30 Days of Writing: Day One

Today, May 1st, I am starting a 30 day writing challenge. This will be 30 days of “shippable” material. That means whether it is a blog, a poem, an article, an open letter, a short story, a chapter from a book… it will be something I write that day that I can publish on here and share via my social networks.

I have some rather large dreams and aspirations… this is going to kick start those dreams for me, at least that is what I keep telling myself. So for Day 1 I think I will write a microfiction in under 15 minutes. I am putting a time limit because it is right now 11:29PM Central time, which means I have just around a half hour to write, edit and post my Day 1 writing.

So here we go, I look forward to you joining me in this challenge. Please follow along, write comments and share in this journey with me. Also for all of my English/Writing enthusiasts I would love it if you commented or direct messaged me with SPECIFIC writing challenges… I WOULD ACTUALLY LOVE THAT. Please, can you do that?



I remember sitting next to her in Geometry. Her frizzy brown hair. She refused to get a hair cut. Honestly, I think she refused to even brush that overflowing mess. Her dull brown eyes seemed to always have a glaze, probably reflecting the haze that coated her mind. She was that girl. Every high school class had THAT girl.

The girl was her own worst enemy. The lunches she brought, the words she babbled, the ridiculous clothes she wore and wore and wore. I never made fun of her to her face. But I didn’t really blame the others that did.

Why couldn’t she just stop being herself? Why couldn’t she just learn her lesson and come in to school acting normal?

I remember sitting next to her in Geometry. She was always especially shy around me. I’d ask for a pencil. She’d advert her eyes.

We went to the same youth group together. I saw her twice a week outside of school. Of course I didn’t tell anyone that, Why would I? She did enough daily to damage her own reputation. Why should I have let her taint mine?

I remember sitting next to her in Geometry. The day before at youth group I told my pastor I wanted Jesus in my life. She was there. She stared at me while I wept during his message. She didn’t pull away her gaze as my 16 year old wiry frame was bent over with streams pouring down.

I remember sitting next to her in Geometry. Did the day before make us friends? When she walked over to me while the other kids pretended I wasn’t there, when she sat down next to me and spoke. When she put her hand on mine and whispered in my ear that God loves me more than anyone ever could. When she felt me starting to shake and she just held my hand tighter. What now?

I remember sitting next to her in Geometry. I remember the awful battle in my mind. I didn’t believe I could bring myself to even speak her name. I tapped her desk with the pencil she gave me a week before. I looked into her eyes.

“Thanks.” Her name jumped off my tongue.

She looked back into my eyes. “He loves me too.” Her lips curled up.

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