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bird cage, clock, creative writing, inspiration, photo, photography, writing, writing exercise, writing prompt
Welcome to the Picture it & Write creative writing exercise. I invite people to join in, comment with your paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. It doesn’t have to follow my story or reflect the same themes. It can be a poem or in a different language (please provide a translation). Anyone who wants to join in, is welcome. This photograph will be reblogged under Ermisenda on tumblr and added to the Picture it & Write gallery on Facebook and Pinterest.
Please continue to write however you’re inspired, but add a tag to the beginning of your post if there’s mature content in order to keep Picture it & Write an engaging event for all of our followers.
I am a slave to time. I do not eat because I am hungry. I eat because too much time has past since I ate last. Since I’ve only eaten soup today, I drive to Taco Bell. “Bad for me” doesn’t begin to describe what I am about to put in my mouth. Though I will spend the next three hours making at least eight trips to the toilet, I stuff my face like a crack addict getting her next fix.
–Eliabeth Hawthorne
Everyone is welcome to use the button, just link them back to the Picture it & Write category or Ermiliablog! 
Share your love for Picture it & write on your blog with the image below. Be proud, and stylish 
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Ermilia 
Republicou isso em VIVIMETALIUN.
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Here’s my contribution, something a little bit different: A Ballad! Hope you enjoy!
This is the first ballad submitted to Picture it & Write. Very unique! Poor birdy but I absolutely loved it.
Here is my entry:
http://msudlj.com/2013/12/21/picture-it-write-tick-tock/
Thanks for participating. I enjoyed the subtle rhyme.
Here is my entry:
http://livinglifegreenspeck.blogspot.in/2013/12/the-bird-will-be-free.html
Made me think of “set it free and if it returns to you, it is truly yours.”
Here is my entry:
http://ayusheeghoshal.blogspot.in/2013/12/picture-it-write-flew-away.html
Everything flowed except the “You chained yourself.” I didn’t understand that line but I liked the rest.
Pingback: Picture it and Write: The Lord’s Clock | Joe2stories
Good piece Eliabeth. Here’s mine http://joe2stories.wordpress.com/2013/12/22/picture-it-and-write-the-lords-clock/
Enjoy
Joe
Pingback: Picture it & Write Creative Writing Exercise: The Cage | IF I ONLY HAD A TIME MACHINE
This is my first time for this challenge. I found it through another blogger. Here is my entry. http://mholloway63.wordpress.com/2013/12/22/picture-it-write-creative-writing-exercise-the-cage/
Inspired from Amrit’s post to take part
http://myfriendshipsimran.blogspot.in/2013/12/out-of-boundaries-free-bird.html#.UrhXqtIW3fI
A bit of melancholy this go round: http://starvingactivist.com/blog/2013/12/23/picture-it-write-22-december-2013-master-of-time/
I love this, Eliabeth. I comment because too much time has passed since I last did. ♥
My Grandmother’s Clock
…published here because here is perhaps the only place I ever belonged.
♫ 90 years without slumbering, tick tock, tick tock… ♪
There’s no way I could explain what those words meant to me when I finally sang them softly to myself over Nana’s grave.
♫ Tick. ♪
Tears.
♫ Tock. ♪
Tears.
I hated those words as a child when I heard them and I hated Mama for singing them. They hung over my head, a ticking clock of impending doom, a threat that I might never reach adulthood. And that if I did, it would only be to meet my ultimate demise, haunted the long way by the reality of time that had never been on my side. It hung over my head like a curse.
Time, the song, was like a ghost story, and the evil narrator – perpetrator – has realized that the horror is ever the more devastating when sung as a lull-a-bye.
But that all ended, and Nana died. Young. She stopped short, like the lyrics to the song she had passed down by generation… never to go again… and I realized something I had not realized before.
Mama was stupid.
Mama never listened to her mother. I know how that sounds, but I did listen to mine, and that’s how I knew she was stupid.
Nana knew something beyond that… or perhaps before. She knew in the words of a song she sung to an infant who would one day grow to hate her, that the song would outlive them both, outlive her daughter and through it, her wisdom would carry on to someone who could understand.
Nana never lived to 90 like the words in her song. She died when I was a teenager still hating my mother who sung those words to me.
I understand now.
I understand as Nana did, that I can’t depend on my daughter to understand. But I can sing. And singing, I can depend on others to love a song and carry it on to someone else who understands as I did.
♫ My grandfather’s clock was too tall for the shelf
so it stood 90 years on the floor.
It was taller by half than the old man himself
though it weighed not a penny-weight more. ♪♫
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Oh I had lots of fun with this one. This really got me going.