If you fly in writing circles, you’ll hear the sage counsel, “Write what you know,” although one might wonder what you’re doing flying in circles when you should be at your computer.
Write what you know. And tap into your imagination.
Mutually exclusive thoughts? Hardly. Anyone can write a compelling story coupling imagination and (personal experience).
* * *
Carried on waves of Bach flowing from the skilled fingers of the string quartet (the way- past-retirement-age Wurlitzer organ), the bride floated through the marble archway of the cathedral (crumbling stucco church slated for demolition). Imported gardenias (mold from the church attic) scented the air. A soft (stiff) breeze from the open air courtyard (rattle-trap box fans) stirred (blew) her stylish (limp) tendrils framing (clinging to) her glowing (heat stroked) face.
Her designer (homemade) gown of imported Belgian lace with imbedded Swarovski crystals (bargain lace imbedded with straight pins she neglected to remove) rustled richly (stuck to her damp skin) in the fair air (hundred degree heat with off the charts humidity) as she made her way toward the altar (altar).
The music faded (the organ belched to a halt) as the uniformed (powder blue tuxed) groom reached for his bride’s bejeweled (sweaty) hand.
“We are gathered together…” (“We are gavered togewuh…”)
“You may kiss the bride.” (“Okay, enough already! You may stop kissing the bride!”)
The crowd made its way in silver limos (down the back stairs of the church) to the lavishly appointed (crepe paper strewn) reception hall (basement) for a lush banquet of lobster bisque and bacon-wrapped filet mignon (cake, ice cream, and pillow mints).
Warmed by the well-wishes of their guests (warmed by the sweltering August heat), the newly married couple waved their goodbyes and slipped into their white horse-drawn carriage (‘65 Chevy) and headed for tropical waters (mosquito-infested woods) and their honeymoon at the posh resort (fishing lodge) in Aruba (northern Minnesota).
Dangling their feet in turquoise waters (dangling their fishing lures near the mouths of hungry walleye), the star-struck (star-struck) couple pledged their undying (undying) love to the sound of wandering reggae minstrels (crickets and loons).
And they lived happily ever after (Yup. Thirty-five years and counting).
Write what you know. And tap into your imagination.
Mutually exclusive thoughts? Hardly. Anyone can write a compelling story coupling imagination and (personal experience).
* * *
Carried on waves of Bach flowing from the skilled fingers of the string quartet (the way- past-retirement-age Wurlitzer organ), the bride floated through the marble archway of the cathedral (crumbling stucco church slated for demolition). Imported gardenias (mold from the church attic) scented the air. A soft (stiff) breeze from the open air courtyard (rattle-trap box fans) stirred (blew) her stylish (limp) tendrils framing (clinging to) her glowing (heat stroked) face.
Her designer (homemade) gown of imported Belgian lace with imbedded Swarovski crystals (bargain lace imbedded with straight pins she neglected to remove) rustled richly (stuck to her damp skin) in the fair air (hundred degree heat with off the charts humidity) as she made her way toward the altar (altar).
The music faded (the organ belched to a halt) as the uniformed (powder blue tuxed) groom reached for his bride’s bejeweled (sweaty) hand.
“We are gathered together…” (“We are gavered togewuh…”)
“You may kiss the bride.” (“Okay, enough already! You may stop kissing the bride!”)
The crowd made its way in silver limos (down the back stairs of the church) to the lavishly appointed (crepe paper strewn) reception hall (basement) for a lush banquet of lobster bisque and bacon-wrapped filet mignon (cake, ice cream, and pillow mints).
Warmed by the well-wishes of their guests (warmed by the sweltering August heat), the newly married couple waved their goodbyes and slipped into their white horse-drawn carriage (‘65 Chevy) and headed for tropical waters (mosquito-infested woods) and their honeymoon at the posh resort (fishing lodge) in Aruba (northern Minnesota).
Dangling their feet in turquoise waters (dangling their fishing lures near the mouths of hungry walleye), the star-struck (star-struck) couple pledged their undying (undying) love to the sound of wandering reggae minstrels (crickets and loons).
And they lived happily ever after (Yup. Thirty-five years and counting).
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