It is Quadrille Monday on dVerse! Today’s hostess is De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) who has asked us to write our 44-word poem using the word botherin some way, shape or form. De is Being bothered seems to be second nature to many of us moms… just sayin’…
A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.
Perfect timing for this particular word today. We lost a beloved member of our family yesterday afternoon. I’ll write more about him later when the dust has settled. Thank you, Sammi for hosting this wonderful challenge week after week.
Like moths to his flame
Like mice to his Pied Piper with a guitar instead of a flute
It’s Thursday and I thought I wouldn’t play and then an idea came and well, here I am. Friday Fictioneers, a place where you let your imagination roam where it will, but within 100 words. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and this week, thanks go to Liz Young for the use of her wonderful image. If you want to join in or read other stories inspired by this photo, just click on the frogs below!
Learning the Hard Way
I’ve always been a firm believer in learning through living. You can give advice but let’s face it, they rarely, if ever, take it. So you watch from the sidelines, quietly.
I was always very careful not to say or show when I didn’t like one of her boyfriends. I just watched her disappear into the person she thought he wanted, knowing that she would eventually wake up and get out of there. Only later, would I admit that I knew that particular relationship was doomed.
It’s hard, though. To watch them stumble. You don’t want your kids to suffer.
It’s Wednesday and I’m Friday Fictioneering. This photo by c.e. ayr (thank you) brought me back to our summers camping in Cape May, N,J. We always had so much fun with my sister’s family and often, other friends. Thanks always to Rochelle for hosting this weekly shindig. Should you want to play along, just click on the frog below and leave the link to your 100-word story.
Click to play!
A Young Hero
We’ve been coming to “Dog Beach” near Cape May for years. We love it because our dogs are allowed to frolic and play in the salty waves.
That’s not all that played in the water that summer. The blood-curdling scream from my niece had us all jump in fright. Her father ran, then froze by water’s edge. No matter, her cousin, five years her senior, came to the rescue. Without a thought for himself, he ripped off the jellyfish, getting stung himself. The tentacles had wrapped themselves around her legs, leaving behind angry welts that thankfully, left no permanent scars.
A little dVerse quadrille, using the required “Go” word. Funny how you can have a set idea and then one little word sets you in the wrong direction. Nothing a little sleep can’t cure, right?
Oh my goodness! I don’t know the last time this has happened to me. I got inspired to write a second Friday Fictioneer story, based on Trish Nankivell’s photo! Had to. Click on the frogs below to join in or to add your own 100 (I clocked in at 95 on this one!) story.
Click to play!
Stopping Time
Grandma! Why do you have a lock on your toilet paper roll? Afraid someone is going to steal it?
I’m trying to stop time!
What? You have got to be kidding! I think you are losing it.
Oh, I’m losing it, all right.
I know you’re just kidding. You’re the most alert eighty-something I know!
Alert, I may be. But time is going way too fast.
Not that fast, Grandma.
Trust me. You’ll see as you get older. Life is like a toilet paper roll. The closer you come to the end of it, the faster it spins!
How could I resist Rochelle’s “DOUBLE-DOG DARE YOU TO NOT write a story that has to do with lockdown, quarantine or the big C-19″ using this photo by Trish Nankivell? I could not. Not that I have in the last almost eleven months, but still. It’s time for Friday Fictioneers. Click on the frogs below to read more stories or to add your very own!.
Click to play!
Price of Peace and Quiet
Lianne sighed in pleasure, relishing the quiet. She took a sip of her coffee, picked up her book and started reading. Less than a paragraph in she stopped, realising it was too quiet.
“Daisy? Whatchu doing, honey?” No answer. No bueno. Peace and quiet always comes at a price.
As she entered the playroom, Daisy jumped on her.
“Hi Mommy! Come and play with me!”
Lianne looked at the long strips of toilet paper that went the length of the room. and the stack of empty rolls at the end.
A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend. How you use the prompt is up to you. Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like. Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise. If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in the comments.
“We feel cold, but we don’t mind it, because we will not come to harm. And if we wrapped up against the cold, we wouldn’t feel other things, like the bright tingle of the stars, or the music of the aurora, or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin. It’s worth being cold for that.”
― Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass
Winter Solstice. The shortest day of the year, which sometimes, can feel like the longest.
I’m driving home from a much-needed oil change for my car. I know what day it is and yet I don’t want to focus on the sad but on the date, the season. Claude Debussy’s beautifully romantic, and to me, sad, Clair de Lune starts to play on the radio.
I feel nostalgic and though my heart pinches a little, I smile as I drive. I can’t help but think of Mick and Mémère (my grandmother) dying on the same day, five years apart. Winter Solstice. I don’t know why there is something right about it.
We had gone up north to visit my mother and, of course, did a side trip two villages over to visit my grandmother – we always made sure we did. She must have been about 85-87-89?, give or take, when she told us of a dream she had had.
I dreamt that you were my boyfriend, Mick. Môman was not happy about it at all. She said to me ‘What are you doing with an English boy? You don’t even speak it properly!’ I answered to my mother: ‘But I love him!’
Well, needless to say, she was giggling as she told us the story. And Mick being Mick was not one to let such a thing go. Every single time we went up north, he’d sidle up to Mémère, wrap his arm around her shoulder, give her a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek and say “Allô, Bébé! Comment ça va ma chérie?”*
She’d blush furiously, playfully slap him on the arm while hugging him back then give a big smile followed by an “Oh you!” Their love was real.
Time for Friday Fictioneers! A thanks always goes to Rochelle for hosting this weekly party. This week’s photo is by Roger Bultot. Click on the frog below to join in on the fun!
