Advent Calendar Day 1 (A Little Late Because I Thought of it Before Having to Leave For Work!)

In the spirit of Christmas and the Advent Calendar that has been revamped and re-purposed in myriad ways, I have decided to do one of another sort.  Instead of taking one chocolate per day (or wine or whatever goodie is in vogue) or adding one item into a box to donate for a good cause (a very good thing, indeed) I have chosen to send a little love to my favourite blogs.

Now, this is a difficult thing to do as I am only technically allowed to have 24 entries.  However.  My blog, my choice.  There are 31 days in the month of December so, if I feel like it, I can send love to 31 blogs.  Or more.  I shall see.

I have pondered and thought and come up with a list.  It might change as I move forward and remember that I forgot ones that I love because I don’t “see” them that often or whatever.   Also, for the purposes of fairness and because I don’t necessarily love one for than another (or maybe I do) – is neither here nor there, I shall list them alphabetically!  No favouritism happening here, no siree.

Also, I am not usually a multi-post per day poster but this will happen as there are challenges I like to participate in and, who knows? I may get inspired by other stuff.  And the next Advent posts won’t ramble on like this one either 😉

As mentioned in my title, I had this wonderful lightbulb moment at like 2:30-3:00 pm.  And I had to leave at 3:30 for work.  And, ironically, it is now 3:30 am and I got home from work a mere half-hour ago.

Day 1:  Addicted to Purple

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields has become more than just a Friday Fictioneer Facilitator to me over the years.  She’s become a dear friend.  I came to her blog through Sarah Potter (we’ll get to her on another day 😉 ) whom I came to via someone else.  This blogosphere is a wonderful place.  I don’t even know how or when it moved from writing a 100-word story on Wednesday-Friday to almost daily chats on Messenger to Skype sessions.

Rochelle is a wonderful writer and artist, or is it artist and writer?  Even she doesn’t know which should go first.  She has the ability, in so few words, to bring to life a person from the past, homing in on that thing that makes them who they are (or were).  She blows me away time after time.

I not only read her fantabulous trilogy and accompanying coffee table book but am also lucky enough to be privy to the birth of her next novel.

Lookit that face!  What’s not to love?

I’m Fine, Too – Friday Fictioneers

Good morning/evening, my Reader Friends.  It is time for Friday Fictioneers – the next two days I start work early so now was the most opportune time to get my 100-word story in.

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple for not only herding us cats every week, but for supplying this photo this week.  One that drummed up a few memories.

If you would like to try your hand at this challenge, click on Rochelle’s name for the rules and regs.  If you only want to read a few interpretations of this here photo, then, please, click on the frog!

Genre:  Memoir

Word count:  Always 100

I’m Fine, Too

She thanked the good Samaritan for the ride home and made her way into the house on wobbly legs.

“Where’s the car?” Dad shouted.

“It’s in the ditch. And there is not a scratch on it,” I replied, still shaking from the whole ordeal.

“What do you mean, ‘It’s in the ditch’?  Why did you go out when there is black ice all over the roads?”

“I didn’t realise it when I left, Dad.  It seemed okay from our street.”

“Well, you are going to pay for getting it out of the ditch!”

“I’m fine, too, Dad.  Don’t you worry.”

***

Small note:  My father was not good at showing his true worry so he made it about the car… and he didn’t make me pay for the tow truck to get the car out of the ditch 🙂

Lost – Friday Fictioneers

Hello my Readers!  Welcome to Friday Fictioneers on a Thursday.  Couldn’t get my story onto paper, so to speak yesterday and had to rush off to work.  It ended up being a very long day so there was nothing happening in my brain last night, that’s for sure.  A little note to ya’all:  I’ll be a little slow in reading your fabulous stories as I’m back to working full-time, doing crazy hours.  I will do my best till I find a new rhythm!

Before I leave you with my submission, I wish to thank Rochelle for being the best cat-herder ever in keeping this motley crew in line week after week.  Thank you to Sandra Crook for a most lovely photo this week.  For those of you who would like to join our club, please click on Rochelle’s name for the dos and don’ts.  If you are not quite yet ready to add your two cents’ worth but would like to read more stories, please click on the blue frog!

Lost

It definitely looked beautiful from the outside.  But let’s face it, appearances are not always what they seem.  What looked fabulous to the outsider could contain a reality far from fabulous.  I needed to change my inner truth.  My nerves were beyond frayed at this point.  Hopefully not beyond repair.  I needed to get away and reclaim myself, find peace.  Peace.  What the hell was that?  I don’t know when I lost it.   Did I ever have it?  Maybe all this time I had been blind to my truth.

Welcome to our Asylum, Ma’am.  We are here to help you.

Thoughts Become Things – Friday Fictioneers

First Friday Fictioneers of the Year!  Yes, folks, it is Wednesday so, confusing for our Newbies, it means we get our photo for our story, which most of us try to post before Friday.  Just to confuse.  This wonderful photo that made me scratch my head was provided by Sandra Crook, wonderful author and photographer.  Rochelle, from Addicted to Purple, our ever-diligent facilitator, writer, author, wonderful person, sure knows how to pick ’em!  I’m no longer indicating my word count because, frankly, I always make sure it stands at exactly 100! 😉  As for the genre… well… let us not give too many hints, eh?

Click on the frog if you wish to add your own interpretation or just to read others’ stories.

  • Did a little tweaking to clarify this was an exchange between father and daugter…

sandra-crook

Thoughts Become Things

What is that incessant grinding sound?

It’s me, thinking!  Got such great thoughts you can hear me think!

You are so ridiculous!

No, seriously, my brain is going non-stop:  things to do, people to see, places to visit… anything but stay here on this dead-end farm.

There is nothing dead-end here, my dear.  We provide necessary food to our neighbours.  We are worthy.

Maybe, but it is so boring to me.  I’m dying here.  Same thing, every day.  Same people, every day. All old, nothing new.

He looked at her, eyes filled with sadness.  He’d have to let his daughter go.

 

The Meetup – Friday Fictioneers

Yes, it is Wednesday, so that means Friday Fictioneers time!  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, artist, writer, patient hostess,  has chosen our very own c.e. Ayr’s photo…

Don’t ask me why I went where I did but, I, ahem, went down a different path this week…

Should you wish to join in on our crazy adventure, please click on Rochelle’s link for the hows and whats.  If you wish to read other participants’, just click on the blue frog below!

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Got some creative crit and decided it was well-founded. I re-wrote the story as a result… 

© c.e. Ayr.

Genre:  Fiction

Word Count:  100

The Meet-Up

It was supposed to be for a light lunch.  Neither was hungry, so they had a drink:  water for her, soda for him.

They sat at a table and exchanged pleasantries.  He asked questions, his gaze intense and she felt like he was reading more than her words.  She felt the tension build and squirmed in discomfort, feeling totally exposed, yet strangely excited.

Before she knew how, he made her feel things she never imagined.

As he left her, dazed, yet lit up, he said:  “You’ll see, this will play out in your head all day.”

He was not kidding.

Bleeding Out – Friday Fictioneers

A little late this week.  Couldn’t be helped.  Life and all that got in the way!  But, better late than never, I say!  Welcome to Friday Fictioneers, on a Thursday (by the skin of my teeth).  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is celebrating her fourth year as a Friday Fictioneer – first as a participant and now as a wonderful hostess.  Happy Fictioneeriversary, Rochelle!  This is, apparently, a repeat image from Madison Woods, former hostess (before my time).  Great image indeed.  Check out the other fabulous participants’ versions by clicking on the blue frog.  How about YOU try it too?

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©Madison Woods

©Madison Woods

Genre:  Fiction

Word Count:  100

Bleeding Out

I am bleeding out.  Oh, you can’t see the blood, but I might as well be covered in it.  I can feel it oozing from every pore.

Remember that old children’s rhyme:  “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me”?  Let me tell you, that is so not true – no matter what our folks said!  They can and do harm.  Horrid words have been slewed about this house lately, by all of us, and I feel as if I’ve blindly walked into a barbed wire fence, not my body, but my heart, ripped to shreds.

Mockery – Friday Fictioneers

Yay!  It’s Wednesday!  Time to get those brain cells fired up and come up with a story for this week’s prompt by Gail Marie Stratford.  Must admit, I had no idea where I was going though I did see the shadow first… 😉

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, of Addicted to Purple fame, for hosting this shindig weekly.  At least once per week I am forced to get my creative juices running thanks to you!

Should you wish to participate (I warn you, it is addictive), please click on the blue frog for instructions and to add your two cents’ worth.  No? Just want to read?  You can do that too!

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©Marie Gail Stratford

Genre:  Sort of Fiction

Word count:  100

Mockery

I sat in my office, gazing at the city below.

How did I get here?  I never had plans to be an office drone.  It started with a week-end receptionist job at my dad’s office.  Making money was so cool.   I could buy myself stuff.  Way better than going to school!

The more I did this work, the better I became, the more I earned.  Ended up doing it for over 3o years.  I loathed it.

Hah! Even the shadow on the building flipped me the bird, mocking me.

I took it as a sign to quit, to change paths.