactic shock when a bee stung me on my wedding day. Secondly when bats dive-bombed me from a pine tree in front of my in-laws. My skirt had flipped up exposing my nethers and I could never meet their eyes again.

I let loose a devastated sob. Why me?

Wiping my eyes, I notice a figure in front of me. Watching me. I freeze. It couldn't be! But it is! The same ravenous, territorial son of a bitch pig from before has hunted me down. It must have followed my scent of despair and mid-life crisis.

With a snort and growl it launched at me. I let loose a half sob-half earth shattering wail and run like hell. It didn't take long for me to trip and slam to the ground. I screamed at the sound of impending doom advancing my exposed behind. Frantic, I grabbed the nearest stick, turning and thrusting it forward.

I screamed again as blood sprayed across my face, blinding my eyes. I am dying! I knew it was happening but...but...where are the flashes of my life? Could I not be allowed a fraction of comfort while a boar shredded my body?

The squealing died down. And despite the fact I knew I was drenched in blood I didn't feel any pain.

Peeking open an eye sealed shut by salty tears my whole body shuddered at the sight in front of me. On the end of the stick, skewered through the throat was the wild boar, its eyes still lucid.

I scrambled away and dry heaved into a bush. My body was shaking when I looked back at the boar, mortified and curious of the grotesque scene.

I had done it! I killed the pig. That son of a bitch would never chase a helpless divorcee or middle-aged selfie enthusiast again. Finally, I was the master of nature.

"Hell, yeah!" I threw my fist in the air and leapt to my feet. I pointed at the beast, its gaze still on me. "As soon as I get back I'm having bacon, baby!"

It kicked a cloven hoof and I screamed, falling through a stretch of bushes and onto my back pack. My clothes, shoes, food, everything! I'm not going to die. I am a survivor. Not a hopeless woman, but a survivor. I could have wept if I wasn't so dehydrated.

Great work on the relationships.

A little bit about my first draft process. I looked at the prompt the day it came out, studying it for a moment before ideas started firing. Usually it starts with questions: "Why does she have no shoes?", "Did she hike there with no shoes?", "Who would hike without shoes?"--the shoe thing seemed to stick out to me. After that I ponder on the prompt for a short time (could be a few hours or days). With this prompt I actually woke up with the characters voice in my head two days later and started to write. It was strange because I usually write Young Adult and Middle Grade but the voice in my head was Adult. Very adult but I rolled with it and had a blast.

I admit I caught myself a few times trying to edit. I usually write in chunks during times possible at work and therefore need to reread the paragraph before to sink back into the character. It was during those moment I caught myself editing. But I tried my best and had fun with the character. Excited to check out everyone's stories.

You?ll feel free, they said. Empowered, they said. Lies. All lies. It?s hot, dusty, I haven?t taken a proper shower in a week. My legs are burning, feet are dying, thighs feel three sizes too large and instead of clarity I have gained existential crisis. You think divorce would be the lowest point of your life. Or infertility, rehab at thirty-two or the time a flock of birds poo-ed not once but multiple times in your hair during your first kiss. But no! This moment, while I am bare-foot, my pants ripped in the back badly enough to know my ass is hanging out and I am hundreds of miles away from any source of humanity?this is worse.

I hobbled over spikey needles and hidden pinecones ready to skewer my bare feet.

God I could eat a whole pumpkin pie right now. Or a whole loaf of pumpkin bread. Anything pumpkin?who doesn?t want pumpkin during the fall? Anarchists? Cheaters? Fertile twenty-year-olds with cherry red fake lips and even more atrocious spiked nails? They are diabolical.

Hiking is meant to provide peace. It ups the endorphins until you can tell yourself, ?I?ve climbed this motherf?ing mountain and I can climb whatever hill of bullshit you?ve got for me now life.? And to be fair all of those things did happen. I reached the peak of a mountain-slash-hill but for my own gratuity it is a motherf?ing mountain and I gained an oh so brief but exhilarating moment of clarity and self-assurance. I knew I needed to commemorate the moment with a perfectly timed photograph. I had planned for the moment. I stripped off my hiking clothes, relishing in the warm sun against my naked skin before donning a gorgeous black ensemble. Shoes off, hair perfect, body slimmed and primed. This was my mountain!

I even had a small thigh gap from which sunshine shone through like freaking rays of angels. It was perfect. I looked as if I was flying in the sky. I looked like a freaking hippie bad-ass.

Hell yeah!

But that was right before IT happened. Right before everything came crashing down, myself included, so fast every fat cell in my body rippled.
 
?When does the misery end?? I shout to the surrounding forest. I pause for an answer, hoping maybe a non-murdering hiker is nearby. But only a whisper of wind sways leaves on the trees. ?Fuck!?

The bushes to my left rustle. I freeze, unable to take another step on my poor swollen, and bleeding feet. Not again, not again, not again! I wait, peering into the dark foliage trying to discern a snout or horns or devilish beady eyes, but the rustling stops and there is nothing. I take a deep sigh of relief. I can?t take another flight for my life. One is humiliating enough. Two is when the angels have turned their back and figure your life isn?t worth saving. That is when you have hit the bottom. The. Very. Bottom.

The ear piercing squeal and snort from my pursuer during the mad dash for salvation is still ringing in my ears. And it has been at least an hour, or maybe twenty minutes, but for life or death moments it HAS been an hour. Damn pigs. Who knew they could so mean. You see the movie Babe and you think, Awwwww! I want a baby piggy. But then an overgrown, hairy, monster pig races at you from the nearby brush, nearly knocking you off a cliff and into oblivion and you have a new life understanding.

And could anything be more humiliating then telling people you were mauled by a pig? A PIG! Maybe it?s a lesson for eating all those delicious schnitzel dinners. Do I regret eating the pork?no, but maybe I will be more thankful for the goodness filling my gob.

Trekking another ten minutes I realize I have no idea where I am going. The trail is definently gone. Without it I can?t find my supplies, my shoes, food?ANYTHING! It is official. I am going to die here. The most I can expect is to be found in a week, emaciated (with God?s help) and mental unstable. I knew this would happen. I never liked hiking. Nature itself has always tried to kill me from my first anaphylactic shock on being stung by a bee on my wedding day to being dive-bombed by bats from a pine tree in front of my in-laws. My skirt ended up flipping up, over my backside when I fell and my new family saw way too much of the nether regions for a first time introduction.

Just as I let loose a devastating sob and figure burst from the brush only a few feet in front of me.  I froze, terrified, shaking my head back and forth that it could b ehappening again. But it was! Without a doubt it was the same ravenous, territorial son of a bitch pig from before. It had hunted me down. Cued on my despair and mid-life crisis scent it tracked me down to finish the job.

With a screeching, snort and guttural growl it launched at me. I let loose my own war cry, a half sob-half earth shattering wail, and ran like hell. It didn?t take long for me to trip over something and slam to the ground. I could hear the impending doom behind me ready to gore my exposed behind. Before it reached me I grabbed the nearest stick, turning in time to thrust the object forward.

The squealing from before intensified, the stuck ripped from my palms, skin shredded. I screamed again as blood sprayed across my face, into my mouth and I gagged. I was dying! I knew it was happening but?but?where were the slow motion pictures of my life? Why was nothing there? Could I not be allowed a fraction of comfort while a boar shredded my body?

The squealing had died down. And despite the fact I knew I was drenche din blood I didn?t feel any pain.

Peeking open an eye sealed shut by salty tears and by now streaking mascara I my whole body shuddered at the sight in front of me. On the end of the stick, skewered through the throat was the wild boar, its eyes still vaguely lucid.

I scrambled away from the murder scene and dry heaved into a bush. When I was sure nothing else was going to come out I sat up. My body was shaking when I looked back over a thte boar, mortified and oddly curious of the grotesque scene.

I had done it! I had killed the pig. That son of a bitch would never chase done a helpless divorcee or middle-aged selfie enthusiast. Finally, I was the master of nature. I could feel the accomplishment and pride swell in my chest.

?Hell, yeah!? I threw my fist in the air and leapt to my feet. I pointed down at the beast, its gaze still resting onme. ?As soon as I get back I am having some bacon, baby!?

It kicked a cloven hoof and I screamed, backing away, falling through a stretch of prickly bushes. But on the other side was my back pack. My clothes, shoes, food, everything! I wasn? tgoin g to die. I was a survivor. Not a hopless naiive woman but a survivor. I could have wept if I wasn?t so dehydrated.