Image Credit: Caleb
I held you in my hand
Felt the passing of an age.
Closed.
Sheltered
Alone.
Footsteps upon a far off shore
Could they have been yours?
A lover
Desolate
In despair?
A microcosm captured forever
A story waiting to be told
Speculate
Query
Wonder.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/03/24/photo-challenge-53-march-24-2015/
I have always found it interesting to reflect on what inspires me to write.
Often it has had to do with a perceived audience. When I was writing for students I had particular students in mind for various character and that often made it easier to write that way.
But now days I don’t have that luxury.
As a blogger I am pretty much on my own often speculating as to who my audience might be.
But I think I have changed my attitude to writing in recent times. I tend to write to satisfy me.
I approach most tasks in that way. If you read and like what I write then that is a bonus.
Every time I write now I set out to explore something. Usually it is how I perceive a prompt, then how I want a character to appear, then finding the words that convey my idea in some sort of cognitive way.
Everyday I look for something to write about. It’s the challenge that is immediate and I love applying myself to discovering if I can make enough sense to publish.
There are some prompts that I love to explore. Each Friday the Fairy-tale prompt comes out on Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie and for me this is a great challenge. I think because I don’t see any boundaries in writing fairy tales, you can go anywhere and do almost anything.
That I have set most of mine in my backyard has meant I can say what I like as it also creates another dimension to my stories when I sometimes publish a photo from my garden.
I think that more often than not I set out to entertain myself and my stories always contain some sense of me, my sense of humour or a stance I want to take over some issue I have an opinion about.
Finally I am inspired by other writers, one of the benefits of blogging is to read so many wonderful writers and attempt to digest their skill be it in poetry or prose.
I would never say writing is an easy task. I have my moments of frustration where I walk away after I realise what I am writing is going nowhere. But the challenge is always there to put my take on an image or expression, to explore my own creativity and produce some random words so placed in an order that makes sense to both you and me.
This is the last of the Creative Expressions prompts and I am sad to see them go but along the way I have enjoyed participating and writing my take on each of Caerlynn’s challenges. I wish to thank her for this opportunity.
Written for: https://penntonic.wordpress.com/2015/03/24/creative-expressions-15-inspiration-and-creativity/
This week’s prompt: …when the daylight returned the king was dead…
There was no doubt about it. The morning sunrise brought news of the king’s demise.
It was a shock to us all as only the day before the king had declared today a public holiday. When asked why he had done so he replied that he was the king and if he wanted us to have a holiday he would and could do so.
We all stood around looking at his body. Some sipping coffee, some in pyjamas but all agreed if it wasn’t for bread knife in his back he’d be enjoying the holiday with us.
Written for: https://jfb57.wordpress.com/2015/03/23/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week172/
Image: Barbara Beacham
Finish the story begins with: “When the team heard the dam explode, they knew they had limited time to make it to safety.”
It became a matter of the calm before the storm and each man knew his role was the paddle like never before.
John and Phil up front screamed for the guys to paddle, they increased the tempo, navigating with great skill.
Bill and Will the middle men concentrated on the front guys and made every effort to maintain the stroke being given up front each man secretly wetting themselves at the possibility of the danger they were in.
Harry in the back was a rather sanguine character who believed the adrenaline rush the whole experience was providing him was something he didn’t want to miss.
Harry was hanging on, guiding the raft through the rapids with skill and precision, surprised at the inner calm he felt and all the time hearing behind him the gathering roar of the dam surge when….
Written for: https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/03/23/mondays-finish-the-story-march-23rd-2015/
This week’s words: Corridor Sardonic (cynical, sneering, derisive) Pry Kimono Puzzle Hag Theme Moan Velocity Lift Audible Insolent (boldly rude)
When Bea was a girl her mother warned her that if she didn’t improve her ways she was destined to end up the town hag. Now that was nothing to aspire to since the present town hag was Smelly Kate and Smelly Kate was ostracised from one end of town to another.
Bea thought her mother was a bag of useless bones and paid her little heed. She’d stomp off down the corridor to her room throw on her silk kimono and moan away to her friend Jenny over the phone about her mother’s relentless prying into her life.
As time went on Bea developed a real nasty sardonic side. It became almost intolerable the relationship between mother and daughter. Where Bea saw her mother as prying into her life her mother was puzzled as to why her daughter had turned out such a nasty piece of work.
Bea had learned to irritate her mother by making her comments barely audible as she flounced off stamping her feet on the polished boards of the corridor.
Bea’s insolence was getting to the mother who decided enough was enough and the continuing theme of disagreements, argument and bad temper was taking its toll.
The mother decided after repeated efforts to get her daughter to lift her game that it was time the daughter moved out and found out what life was like away from home.
After all the mother reasoned that with the increasing velocity of the magnitude of their confrontations it wouldn’t be long before violence came in to the equation and she didn’t want that.
So on the last day of October of that year the daughter returned home after a long night out to find her belongings packed and waiting at the front door.
Her daughters anticipated sardonic response was not greeted with any response. The mother in a voice that was clearly audible made her intentions clear that Bea could go off in the waiting taxi to solve the puzzle of her life away from the prying eyes of her mother.
She watched Bea march down the corridor one last time and winced as she stopped and turned at the front door calling her mother a ‘Hag’ before slamming the door behind her.
The mother stared at the door, as if waiting for her daughter to return then realising she was herself on the floor, lifted herself up, as her tears began her grief manifested itself in the most painful of audible moans.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/03/23/wordle-53-march-23-2015/
With autumn came cooler weather and introspection among the staff of the school dedicated to the teaching and learning of the nation’s elite.
I liked getting to school early. It allowed me to miss the morning peak and it gave me time to get organised for my day.
Tuesday morning was a good morning for me as I didn’t teach until after recess so I had the morning to myself, to catch up on lesson planning and to chat with friends around the school.
My school was made up of a variety of teachers from all walks of life and when you teach for a long time in a school of academic excellence the nature of the teachers and the teaching does change over time.
Smart kids are challenging and teaching them is equally so. When you consider that most of them are smarter than you the whole idea of being a facilitator of learning becomes very meaningful.
In the Maths faculty my friend Merv was always early like me. He taught a before school class to the seniors and loved the class and the challenges it presented. Now Merv was an odd man on a good day, all Maths teachers I discovered were unusual, they had to be to teach the stuff they did.
On this particular morning I went past Merv’s classroom to see him at his whiteboard putting up what I thought were his formulas for the morning class but he was in fact using a students finger the blood smearing onto the board in some geometric pattern that I am sure in Merv’s demented head at that time made a lot of sense.
I stuck my head in the door to discover the early arrivals were in fact in various pieces around the room except for Lennie Phillips who was sitting rigidly in his seat staring ahead eyes focused on Merv.
Merv in the meantime discovering the finger he was writing with had run out of blood reached down to a hand on his desk and ripped another finger and began writing once again.
I called to Lennie to get up and come with me. He did so and we made our way to the office. The office was the hub of the school, nothing happened in the school without the office being involved in some way.
I should have known this phenomenon would not have been any different. We were greeted with an array of drooling women wandering around the office, blood dripping from their mouths, their heads bent to one side, their grey skin and hair highlighted by their eyes now glazed over red and glowing as they spied Lennie and I at the counter.
Behind the office was the principal’s office and I made a be line for her room only to greeted by her leering face, teeth discoloured, her hands out wanting to seize me for her next meal.
Grabbing Lennie I made it out of the office unsure of what to do but knowing that soon the school would be full of potential victims.
Then my heart dropped. Across the playground they came as one wave of zombies, each screaming for blood, mine it seemed, I ran this way and that but every path was blocked, every avenue of escape gone it was either succumb or…suddenly my head felt a severe knock…I opened my eyes my bedroom ceiling stared down at me…thank goodness I thought it was all a dream…
I climbed out of bed the images still vivid in my mind and as I dressed I smiled at the thought of telling Merv about the dream.
In the kitchen I heard my mother moving about, the chains dragging across the floor as she laboriously moved about preparing breakfast. Harnessing and training my mum as a kitchen operative was a stroke of genius I thought, after all it was better than having to put the obligatory bullet through her brain and she was happy to snack on the neighbourhood children who ran about oblivious to the zombie mum at number twenty-two.
Written for: http://okaywhatif.com/2015/03/22/what-if-your-workplace-was-where-you-first-discovered-the-zombie-virus/
Vernalagnia is the romantic mood heralded by spring. Flowers in bloom, the opening of the chrysalis, reproduction cycles, sunshine and downpour, renewal
Write for me my love
For spring has sprung
The trees are flush with blossom
My heart beats longing for you
To feel your hand upon my breast
Your lips upon my brow.
Your words are always of love,
Of lustful desire and soft moon light
I love when you compare
My beauty to a morning sunrise
Or wax philosophical on matters of
Doting and youthful adoration.
I crave your touch
I lie awake recalling
The magic of being in your life
Now I am left with lasting memory
Even if my heart is broken.
But I resolve to step forward
You have taught me I can love
I want you and need you
My words are all I have.
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/03/22/writing-prompt-99-vernalagnia-march-22-2015/
Last week my mate Shaky and I went to Sydney by train. (He is Shaky as he has Parkinson’s disease, his decision not mine for the name)
Now since neither of us work we have a lot of time on our hands, which from my point of view is great, as I don’t mind not working.
So having qualified for a seniors card and therefore cheap train travel I had myself organised with a new shiny Opal card for getting on and off the trains, buses or ferries all for the cost of $2.50 all day. Bargain.
My first obstacle was discovering I had no money on my card when I got to the train station and tapped on. Opps there was fine print I had not read saying if I didn’t use my card within sixty days the money would be refunded to my bank account.
Thankfully paper tickets could still be purchased and so we both had tickets, Shaky actually had money on his card as he’d checked before leaving home.
The first train appeared and went past.
The second train appeared and went past.
So in our wisdom, as we live close to the train station, we decided to drive to the big station some half an hour away to collect the Sydney train.
Driving in the mornings in any city is always fraught with danger and for us it was being delayed so we missed the train we wanted to catch. It was an express train with limited stops as opposed to the one we did catch, which stopped at every tin pot town along the way.
The journey is usually about two and half-hours but this journey took us over three hours.
But we are retired chaps and we have time.
We made it, did our stuff, had a great lunch and a good wander about the city.
On our way home we wandered into a carriage and found a seat. As the train took off it occurred to me that we had seated ourselves in a ‘quiet’ carriage.
Now for two guys who love to chat to each other this required commitment and a conscious desire not to irritate others so we found reason to doze on and off on the way home. I should also point out we caught the express train home.
I don’t travel on the trains as much as I should but I enjoy it when I do.
Written for: http://okaywhatif.com/2015/03/18/okay-what-if-challenge/
Badge by the Doobster.
All those in favour?
Aye
Those against?
Silence
Passed.
How many times have you heard that.
Then again you would also be well aware of an eye for an eye. That sense of biblical retribution for some perceived crime or misdemeanour.
I am not sure of the state of my stream of consciousness, then again you may well argue it is often missing in action, if in fact it ever existed at all.
So I shall ramble as I can, my eye is in, that’s a cricket term, sorry but the World Cup of Cricket is on at present and last night Australia beat Pakistan. Today New Zealand play the West Indies, all attention on the TV as today’s game will be a good one and I hope close.
Writing in first person singular is always going to give a very subjective view of any situation but then again that’s the point isn’t it. I am sure you have as many opinions as me on most situations you come across. Just pick up your daily paper either in hard copy or on the net and there will be a multitude of things your mind will have an opinion on. Your subjectivity will be yours and its something you are entitled to hang on to.
Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2015/03/20/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-march-2115/
The theme for this Fairy Tale prompt is to describe your Utopia and feel free to bring in all kinds of creatures you know from fairy tales. How does your Utopia look, are there rules? Is it an island (as was it in the original novel by More). Or is it a new paradise full of magic and mystery?
In a hidden section of my garden is the home of the Topies.
These fairy folk have found a special home, a utopia so to speak.
The Topies are a mixture of many fairy folk. Like humans they are fairies who have become disillusioned with their life as it was and went in search of something different.
Their founder was Marcus McClarkson who claimed to have smuggled himself on one of the first fleet ships in 1788 on their way to Australia. Marcus was a loner, a fairy with very strong opinions and one who never found himself associating with other fairy groups.
Marcus found himself on board a ship sailing up the east coast of Australia and eventually settled himself in the area I now live in. When my family moved into my house some hundred or so years ago Marcus was already living nearby. Happy in his isolation.
Human suburbia meant he had to find sanctuary and he did knowing the fairy communities that lived here viewed him with suspicion but accepted him as he was after all one of them.
Today Marcus’ disciples inhabit the space between my place and my neighbour. A narrow piece of land, well disguised and private, which suits the Topies very well.
The present day Topies are a gregarious and homogenous group of fairies. Each has made a decision to leave their family groups and move in with other disaffected fairies and so create a unique and wondrous world for themselves.
In the early days they tried to breed but today they know fairies cannot inter breed as their genes are so unique that the cute and furry offspring they produced turned into scaly and hideous monsters who had to be hunted down and killed otherwise they might wipe out all the fairies in the garden.
So now to gain access to Topia one has to apply, go through a series of interviews, have an intimate knowledge of birth control and prove themselves compatible with other Topies.
The Topies live a separate and enjoyable life. There are no arguments, no bickering (fairies love a good bicker from time to time), it is in many ways the perfect socialist environment.
Each week the Topies come together to celebrate the past week. They believe there is always something to celebrate from welcoming a new member, to celebrating the life of a deceased Topie. Some weeks they celebrate for the sake of celebrating as an excuse to indulge in a drink and a feast.
In Topia the head Topie is always called Marcus. The present one is Marcus McGlinconkirkal who was once a member of the Tree Fern fairies and now commands every one’s respect in Topia.
I was fortunate to attend a weekly celebration one I shall never forget as the Topies are also the makers of Topia Juice: an alcoholic beveridge capable of sending you pleasantly into tomorrow. You realise this when you awaken the next day wondering what day it is.
The day I attended the celebration was in honour of my visit. Topia Juice flowed freely, their favourite food, the gold dotted Fungus, cooked to perfection in large vats of what can only be described as the foulest aroma imaginable but producing a flavour like nothing you’ve ever tasted neither before nor after. Your taste buds crave more and more as they dance around your tongue and mouth doing handstands in appreciation.
Now I have recovered from this event I can say I am happy to leave the Topies to their own world. They have created a unique environment and though you might think all they do is constantly party they do only allow the ‘right’ fairies entry into their community.
They do keep to themselves but I have seen them come to aid of other fairies, especially the day the dreaded Weston destroyed the habitat of the Bamboo fairies and not only left the fairies homeless but the much loved miniature bamboo pandas, Mabs and Tabs with no home. But that is another tale for another day.
Right now I can hear them singing a rousing chorus of their favourite song, terribly out of tune, but when one is drunk on Topia Juice, who cares?
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/03/20/fairy-tale-march-20th-2015/
Morpethroad 