welcome, welcome readers & writers. today's photo was taken by my oldest son. it goes well with my story - which is not here - but in an online journal, The Rose & Thorn!! Yes, my friends, as of today i am a published author. i submitted a short story, Song of First Light, to the R&T and they accepted it for their winter issue. i'd love for you to read it. click here to go to their site. (when you get to the site, click on the cover artwork to get to the index of stories and poems).
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writers, please feel free to use the photo for a writing exercise; submit your poem, short story or creative non-fiction piece by clicking on comments below. i love to read your work! readers, comments are always open to you as well.
She’d seen that before, she thought, as the car rumbled under her. Or did the arrangement of the landscape outside the window simply look familiar? Hard to know.
ReplyDeleteShe swept a glance to the gap-toothed kid sitting next to her. He smiled, touched her in a cautious if not friendly gesture.
“It’s okay,” he assured. “We’re almost there.”
She blinked. Wherever “there” was, it was hard to imagine anything worse than the place she’d spent the last month. An involuntary shiver sent her hair standing on end. The solitude, the cold metal bars, hearing others like her cry softly from their rooms. Before she arrived at the place… well, she couldn’t really remember anything from before. Except for a man’s face. A cruel man’s face.
The boy patted her again, repeating, “You’ll be okay, girl.” Then to the woman in the front seat he asked, “Mom, what should we name her?”
“That’s up to you sweetie,” the woman replied as the car sloped upward then came to a stop.
The boy met her eyes, stroked her head one more time. “If it’s okay, I think I’ll call you Lucky,” he said, seeming to wait for her approval.
She had a name once but couldn’t remember it. Lucky seemed to be fitting, considering the woman at the shelter mentioned to the woman and the boy that she’d narrowly missed something called “euthanasia.” She didn’t know what that was exactly, but she knew it happened behind a big gray metal door. Animal and human went in, but the animal never came out. Each time one of their furry cohorts was led into the room, she and her cagemates barked and whimpered with a premonition of terror.
She shook again.
“Come on, Lucky,” the boy repeated, his voice soothing. “We’re home.”
She tentatively licked his hand and followed him out of the car.
Home.
She liked the sound of that.
Congratulations!
ReplyDeleteI'm one of the prose editors from Rose & Thorn, and I really loved your piece.
Best with all your endeavors.
Congratulations, Dem. I'm so proud of you (and to have read about Lovey when it was a WIP). Your story brought tears to my eyes all over again.
ReplyDeleteCongratulations, Demery! I'm hopping over to read your piece right now. I can't wait!
ReplyDeleteJessica - I love your story! Got chills when I realized that "she" was a pup. So moving.
ReplyDeleteJanna - Thank you so much for your kind words! They made my day :) I'm so honored to have my story in the Rose & Thorn.
Alison - You have known Lovey from day one. I'm so glad you could share in the experience of having her find a home "in print!" I'm so thankful for your continued love and support!
Bess - Thank you! Hope you liked the story :)
Congratulations on publishing your short story! And I love using photos as prompts, but I haven't done it in WAY too long - I'm so glad to have discovered your blog!
ReplyDeleteIt's the composition that gets me. It looks almost like an accidental punch of the button, an off-handed click that caught something, what? A stop sign? A power tower? An interesting juxtaposition of the words "STOP" and "ONE WAY"? Not at all a planned photograph.
ReplyDeleteAnd yet the rule of threes keeps repeating. The symmetry is the one third, two thirds imbalance, two sets of three poles intersect in foreground and then are echoed in the distance. The ephemeralness of clouds is reflected in the ghosts of the interior of the car beside real clouds. The range of contrast runs from solid ebony to pure white. The horizon is captured way down at the bottom, giving the viewer a footing, a fundamental perch, a basis upon which some premise grows and whispers. It is not a snapshot. It is a work of art.
Lena - Welcome to write away every day! And congratulations yourself on being published, right?!?! I remember reading about your new book *Edges* on Alison Treat's blog. I hope to read it soon! Please come write with us whenever you have time :)
ReplyDeleteChuck - I can't wait to read your photo reflections to my son (who took the picture). He really does have a way of off handedly snapping a photo and having it come out brilliantly. Thanks for writing!
This is very cool. I teach writing to kids and make up prompts all of the time. I love that your whole site is devoted to this! I had a contest earlier this month asking readers/writers to answer a prompt I made up. A few brave souls entered. It's great to see that you really have people participating! You must have a generous spirit - looking forward to getting to know you!
ReplyDeleteLena - a few different kids come and write with me sometimes. It's wonderful to have their input. If you feel comfortable sharing my site with your students I'd love to have their input. It is my joy to read what my writer friends are generous to share here on write away :) Thank you again for stopping by - look forward to getting to know you, too!
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