Write on Wednesday - When The Music Is Over

The Write On Wednesday Rules: Get creative with the writing exercises - there isn't a right or wrong. Please do try to visit the other members of Write On Wednesdays and leave a comment of support and constructive criticism. 


Write On Wednesdays Exercise 22 - Select a piece of music that reflects the mood of writing you'd like to aim for. Press play. Start free writing. Write the first words that come into your head. When the music's over, so is the writing. I'd recommend finding out how long the song is before you start the exercise. You may feel cheated in your writing time if you pick a song by The Ramones. Of course, if you feel like writing a short, punky piece by all means, go for it!

I have been listening to a lot of French Cafe music lately. I love the lively melodies, the funky instruments and imagining what they might be singing about. Our girls love listening to it too - we get some pretty interesting 'Interpretive Dance' which is so cute!

I hope I have captured this song. I find this kind of thing tricky.... I am a bit of a plan-o-holic so to publish something that has taken less than 10 minutes to write is a bit harrowing. I hope I caught all the typos!

Walking along the Champs-Elysees the girl cannot believe she is there, she pinches her hand and hopes, hopes, hopes that she can feel it. Surely this cannot be a dream.

There are people everywhere: drinking coffee, eating baguettes and talking French, of course, they speak French! She laughs to herself. She holds the hand of the man she loves and smiles realising that this is really not a dream.

They walk the streets, they catch the Metro. The day is perfect. Jet streams criss cross the brilliant blue sky leaving white trails. They walk the streets soaking everything in. The Louvre, Cleopatra's Needle, The Bastille. So many beautiful things. It seems as if Paris has an unfair amount of lovely things.

The city is alive. Trees are greener than green. The flowers explode through the pavement. Carousel horses bob taking turns to peek at the Eiffel Tower. People are wearing hats and smiling. The Seine is massed with happy people clinking glasses and basking in the glory of Paris. Artists sell their wares from the bridges, chatting amongst themselves, because who cares if you can't sell art in Paris? At least you are there.

She is alive. She is in Paris. She is me.