Write for three minutes about…
…something you would never do in a million years.
Email what you wrote to bigfootreads dot wernert at gmail dot com by the end of the day November 10 (put “Norman is Ruggedly Handsome” in the subject line). I’ll post as many of my favorite entries as I want next Monday. Include your first name (or, even better, use a pen name) and age (unless you’re tortoise-old).
Here is the single entry from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes about…
…a birthday memory.
Beverly
I hate birthdays. All that attention is embarrassing. The worst is the birthday cake part. As soon as the birthday song starts I panic about having to blow out the candles. I swallow over and over to make sure my mouth is dry, but I always end up spitting all over the frosting. My friends think it’s hilarious. They call me—never mind what they call me. Norman always gets a photo of me at the exact moment my cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk’s full of nuts. This year when it was time to blow out the candles, I used the air from a deflating balloon. I thought I was being so clever. But the balloon made a loud sound as the air rushed out. You know the sound I’m talking about. I have a new nickname now. I hate birthdays.
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