Instead of writing about my writing process, I'm posting something I've written. This is an early draft of a short piece I wrote based on the following writing prompt. I'm not sure if I'll do anything with it, but I love Clarence's creepy mother, and may decide to use her in something else. 

Your mother loved Clarence. He loved her. But Clarence’s mother thought your character was using witchcraft to alienate her only son from his mother.

“Is that sage?” the old woman hissed. “Do I smell sage?” She sniffed Eliza like she suspected she had gone rotten. Eliza couldn’t help but sniff too. She didn't smell sage, but then she didn’t know what sage smelled like.
That’s probably my perfume,” Eliza said. “Clarence bought it for me.”
“Sage perfume?’ she asked, her eyes wide. “He would never do that.”
“It’s not sage. I don’t think it’s sage.” Eliza glanced around the room. His sisters were starting to filter in and mill around the table, but Clarence was nowhere to be seen.
The old woman inhaled deeply before she turned away from Eliza like she was no longer rotting, but aging like a fine cheese. Eliza stood against the wall with her hands clenched. The others were still chatting quietly, and she could hear Clarence laughing in the next room.
“I see your pretty necklace,” her mother-in-law whispered, her voice low and guttural.
Eliza jumped and clamped her hands over her racing heart. “Gah,” she gasped, turning in a half-crouch. “You scared the shit out of me.”
The old woman made a clucking noise and touched Eliza’s necklace. “What stone is this?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I thought it was pretty so I bought it.” Eliza stepped back, but the old woman clutched the pendant tighter and took a giant step forward like they were playing an awkward game of Mother May I.
“Some kind of crystal,” she said quietly, her nose almost touching Eliza's. “Moonstone, maybe. What does it do?”
“It doesn’t do anything,” Eliza said, stepping back again until the necklace pulled tight and slid from the old woman's fingers. “Can I . . . help with dinner?”
“Rush rush,” the old woman said, shaking her head. “Always in a rush. Wearing stones. Wearing sage. Saying things.”
“What things?” She could hear Clarence laughing again, and wondered what was so damn funny, wished with everything in her that he would walk into the dining room and distract his mother.
“The whisperings and mutterings,” the old woman said, her spittle spattering on Eliza's cheek. “You think I don't hear but I, ah.” She tapped her ears and nodded. “Yes, I hear you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eliza said through clenched teeth.
The old woman rocked back on her heels. “The crystals and the whispers and the herbs,” she said. “Maybe we take it all away and my son doesn’t love you so much.”
Clarence sauntered into the room, his arm draped around his sister’s shoulder. “Babe,” he said. “Lisa's pregnant.” He smiled and gave his sister a squeeze. She smiled back and put her hands on her barely bulging belly.
Eliza tried to smile, but she couldn’t force the corners of her mouth up. “Great,” she said. “Congratulations.”
Clarence and Lisa stopped smiling and stared at her.
“What’s wrong with you?” Clarence asked, drawing his eyebrows together.
Eliza shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Sorry. I’m just a little off.”
“It’s wearing off," the old woman said, her voice barely audible. "You have to say the words to make him love you.” She mouthed the last two words, slowly, menacingly.
Eliza looked at Clarence, her eyes wide, but he was consoling Lisa. "No, it's wonderful," he was saying. "She's happy for you too."
“Love me,” she whispered at the old woman out of the side of her mouth. “Are you saying I’m a witch or something?”
The old woman clucked again. “That is what you are saying, maybe.” She beamed a broad smile around the room. “Come, come, everyone,” she said. “Dinner is ready. Let’s celebrate the good news. I am going to be a grandma.”
Eliza wrapped her fingers around her necklace. The old woman narrowed her eyes and Eliza unclasped it and shoved it into her pocket before she sat next to Clarence, who refused to look at her.
"To my beautiful children, who I would kill for," the old woman said brightly, holding her goblet out. Her eyes lingered on Eliza as she took a slow sip and set her goblet back on the table.