Writers invited – come one, come all, come free write with us. <–Click to Tweet this
This is where a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing ’em over here.
How to Join:
Want to know how Five Minute Friday got started and how to participate? All the details are here.
Featured Five Minute Friday:
And every week I’ll pick a post that caught my eye and share it down there in my side bar – see where it says “Featured #FiveMinuteFriday”? Yea -that could be you! Hop on over and visit some folk who make fireworks in just five minutes. They inspire me.
Meet the #FMFParty Writers:
And did you know there’s a whole community of writers that connect online before the prompt goes live on Friday nights? They use the Twitter hashtag #FMFParty and are about the most encouraging group around.
Now, set your timer, clear your head, for five minutes of free writing without worrying about getting it right.
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
Oh and Ahem, if you would take pity and turn off comment verification, it would make leaving some love on your post that much easier for folks!
OK, are you ready? Please give us your best five minutes on:::
It was a hot, humid Washington D.C. summer. You were 21. And coming to meet me after work. I was waiting at the foot of the glass and steel office building in Judiciary Square, watching the escalator. Jaime asked me if I was OK, and it was hard to pay attention to anything he was saying, my eyes flicking back and forth at those rolling stairs, my heart waiting, impatient.
It was over 100 degrees and raining. My feet were wet and my hair clung down my back. Or maybe it was wound up tight in a French twist. I don’t remember that part. I know I was wearing heels. I’d forgotten my umbrella, of course. And when you came up that last top step and into the rain I couldn’t stop watching. Your hair was short, short with the cowlick in front you try to gel down standing up. You were wearing a light blue dress shirt and it was just damp in bits and places from the weather. Your left hand trailed the edge of the escalator edge – what is that thing called anyway?
You stepped off and looked around and I stayed where I was just watching you looking for me.
Knowing you needed to find me was like home and an international flight folded into one. My stomach buzzed. And I stepped out from under the roof toward you. And when you saw me you grinned quiet. And I met you across puddles and under an open sky and you wrapped me up into arms so strong at 21 that at 36 wrap around our daughter.
I’ve loved you a hundred hundred rain storms since then.