WRITING PROMPT TITLE: DESCRIBE THE KITCHEN OF YOUR CHILDHOOD

I'm not sure why, but I'm not all that fond of this writing prompt. I can't help but wonder if it's because I didn't really enjoy my kitchen much as a child.

When I was very young it had orange and green flowered wall paper and dark brown cabinets with a light green refrigerator. I would've just been a baby in a high chair at the time facing the sink that had a window right above it. outside the window you could see our backyard and a small woods that would later be chopped down for them to build my future elementary school.

The only thing I remember eating in my high chair is ice cream. I'm sure my mother gave me other healthier foods, but the ice cream was so cold and so sweet and so delicious, that I remember flipping the spoon over in my mouth and gurgle spitting with joy.

When I got older the 70's decor was replaced with traditional 90's decor. Our cabinets were replaced with white ones and we had white flower wallpaper and white and a white and pink tiled floor.

Growing up we always had a dog, usually a German Shepard. The kitchen is where the dog was kept when company came over, or when it came inside with muddy paws or when we were training it to go outside that's where the puppy's crate was kept. I don't think the dog minded much because that's where we were mostly likely to drop food.

I had a small step stool with puppy stickers on it that I used to help bake. My mother would always tie my hair back and make me wear an apron before we began. Then we'd throw ingredient after ingredient into a bowl, usually it involved sugar, oh so sweet sugar, mixed with butter and oil and sometimes chocolate. I'd count the strokes as we stirred it all together...one....two...three....to 60 for brownies, but usually much more for cakes. My mother would pour the sweet batter into a pan and then let me lick the bowl...but I'd always have to back up when the oven opened as I was too afraid the heat would swallow me up and I'd burn away.

Conclusion and Change

This blog started because I had an ambition to be a writer and I thought I would obtain that goal easier if I could only find the perfect place to write. While I still love the idea of taking my laptop to a coffee shop and being able to park and write all day, I have actually found this to be rather unrealistic.

I will still write about coffee shops on this blog on occasion, but the truth is the idea that an unpublished writer will be able to spend their days writing in coffee shops and still make a living is more of a romantic idea than a reality.

Another truth is that for a while I have not been regularly writing. It's always been on my to-do list after a multitude of other things...so here I am picking up the pieces of not writing for a while and starting again with a new idea and conclusion in mind.

It is not the lack of a place to write that has been stopping me from writing, but it is the lack of making time. Instead of looking for a place to write I will now make the time.

I have slotted out times on my Google calendar that say WRITE. My goal as someone with another full-time job is to make time to write 10 hours a week. Most days I've scheduled 2 hour time slots, but there are a few days where I schedule more to make up for days I might miss.

Since the original focus of this blog was to find a place to write and now I'm focusing more on time to write I have a new blog titled: "The Unpublished Writer."

The new blog focuses on the fact that a writer writes regardless of whether they are published. I write because it's as natural as breathing to me. It assists me in sorting out my life as well as escaping from it. This new blog will allow me become completely immersed in my own writer's world and will be a place where I scribble down warm-ups, prompts, thoughts on writing and a writer's log.

The domain is: www.breathewhatyouwrite.blogspot.com

So wish me luck as I begin this journey once again! I welcome you into my writing world. Perhaps, if I do become published one day this new blog will become a record of how it all happened.