prickled

readers & writers, welcome! thanks to filmguy and brian potopowitz for your great posts on yesterday's photo prompt. it's a joy to write with ya'll.

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i took this photo at the park last week on the first "cool" day of fall here in austin (low 70's). writers, what's your short story, poem or creative non-fiction response to the photo? i'd love to read it! 

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as for me, i'm thinking it's time for a haiku or two:

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5. 7. 5. (x 2)

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silky green surface

beckons a touch. ow!  curse your

peanut window pane

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desert harvest loop 

stand down your summery thorns

sing a song of fall

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care to write with me? just click on comments to share your work.

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thursday's string around the finger: you can share write away every day with your friends on twitter or facebook. just click the desired icon on the right hand side of the page (under the word "sociable"). thanks for helping to spread the word!

masked

welcome readers & writers!  thank you to krowles1981 and cjohnson for yesterday's posts. cjohnson, you win the prize for the shortest story ever told on write away every day ;)

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i hereby present today's photo prompt, along with my creative non-fiction spin (excuse the pun!) on it:

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My second baby was a great sleeper, the best of all three of our kids. But the circumstances had to be perfect. None of this drifting off in the car seat, the shopping cart or the restaurant's high chair like some angelic children. But give that baby a darkened room and some white noise and his little eyes would be drooping before the first sweet strains of his favorite lullaby escaped our lips. To this day he sleeps best with a fan going in his room. I guess it drowns out the sound of life going on around him - the TV, his older brother's piano playing, his dad and I chatting, the garbage disposal and dishwasher. In this case, white noise is good.  

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It works for adults as well. Our New York city friends have a white noise machine in their apartment to mask the noise of the city - sirens, horns, blaring car stereos, heavy-footed upstairs neighbors.  
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But what about another type of white noise -- those intentionally sought out distractions that mask reality, blocking out what's real? Those things that become an excuse for missing our own lives? When I was growing up, TV was a pretty constant white noise machine in our house. Sometimes that's still true for me. But these days my white noise is often the soft glow of this computer and the snazzy little apple clicks that run a hundred laps a day around the same loop: email, facebook, twitter, this blog, news pages, other blogs.  What, I wonder, is the noise masking? What reality am I missing? Good things? Difficult things? Maybe it's time to scale back a bit and really listen to my life, to what's real inside and all around me.        

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come write with me! i love to read your work. click on comments below to send it in.

whittled

welcome readers & writers!  thank you, Chuck Galle, for writing with me yesterday. 

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here's today's photo prompt and my spin on it.  writers, i'd love to read your take on the photo: short story, poem or creative non-fiction.  just click on comments below to share!

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Paul likes to whittle. Each day, after his coffee (cream, no sugar), and his toast (honey, no butter) he takes a seat in his workshop. With the radio buzzing away he picks up a block of wood and whittles it, chisels it, fashions it, sands it into something beautiful. His favorite project is toys, baby rattles especially. For years he watched his kids, and then his grandkids, play with plastic monstrosities: loud, gaudy, annoying things. Back then Paul wasn't woodworking yet. He was working, though. Eighteen hours a day in his restaurant. And all for what, he asks himself sometimes. No, often. All for what? He worked until he was too old to work anymore. None of his kids wanted to take over the business, and he wasn't about to make them. He wanted them to be happy. So he sold. And, after twenty-five years of constant motion, he went crazy for awhile - trying to learn golf, follow soap operas, and work the Sudoku puzzles on the daily calendar his grandkids gave him for Christmas. Gardening helped, but winter months were long. One day he decided to clean out his already spotless cellar, and he came across some two-by-fours left over from a fence project. Something about the swirly, fingerprint-like grain of the wood called to him. He dug up his old swiss army knife that day and whittled a whistle. No matter that it didn't actually whistle in the end. He went to bed happier that night than he had for years. That's how it started. That's how Paul came back to life again.

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come write with me!        

arrayed

welcome readers & writers!

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here's my spin on today's photo writing prompt: 

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The waiter set their menus and a handful of crayons on the table and leaned in to take their drink orders. Katie, who loved to color, made a face. Her dad ordered coffee and a chocolate milk. When the waiter stepped away, her dad said,  "What's with the face, KatieDid?"  
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"Poopy colors," Katie sighed. "Katie-Daddy day is ruined." He smiled at her pronunciation: 'wooned.'  
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"Whoa there," he said. "Not so fast. Let's take another look, because Katie-Daddy day is un-ruinable. It simply just can't be done."  
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Katie looked dubiously at the crayons. "Yuck," she said.  
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Her dad arranged the crayons in a neat row on the table. She watched him intently as he opened up the kids' menu and flattened it out, blank side up. "Nah," he said softly. He picked up the black crayon and began to sketch. "Look here. You can use this dark brown to color in my tree trunk. And this soft green will make some oh so lovely leaves for these branches."  Katie giggled. Her dad continued, "And this light brown color, well, that's the fur of a chipmunk with a jaggedy black stripe down his back.  What's his name?"  
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"Chip-Stripe," Katie said solemnly.  
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"Gotcha. Chip-Stripe lives here in this tree. And today, well, it's kind of a cloudy, foggy day. See how the sky is kind of gray blue?" He handed her the sky color and she started filling in the sky at the top of the page. "But look, over here on the horizon," her dad said, "the sun is nudging up a bit. It's going to melt away the fog." 
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"Uh-Huh," said Katie. "And then it will be sunny outside." 
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"That's right," her dad said.  "And then Chip-Stripe can carve his Halloween pumpkin."
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"Yeah," Katie laughed. "His Halloween pumpkin."  
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Her dad finished sketching the scene and Katie worked on coloring it in, finishing up just as her pancakes arrived. "Wahoo," she said. "Just in time. You can't color while you eat. It woons the food."  
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Her dad smiled. "I love you, KatieDid."  
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"I love you too, Daddy."
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what does your imagination make of this photo? i'd love to read it. click on comments below to send it in - short story, poem or creative non-fiction.      

rested

happy sunday readers & writers!

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on sundays around here we take it easy.  i plan photos and posts for the upcoming week - and you are very welcome to catch up on last week's posts (or further back if you want) & read or write about those. have a great day :) see you in the a.m.

formulated

welcome readers & writers!  thanks to filmguy & chuck galle for your story on yesterday's photo, and to krowles1981, cjohnson, and chuck galle for your new additions to thursday's post, illumined.  

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it's spoof saturday! time for a little silliness and fun. check out some other spoof saturday fun by clicking here, here, and here. today's spoof saturday assignment (we need to make use of these very cool aprons): write me some recipes for disaster.  click on comments below to share them with your biggest fan (that's me!).

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here are a few from my recipe box:
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How to Make a Spot on Your Lovely White Shirt
ingredients
1 white shirt
spaghetti with red sauce
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directions
Bring the two into close proximity.  Ruin shirt.  
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How to Make Mama Pull Out Her Hair
ingredients
3 boys, varying ages
1 dog
snacks and sweet treats
1 minivan
1 map, marked for thirteen hours of driving
stack of dvds
1 dvd player designed to break after a few trips so you have to buy a new one
1 iphone
1 Radio Shack in the middle of nowhere
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directions
Pack until two a.m. The next morning, put boys and dog in minivan - begin driving and mix well. Toss in snacks and treats.  Spin dvds in player until player won't work anymore. Try to convince boys to read books, play old fashioned car games or sing old fashioned car songs. Plug ears to drown out fighting and complaining. Use husband's iphone to locate nearest Radio Shack. Drive half an hour out of the way to said Radio Shack. Buy new device. Repeat.
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How to Lose All Confidence in Your Writing
ingredients
one query letter which has been kneaded, formed, tenderized, coddled, chilled, baked and glazed
one online agent with a site called "query shark"
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directions
Send letter to this Shark person for feedback. See Shark rip it to shreds. Try to piece back together, only better. Send to Shark again. See Shark rip it to shreds again. Read 47 comments on Shark's site, most of which take the shredded pieces ripped by Shark and rip them into tinier pieces. Cry. Put letter away for one week. Try again. Only this time, don't send to someone called 'Shark', dummie!      
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thanks, friends!  come write with me :)

gilded

welcome readers and writers - happy october! many thanks to brian potopowitz, film guy and ms. brandon for your awesome posts on yesterday's photo.

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it's photog friday again! every other day of the week the photos you see on my blog were taken by me. on photog fridays we get to gaze upon (and write about!) a photo taken by a pro. 

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this week we have the pleasure of writing about another photo by the very gifted kelli west of kelli west photography. a thousand thanks to kelli for this gorgeous pic! click here to see the other wonderful photo kelli contributed to the blog (as well as the stories that came in on it).

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writers, i'm so excited to read your response to kelli's beautiful photo ~ story, poem or creative non-fiction. 250(ish) words or less, just click on comments below to share. here's my reflection:

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Today I'm wishing I could enter into Kelli's photo the way Jane and Michael Banks jumped into Bert's chalk paintings in Mary Poppins. I'd spend the day by this pond, paddling around in that shiny blue canoe, thinking on this worn, craggy rock. Then I'd slip into that wonderful boat house, which has been converted, you know, into a writing studio. It's painted a rich, creamy white inside with accents of nettle green and the palest butter yellow. There's a hooked wool rug on the floor, a shabby chic antique desk near the window and a big, deep, over-stuffed chaise lounge to sink into a little later, when it's time to fuel writing with some great reading. If it's chilly enough I might set a fire in the pot belly stove and heat up a cup of mint tea with honey. You can't see it, but in the shade of those leafy trees there's a hammock. Perhaps I'll pull on a sweatshirt and let the hammock cradle me while I doze off awhile, listening to the birds sing. This wonderful day would stretch out forever, until I felt centered, grounded, peaceful and like I'd made some great progress on my writing. At least I can go to this place in my mind :)  Thanks, Kelli, for the mini-get-away! 
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writers, i love to read your work. come write with me!