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

Friday, October 8, 2010


welcome readers & writers... and many thanks to Jessica Lemmon, FilmGuy, Chuck Galle, and Brian Potopowtiz for your awesome posts on yesterday's photo! what a great day for the blog.
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it's photog friday! today's photo contribution was taken by a frequent visitor and writer to the blog, brian potopowitz. brian is a friend of mine and an all-around creative soul - carpenter, writer, jeweler and photographer. he's originally from alaska and now lives in northeastern pennsylvania. i saw this photo on brian's facebook page and asked him if we could use it for a photog friday - it's intriguing to me! thank you, brian, for the use of your great photo.

here's my fiction spin on brian's photo:

I sink down into my claw foot tub, which is already filled to the brim with hot, silky suds, and I relax by degrees. An involuntary shudder runs through me as the heat penetrates through every layer of my skin and deep into my bones. My scalp tingles with the pleasure of being warm for the first time all day, for the first time since I turned off my electric blanket this morning and put my feet on the frosty floor. In fact, the whole day's been frosty, and I'm not just talking about the weather. My boss was in a miserable, self-centered mood. With a few muttered words and the flutter of her hand she shot down the proposal I've been working on for weeks. My ideas don't even warrant a complete sentence anymore, I guess. My co-workers could hardly look me in the eye. It's not that they don't like me. And no, they weren't being mean. Deep down they fear that failure is contagious; they want to succeed so badly that not one of them would chance contracting my luck. Ah well, tomorrow is another day, and I'm on to a new proposal.
I soak for more than an hour, adding water whenever the temperature strays too far from sizzling. I sip wine and read my novel. I close my eyes and drift off for a time, and when I open them again I see such a lovely -- almost leopard-like -- pattern of condensation on the metallic tiles above me. I've heard it said that 70% of the human body is composed of water. Not me. 95% or bust, baby.  

writers, i hope you'll join me in writing about brian's photo!  short story, poem or creative non-fiction... just click on comments below to share.


  1. The Zenotron Separator

    Gordon was the senior hydro-analyst at Rhys Laboratories in Fresno California and he was very excited about today. It was bring your daughter to work day and he thought it would be a good opportunity to connect on a scientific level with Samantha. She had always been interested in the way things looked on the outside and had no interest on the tiny, subtle, components that all fit together to create the whole. As he pulled into the parking lot of the lab he was thinking about how Samantha would buy books to read because she liked the cover. Twenty minutes later the two stood in front of a large machine in a huge room cover from head to toe in their fresh, white “clean” suits. Samantha was not happy with this or the fact that she had to leave her jewelry and purse behind but she seemed interested in seeing the machine so she went along with the, “torture.” Gordon tapped on the glass surrounding the machine and said, “This is the Zenotron separator. Basically, what is does is it manipulates the surface tension of the water molecules and pulls them apart. Look there.” And he pointed to a round, stainless steel disc in the center of the room. It was slightly concave in the center and held a small bead of water. Gordon turned to a technician sitting at a monitor to his right and asked for a demonstration. The tech gave the thumbs up and Gordon turned back to Samantha and said, “Watch the monitor there to your left and let’s see what happens.” The monitor showed a camera view of the drop of water from about one foot above. Suddenly the drop shuddered and then split apart into several hundred smaller drops and spread out over the surface of the steel plate in straight-line patterns emanating from the center. “Oh Dad, that’s so pretty! I wish I could take a picture with my cell phone.” And she turned to glare at him through her plastic goggles. “Sorry Sam, protocol you know. Anyway, what do you think?” “It’s cool Dad. So, what can you do with it, part the Red Sea?” Gordon chuckled, “Yes, but we would need a machine the size of Alcatraz Island to do it. This is just the beginning of something much bigger. We can separate the water from the water but the next step is to separate other substances out of the water. Oil, for instance. Imagine being able to separate all the oil out of the Gulf of Mexico in a week of even a day. Wouldn’t that be useful?” Samantha didn’t respond but instead sat down in a chair in front of the monitor and traced a finger over the lines of water droplets. After a minute she swiveled in the chair and said, “We’ve been learning about cancer this month in school. We’re made up mostly of water, could this machine separate the cancer?” Gordon stared at his daughter and then his eyes began to shift to random objects in the room without completely focusing on them. It’s what he did when his thoughts went into hyper drive and Samantha knew that look and was flattered. Gordon’s thoughts stopped on the one that meant the most to him, “My daughter thinks about what is beneath the surface.” His eyes snapped back to hers and they shared a smile. “I don’t know Sam, but I think we should find out.”

  2. Sand moves without pattern and pulls us apart,
    an hour glass, maybe
    or a whole desert.
    Baked tan and still burning
    too much
    too much in the middle
    and we're outside
    looking across the expanse
    of what looks like roses or petals
    but is really just that quintessence of dust
    that our professor lectured on for so long.
    Freshman English, wasn't it?
    That was before I knew you,
    when we were just sitting in swivel chairs and our knees were touching and I could think of no word except
    and what a piece of work man is, in youth and beauty
    in expectation and promise
    and first love.
    You are a piece of work.

    And like glass love exploded
    and now there's just sand
    still heat,
    but dry now and sucked clean as bones
    and growing with dead flowers
    while we -- two planets
    a universe of time
    sand, just sand
    Between you and me.