Friday Writing Exercise 7 Comments

Take a piece of paper and write ten sentences that each start with the words ‘Your mother’. The sentences don’t have to be related or connected to each other. Try to write quickly, writing the first things that come to your mind.

You should now have ten sentences that start with Your mother. If you like, choose one of those sentences and keep writing for about ten minutes. See what you get.

This exercise is good because the words Your mother have a lot in them. They set up three characters essentially, the narrator which is the ‘I’, another person which is the ‘you’ and of course, their mother. And mothers are typically an interesting subject, and if you are saying something about someone else’s mother then there is a wealth of potential for conflict, tension or humour there.

  • Rocco Roamingheart

    i don’t have time right now to do the second part of this exercise (i’m at work) but the first part was so fun that i’ve sneaked it on here.

    Your mother wears army boots.

    Your mother is a despicable witch with no moral backbone.

    Your mother lacks any household cleaning prowess and would be publicly shunned in times past.

    Your mother bakes this cakey-pudding thing called lemon delicious; at least she gets it half right.

    Your mother has cankles bigger than any cankles I done seen before, ahuh.

    Your mother brings the pain.

    Your mother once made your whole family walk through the McDonald’s drive-thru; when you got to the serving window she mimed winding her window down.

    Your mother once bungee-jumped naked and then after that the bungee-jumping company banned naked bungee-jumping from then on.

    Your mother says things like, ‘tight as a turnip’ and ‘more windy than a whale’s blowhole’.

    Your mother drove trucks to pay her way through university; she had a nickname on the route between Melbourne and Sydney: Fuck Out (as in Get The Fuck Out Of Her Way).

  • RBS

    Your mother left the porch light on.

    Your mother grew Goat – a kid once.

    Your mother, with a fistful of paisley and no pattern, sewed herself a pair pants in Turkey.

    Your mother settled the knife against the carpet.

    Your mother owns a bakery.

    Your mother got peckish; Samuel has six fingers.

    Your mother holed up in there.

    Your mother broke the hairbrush against your skin once.

    Your mother’s toes shape their socks like little rib cages.

    Your mother wrote you a postcard, and I hid Pembroke Bay in the soil before you saw it.

    Second half, shmecond shmalf – packing calls!

  • ahhhhhhhh

    your mother knows chaos.

    your mother is a surface image.

    your mother has another person inside her and sometimes you see her smile.

    your mother drops words from sentences and is always by the sink.

    your mother misplaced two children — found them years later.

    your mother is allergic to avocado.

    your mother is scared.

    your mother makes the mistake of naming you after a poet.

    your mother was a model.

    your mother is a seagull.

  • Jpop

    1.Your mother watches the jungle sway from the stairs, her hair tucked behind her neck, a pale beehive full of secrets and other hurricanes.
    2.Your mother met the mail each morning, a sleight of hand disappearing into a coat pocket, hidden from our eyes.
    3.Your mother tasted Avalon, ran away and came back a woman.
    4.Your mother holds an apron close, uncertain what to with it, as he throws away her briefcase and tears up custom made business cards.
    5.Your mother was mine, until you came along, until you go away, I’ll watch her instead.
    6.Your mother has a cage in which her heart beats, bars and empty holes, long forgotten by love.
    7.Your mother is a suitcase, never staying in one place long enough to remember.
    8.Your mother sang in Latin and swore loudly, French and heavy handed.
    9.Your mother isn’t coming, your mother never did.
    10.Your mother is my sister first, you’re just an accessory for us to play with, dress up and push around.

  • NGV

    Your mother was allergic to flour, milk and many other baking products.
    Your mother mowed the lawn each Saturday and flexed her Sunday muscles transplanting natives on the farm.
    You mother wasn’t really a woman.
    Your mother felt hard done by.
    Your mother wrote to the lawn mower company campaigning for a more inclusive ad campaign.
    Your mother was muscle building, and renovating the chicken coop on Wednesday.
    Your mother didn’t plan it, but plan for it she had to.
    Your mother knew it wouldn’t last, eventually you would ask for a sponge cake, your birthday was coming up.
    Your mother never liked pedicures, her bunions were not your concern.

  • Maddie

    Your mother changed the locks and didn’t tell you.
    Your mother stuck to the couch when it was too hot and had to peel herself off.
    Your mother lost my sleeping bag case when we went camping and I could never bring myself to forgive her.
    Your mother smelt of peppermint and chives.
    Your mother hid around corners.
    Your mother would sleep late and I would ring the doorbell for hours with no answer.
    Your mother laughed loud and long at my jokes, in a way you never did.
    Your mother dreamed of flying to Scotland but never did and then died in her sleep in Glenroy.
    Your mother would put the toothpaste on your father’s toothpaste for him every night and every morning.
    Your mother needs to stop calling me.

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