Prompt: Get Me Out of Here!

In Abigail Thomas's perfect potpurri of a book for writers -Thinking About Memoir she lists about 150 + prompts to prompt you to write promptly - every day. Here's one to try. And my effoirt - just a ten-minute freewrite. Go! And post it if you are willing.

#128 Write two pages starting with "Get me out of here!"

Effort by Katharine English.


Get me out of here! Everywhere – demands! At every turn – a favor asked. All my creditors come forward demanding payment, favors, help. Help!

You have no idea how burdensome my life is. An example – Anthony called four times yesterday, each time pleading: “Can you look at this latest letter I’ve written to the D.A.?” “Will you proof my resume?” “I know you’re not practicing anymore, but I have a legal question about foreclosure…” Of course, I say yes. He’s my brother.

Lucy wants a letter of recommend to Goddard College’s MFA program. She lacks self-esteem, wants to know if I think she’ll be admitted. Of course she will, I say. Will I write this, and say that, and render my opinion of her poetry? Of course I say I will. She’s my sister.

Harry wants to have breakfast. He won’t talk about anything personal, he never does. But I will chat and cheer him. We will laugh. I will examine his fifteenth-year coin and praise his sobriety. Of course we will. He’s my brother.

Sandy wants to chat, unable once again to decide “Should I live in Hawaii where I’m so healthy? Should I live in Mt. Vernon next to the twenty-two grandchildren?” “Sereta,” I say, “Your family runs you ragged and your lungs close down. Hello?” Still, I spend an hour on the phone. Of course I do. She’s my sister.

They are just my siblings. There are my friends, my writing group, my husband and my step-daughter. Give me time, give me feedback, give me breakfast, give me tuition. Of course I say yes, yes, yes, yes.

My office chides, “Clean me.” The school calls, “Can you sub?” My doctor asks, “Are you coming?” I do, I go, I am.

In Sunday School I learned and (does this surprise anyone?) still can sing a child’s song:

Give said the little stream
Give, oh give, Give, oh give
Give said the little stream
As it hurried down the hill
I'm small I know but wherever I go
The grass grows greener still
Give said the little rain
Give, oh give,Give, oh give
Give said the little rain
As it fell upon the flowers
I'll raise their weary heads again
As it fell upon the flowers

If I turned off the phone and closed my computer, if I put away my calendar, if I said no and no and no, what would I do? I would drive to the Bear Lake cabin and sit on the porch, my legs on the rail, watching the sun rise like a red scarf over the lake in the eastern sky before me, watching the light and shadows play like children on those same hills in the evening. I would read books and magazines, and cook spinach lasagna and eat too much fruit, and write in my journal, and dust, and polish, and tidy my drawers, and alphabetize my spices, and arrange my closet by colors and soon, maybe even very soon, I would stand on the porch and yell into the silent air.

“Get me out of here.”

Of course…I’m me.