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, February 25, 2011


readers & writers, hello again! having read lots of advice about blogging, i know i'm not supposed to apologize for not posting for so long... or to explain why i've been away.  but i'm going to anyway. i've missed several days because life has been overwhelmingly busy. but thankfully, it's all good stuff. i've started a new job, i'm back in school, and as always i've got the mama & wife thing going on. i also had the wonderful opportunity to fly to Pennsylvania for the wedding of two good friends. i'm back now... and will do my best to get back to blogging, back to the writing (and the writing friends) i've really been missing :)
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writers, join me in writing about this photo prompt?  share your story, poem or creative non-fiction response by clicking on comments below.  here's my spin on the photo: 
Foundational.  When I look at these rocks that's a word that comes to mind. And solid, and weighty, and ancient. Patient, present, resolute. There's something about stones, like trees, that makes me think they are quietly breathing, bearing silent witness to the lives which bustle and swirl around them. They remind me of other foundational pieces of my life: the unconditional love of family, the affection of dear friends, of how the world keeps spinning and soaking in the warmth of the sun for us. I want to find that speckled rock again in the heat of the day and hold it in my hands, running my fingers over its pocked terrain and pressing it to my lips with a prayer of gratitude.       


  1. Once upon a time
    a little girl
    picked up a word
    and without thinking
    threw it at her friend—
    to pick a violet
    from the grass and dandelions.

    The girl on the gurney
    told the ER nurse,
    a comet came out
    of the sky,
    as she gripped the wilted violet,
    stared up into
    boxed lights,
    counted the stitches
    that would never
    mend her heart.

  2. Sounds like you were extra busy for lots of good reasons. Glad you got to go to your friends' wedding. And best of luck with your new job! :)

  3. "Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away." Matthew says Jesus told this parable to teach that we need to be in good soil to do good things.

    What about those who are born to bad soil, who struggle and make things grow and find the healthy humus under the rocks, what about those people who are like this vine?

    I know I know I'm mixing biblical metaphors, but can't you be the vine sometimes and the rock sometimes and the light sometimes.

  4. Katrina was walking in the grounds of the monastery, listening to the laughter of her friends. They were probably climbing some ancient tree somewhere. She walked on laughing to herself as a girls scream of delete reached her ears. They were nice kids, but they never could understand what she saw in the place. She walled on, every step taking her further away from their noise and closer to the peace and solitude she admired there.
    As she walked she passed many shrines to Christ, the Virgin Mother, or various saints, along with many monks walking or praying. She avoided the
    praying monks as not to disturb or be disturbed.
    Her friends calls were now as faint as the wind and could be easily ignored. She walked to a shrine of Saint Joseph, the patron saint of family, and offered a silent prayer while her hand rested on his.
    She closed her eyes and prayed. She prayed for her drunk father, and the mother she had never met. She prayed for her brother in heaven, and for her sister in jail. The beautiful fall breeze moved through her hair. She felt peaceful. She felt the love and presence of God in her and in her family.
    The past didn't matter, and the future would come later. The only thing that mattered was the present. For it was a gift form God.

  5. Blood stained his fingers, seeping across his calloused knuckles from where his hand grasped at the bullet wound. He had killed the other man with a lucky shot. And the other man may have killed him. There was still time on that one. Somewhere in this field lay the next clue, the next answer. Or maybe just another question. Four years and all the waiting and searching, all the seeking had led from one tiny glimpse of hope to another, each really fragments of a dream. It was quite probable that he would simply never wake up from this one. His vision was getting blurry and it was harder and harder to stay on his feet. He stumbled into the small alcove of the tree at the stream. He hit hard on his knees bringing fresh tears to his pained eyes. Searching the stones, he used his free hand to turn them one by one.


  6. The sky was beautiful. Blue. So many kinds of blue. He lost himself in that wide endless blue. For just a bit the cold stone under his head were forgotten. And he could dream a little longer. Something about the sky can do that... it is so vast and yet simple and endless. And we are not. He closed his eyes with a strain that came from the last good part of his soul. He had to move on. He had to live. He needed to.