–the taste of Mother’s cream puffs for supper. On the farm she had all the necessary ingredients. I remember Daddy making strawberry ice cream with the dry-ice steam rising from the bucket while he turned the handle.
I remember my sister Lori’s salt apple pie when she changed the sugar to the salt canister in Mother’s kitchen. I took the first bite of the fragrant pie. We could smell it above the barn’s odor. I rushed out the front door to spit. Daddy followed me to spit his out too. Then he threw the salt contents of the clearly marked sugar canister out the front door. The grass died where it fell and didn’t grow back all summer.
I remember the taste of Brillo soap from the spaghetti my first husband heated up in the frying pan that I couldn’t get clean. He was hospitalized with food poisoning. I hadn’t swallowed more than a fork full
He’d been taught to finish his plate. His lips turned blue and he had green circles under his eyes.
I remember the salty splendor of barbecued kippers my friend, Robert Koelz, offered me.
If taste and odors keep the reader chained to the fictive dream, maybe I should edit/add one example to each page of my WIP, Home from the Woods.
Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time.
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Twitter hashtag is #IWSG