Happy Mother’s Day to all the mom bloggers out there celebrating. You Brits have already done so in March!
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. Boy, did Sammi ever go digging for this one! Heck, WP doesn’t even recognise the word!
May 12, 1996, Mother’s Day.
Baby is due June 21. “Sorry, you’re not a mother – yet!” was jokingly said.
May 25, 1996, son is born.
A joyous day that is filled with fear
All is not well with his heart and he succumbs
January 17, 1997, son dies.
May 11, 1997, Mother’s Day.
Still not a mother.
I feel like a solitudinarian ~ not physically ~ I am surrounded by loved ones
but in my heart. I might as well be elsewhere, alone
The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not mans -Mark Twain
I told Dale I would post today’s entry because I just do not want to let Wednesday go wordless. Not this Wednesday.
Zeke passed into the mystic on Tuesday afternoon. And as with any brilliant light, the end came much too soon. Because it is always too soon to say goodbye to such a cherished companion. She referred to him as a beautiful beast yesterday and a more fitting description you will not find. He lived a wonderful life as evidenced by this montage pieced together by the love of his life.
Good Wednesday morning, my peeps! How serendipitous today’s Friday Fictioneer picture from Jennifer Pendergast, chosen by Rochelle, is a food-related one. My eldest is 23 today and is a foodie and fabulous cook. Of course I had to give a shout-out to him. Happy birthday, Iain!
Should you want to try your hand at writing a delicious story to go with this picture, just click on the frog below and add your link. Easy as baking cookies!
Click me!
Start Young, Never Go Hungry
He gets it from you, you know.
I’m not so sure about that!
Why’s that?
Believe it or not, his dad was teaching him how to make breakfast when he was all of seven years old. Showed him how to turn on the oven for the hash browns, start the bacon, set the timer for the first side of the hash browns, flip when it was time, and scramble the eggs.
Wow. But awful young, no?
Not really. I think it’s a skill parents should encourage from a young age. Too many are afraid of the mess. It’s unfortunate, really.
“Dahlings! Welcome to An Evening with Picasso-esque“.
“Rene Rosso here, and I’m thrilled to announce that this Art Gowns show is being broadcast across the globe. So, without further ado, let me hand the mike over to our esteemed Art Director, Rebecca Budd.”
“Welcome, welcome! Tonight, we are on fascinating journey through the esque-art of Picasso. So, let’s not waste anytime, and bring on the Art Gowns Models!”
“First out on the catwalk is Gigi. Gigi and her gown sure know how to make a point!”
“Next out is AGM Shey. Shey showers us with a fun kooky rendition of romance.”
“Marina is a show stopper in this cubist creation.”
“Our darling Dale takes on a dozen dimensions in this daring design.”
“Holly is a dream in this flowing full length frock with matching hair.”
Tired of her Picasso-esque gown, Ms. Rosso did an unexpected costume change into a
Princess Blue Holly was at a stalemate battling with Etamilc. She knew Hyperion could lay a final blow, if he arrived in time!
My unease for days has troubled me, when in my study the eyes of my Black Dragon statue begin to glow. From his mouth came the pleas for help from Princess Blue Holly.
Enraged that she may be in immortal danger, I transform to the Ancient Black Dragon of the North and follow the current trails of Blue Holly’s urgent plea back to the scene where Etamilc has enslaved the Art Gown Models and My Lady.
Etamilc has chosen my element of water to battle me. Pity there is no chance of success. I dive to the depths and exhale a mighty flame that roils the water in a tornadic blast. The water turns to steam. My Lady, and the Art Gowns Models begin to rise from…
This is a rarity. Me, combining two prompts. But both pictures came in on the same day. And while I couldn’t think of what to write for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers nor for Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge, last night a thought came to me using both! Why not? Plus, I added one of my own, for story’s sake. And double plus, it’s Mick’s birthday today and he would have been 57 and he loved silly fun. And I apologize to both of you for going over the 100 and 150 limits. For that reason, I’m not adding my links. No one can give me hell.
Who hung you up like Jesus on a cross, Elf? And for goodness sakes, why?
Oh, ahh… gee. Now that you mention it… That wasn’t the look we were going for, I assure you. It’s so I don’t fall down. And I’m up here so I can see the Christmas lights!
Well you look bloody ridiculous. And it’s daylight.
Have you looked at yourself, Scarecrow? You’re kinda in the same position as I am but way down there. And seriously, couldn’t you have added something bright to wear? You’re positively drab! And darkness is coming, my friend.
It’s not exactly as if I chose my outfit, yanno! Besides, I’m actually working here. Who has time to hang around and look at lights when there are birds to scare away?
Dude. You have got to stop being so serious. Let your hair down… err… you know what I mean. All work and no play makes for a boring life.
It IS getting dark… I’ll be off duty, soon. What can you see? Is it worth it?
Ooooohhhh… sooo pretty… We gotta find someone to jack you up!
The moment Rene Rosso felt Rebecca Budd’s estranged & frantic energy, she instinctively morphed into Princess Blue Holly.
Princess Blue Holly looked into her Tangle-Heart. The signal was weak.
Her Tangle-Heart managed to connect via the moon to a magic orb from Dale’s Peach tree.
It led Blue Holly to a wind farm outside of Chicago. It was here she found the Art Gowns Models planted firmly into the good earth.
She also found the tornado that had captured them. It was Etamilc Egnahc. Poor thing had once been Blue Holly’s friend; a gentle, soothing summer breeze. Then climate change turned her into a PBH nemesis.
“Blue Holly, welcome to my Art Gowns Models Plantation! Seems whenever the Art Gowns Models are in jeopardy, you come to the rescue. Well, you’re too late! They’re already growing roots, and once they go to seed…
Frank, formerly from A Frank Angle could not resist the blogosphere and has returned (or rather, is returning) with a brand-new blog called Beach Walk Reflections this coming October 20th. He will share his thoughts on a variety of subjects and he is hoping to make this one as interactive as aFA was. This idea didn’t come out of thin air but rather through a number of Beach Walk posts on the old blog. An idea was born and with it a great reason to return.
Here is a sample of his first post. A rumination on seeds…
I like walking on the beach. It is good for the mind, body, and soul – and refreshing on my feet.
Ever think about seeds? They seem so simple at a glance – even on closer examination. We typically think of a hard, thin outer shell with a softer inside.
On the other hand, this seemingly plain object is the beginning of something new – something beautiful – something useful – a green plant that can be as simple as grass or are grand as a large tree.
Earth’s annual regeneration of seeds for release (many in the fall) – possibly covered by winter snows – yet ready for renewal in the spring so the cycle can repeat – all this with its goal of perpetuating the species.
I think of the farmer preparing the land before planting the seeds. Whether scattering the seeds randomly or planting them in straight rows with distinct spacing, time delivers something that belongs to all of us – bountiful crops and flowers.
As I walk, trees are sparse – only found on the grounds of some condominiums – although they are naturally found a short distance away from this beach. I think about a forest. Somewhere in that forest’s history, there was a time of one tree – the first tree. One tree that came from a seed. From that one tree came other trees – each coming from a seed.
I think about the sizes and shapes of seeds – from the tiniest orchid seed to a type of coconut containing the largest seed – shapes as squares, oblong, angular, triangles, round, egg-shaped, bean-shaped, kidney-shaped, discs, and spheres. Some seeds with lines and ridges – others perfectly smooth – plus in a variety of colors, and some even speckled.
A seed has three components – an outer protective coat, the embryo for growing into a new plant, and the food source giving the embryo and young plant its initial food source for growth – all aspects for increasing a chance for survival.
Ever notice how leaves sprout early from a seed? Yes, leaves for producing food for the youthful, growing plant because the initial food source is small.
Seeds hold the potential to produce something new because they contain hope and promise for something new. But not all plants use seeds for reproduction. For instance, mosses or ferns do not – but seed plants are the ones that dominate the plant world.
This causes me to think about our fertility – that is, the seeds within us. The promises that we hold that can produce a bountiful yield.
Interesting that the sperm of human males are called seeds, but in the plant world, seeds are something produced after the sperm fertilizes the egg.
Seeds are mobile, so they must have adaptations to move them around – a method of dispersal. Some have wings to be carried by the wind. Some have barbs, burrs, or hooks to attach to fur, feathers, or even human clothing to be dropped elsewhere. Some are buoyant so moving water can transport them. Others are surrounded by fleshy fruit that will be eaten, therefore the seeds can be exposed and deposited elsewhere for potential growth.
I remember the large oak trees at my previous home. Each producing a bountiful supply of acorns – but not the same number each year. Each acorn with a coat, an embryo, and food supply. Each acorn is the potential for a new oak tree. However, all those acorns from one tree – a culinary feast for squirrels preparing for winter – so I wonder how many of all those acorns will yield their acorns in time.
Seeds are that structure we plant in fertile soil and associate with terms as vigor, viability, dormancy, and germination. Seeds are also a source for food, oils, cooking ingredients, flavorings, jewelry, and even deadly poisons.
Besides a simple design yielding a complex adult, the seed is also a useful metaphor.
People are hidden seeds waiting to become viable vessels of knowledge. Because every seed has the potential for a significant result, seeds are a symbol for the potential that is in each of us for a positive future – a power of hope and possibility. Teachers hope to plant a seed in students – a seed that develops over time into something valued by others and society – their role in cultivating humanity.
Seeds are the ideas coming to us from thinking. The something that initiated a thought process that leads to personal action for improving life. The seeds of discovery lie in the knowledge of determination through the human spirit.
I think about how each of us has a bright side and a dark side – the good seeds and the bad seeds. Seeds are a symbol for laying the groundwork for future development as planting the seed – but some use planting the seed for promoting negative feelings or a downfall.
Religions rely on the seeds of faith while politics prefers manipulating the seeds for selfishness.
A heart contains seeds of love that are waiting to sprout a new life with that special someone.
I think about how entrepreneurs use “seed money” for starting a new business. I also remember during my youth using “bird feed” or “chicken feed” as a term for a small amount of anything – something paltry or minuscule in amount.
Seeds – that simple, interesting, incredible, and successful biological design found in nature that plays a large role in human life. I don’t recall what triggered thinking about seeds on this day, but it has been an interesting mental journey and exercise as I walk. After all, I like walking on the beach because it is good for the mind, body, and soul – and refreshing on my feet.
Attachments area
Preview YouTube video 08. Spiritless ~ Composed by Moisés Nieto (New Age Piano Music)
It’s Wednesday and I’m on a roll! Friday Fictioneers is here with this wonderful photo by Sandra Crook. Thanks always to Rochelle for hosting this weekly party. If you care to join, please click on the frog below and add your 100-word story.
Click to play
This is perfect! I’ll take it!
Are you nuts? Look at this mess. Why the hell would you want to take it upon yourself to deal with this?
D’you remember “The World According to Garp”?
Crazy movie. But yeah. What’s your point?
Remember when the plane drove through the house they were visiting to potentially buy?
Uh… yeah.
Like he said, ‘It’s been pre-disastered, we’re gonna be safe here.’ We can clean it up and get it going.
Honey… there’s a huge difference between a plane hitting a house and high tides brought on by storms!
I had the pleasure of beta reading this wonderful story and enjoyed it so it was a no-brainer for me to participate in any way I could to help launch it into orbit. This story has a little bit of everything but rather than me repeating it all, please check out below. Take it away, John.
New Book Launch – Eternal Road – The final stop.
Thank you so much for having me on your blog, Dale, and thank you for helping me launch this book. I know with work, kids, Zeke, and your blogging schedule, time can be a precious commodity. I appreciate you taking the time to help with the launch. Speaking of the book, let me describe it. Eternal Road is the story of two people finding their way through the selection process leading to the place where one will spend eternity. Yes, it is true. They both have passed away. James Wainwright just died in an auto accident. Samantha Tourneau died seventeen years before. Sam is James’s guide to help him decide where to spend eternity. This is not your usual thriller or paranormal romance. It is a piece of fiction that is a combination of inspiration, adventure, time travel, sci-fi, a touch of erotica, and a dash of spiritual. In short, it is a lot of things, but hopefully, a story that will make you happy to have read it.
It is now available on Amazon in paper and Kindle. The Kindle edition is introductory priced at 99¢ until October 15th
James Wainwright picks up a hitchhiker and discovers two things 1. The woman he picks up is his childhood sweetheart, only Seventeen years older. 2. He is no longer of this world.
James began a road trip alone in his 1956 Oldsmobile. He stops for a hitchhiker only to discover she is his childhood sweetheart, Sam, who disappeared seventeen years before. James learns from Sam falling asleep miles back caused him to perish in a one-car accident. He also comes to understand that Sam was taken and murdered all those years ago, and now she has come back to help him find his eternal home.
The pair visit a number of times and places and are witness to a number of historical events. The rules dictate that they do no harm to the time continuum. Trying to be careful, they inadvertently come to the attention of Lucifer, who would love to have their souls as his subjects. They also find a threat to human survival and desperately need to put in place the fix necessary to save humankind.
The question becomes, will James find his eternal home in grace or lose the battle with Satan for his immortal soul and the future of human life with it? If you like time-travel, adventure, mystery, justice, and the supernatural, this story is for you.
An Excerpt
The pair go back to the cell area, and each chooses a bed. James takes one close to Sam’s and looks for a spot to place his candle. He spies the rough bedpost—nothing more than a two-by-four timber. After he makes sure to drip some wax, James sets the stick in the hot gloop so that the candle won’t tip over after the wax hardens. Once rid of the open flame, he props his long rifle on the wall, drops the pouch, and sits on the bed. He sighs with relief at getting off his feet.
Sam smiles. “That sigh comes from memory.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That feeling of contentment comes from memory. You could stand for a hundred years and not feel it.”
“Well, recollection or not, it feels good to sit down. What will we do about Attila?”
Sam sits up. “What do you mean by ‘do?’”
“Should we take his advice and call up old Lucifer?”
Sam places her hands behind her torso and leans backward. “I can’t see an upside to phoning the Devil. Can you?”
James shrugs. “Well, is there a downside to not calling?”
“I suppose he could get pissed off.”
“And do what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe poke us with a pitchfork.”
James lays back on the bed. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Of course. I’ve never run across this kind of thing before.”
“Isn’t there a helpline you could call?”
“Sorry, James. No helpline.”
“It still worries me why we ended up here.”
“Me too. It’s odd to think of one place and go to another.”
James rubs his chin and then stretches out on the hard bunk. He wishes he could come up with a quick answer. On the other bed, Sam sits cross-legged. James wants to know, “Doesn’t that hard cot bother you?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Right now, it feels good.”
“Another memory.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Because I don’t have an answer.”
James raises his hand. “Let’s call him, then. After all, he won’t talk on the phone. According to Attila, it has to happen in person.”
Sam rests her hand on her forehead. “Yeah, an in-person appointment with Lucifer. You know how nuts that sounds?”
James waves his hand in dismissal. “More nuts than a couple of spirits sitting in a jail cell in the middle of the Alamo in 1836?”
“Okay. I give. You’re right. Make the call.”
The trailer
John’s bio
John is an award-winning author who, after an extensive business career, began writing full time in 2012. His specialty is thriller fiction novels, but John also writes poetry and short stories. He has written five other books that are on Amazon in paperback and Kindle editions. The paperback versions are also available in the Indie Lector store
John lives in Lakeway, Texas, with his wife and their spoiled rescue pets.
