For tori's collab, which I love, btw. I believe in doing these timed exercises by writing nonstop and writing whatever comes to mind. 

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Beginning beginning begin begging I'm begging for a beginning. a whistle, a shot gun, a moment where you yell go and you run and you don't look behind you or to the side or anywhere but at the stretch of road that lays itself out in front you. A beginning. But thats not what they look like, is it? it's what we think they should look like, it's what we've been told they should look like, but beginnings rarely start so resolutely. Beginnings are not so obvious. More often, we don't realize that something's begun until we're half way through it. Then we look back and we try to wrap our minds around this finite definition of time we've come to accept. We try to look for that flag, hear that gun shot in the hindsight of our mind. We do our best to create a beginning, to say, "This is is where it all went wrong. This is where is started going right. This is when it all began. This was the beginning." 

We might say, it started at the truck stop, or that time Daddy and I went fishing off of the pier, or in the locker room before PE class, or behind the bleachers at the basketball game when you were smoking that cigarette and I had never seen someone actually smoke one of those before, and you offered it to me and I took a deep breath and started couging so hard that you were afraid we'd have to go to the school nurse, only we knew we couldn't because then we'd get into trouble and get suspended and we were straight A students, straight A students don't get suspended. That's a beginning. Or ending? Or something in between?

That's the thing with beginnings, isn't it? It's never really a beginning. Part of it can be, but other parts of it are endings and middles and almost beginnings, but not quite. And how do you deconstruct that? How do you pull those beginning bits away from the rest of those bits and hold them up confidently over your head and say, HERE IT IS- HERE IS YOUR BEGINNING"?

It's a funny thing, an intangible one. A moveable one. Paris is a moveable feast - that's what Hemmingway said. Beginnings are a moveable feast. Don't like where something began? Don't like how it began? Move it. Shift it. Nudge it a little to the right. Push it forward, kick it back. Doesn't matter. It's a beginning. It's never where you expect it to be anyways.