I’m finally back for the time being. There were some challenges during the time that I was maintaining this but, I did not stop from writing even on paper. So, I’ll be posting the updates here just now. I hope you guys will enjoy!
The found poem: Read a book and circle some words on a page. Use those words to craft a poem. Alternatively you can cut out words and phrases from magazines.
When the blindfolds came off,
the Writers’ Retreat participants had to squint in the mid-afternoon sun. They were in a boat, about to disembark on an island with pristine white sand. A look around confirmed that there were no other visible islands around it, just deep blue sea.
The island was beautiful.
There were villas on one side a few meters from the beach, lush forest on another side, and towards the distance, a large house. There were a multitude of people, taking their bags, helping them out of the boat and leading them to the shore, serving them welcome drinks and ushering them to a covered area where three scantily clad women were dancing Hawaiian to the beat of three well-muscled musicians on drums and ukuleles.
“Welcome to the Writer’s Retreat!” Stella walked up to the participants.
everyone was aware of the others. There were four of them. A six-foot tall senior citizen, two small mid-twenties women who were physical opposites of each other, and a thirty-something boy-next-door handsome guy eyeing Stella’s bikini-clad body under the thin cover-up.
“I’m sure all of you are tired and would want a chance to freshen up. Introductions will be done later during dinner. You have a couple of hours before then. The staff will lead you to your accommodations. Someone will pick you up at 7PM sharp to take you to the dinner area. There is no dress code, but since you will be meeting each other and the organizers, I suggest you look your best. See you all later!”
With that, Stella was off.
The participants were ushered off to different villas, where they unpacked, rested and prepared for the dinner. At a few minutes past 7PM, the writers were ushered into a sitting room, w here Stella, dressed in a long, flowing, sleeveless summer dress covered with colorful flowers, manned the bar, mixing cocktails and/or dispensing beer and wine for everyone, as they waited for the announcement of dinner.
Simon, dressed in a crisp white short-sleeved polo shirt tucked into tan slacks, nursed a glass of red wine and surveyed the people around him. He knew Stella from the invitation and follow-up meetings. His fellow authors looked like they were at the very least, half his age. The two women looked even younger by virtue of their height and youthful appearance. He was amused to note that they looked like mirror images of each other, but were nothing really alike. One was fair, thin and always smiling, the other dark, fuller and mostly serious.
“Hi! I’m Rodney!” Simon smiled as the friendly little one approached him. She was wearing a short white summer dress with sleeves.
“I’m Simon. . . “
“Oh my God, I have a confession to make. I used some of your work as references while I was trying to determine how to start writing for this retreat.”
“Thanks, I think,” Simon said.
Rodney giggled. “I particularly used the manual you put together on evidence gathering. That one really put me in the mood to write my manuscript.”
“It’s a wonder
it didn’t put you to sleep. What genre do you write?”
“Horror/Thriller/Paranormal. As far from true-to-life crime as you can get, so it was a struggle, as you can imagine.”