A writer's marathon is not physically taxing. Let's just say that. However, there are elements that definitely test one's endurance. Using the places that you travel to as an influence, for one.
Lynette, our host for the Pueblo Writing Marathon--part of the Southern Colorado Writing Project and All Pueblo Reads--did not make us use the library as a means for inspiration, however. Instead, she read an excerpt from Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain, to get out creative juices flowing.
Because I'm not too worried about selling the rights to the work I did yesterday, I have decided to go ahead and post them as my writing samples, for now. After all, having a writing blog with nothing to back up my claims as a creative writer seems weird. So, here is my response to Lynette's choice of excerpt:
"The Mississippi River has mosquitoes that swarm, like clouds sometimes when the weather's just right. On evenings like that, before the sun fully sets and the cool night breezes blow in to wash the buggers away, he has a hard time imagining why he left a home with a roof. As the skeets bite away on his exposed toes--the socks had rotted away over the skin--he looks westward. Somewhere in California his wife and daughter would soon make dinner, probably cursing his name--which he can't seem to remember now, like part of his identity disappeared when he left them. He watched a mosquito land on his arm among the fine, dark hairs and he flexed his muscle, holding the little bugger there. Blood pooled into the mosquito and after a moment the small creature stirred with a tiny beat of wings. Then, as the mosquito burst, blood leaked onto his arm."