The Door - A Writing Exercise

Acting from within my muse and the parameters set by our writers group, I wrote a very short story. For this month’s assigned writing exercise, we were to write from the stem: I sat in eager anticipation and the door opened….. As always with our small group, we each had a different interpretation of the assignment ~ which we could change or not do it at all. This talented group of writers shared from the very poignant to fantastical to mysterious and to hilarious. Each story elicited appropriate emotions ~ much laughter and some respectful sadness. Here is my offering of The Door with a couple of edits I didn’t see until this morning.

 The Door

I sat in eager anticipation and the door opened. I felt powerful. I felt in control. The silver gray door tinkled. I knew that opening it would usher in my guests. I knew who each of them were because I had invited them. My senses had told me they would arrive, each in their appointed time. My purpose? To only choose those who would bring joy to my life. Beyond that door, and from streams, fields and farms, were the fascinating ingredients bringing to me the wisdom of each generation. I could only choose one individual from each place. A farmer and a rancher, tanned from the sun, field dirt in the creases of their perspiring brows. A seasonal odd jobber and an assembly line worker who worked tirelessly and tediously. A chef and a sous-chef fresh from steamy kitchens. All had been invited to my table. And I, here in my rocking chair, held the power of this grand gathering in my hand. To be ushered into my home and sit at my table was an honour only reserved for those who could get past my silver gray, and very stout, door. 

The Door swung open on my command. There, on shelves clean, shiny and new, were vegetables from not too distant fields, meats from the ranch beyond town, ripe fruits fresh picked in vast stretches of orchards. My weekend was set - to build a beautiful meal from all this abundance. To make soup and store leftovers when the fine meal was finished. Quality unmatched by this food's very freshness, I was pleased that my anticipation would be rewarded while I prepared this enchanting bounty.

“The isolated imagination is easily corrupted by theory, 

but the writer inside his community seldom has such a problem.”

~ Flannery O’Connor, Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose