These are little exercises called ‘First Sentence’, ‘The Non Sequitur’ and ‘The Last Straw’ that I got out if The Writer’s Toolbox by Jamie Cat Callan.

Basically, you have a pile of pop-sticks with three different types of sentences on them. You close your eyes and pick a pop-stick from the ‘First Sentence’ pile, write down the sentence. It may be a good sentence. It may be a shit sentence. Regardless of your feelings towards the sentence, start writing for three to six minutes.

After writing for three to six minutes, you then pick a stick from the ‘Non Sequitur’ pile to move your writing into a new direction for another three to six minutes.

Now, pick a ‘Last Straw’ stick to create a dramatic turn and finish off your writing.

My ‘stick’ sentences are in bald. I wrote on each sentence for three minutes…..but I was getting distracted by heroes. Also, it’s harder than it looks.

On Tuesday, Margaret told me she liked the little oranges with the seeds better than the ones I bought. I hated her for that.

On Wednesday, she had told me she hated seeds in her oranges, so I had to go and buy her more oranges. This morning, she asked for seedless grapes. I purposely brought grapes with seeds in them. Either I’ll get it right for once, or we’ll have another fight and I’ll have the opportunity to say all the things I have been meaning to since Tuesday morning. 

But given the opportunity, I would more than likely chicken out. She has a way of turning things around to make it all seem like it was my fault. And I believed her every time. I hated her for that too. 

It wasn’t so much that I had been blind to the truth. It was just that I had seen the truth differently.

I let her drag me down to her level, and I began to see the argument through her eyes rather than my own. I think this was more my fault than hers, but still, I hated her for that. 

But I think these arguments are healthy for us. Good for us. And I’m beginning to think it’s the only way we’ve manage to live together all this time. 

The way Herb defrosted the refrigerator was something else entirely. It set my teeth on edge to a point where I actually threatened to kick him out. Maybe the fact that he got his reproductive organs from our father was what set him apart from myself and Margaret. Or maybe the reason I was so upset was because the melting ice left a puddle on the floor which I slipped in. I broke my hip that day. I’ve been in a wheelchair ever since. The doctors say I won’t be able to play hockey for a while. 

Instead, I sit in my chair, look out the window and watch all the kids playing hop scotch and write about my annoying siblings while they complain about seeds in their fruit (or lack of) and wonder why the mince went off.

*I just want to note how awkward it is when one of the sticks in this box has a typo….