minted

readers & writers, welcome!  

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writers, feel free to spin a little tale/poem/musing about today's photo prompt. just click on comments below to post. i'll be back to write, but probably very late tonight when i return from seeing harry potter 7.1 with my big boy. love the movies. love harry potter. love my boy. thinking about what it must be like for an author to have gobs and gobs of people be inspired by something you've written... and what it's like to see your story spring to life on the big screen. pretty cool stuff. thanks for stopping in!!  come write with me :)
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I'm back! I couldn't find the words last night to write about Harry Potter 7.1  It was amazing. And it really defies review because it just is. There's no going wrong for this iconic story that is so much bigger than ink on a page or pixels on a screen. Judging by the audience in the theater last night, Harry Potter is a universal story which brings hope, joy and courage to people of all ages. It has and will help shape the character of my boys, and for that I am incredibly grateful. Have you seen the film? What is your response?

remembered

welcome, readers & writers! hope your weekend afforded you some time for rest and play. we did a lot of catching up around here; not restful or playful, but it's good to be out from under mountains of laundry, toys and dishes = )

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today's writing prompt is a photo of a plant that grows beautifully here in austin. it's called setecreasea pallida, or 'purple heart.' writers, hope the photo and/or the title inspires a poem, short story or creative non-fiction response in you. if so, come write with me and share your response by clicking on comments below. remember, there's no pressure to have the writing be perfect. this is just an exercise to boost your creativity for the day. readers, the comments section is open to you as well. thanks to all for stopping in!

Mary shifted on 'her' bench, tilting her face toward the glimmering sun for a moment before returning her eyes to the blood purple plant just across the path. She wasn't mad at the sun anymore, for shining. And she wasn't mad at the young mothers for walking by with strollers holding sleeping newborns or mobilizing wriggling toddlers. She wasn't mad at all anymore. Just sad. Eternally, unremittingly sad.

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Something about the setecreasea plants nurtured a stillness inside of her - though it was a stillness void of comfort or peace. She didn't feel closer to her son here, in the park where he used to run and shout and play, where he'd gotten in trouble once as a teenager when he got caught smoking his first cigarette. She would never be able to talk herself into feeling close to him when there wasn't enough of his body left to ship home from Iraq. The stillness she felt looking at the purple heart plant came because, when she looked at it, she didn't feel alone in her sorrow. This living, weeping, beautiful thing with its skin the color of bruises was her daily companion in pain. So they sat, in proximity to one another, getting through the day. Soaking up the sun. Mary inhaled what the plant didn't need anymore. The plant inhaled Mary's sighs, deeper than words.       

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beheaded

welcome, readers & writers!  here's today's photo writing prompt - a little later than usual.  writers, would love to hear your creative take on the photo - story, poem or memoir - click on comments to share.  readers, comments are open to you, too.  thanks, all for stopping by.  see below for my spin on the photo.

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'ello all!  my name is Sir Nicholas. You might know me. My creator J.K. Rowling, God bless 'er, made me famous in her books about young Harry Potter. Nearly Headless Nick, they call me. Well, it seems I'm not nearly headless anymore.  Since I moved into this house with three young lads and one gargantuan dog, me head's altogether gone, now. Likely ended up in the washtub or under the sofa. Don't know how I'm speaking with you at all.  Magic, I suppose. That's one thing there's no shortage of here. Spells are always bein' cast about. Some are spells from the books, some are brand new made up spells like solar inferno, which - the lads say - engulfs its object in a ball of fire. Wands are flashing. Capes are flying. I hear a lot of talk about how many days until "number seven" comes out. Not sure what they mean, but it has something to do with me. And popped corn. Tin of tunny, I'd like to find me head by then so I could view whatever this "number seven" is. Ah well. At least maybe one of the lads might hide me in 'is pocket. Do ring me if you see it, won't you? 

  

dog-eared

welcome, readers & writers!

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here is today's photo writing prompt - writers, poem, short story or creative non-fiction, write away!  click on comments to share. readers, comments are open to you as well. thanks to all for stopping by!

5.7.5.
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lost in a world of
simple words, antique stories
lovley ways and days

imprinted

welcome,  readers & writers!

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today's prompt is a photo of a necklace given to me by a dear friend. some memoir-esque thoughts about the necklace and the friend are below. that's my response to the photo. writers, what's yours? click on comments below to share a story, poem or non-fiction response to the photo. remember, these prompts are intended to provide you with a writing warm up. so there's no pressure to produce an award winning piece of work here. just flex those creative muscles and we'll all go "oooh" and "ahhh!!" readers, comments are open to you as well. thanks, all, for stopping by.

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One of my college roommates came to town this week. What a joy it was to see her! We've stayed connected these uh-humm many years - a) because she's much more organized, patient and persistent than I am (thus a better correspondent), b) because, until recently, we had the good fortune of living a half a day's drive from one another - and the chance to cement the friendship as adults, and c) because we can completely and totally be ourselves around one another. We know the good, bad and, well, badder history of each other's lives and we love each other all the same. 

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My friend is one of the strongest people I know. She's been through more heartache in life than one person should ever have to endure; and yet she has been able, through sheer will sometimes, to be positive, vulnerable, open and hopeful to life. 

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Some years ago, when she was in the midst of a terrible crisis, I drove out and offered help in whatever very limited way I could. As I was leaving, she gave me the gift of this necklace. She explained that the word thanks, imprinted on the silver, was not only a literal expression of her gratitude to me, but also an offering of gratitude and thanks for life's blessings. That she could find it in her that day to give a gift to me, or to even say the word "thanks" out loud tells you volumes about her character.

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I wear the necklace often, always remembering my friend - what she's lost and what she's gained through these many years.  I wear it with gratitude for her and, inspired by her, for life's many blessings. 

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come write with me!

found

hello readers & writers! 

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here is today's photo writing prompt... something i found out in a field. writers, write away! poem, short story or creative non-fiction, i'd love to hear your spin. here's my 25 cents worth  :)
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With her ten tickets clutched tightly in one hand and her Granny's hand holding tightly to the other, Jarellyn scouted out the whole carnival before deciding which ride to do first. No matter that most of the other kids were wearing wristbands that meant they could go on as many rides as they wanted. No matter that most rides cost two tickets, meaning she'd just get to ride a handful.  Jerellyn's chubby cheeks were lifted in a big grin. 
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Granny had said they might not be able to come at all. But then, when they were cleaning out the coat closet, Jerellyn found a five dollar bill squished under some shoes. Ten tickets, two hotdogs, two sodas.  More fun than Jerellyn had seen in a long, long time. Since Mama left. 
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And she'd be able to talk with the girls at her lunch table about the carnival. She could say she'd been there. She could say her favorite ride. She could laugh about the silly clown running around making balloon animals and spraying people with a squirting flower. They paused for a minute; Granny needed to catch her breath. But just for a minute. Jerellyn, so excited to know that she'd be able to see the whole block from the top of the ride, tugged Granny toward the ferris wheel. The whole darn block. "This one," she said to Granny. "It's gotta be this one."
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come write with me! 

trained

welcome, readers & writers! 

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writers, looking for your pet stories, poems or creative non-fiction (memoir, anyone?) thoughts today. click on comments below to share.  readers, comments are open to you, too.  here's my doggie memoir, a memorial.


Maddy was the best dog I could ever hope to have, though to say "have" her doesn't feel quite right. I wasn't her owner, and I definitely wasn't her master, because - though she loved me - she never obeyed me much at all. She was just family, I guess. A furry little Ewok (black chow chow) about the size of a small watermelon when I brought her "home" to my college apartment, one which didn't allow pets, by the way. At full grown she was the size and shape of a big kid black bear. Once, when I took her for a walk around my apartment complex, a foreign exchange student very new to our country asked me, in a tremulous voice, "Is it bear?" She looked relieved to know that we crazy Americans aren't out walking our bears every morning.   
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Maddy-girl was sweet and stubborn, smart and playful. She thought about being fierce for about ten minutes when she was a pup, but once she was too big to growl at people from under furniture, she decided to go the docile route. She loved, loved to run and be chased... which made life difficult sometimes. At the least convenient moment possible she'd squeeze her way out the door as I was leaving or coming home and take off. I - and anyone else kind enough to help - would run after her for blocks. She was super fast. Every once in awhile she would stop, panting, and smile at us, watching until we got almost close enough to catch her, and then she'd take off again. She did this game for years until she got old. Eventually we stopped chasing her because the whole thing would end much faster after she'd had her run and come back home with a grin on her face. 
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By the time she was twelve, almost thirteen, she was not only my dog anymore; she was well loved by my husband and my two boys (one on the way). She'd been with me through college, graduate school, a number of very broken hearts, engagement, marriage, and two new babies. Always gentle, always sweet. In her last few years with us she mostly slept and watched the children play. She couldn't see or hear very well and so would kind of vacantly wag her tail when you'd talk to her. And she never played her chase game anymore, something I was grateful for. 
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On the night of November 1, 2004 - All Saints Day - in the chaos of the bedtime hour, I put her outside to do her business. I took a little longer getting back to her than usual and when I opened the door she wasn't there. She'd wandered off to our front yard and, heartache of heartaches, been hit by a car right in front of our house. Writing about the rest that night, and the days that followed, is too long and still too hard. 
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But I will tell you that several months later, still feeling awfully guilty and empty and sad, Maddy came to me in a dream.  I was walking up and down the aisles of a warehouse like place looking for her.  I rounded a corner and saw her way at the end of an aisle. She came running to me, grinning. She was young and spry and just herself. I knelt down and hugged her, feeling her silky woolen coat and kissing the bridge of her soft nose.  After that dream, there was peace. I miss her still, but I know she's okay. And I fully expect to see her again.

come write with me!