welcome readers & writers! in this cyber space please find: + a photo writing prompt + a place to post your creative writing response (poem, memoir, short story or the like) to the prompt + a community of readers and fellow writers excited to read your writing + morsels of genuine fiction, poetry & creative non-fiction as the blog is updated. share a response as often as you'd like. everyday discoveries from my life, captured on film, will serve as prompts. this is not a place where we will critique one another's work; however, words of encouragement or praise for writers who share their work are most welcome. writers, share your story, poem or creative non-fiction response to the photo by clicking on comments; word count is flexible. cheers! demery

Tuesday, September 14, 2010


welcome readers & writers! thank you, readers, for tuning in. writers, thanks for writing with me. if any folks out there are considering writing, but feel you don't have time or aren't sure if you want to risk it - remember two things. 1) writing prompt exercises are meant to be relaxed and laid back. they are a means of waking and warming up your creativity. so no pressure to spend an inordinate amount of time on them (unless you can and would like to polish them up) and 2) this is a no-feedback zone, meaning that critiques of any kind are not posted here. as i wrote in the blog header above, uninvited critique doesn't jive with the nature of writing prompt exercises - it squelches creativity. so this is your chance to just relax and enjoy writing what comes. 
here's my spin on today's photo prompt:

An Open Letter to the Characters in My Novel

Dear, sweet friends (even you, Mitzi)

I've been counting the cost, and here's the deal. I want to let you know that though we've suffered a lot of hits (ahem, rejections) lately, I still love you. All that stuff about throwing in the towel and giving up was just exhaustion and lack of sleep talking. You have been my companions, my escape, my joy for many years now. 

Each of you found me to let me know you belonged in my story, and I've rejoiced at sketching you to life with words. Even after all this time I learn something new about you whenever I return to the pages that make up your common life; I hear your voices, see your actions, laugh at your jokes, and shake my head in dismay at your shortcomings. 

Please know that I don't, for one second believe (as doubts and fears would have me do) that you are trite, overdone, nonsensical or boring. You are you - in every wonderful way possible. And I... am committed to working and kneading, smoothing and polishing your story until it gleams (or should I say "gleams more," because it's already darn gleamy).  

Also, even though the 70,000+ words of your story are filled with nuance, depth, humor, heartache, layers, motion and funny surprises, I will * will * find an appealing way to tell the story in one page or less to those ever-elusive, sometimes cranky literary agents. Not giving up. Not even close. Promise.


writers, come write with me! just click on comments below, 250(ish) words or less: story, poem, or creative non-fiction.


  1. I thought a saw a paisley pig
    It thought that it saw me.
    I poked the pig and took a toke
    the toke poked back at me.
    The pig was blue and I blew too
    and I was blue also. The blue pig
    mocked my talky walk
    the paisleys spread and turned
    and formed a gawky flock
    my blue soul burned
    the pig's blue paled
    the sadness railed
    "You've failed, you've failed!"
    But still my was heart was big
    For indeed I'd seen a paisley pig.

  2. Just by doing the math in her head—four birthdays times $10, four Christmases times $10, and several sneaked bills from Grandpa Bills pockets—Janine figured that Carrie Ann had close to a hundred dollars in that paisley pig. And that was just from the grandparents. Add at least another fifty to seventy-five from the various aunts and “uncles” who deposited random donations when they volunteered to babysit and Janine could afford to have her hair glossed at Alexander’s. God bless you beautiful child, she thought. Nothing fills a piggy bank like pink cheeks and curls. Silly grownups, what does a four-year-old need with money anyway? It was really hers wasn’t it? They gave it to Carrie Ann, but wasn’t she the one who put up with all her shit? All her whining and clinging and bed wetting. No two ways about it, she deserved this. She earned it. Besides, it was getting hard to entertain nights. At least when Carrie Ann was a baby she slept most of the night. The guests never saw her. She was just a bundle of blanket and occasionally a wail, too small and pathetic to distract them with her long lashes and dimples. Well, she sighed, you can’t support me yet little one. Not quite to my liking. Until then, this will do.

  3. Silent Speaking

    Harold and Evelyn pulled into the parking lot of the, “Molded Art Studio” and picked a spot right in front of the building near the sign that said, “Open House.” They exited the car and Harold walked around and stood next to his wife. “I’m a little nervous to see what he’s made.” Evelyn said. Harold took a deep breath and looked at the building. After nodding a bit he turned back to her and said, “Yeah, me too, but at the same time I’m anxious to take a look. Mrs. Shane is the best. I really think she can help to mold Jeremy’s gifts.” He smiled and winked at her and she smiled back. “You’re always cracking jokes to break the tension. “Alright then,” She said, “How about we go inside?” The two looked through the back window of the car at their six year old son sitting in the back seat. Evelyn opened the door, reached out her hand, and said, “Come on Jeremy, let’s go inside. We’d like to see your ceramics project.” Jeremy didn’t react right away. He sat in the back seat looking at his hands and then, eventually, unbuckled his seat belt and reached for his mother’s hand. The inside of the studio was very bright and colorful with benches and stools all around the outside of the room. The center was dominated by chairs and turn tables for working the clay. Mrs. Shane noticed the three enter and excused herself from another family to come and greet them. “Mr. and Mrs. Stanton,” She said with a big smile, “Welcome, I’ve been waiting to see you.” She reached down and touched Jeremy’s shoulder. “Hello Jeremy.” He didn’t react so she returned her gaze to Harold and Evelyn and said, “Please, follow me.” Mrs. Shane led them to a bench on the far wall that had Jeremy’s name on it. Sitting on the bench was an object covered by a small black cloth. “Jeremy, would you like to show your parents what you made?” He didn’t acknowledge her but instead walked over and sat down in a chair in the center of the room. Mrs. Shane smiled and said, “Jeremy may not express himself like we do but he has his own way.” And with that she pulled the cloth to reveal a beautiful light blue piggy bank with paisleys and flowers painted over the surface. Evelyn’s breath sucked in and she put a hand over her mouth and looked at Harold. He put an arm around her shoulder as his chin began to quiver. Mrs. Shane looked stunned at their reactions and asked, “Is something wrong?” Harold said, “N….” and his voice cracked so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Nothing’s wrong. You understand that Jeremy has never uttered a single word. He’s never hugged us or even smiled at us but what he made is perfect.” He glanced at Evelyn and she nodded as tears began to streak her face. Harold turned to Mrs. Shane and with a wavering voice said, “I collect piggy banks.” Evelyn took a deep breath and said, “I love paisleys.” She reached out and touched the ear and added, “Light blue is my favorite color.” Running to her son she knelt down and pressed him close to her. “Thank you so much Jeremy, we love you.” He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

  4. She sat looking at the bank on her desk. She had just added $10 given to her by Uncle Fran, $20 from Amy and $10 from Aunt Dara. Now all she had to remember how much she had already had in. She remembered it being a multiple of ten, and larger than $30. $50! that must be it so she had $10 more to go, but the game came out today! She needed that $10, and she needed it now. The game would be all sold out by the time she had gotten hold of that money, Christmas was not for three months. She let out a sigh. Well it was time to get to work. She went down stars and put on a happy face then walked into the kitchen
    "How can i help you mom?" This was her last resort to money getting, and was a sign of desperation.