From Lisa Jo:So, here’s the skinny: every Friday for over a year hundreds of people join a kind of writing flash mob over here.
We write for five minutes flat. All on the same prompt that I post here at 1 minute past midnight EST ever Friday. And we connect on Twitter with the hashtag #FiveMinuteFriday
No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation.
Unscripted. Unedited. Real.
It’s easy to join in, just:
- Check what the prompt is on my blog.
- Write a post in only five minutes on that topic on your blog.
- Link over here and invite friends to join in.
- Select the permalink to your post {so not your blog url www.lisajobaker.com but your post url www.lisajobaker.com/2012/07/five-minute-friday-2/ }
- Using the linky tool at the bottom of my Five Minute Friday post enter your link.
- Your post will show up in our Five Minute Friday linky.
- Be sure and encourage the person who linked up before you!
Our most important requirement for participation: There’s really only one absolute, no ifs, ands or buts about it Five Minute Friday rule: you must visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.
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Friend is a hard word for me to write about. In fact, I found myself wanting to duck out of this week’s prompt entirely. But the harder I tried to walk away, the more it pushed to be written about.
What is a friend? “One who sticks closer than a brother” is the typical answer.
In that case, I’ve never had one. And frankly, I’m tired.
I’m tired of pouring myself into seasonal relationships. I’m tired of pursuing and choosing and not being chosen.
I don’t even want to try any more, because, really, what’s the point? It’s not like the relationship is going to last beyond a few months or years. One of us will move, or the life circumstances will change, and then, we won’t be friends any more.
Just acquaintences. People you pass in church and cordially greet, but who aren’t intimately involved in each other’s lives. People you watch their kids grow up on Facebook, because you don’t actually get to be involved in the growing up process.
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I did not want to write for this prompt. Like at all. Once I had cried and written it and cried some more, I didn’t want to post it. But I guess that’s part of the healing process.
