welcome readers & writers. many thanks to you readers - without you we wouldn't be writers. thanks also to yesterday's writers, including author chuck galle. it's an honor to write with each of you!
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as i continue to build a readership & writership for this blog, i will need a little help from time to time if you're willing. first, if you're a regular visitor, please click "follow" on the right hand side of the page and become an official follower. another very simple way to help promote the blog is to click the "stumble upon" icon (under the word sociable on the right hand side of the page). the "stumble upon" icon (blue and green with a white squiggle through the middle - 5th from the left) will take you to the "stumble upon" website. you won't have to do anything special there (unless you'd like to surf around on it and see various random blogs that other folks like - it's actually kind of interesting). i'd encourage you to click this icon when you think the photo prompt and/or the posts are exceptionally good. when folks submit write away every day to "stumble upon," others interested in reading and writing will be directed to this website and so more likely to find us. thanks! :)
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okay - so enough of this crazy media marketing thing and onto today's photo prompt. can't wait to read your take on it! here's mine:
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Don't tell anyone, but this slanty garage is mine. It's actually brand new, but I got out and roughed it up a bit when the contractors left - to make it look old and kind of artsy. See, I want it to look good, I do live in this neighborhood, but not too interesting. That's because of what's inside. By day I'm a big city, big boned, middle aged lady lawyer. I leave for work in the a.m. in my power suit and square toed shoes. I drive my yuppie car and carry the requisite Kate Spade bag into a shiny suite of legal offices. But by night, and on weekends, this is what I do. I sneak out of my condo and into that shed. I change into a t-shirt, boots, and leathers. I let my hair down and roll up my sleeves so my ink shows. I put on my black helmet, pull down the visor, open the garage door and ride out, busting a wheelie right down the alley to the road and onto the highway. I ride until every last infuriating conversation with my boss or repugnant encounter with a colleague or opponent has seeped out of my pores, dried up, flaked off and whipped away in the wind. Do any of my neighbors really care that I ride a bike? No. Is there a reason to be so secretive, like I'm some kind of... of superhero? No. But there's is no better high, no sweeter solitude, than total anonymity when I ride. -
come write with me! 250(ish) words or less - submit your short story, poem or creative non-fiction piece by clicking on comments below.
