depricate - to express earnest disapproval of, to depreciate or belittle
finesse - extreme delicacy or subtlety in performance, skill, discrimination
gemma - any budlike structure or outgrowth that can separate from the parent to form a new identical individual
mailed fist - coercive force or the threat of such force
varicose - abnormally enlarged or swollen
And, the picture:
And, here is my piece: PROCRASTINATION
She was anxious. Time had run away from her and now it was deadline time and she had nothing. Not a single word or syllable. Not even a letter. Not even a title. And, there was a prize. She signed up and entered this challenge in hopes of winning the debut YA thriller novel,
She'd been following her since her very first publication. She dreamed of being a gemma to Ms. Garrett. Ms. Garrett wrote with such finesse. Audrey had loved her as an author since the very first word she ever read written by her.
Ms. Garrett would probably greet her with a depricate attitude, shunning her for her irresponsibility and lack of attention to scheduling her time and calendar. But, then there is the husband, the kids, all the extra curricular activities, and life that got in the way of Audrey's passion for writing. Still, Melissa Luznicky Garrett, author, had three children of her own ranging from kindergarten to junior high. And, yet. She manage to write all those books, and tell her stories. Meanwhile, Audrey was scrambling and hoping to get her entry submitted before the midnight deadline.
She applied her fury with a mailed fist, "No Honey. No Kids. I can't. I HAVE to get this in. This hour is mine..." She deserved it after all, didn't she? After all, she'd done girl scouts, guitar lessons, 4-H meetings, dance class, homework, volunteering at the school, she'd spread her time for everyone else. It was time she took a little 'time' for herself? Right? Right.
Her families needs were varicose compared to her own. Well, no that wasn't right. Audrey just tended to their needs with more attention than to those of her own. But, not tonight. Tonight she was focused. She closed the door and locked it. She ignored the cries for dinner, clean socks, and gym shorts for the following day. She ignore the demand for her husband's fishing pants. "He's a grown man, surely he can find them in the dryer for himself. I wanna' do this. I want this. This hour is mine."
She was tired of being jealous of the freedom and time the rest of the family had to spend as they so chose, almost wasting their free time on TV and riding scooters outside and playing card games together. This was her moment. This was her hour. She would write, write, write and she would enter. It might not be the best entry. She probably wouldn't even win. But the lucky part was that it wasn't about the quality of the submission, rather a random drawing by those who chose to participate and make the deadline.
Audrey had thoughts in her mind of the day she would not only win a personalized signed copy of Melissa's book to add to her unsigned library, but of the one day Ms. Garrett would offer a chance to meet with her in person. New York was a long drive and a fearful flight. But, Ms. Garrett had promises of visiting each of the 50+ states of the US. Audrey had her heart banked on it and would drive across the entire state of Texas, anywhere, just to meet and greet with her favorite author of all times.
Audrey grabbed another gummy bear from the package. She bit the head off and said, "I can do this, I still have two hours left. I will meet this challenge. I will ignore the knocking on the door. I will ignore the please for dinner. Tonight, I will write. Just for me. And, of course, for my winning entry."