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

Wednesday, January 5, 2011


welcome readers & writers - a winning wednesday to you ; ) today's prompt is a photo i took last weekend in san antonio. the structure on the left was a small freestanding building that appeared to be an oven or stove of some kind. writers, come write with me! submit your short story, poem, or creative non-fiction piece by clicking on comments below. i love to read your work!  see below for my fiction spin on the photo.
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"Haht. Haht. Haht," my littlest one says, bouncing his chubby palm up and down in the direction of the miniature brick building. I turn to look.  "Yes," I say, impressed that he's made the connection between our tiny gas log unit and this freestanding stove.  "Hot. It's a big fireplace." He nods solemnly.  "Out?" he says, with a tilt of his head, pulling on the buckle of his umbrella stroller. "Okay. Let's get you out." I lean down and unbuckle him, dropping two kisses on his chubby cheeks, each slightly sticky from our room service pancakes. 
He toddles over to the stove but stops short. "Haht?" he asks again, turning to me, palm out again, bouncing up and down. I'm certain it isn't hot, but I double check to be sure. "Not hot," I say. "Good boy for asking. You can touch it." But he doesn't. Even when I show him again that I can touch it, he won't. He edges an inch closer, then looks up at me again, eyebrows quirked in a dubious arch. 
"It's okay," I say. "Mama says it's okay." I pick him up and set him on my hip, leaning out to touch the bricks and say, "Not hot." He puts his hand on a brick then, too. "Naht. Haht," he says with a teeny smile. His daddy arrives, smelling of aftershave, hair still damp from the shower, and gathers us both in an embrace. "Dada," says my boy, pointing at the stove, then shaking his palm back and forth. "Naht. Haht."


  1. Aw. Sweet. :)

    I grew up in San Antonio, so it's always fun to find it mentioned somewhere.

  2. I sat down by the fire to warm myself. Outside was bitterly cold and it seemed to have penetrated right to my bones. It was going to take an age to warm up. I looked around the pub. It was a quaint old place, populated sparsely by regulars, chatting idly with who I presumed to be the owner as he dried glasses and placed them on shelves behind the bar.
    I was left to myself which I appreciated. I knew I would have to buy something to repay the service of being warmed up but just for now I would sit and thaw.
    It had been a long day and although the walk didn’t go as planned, it had been refreshing. We were supposed to meet up a few hours back but I was alone most of the time. I gave up checking for bars on my phone after a few hours and just enjoyed the silence and isolation. It is so rare these days to be completely cut off from other people.
    I stood and wandered to the bar to order a hot port. I had shed the outer layer of my heavy winter coat to use as a seat holder, to ensure I got my prime warming seat back.
    The barman delivered my drink and after the transaction I returned to stare into the fire. I could feel the heat on my face as my mind drifted. I didn’t care if they didn’t turn up. This was nice.

  3. I had thought to try writing a bit of dialogue for this prompt. When I wrote the first line I realized I need not more. So here's my dialogue, turned monologue. A short short story.

    "Tom, we have two skids of bricks left over. Jimmy called the supplier and they won't send a truck out to pick up just two skids. Waddaya think we oughtta do with these things?"

  4. Linda - I never knew I was communicating with a sister Texan! Very cool. San Antonio must have been a wonderful place to grow up.

    De Langer - So glad to read your work again. I really like this piece. It communicates peace and solitude to me - something I feel like I don't get enough of! The story also gives that satisfying sense of an unexpected goodness coming out of a situation that might have been pretty crappy. Thanks for writing.

    Chuck - Funny! The building did kind of look like that... out on its own away from the big buildings. I wonder if they ever light the fire... Thanks for writing!