1. FLIP open a dictionary and point to a word.
2. Type the word into Google images.
3. PICK an image that strikes you.
4. Write a 10 line RIFF off the image.
5. Use the word or the meaning of the word at least once within the first 5 lines of your riff.
6. Tag 3 other bloggers on your list.
I didn't have a dictionary handy so I picked up the book I'm currently reading, flipped through the pages, and pointed to the word "the." Now, some words are just too hard, so I went to the nearest word, which was, "Farewell."
It was wrong. It was just wrong. She'd been working on the same section for two weeks now, and there was simply something wrong with how the ending of the piece was coming together. In only one evening, Joe would be gone - back to Ireland where he was continuing his education at Terrel University in County Cork. She had met Joe for the first time earlier in the summer on the beach outside her parents' summer home near Providence. The summer had been glorious, and they had discovered a mutual love for Celtic song and dance. She loved composing and arranging, he sang and played his peculiar guitar. They'd gotten along famously, but their relationship was still a mystery to her.They'd used music to dance around a closer connection, and he had never even kissed her. But he still occupied her waking thoughts, and some not so waking. Ideas and ambitions had stirred in her that she'd never considered - music school, performance, thought and life and art. The summer had passed more quickly than any she'd remembered, yet was full of notes and rythms. And she desperately wanted to give him something to remember him by. So here she say, alone on the cooling early autumn Rhode Island shore, with a spiral staff music notebook on her lap and a pencil in hand. Trying to compose that one last gamboling melody that echoed the memories of their common heritage, that he could take with him and keep of her.
A shadow fell across the page, and she glanced up into the late afternoon sun to see him standing there. Instinctively she covered the page with her arm, "Joseph... I thought you were finishing up with your packing."
"I was," he said, crouching down in the sand beside her. His eyes glanced surreptitiously at her work. "But I saw you sitting down here all alone, so I had to see what's what." The lilt in his voice was partially obscured by the rising wind from sea, as a Nor'easter had began forming off the coast.
She could not lift her eyes to meet his. Silently she moved her arm, presenting the page of notes and rests to him. He studied the sheet for a moment, then smiled, "What's it called?"
"I haven't quite decided yet, but I'm leaning towards, 'Irish Gamb-' She stopped and flushed. "Oh, what the hell. I was going to call it, 'An Irish Summer.' But I...I can't make it end. I can't tie up the melody in a nice, tidy bow like...well, like we did all the other songs."
He didn't say anything for a moment. Leaning in, he murmured, "Chris, I have to go. God knows I want to stay...more than anythin' I've ever wanted. But there are things I have to take care of. And you have your life to continue. You have a great talent - I'm just a dabbler but you...you have the gift. Don't leave yourself here with me after I'm gone."
She thought for a moment, wrote several words at the top of the page and handed him the unfinished manuscript. "You're right. I'm trying to write something that can't be written. A goodbye in a style of music that has no end. So, keep it - and since I didn't finish it, maybe a little of myself will still be here. And someday, maybe we can finish it together." She sniffed, rubbed her eye for a moment, then looked at him expectantly.
He turned the sheet over, and saw what she'd written. "FAREWELL TO JOE."
"Fare thee well, Christine."
And that was the last time she saw him.
Ok, I went over 10 lines. I couldn't stop :) I also waited until the very end to use my word, since it was so important to the story. Your mileage may vary...
I tag Will, Danielle and Teresa.
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