So I'm on a journey. Doesn't that sound cliche? Because it is. Everyone is on a journey; to health, happiness, mental well-being. Mine may be far from interesting, but this is how it's going to go down.
I bought a book. It's how to tap into your creative writing skills using prompts. I'm going to do them, but I'm going to post them on here for all to read. Maybe you'll connect, maybe you won't, but I'm doing it despite the pounding in my ears and my shaky hands which are not a result of me coming down from hard drugs. I play a good game of not being shy. I'm friendly and outgoing and utterly useless when it comes to crocheting.
So here's today's prompt:
Write a page in which you dramatize (not summarize) a noteworthy experience from either today, yesterday, or many years ago.

When I was a kid I played at the beach...a lot. We lived maybe 10 minutes from the shores of sunny Southern California and utilized this convenience all the time. I had one of those swimsuits where the crotch liner used to be like a pocket for sand to accumulate and if you tried to get into the ocean to wash it out it only filled with more sand every time a wave lifted you off your toes. My strawberry blond hair was long and straggly and wild and usually filled with sand. I loved the beach, but each trip kinda blended in with the others because we did the same thing every time. I boogy boarded and made sand castles and watch the rollerskaters in their late 70s early 80s short shorts. On men this was not attractive.
Contentment is the only word I can think of to describe this ritualistic family thing. It was good. I got buried in sand by my twin sister while my mom worked on her tan.
Then one day Dad showed me the coolest thing. When the waves recede and the smooth wet California sand is revealed there are little air bubbles that look a lot like pancakes do when they're ready to be flipped over. I had my bucket ready to make yet another tower for my sand castle when he came over and started digging in silence. When he washed the sand away, there on the palm of his hand was a tiny little hermit crab.
He smiled at me with a mustachy smile that hid his upper teeth and when the next wave receded we started digging. I caugh five. Over the course of the afternoon I caught a bucketful. I had no idea what I was going to do with them, but I did it. I dug for hermit crabs until the sun was ready to go to sleep.