Five Minute Mini Scenes

Last night was our monthly SCBWI Schmooze with our new schmoozie coordinator, Brian Herreras, who is doing a fantastic job. 

We read anonymous one-page critiques and the first page of my current WIP, the book under contract which is due in 6 weeks and has never been seen by any other human eyes except my own, was read and evaluated. I got GREAT feedback! Whew! It's always such a relief to know that I'm not totally crazy and that it's readable and makes sense and I don't have to go crawl under a rock and hide my face. And it even has funny bits because people laughed! And outer conflicts for my main character as well as an inner problem - and a great setting - and tension - all on the first page - yahoo!!! 

At the end of the evening, Brian had us do another 5 minute writing prompt. I shared last months prompt if you'd like to read it here: http://kimberleylittle.livejournal.com/47146.html

I found myself writing another scene from this potential YA Victorian Paranormal. I truly need to sit down and figure out who this girl is and what she can do and who the other people are in her life and what the plot is and, and, and . . .

But here's a kicker of an idea! Can I write an entire novel in 5 minute nightly writing prompts??? And then string them together into something cohesive and novelly? Intriguing idea.

I just need to carry Brian around in my pocket to give me his little orange 3x5 cards and the opening . . .

So here is my 5 minute scene with the prompt "The door closes . . . " (Last month's was, "The window opens . . . ")
The door closes and I lean against it, spent and weary, desperately needing sleep after my rebellious flight to Borthwick Castle, but my mind is racing and agitated.

Slowly, I walk across the bedroom, tempted to throw myself across the eyelet coverlet, but find myself pacing the floor instead. Finally dropping to my desk chair, I retrieve parchment and bottle of black ink and one of my freshly sharpened quills.

Cold air continues to rush through the open window, icy cold with the gathering storm. I returned just in time; my nightgown is damp on the hem, but I pay it no heed.

After the unexpected visitor tonight, and the news I've received, this letter must go out immediately. I wonder if my private messenger is close by and can be instantly summoned.

"Dear Squire," I begin, then pause, my eyes twitchy from fatigue. "There has been a death . . . "