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Browsing Tag: #writingprompt
I never know with these word prompts whether I’m gonna tell you the truth or spin some yarn. Sometimes I want to do both. And I bet sometimes I could trick you on which one was true, if it wasn’t too far fetched. Of course, sometimes my life is so weird you might guess wrong! Let’s picture it: pure white, uniform crystals that faintly glitter, mounded up like a snow capped peak outside Denver. Dense and easily confused with sugar, but smaller granules in common households. Representative of superstitions and a commodity throughout all the years of human existence. Found in every home, forever and always. Frequently given as a traditional housewarming gift known as a pounding: pound of sugar, pound of flour, pound of butter, pound of cornmeal, and a pound of salt. May their lives always have flavor. My grandmother loved salt. She added it liberally to watermelon, beans, creamed potatoes, anything just about. After she passed, I couldn’t ever get my mashed potatoes to come out like hers and Uncle Dale laughed and said, “Pilgrim, you ain’t dumpin’ enough salt to ’em!” That was a fact. She must’ve used half a salt shaker at a time for a pot of them. My cousin must have watched her cooking pretty close, because she decided to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies when she was around ten or so. According to her…
{WP #815 the poem that won awards and sparked so many to love poetry again} I sat down to write it, summoning Jesus (’cause everybody’s momma loves Jesus), Shel Silverstein (’cause grownups and kids alike love him), and David Allan Coe (’cause he wrote the ultimate country and western song). I had to be humble, and funny, and true. I had to please the masses. My success depended on it. No pressure, right? It had to have music and roses and candlelightTo make everything just rightIt had to be whimsicalAnd moody And upliftingBut also rhyme and not be uptightIt had to say a million “I love you”sIt had to sing with all the joy everlastingIt had to be the one thing you could memorizeAnd let the world know you were sophisticatedIt had to make you forget about your problemsAnd make you feel lightAnd gracefulAnd place stars in your eyesIt had to talk about all the ugly things turned beautifulBecause this is the perfect poemThe one where there is the gorgeous treeAnd the luscious fruitAnd the breathtaking oceanAnd all the things we dream about at our desks at 1:30 in the afternoon  …
{WP #942 The City Behind the Waterfall} My backpack weighed only eight pounds, but it may as well have been eighty. The mosquitoes were literally eating me alive, and I wondered how effective my malaria shots were if the swarm sucked all my blood and I had to have a transfusion from a native who had NOT had the recommended rounds of anti-malarial antibodies? Something else to worry about. Writing for National Geographic had been a dream of mine since I was old enough to look at the pictures, and I knew I was beyond fortunate to have this experience, but the tribesman scout that I had been assigned to was a brutal hiker and I was dog tired. I missed my dog, speaking of dogs. I missed chili dogs from street vendors in Chicago. I missed going to the movies to see a chick flick. I missed my beautiful canary yellow Volkswagon Beetle. I missed getting all the electricity I needed from a wall socket. I missed makeup and uncomfortably high heels, and most especially, I missed my books. I collapsed on a rock covered with vines. I didn’t have the energy to look for snakes. All I’d seen were lizards lately, anyway. They liked lounging on my tent. My Bushman stopped his whacking and faced me with the universal quizzical “How can she be tired already? Wimpy girl” look. I feel sure that if he knew how to roll his eyes…
Sharkbait! Ooh-ha-ha! I’m the first to admit I would just as soon my death be delivered via shark bite than a car wreck or cancer. My friends say I’m crazy. But think- how cool would it be for y’all to say, “I know a girl who got eat by a shark.” And you would relish in it. The chances are pretty good it could happen, too. My preferred depth of swimming in the ocean is shoulders deep, because that’s right before where the waves break and I don’t have to get beat up by them. I like to be able to bounce off the sandy bottom when one is rolling in and then be able to stand flat footed the rest of the time. Evidently this is the prime feeding area for sharks. I also like to swim late in the day when the sun isn’t so intense. I’m sure it would be completely terrifying. And it might hurt if he doesn’t hit a major artery first thing. But what’s worse- the terror of being trapped in your car and being cut out while everybody stares or being eaten by a magnificent creature? Slowly wasting away, getting weaker and sicker every day and everybody forcing you to fight it when you just don’t have any more fight in you? Watching their eyes go all liquid and…
{WP #703 A poem about loss} Sometimes I want to tell himNot to bother locking the door behind himBecause the only person who could hurt meIs leaving…
Have you ever spent time wishing someone would die? I don’t mean an ex or an enemy. I mean, someone you know and love and are in so much pain they can’t think? Or maybe they’re lost inside their mind and causing you to lose yours. It brings to mind one of the most heartbreaking stories I ever knew. It was just a few years ago, right here in my hometown. This vibrant, active little boy of twelve was diagnosed with a rare form of brain cancer. It was simply awful. It was a blindsiding, because he’d always been so healthy and now was so, so, sick. So the community gathered and prayed and surrounded the family as the young man fought and battled and tried to get well, to beat the odds. He underwent countless treatments of radiation, chemotherapy, surgeries, and many therapies to keep as much of his body functioning as possible. Everyone rallied, Regen fought, but ultimately got worse. As Christmas drew closer, this Christian family was quite obviously pushed to their limits. On Christmas Eve, his mother wrote on Facebook that she hoped the Good Lord would call him home soon, he was suffering so badly. Now you think about that. A mother, praying for our Heavenly Father to take him only because she loved him so much and couldn’t stand to think of him in any more pain for another moment, even if she felt…
I should probably use this prompt to go off on a tangent. There are many controversial subjects itching at my fingertips, but instead, I’m gonna write about this: The handwritten note. I remember in fourth grade, our entire class had pen pals. They lived in San Bernardino, California. Mine was a boy….I think his name was Derek. It could just as easily have been Daniel. Or David. Or Eric. Or Steve. Who knows, the letters are long gone but I remember wanting to continue writing after we finished our required number of correspondence. Of course we didn’t. He was game, but somebody has to take initiative and no doubt, I had a horse to brush or a book to read. I wonder what ever happened to him. Where our lives have taken us since those long ago carefree days. He could be a firefighter or a lawyer or a park ranger. He could be pouring asphalt or working on cars or cutting up asparagus.He could have a houseful of kids or maybe he’s in prison for beating his wife. He could be a jewelry maker or living under a bridge. He could be living in Portugal or Paris, or maybe even East Tennessee. It’s untelling. And he could be gone already. I’m a big believer in thank you notes. And I still owe a few. If you’ve ever received one from me, you probably had…
Well, this is involved. I’ve just picked up Jewel’s Never Broken today. As in, I actually opened the cover, not went out to the store and bought it. I’ve had it for awhile. But here’s a link, if you’re so inclined to have your own copy. I love her. https://amzn.to/2TcG39I It starts with an “Ode To My Fortieth Birthday” style poem, which I found poignant. I’m not even fifty pages in, and she’s breaking my heart. I feel a kindred spirit to Jewel, always have. She loves the wilderness and grew up out in the Alaskan territory on horseback. She writes many of her own songs, and I admire her resiliency. I think this will be an insightful book, not only into her life, but mine as well. If I weren’t so ashamed of my library right now, I’d post a few pictures of it. How ’bout I just post some oldies instead?Welcome to my abode. I have read a great many of these pictured, but I would say 50% remain unread. I just love them. This is my utopia. It’s a dream I’ve always had, to be able to walk into my own library and select a book at random. I’m pretty sure I’ll like whatever I’ve picked up because, after all, it’…
I’m out of order and all to hell and I’m sorry. I had written a few blogs as bonuses and then got out of whack and so I’m trying to do better this week. Maybe if it snows I can get caught up. I’m apologizing to myself as much as you, because I need to write as much as I need to breathe. And here we go. {WP #635 The real reason people have freckles} As a child, I remember a sweet red haired lady telling me not to be embarrassed by my freckles, that they were God’s kisses. Obviously, she was as Irish as they come. But NOW I know the real reason. Those of us born under a waxing crescent or a full strawberry moon in June are fey. That is, magic. If you’ve ever known someone who was energetic and charismatic, chances are they are Gemini. If they were of these moons, they are also spritely. They probably drive you a little crazy. They can’t help it. It’s like their brains can only light on subjects for a short while and then they’re distracted by dandelion seeds floating on the breeze and they must follow them to find where they lead. You’ll know them by their freckles. Usually they have to come into their “power”, for lack of a better term. They are often ridiculed…
Of course a January topic would be “New You”. New Year’s Resolutions and all that. Every year I say I’m gonna do better. I’m not gonna cuss so much, I’m gonna quit being such a gossip, I’m gonna stay off the internet and quit ordering books and start reading the ones I already have. It never works. I rarely even make it to the afternoon of January 1st. So this year I said I was gonna write more. I adopted a second writing challenge. I was doing alright till last weekend, when I became a lazy slug. I was exhausted from packing up all my Christmas decorations and I finally had a clean house and I just wanted to lay around and enjoy it. Which I did, and no writing was accomplished. I have also abandoned all hope of keeping my checkbook balanced. I’ll just have to spot check my bank. Or something. *yawn* But I tell you what I HAVE been doing. I’ve started going to spin. Spin? you ask. Yes. That’s a stationary bike that you pedal. And you don’t just pedal lackadaisically, you pedal like the hounds of hell are nipping at your feet. You engage the resistance, and you feel like you’re pedaling underwater because by then you’re sweating so hard you think you’re swimming. I take my glasses off…
