About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
![Joy Sweeps [#1514072]
Kiya's gift. I love it!](http://www.InkSpot.Com/main/trans.gif)
|
Everyday Canvas
![My Blog's Graphic [#1126709]
Kathleen-613's creation for my blog](http://www.InkSpot.Com/main/trans.gif)
"Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself."
CHARLIE CHAPLIN
![Blog City image small [#1971183]
Blog City image small](http://www.InkSpot.Com/main/trans.gif)
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
David Whyte
![Blog City Citizen image [#1979138]
Marci's gift sig](http://www.InkSpot.Com/main/trans.gif)
This is my supplementary blog in which I will post entries written for prompts.
Previous ... - 1- 2 ... Next
|
Prompt: We're halfway through the year, where did the time go? Did you set goals for the year? How close are you to accomplishing them? Do you measure your goals monthly, quarterly or yearly or simply let the ball where it may. What do you hope to accomplish in the last 6 months of this year?
============
Long term goals have never worked for me because life had the insidious intent of butting in my business...always.
For that reason, I never set goals too complicated to handle. Maybe it would be different if I were alone in my life, without any input or distraction from others around me. Then, I might be able to hack it; yet, I am grateful for the people I love as I would be miserable without them. They are more important to me than any long-term goal.
One other reason I don’t set goals is because I get frustrated if I can’t meet them. Because of that, I do not enter the ‘Dear Me’ contest the site runs every January.
Yet, I do appreciate the value of goal setting for one’s future since a goal is a target to aim at. Setting long-term goals can be helpful and they should work for people who are starting a new venture or a business.
Short-term, reasonable goals, on the other hand, I can sometimes manage, provided they are met within a given, tiny time period. Sometimes a month, maybe two, at the longest. For that reason, what works for me are the deadlines set by others, circumstances, or sometimes by me.
For example, if I have to finish a writing a page within the next hour, I’ll do it, but if I tell me, within a year, I have to write, edit, and revise a novel, then make it certain that it is accepted by a publisher and that it is good enough to win a major award, that won’t happen. I’ll write the novel, though, but I can’t vouch for the rest of it. Thus, the goal will not be met and I will have frustrated myself for nothing.
So, I kind of live each day as it comes, but this has more to do with aging, too. Although I wasn’t always this shallow, I learned to roll with the punches over the decades, and I found out that life is easier this way.
|
|
Prompt: “When we plant seeds of patience, instead of anger, it makes the angels sing.” --- Angels on Earth Magazine
Write anything you want about this statement.
===========
Anger breeds more anger; therefore, it has the possibility of becoming a negative, habit-forming emotion. As a negative emotion, it then causes a chain reaction because wounded people usually end up wounding others. There is another undesirable aspect of anger; if not taken care of, prolonged anger can hurt not only the angry person but everyone else he comes in contact with.
What can heal anger and change a person’s life is the virtue of patience. During stressful times, instead of giving voice to anger immediately, if we were to practice patience, then we might find some peace of mind.
The art of finding the patience in ourselves and healing the anger begins with self-awareness, even if we may not be comfortable with our anger in the first place. The first step to self-awareness is assessing the situation with a truthful look and fair judgment of the event and asking ourselves many questions along the way, such as: What happened? Who did it? What did it cost me? What is the real reason that I am feeling this anger?
Next comes releasing the energy that the anger created which we might have kept hidden inside us. If we don’t, it will have to come out suddenly like lava out of a volcano in the most ill-timed way. Run, write, beat up on the pillows, or whatever we do, we need to let it out. Just about anything is better than directing our anger to another person or to ourselves.
These steps, especially the fairness in self-awareness, may not only heal the anger but also they may cause patience to become an asset in our personality, which can benefit all our dealings with other human beings.
|
|
Prompt: "Smell the sea and feel the sky. Let your soul and spirit fly." Van Morrison What are your thoughts about this?
==========
Words after my heart!
The ocean or the sea always stirs me. Is this because the human body is 80% water and every drop seeks a larger body of water?
Whatever the biological reason is, the seaside inspires my imagination and brings about a feeling of well-being. When I am on a beach watching the waves whisper secrets to the sand and sweep them away, I feel they are also addressing me. Their briny smell refreshes my breathing and reminds me that the sea is more ancient than the mountains and it carries dreams from eons ago. Maybe because of that, the sea is an emotional being. It loves, embraces, weeps, and enrages. Whatever I can say about it, there will always be that invisible, untouchable something there that I can’t put into words.
In addition to the ocean, in the last ten, twenty years, or so, I began spotting the beauty of the skies, too. It began with the beautiful sunsets visible from the back of our house after we moved into it. Maybe I always felt the majesty of the skies because I was, as a student, very much interested in astronomy.
Yet, it probably wasn’t in me, during that long-ago time, to raise my head and watch what’s up above for a deeper meaning because, then, I was much more interested in the earthly things, being an earthling myself. These days, with my accumulating years, I am more attuned to what’s above.
The sky, when it is without menace, is alluring, enticing, and mystifying. It is also serene and radiant if without clouds, but when it comes to clouds, I am immensely passionate about them. When they surround a setting sun, they create the most magnificent sunset images, and when they abound and climb one on top of one another, they may look like cotton balls floating. Then, at times, their moods change and gray, dark rain clouds bring about storms, to stone away the sun. In this way, clouds are like moods, spooling and unspooling and drifting by, and that is why I like to watch them as if they are illusions that soar and slide by my eyes.
|
|
Prompt “History-writing is a way of getting rid of the past.” Goethe
What is Goethe trying to say here, and what do you think of history and historical fiction?
============
What Goethe meant I can’t exactly say, but I think history-writing could help us avoid the crimes of the past and not make the same mistakes people before us made. On the plus side, we can also learn from the good things the earlier civilizations and people did.
I am not too sure we have succeeded in that learning, however. I was a good history student in school, and from what I have read, I think, through the last several decades, we may have come a long way where material things are concerned, but we are still forming groups and warring with each other. It is as if we are suffering from amnesia forced on us by time and lack of learning. Our conditioning may also be affecting us because we may have heard from our teachers and elders that the perspectives of a different age do not apply to our time and circumstances. Yet, most situations do recur often, in however different costumes.
Historical fiction appeals to me a lot. At least one fifth of my book reading has to do with historical fiction. Historical fiction makes history more humanistic and more entertaining. I have been reading especially half-fictional stories that took place during the two World Wars because those stories are about people. Everyone says such human suffering shouldn’t happen ever again, but it is still happening and I resent that we haven’t learned our lessons from the past.
|
|
Prompt: From the subject line of an Amazon Review: “Not Every Sadness Yields Defeat”
What do you make of these words?
===================
If people believe they are given a choice in life after a tragedy, they may decide to honor that choice and change from mourning for their tragedy to reaching out for triumph. It isn’t that a deep sorrow will go away at the drop of a hat or just because they decided to work toward victory since sorrows, especially the deeper ones, have a way of lingering and haunting people.
Yet, despite the pain in one’s soul and tears in his eyes, a human being can emerge victorious if he fights against his circumstances. Insisting on staying inside one’s sadness and grieving over past or present events, people, or lost things is a selfish decision, and in that vein, a selfish existence is a waste. Mostly, choice controls what one can do, instead of fate, circumstances, or other people.
Granted, sadness is as strong an emotion as anger, love, hate, and other fierce feelings. Yet, unlike other powerful emotions, sadness keeps on hanging over the person like a dense fog. It is also accompanied by feelings of loneliness and lethargy.
When sadness doesn’t go away and prevents a person from living his life with a productive attitude, it is a good idea to find a way of fighting it. That way is hope, and hope could be a friend or a therapist with a good ear or a belief system that consoles or putting oneself to work by helping others or taking up an engrossing interest in something like further education or a hobby. In short, when sadness hits, people must never forget that there is always hope and there is always a choice.
|
|
Prompt: Write about three things that really make you happy or sad or both.
=========
1. Finishing the reading of a good book and any piece of writing I attempt regardless of the quality. 
The book I first open, either as a physical book or one on a screen, is a friendly face; but then, the book I finish is not a stranger anymore. With it, I have now made an acquaintance, either to pass it after a friendly nod or loving as a friend or having its memory live in me because I have fallen in love with it. I rather read than do anything else, anytime; my writing has always been only an offspring.
This is not new. I have always been like that. My husband says, when we were getting to know each other, the first thing I asked him was, “Which book did you read last?” He says he thought I was a Smart Alec.
2. When I am able to avoid something that could be unwelcome or disastrous like a hurricane passing by and not hitting the town I live in or when a checkup at the doctor’s office goes my way, which means he doesn’t send me to another specialist or extra lab work or procedure because that means I’ll end up waiting at every office and whatever place, and because most of those things end up being unnecessary.
I think pointless medical care is widespread in the USA, whereas some people are denied any decent care.
Now that I have Medicare and a supplementary insurance, I am finding a whole gamut of medical services being wasted on me.
Just because people age, shouldn’t mean they should spend whatever time is left to them in waiting rooms and being poked unnecessarily. I trust that the doctors are reputable professionals with the best of intentions, but they do love overkill.
3. Watching nature and being in nature: sunsets, ocean, trees, wildflowers, wild birds and small animals that lurk about in the open.
Not only do I like seeing nature in real life, but also watching it from whichever medium I can. For this, YouTube is great. I also like Smithsonian’s and National Geographic’s programs. Webcams that trace wildlife are a favorite, too. Then I like the videos of house pets or animals of different species relating to one another and their antics and cuteness.
I think one can find a great deal of meaning in nature.
|
|
Prompt: You can't decide between a mountain vacation and a beach vacation, so you ...
------
But I don’t have to think because I am quite a decisive person. It is the beach, hands down.
To begin, the beach is safer. Granted, there is the risk of a beached shark, but we are talking about the sand and the air, which make up my territory, and a beached shark can go only so far on a beach. I wouldn’t swim in the ocean, anyway, so eat your heart out sharks!
Mountains are not so safe. High altitudes do a number on my asthma. Then there are the dangers of climbing rocks and falling, a speedy avalanche, and last but not the least, the wild animals like bears, snakes, wolves etc. that share the same environment with me. If anything, they are probably better adapted to the water than I could ever be.
For me, a simple beach life is the best there can be. Donned in a shirt, shorts, and sandals on a beach, while I laze and listen to the sound of the waves lapping the sands is what I love the most. There, I can replenish and embrace my solitude while I enjoy the seashells, sea glass, seaweed, and other odd objects washed off by the ocean. There, I can read, listen to music, play in the sand, and simply chill out. Now, what’s better than that!
|
|
Prompt: “Have the heart of a lion, the skin of a rhino and the soul of an angel.” Write anything you want about this.
=========
Two animals and an angel! Where’s the human who falters and goofs non-stop because of his own attributes? 
If the human had the heart of a lion, this might mean he'd be a brave king or in other words a dictator who is courageous; if he had the skin of a rhino, this might mean he’d be impenetrable yet violent inside; if he had the soul of angel, I guess this could mean being immensely kind and good. I think this human would be a very confused schizophrenic type of a person because all those qualities can be in conflict within his psyche.
Let’s look at this from another point of view. Does this mean a brave person who doesn’t get aroused by anything, yet he is immensely moral, kind, and doing good all the time? My question is, if a person doesn’t get aroused by anything, how in the world will he know when to be brave and when to be kind and good?
Hmmm! I think I’ll take humans as they are, faulty, broken, defective, yet real.
Then, if humans weren’t as ludicrous and silly, what would us writers write about? It is the human fallibility that evokes an emotional response and makes great art.
What I mean is, as lofty as the quote sounds, when its words are taken at their face values, the meaning gets muddled, but granted, a little bit of each virtue could lead to a fuller life.
|
|
Prompt: Close friends and people hurt us more than strangers do. Why do you think this happens?
=============
It depends on the intensity of the action, I think. With petty things, I can just look over or forgive and forget. We are all human at the end, but major things, they hurt forever, especially if the action was performed on purpose.
I think this is because, as human beings, we don’t expect nastiness from close friends and family, especially if we can’t turn our backs on them. For example, we can stay away from a rotten person like Hitler by changing the country or just avoiding being around him, but we can’t really do that with family members and friend groups. If we do, we’ll have to extricate ourselves from that group or family, and it will be a very lonely life. On the other hand, having to see them and run into them often reminds us of the injustice or the bad action done to us, and we keep on hurting.
Still, there is often a limit to what a person can do with a difficult family member or friend, especially when leaving or avoiding is not an option. I think the wise thing to do is not let that person’s behavior change who we are, as we should not let anyone reduce us.
Then, we can remind ourselves not to take the action personally even if it involves us directly. We must look at it as whatever has happened or will happen with that person is that person’s character problem, and we don’t need to convince anyone in the group or in the family or seek their approval.
We must also set our boundaries and protect them with zeal. Whatever took place happened probably because the other person thought it was his or her right to step on us.
In short, we can’t change what other people do, but we can keep ourselves safe and free and not let others dim our joy in life.
|
|
Prompt: Shakespeare says to think before we speak.
“Give every man thy ear but few thy voice.” –Hamlet
“Weigh thy words before thou givest them breath.”—Othello
Is it ever possible to think before we speak, each time we speak? If we stopped to think, wouldn’t our conversations lose their spontaneity? What are your opinions on the subject?
---------
Although it is not always possible to take the time to think before we speak, we should be careful with what we say so we don’t hurt someone or make a delicate situation worse.
On the other hand, thinking too much annoys the other people. I know it from my exchanges with my husband.
A sample:
Me—Do you want coffee or tea?
He—Let me think. 
For those who believe in astrology, this is one place where astrology works. He is a Gemini.
Aside from having difficulty with choices, for the lack of a better measure, most of us rely on our own perceptions of the other people’s needs and understanding. Thus, we can end up being misunderstood or hurting the other person’s feelings. Maybe a facial gesture or a shrug with dubious meaning could be used in a circumstance where our intuition tells us not to answer too quickly.
My fantasizing tells me that a reliable weighing machine needs to be invented, a machine that weighs the other person’s grasp and feelings and also weighs our own responses. Can you imagine how long that would take to get the simplest ideas across even in Nanoseconds?
Although we are WdC authors and like to play with words, sometimes the right words fail us. This makes me wonder about those people who can talk for hours at an end on the phone or in a crowded room. In the same vein, I know some people who talk incessantly and hijack the conversation. My understanding of them is that they rarely comprehend what the conversation is about and just need to talk out of a psychotic need to say something all the time. I bet they are not even fully aware of what they are saying at the moment they are saying it. A word-weighing machine would work so well for such people.
At some point, most of us often speak because it is expected of us, as an automatic answer to some stuff comes without a single thought, like “Fine,” to “How are you?” I am of the opinion that people who ask how I am when they first meet me don’t even want to know how I am. 
I do believe, though, that thinking before speaking would be beneficial, if we could pull it. It would, however, put us on a speech diet, which might not be a bad idea either, at least every now and then.
|
|
Prompt: If a loved one (not dead or a runaway) suddenly turned out to be missing, how would you or a character you may create in fiction feel about it? Has something like that happened to you or to someone else you know, ever?
============
The worst scenario I can think of would be a friend or a relative unaccounted for after a disaster. Then there are those who are lost in a war zone, missing in action, taken or kidnapped by a cruel government and those who have become amnesiacs.
Coping with the uncertainty of someone missing has to be the worst kind of distress. The impact of this type of grief, in the long run, has to be the most disturbing and should be handled by a professional.
The worst part of this sorrow, in contrast, is the hope, which inspires the desire to fight on, yet makes a person fall into despair as well. To top it all, there may be those instances or people who deliver unrealistic, false hope, as if adding fuel to the fire even if hope in itself is a good thing for the art of survival.
I have never been in a situation like that. If I were, I would probably say goodbye to that person emotionally as if they were on a long journey and try to go with my everyday life the best I can. I only hope I never experience such a situation, and should that happen, I can do what I think I can do under such a trying circumstance.
Prompt: Fidget Spinners: Another toy fad, or are there actual benefits to them? Do you have one? Can you see why they're popular?
========
I don’t know what Fidget Spinners exactly are. I am guessing they are a toy fad from seeing a few ads for them. The only toys that I have are the Kindle readers, MP3 music players, and such.
I can assure you, I’ll never get a Fidget Spinner, and I am certain people who know me wouldn’t give me a gift like that. At my age, any tiny toy is a danger. What if it falls down, stays on the ground, and I trip over it? 
|
|
Prompt: creation Saturday as Norb loves to call it over in 30 Day....Write a STORY or POEM that begins with: There was only one way out.
=====
There was only one way out because the security line snaked and coiled around the airport’s checkpoint. He had to move forward. Going back would attract too much negative attention. He had traveled constantly on business but never had such a problem.
As much a travel ninja as he had been, now emerged another indignity on top of shoes off, belts off, and hands in the air as people entered the space that resembled a phone-booth. The checkpoint guys decided to hassle him even more with a pat-down.
When their hands went in between his legs, he couldn’t hold it anymore. He let go. Suddenly the lights flickered, the sirens beeped and the guy patting him down pulled back his hand in disgust and jumped back from the puddle on the floor.
“Fella, why didn’t you use the bathroom before getting on the line?”
|
|
Prompt: You decide to buy a horror writer's mansion, but what you find there is out of this world or is it?
============
It is not really a mansion but such a nice wood-frame house, three and a half stories high, painted white with blue shutters and a wraparound porch; Victorian I think. Nice well-kept yard, too. I imagine myself curled up with a good book on a chaise lounge on that porch. Oh, what a heaven it will be!
Our broker Kathy leads the way up the paved driveway, and tinkers with the hanging box at the side door. She finds a key inside and we walk to the front. At the front of the house are large double doors. The doors are so large that I can picture them in front of an airplane hangar.
“We call this a mansion for the land around it and its guesthouses. but the house itself is not much. It is just another big house like the others in this neighborhood,” says Kathy. She takes a breath in, hesitates a moment, and adds, “The insides may surprise you, though.”
Sales pitch, of course. What can be there inside that is so spectacular? I already know the house once belonged to a writer who suffered from agoraphobia.
“Just follow me and keep your cool! The staircases may creak but they are strongly built and adapted to the latest code.”
Keep my cool? Just what does she mean by that, but hubby and I enter, after her, into the house through a large corridor that could become a mudroom where I mentally place my foyer bench-and-coat rack.
Kathy turns right to the hallway, tiptoeing. Why? The owner of the brokerage must have sent his weirdest employee to show us this gem of a house, which after seeing the porch, I am already willing to sign the contract.
After taking a peek into the kitchen and the dining area, we go up the creaky stairs to tour the bedrooms. Why the place is perfect, much better than what I guessed it would be from its looks on the outside. To begin with, someone had to have spent a pretty penny to fix the interior plaster and trim, as the walls, woodwork, and the ceilings are ornate and beautiful, reflecting the flora and fauna, such as hydrangea and tulips we had glimpsed outside. There are a few pieces of furniture inside the rooms, but not too many. I can easily fit my stuff in with them. In one room, the air feels musty although a window is open and a gray fog hangs over the ceiling fixture. Kathy closes the window, making excuses to us for the company that did the cleaning.
When we are in the master bedroom, my husband holds and squeezes my hand, but then, I realize he is not near me. He is standing in front of one of the windows, pointing to a maple tree outside while he is talking to Kathy. If he’s there, who squeezed my hand? I turn around to see the cover on the four-poster bed move.
“Something’s happening!” I call to Kathy.
“Keep your calm,” she says. “Just a draft from the attic. Maybe we go down again.”
“Can we take a look at the attic?” hubby asks. “I might consider renovating it.”
“It is too dirty now,” Kathy says. “And the stairs going up there are full of spiders. The owner promises to have it all cleaned up before you move in.”
We go downstairs again, but as we turn toward the front of the house, the front door bangs shut. “Oh, Dear,” murmurs Kathy. “Changing the inside locks are on the owner’s to-do list. We can let ourselves out from the side door. We need to go through the dining area.”
We enter the dining room to find a wonderfully set table with hot and cold plates of food and a splendid floral centerpiece on it. On the centerpiece, there is a sign that says, Welcome to your abode, Joy!
I turn to Kathy. “Did you do this? This wasn’t here a while ago?”
Kathy’s face is chalky white now. Not to fall down, she leans against the wall. “HHow ccould I?” she stutters. “I was with you all the time.”
How lovely!
I take the initiative and sit at the head of the table and motion hubby to sit across from me. “We might as well accept the hospitality,” I say.
Kathy screeches, “I’ll wait for you in the garden.”
My husband who can’t pass up a meal or anything edible immediately takes his place at the other end, without questioning what is going on.
And what is going on needs no questions.
I am not a scaredy cat, and I can sense a good deal when I see it. After all, the first owner was a horror writer. He might still be here and willing to share his place with me, in spirit. Maybe his talent, too. Just maybe.
|
|
Prompt: "Only later did I realize that what I had thought were hours spent merely learning to build sandcastles were actually hours spent learning to build the foundation of a good life. A life of integrity and fairness, generosity, and principles. A life of love." What are your reflections on this?
======
We may work at something that may or may not stay or be appreciated, but if we keep at it even when our work is swept away, we learn how to be persistent, how to be courageous, how to be fair to ourselves. This is no easy task, to stay the course even if misunderstood, judged, or considered crazy for our dreams.
Still, we keep at it, not minding other people’s scornfulness and regardless of making an impact or becoming a trailblazer. This way, we learn what our values are and how to live by them. That is the integrity of the spirit, which urges a person to live his or her life doing what they love, with fairness and generosity toward others, learned from being fair and generous toward oneself.
Prompt: Today is Flag Day. Write anything you want about flags.
=========
Flags are symbols. They can be symbols for countries, sports teams, or any concept one can imagine.
When we flag something, we mark it to draw attention to it.
Flag Day commemorates the adoption of the flag of USA. It is not the flag itself, which is a piece of cloth with stars and stripes printed on it, but what the flag symbolizes—our nation united in the pursuit of liberty and justice-- that we cherish and respect.
Prompt: “In my experience, ghosts are made up only of the living, people you know are out there but are forever out of range.”
Adam Johnson, The Orphan Master's Son
What do you make of this quote? Are there any living ghosts in your life or in the life of someone you know?
============
Have you ever met someone who went away to a strange country and never returned? If his or her memory is with you, that memory is a living ghost.
Sometimes, a very good time with friends can be a living ghost, too, especially if those friends disappear or change and you never have as good a time as then, that good time’s memory becomes a living ghost, too.
Or you might have had some big success in life never to be repeated in any shape or form, that success’s memory can be a living ghost, also, to haunt you for the rest of your life.
Then, to the contrary of the above examples, a memory of a negative experience can haunt you, too. Some people call it PTSD.
In my life, I have had many experiences, some good others not so good, and yes, their memories I cherish, but I don’t consider them ghosts because they do not haunt me. If they were to haunt me, I would feel a yearning to re-live them or I would be disturbed by them.
|
|
Prompt: Regardless of how anyone else defines it, what do you think humanism is?
=======
Humanism for me is, first, accepting that I am human as is all people, which means each one of us has his or her high and low points, foibles, life stories, and belief systems; thus, all people should be respected for who they are, no matter how different they may be from me.
My tenets as a humanist are:
• to never underestimate anyone or raise them to a superhuman status.
• to become the one who has what I want in others
• to treat everyone as fairly as I can with the way I think they should be treated
• to be as truthful as I can when I can
• to say what needs to be told but also to remember that--under certain circumstances-- silence is golden
• to help and support others when I can without hurting anyone else or myself
• to encourage others to become the most moral, honorable, and successful version of themselves
|
|
PROMPT: Have you ever put off anything important because you were writing? How serious is your WDC addiction?
============
My WdC addiction is such that, even in the busiest of days, I check in or rather peek in at least three times or so.
And, have I ever put off anything important because I was writing? Let me count the ways. 
The first thing to go, usually, is the housework. I used to like a clean orderly house, but forget it, even though I am retired now. If I have something to write, writing is the first priority. The ironing I cut down to minimal, and with the cooking, I always invent shortcuts even if I don’t know them...with questionable results sometimes, but what the heck!
I also do not take phone calls, which I don’t like to talk on the phone anyhow, and I don’t write letters to friends to be sent by snail mail, which I used to do way back when. It is usually the FB messages or rarely e-mail, nowadays.
And once, because I was doing the NaNo that year, I made my husband cancel a trip in November; instead, we went earlier, in September. It worked just fine. The weather was milder, to begin with.
Only with writing in this blog, although the writing doesn’t take more than a few minutes, I make the writing fit inside my everyday life, which explains why, sometimes, I post two to three days answers altogether in one blog entry. The bottom line is it gets done one way or another.
|
|
Prompt: Creation time, folks ... Pick two of your favorite genres and blend them to write a cross-genre piece. Use a current event as a basis for your writing.
===============
Current event: Small Bookstores are opening again.
http://bookweb.org/for-the-record
https://theculturetrip.com/north-america/usa/articles/50-unique-independent-book...
Genres: Paranormal and Romance
----------
Doppelgänger
She was waiting for him at the end of the Fantasy Books section, raking her hand through her ash blonde hair, flattening it to her head by constant stroking, but as much as she tried to look at ease, she was electrified.
She was also keeping an eye on what she could see through the opening to the main floor. Had anyone seen them? Her face was still hot, and she felt adrift; after all, that passionate kiss from her employer was unexpected.
Finally, his thin frame appeared from among the shelves. “I found it,” he said, handing her the book. “This is about the doppelgängers. Read it, so you’ll know it wasn’t me who kissed you. I wouldn’t do any such thing. I am married with grown children, after all.”
To take the book, she stretched her hand, but a jolt of a current hit her when their fingers touched. He touched her arm with his other hand as a heartening gesture. “Don’t worry!” he said, walking away and leaving her astounded. She slowly touched the place on her arm where he had briefly laid his hand.
She had whole-heartedly trusted his words and believed in the existence of supernatural things, but she so wished it hadn’t been his doppelgänger.
|
|
Lyn’s Prompt: Something beginning with the letter D. Something metallic. Something green. Something winding. Write a poem or a story inspired by I Spy, the guessing game popular with kids during car rides and other long periods of downtime, in which the spy offers descriptive clues that hint at a visible object for other players to guess. Have fun.
duffle bag, scimitar, green shirt, winding road
==============
Dybbuk
A woman trudged on the winding road, carrying a stuffed duffle bag on her back. An ordinary woman except for the scimitar on her right hand and the picture of a wild hog and some words resembling hieroglyphs on the green tee-shirt she wore. Underneath the shirt, her Levis and black boots were only commonplace.
On she walked, looking around her, as if searching for another soul, but the road was lonely and still, and the sun made everything to bright to stare at, letting its beams shine off the scimitar.
Hearing a cough on the side of the road, the woman stopped and spun around.
“You shouldn’t have come,” said a heavy voice. “I was coming to you.” Then, from the woods on the side, a man stepped on the road with a slow gait. He was old with silver hair parted on the left, and a hint of a rattle was heard from his lungs as he breathed out.
The woman raised the scimitar. “You’re not the one I want. I need someone younger.”
“But why not? It’ll be easier on you and in a shorter time.”
Before the woman could swing down the scimitar, from behind the man, a young woman appeared, carrying a sleeping infant. She screamed. “Daddy, don’t! Please, come back home.”
The old woman lowered the scimitar. “Ooooh!” She uttered a joyful cry. “Just what I want.”
“No, please, no!” The man begged. “Please, not my daughter.”
“No?” The old woman’s voice was full of sarcasm. “No one can say no to me, but I have no intentions on your daughter.”
“Please,” said the younger woman, “Don’t touch my father. Here, take all I have instead.” She reached into the pocket of her full skirt and pulled out a box. “This is all my jewelry. Please, leave him alone.”
“Oh, what good are your trinkets, girl? However, I am not touching him. I am not touching you, either, but the baby. A new life! A long, long life!”
As she said that, she threw the scimitar a few yards away and neared the young woman whom she had rendered motionless. “The only way to get rid of me will be to kill the baby with that scimitar,” she told the man. “Can you kill your grandchild?”
Then without any warning, she jolted forward. Immediately, the sun in the sky hissed down and darkness set upon the road for a second or two.
The baby had begun crying incessantly just before the sun came up again.
The young woman began to howl together with the baby. The old woman had disappeared, leaving her duffle bag on the road. A few yards ahead, the scimitar shone under the sun’s rays.
The grandfather took a few steps toward the scimitar, but gave up and picked the duffle bag. When he opened it, he saw the banknotes filling it.
“At least, a generous dybbuk,” he murmured. “Something ironic in the honorific!”
“Daddy,” the young woman sobbed. “What good is all the money in the world when my son will have the dybbuk in him?”
“Dybbuks can be tamed, but if you’d rather…” He turned around and took a step toward the scimitar.
“Noooo!” The young woman begged. “I can live with the taming.” In her arms, the baby bawled, twisting his legs.
|
|
Prompt: Life is a journey, not a race. What are your thoughts about this?
=================
Surely life is a journey, but we may often have several races within that very journey, as there are days when it is one thing after another or several things jumping at us at the same time.
Still, I think we should appreciate each day, no matter how negative, indelicate, and fast-moving it can be because each day is an adventure in itself for the unexpectedness and the variety embedded into it. Sometimes, the smallest things make us smile like a wild bird bending its long, thin neck to look at us. At other times, we get so mad at the goings on in the national and international arenas that we want to throw something at our TVs or we decide to never show a cheery face to someone in our lives but give up doing that after our annoyances evaporate.
As writers, though, life is always a journey for us because, being different from anyone else, we watch and learn faster and we treat each incident as something to file in our usables folder. Thus, while doing that, we inspire our readers, the same way we inspire ourselves, to be tied tighter to the spirit of being human.
|
|
Prompt by Megan: "Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist." This refers to the universe, stars and you tell me what you think this means. I got this line from the latest pirate movie.
=============
If life were to be fair, we’d be able to see everything, but even then, with our human assets, we would not always be able to understand and explain at least some of the things. That, only the Creator can, and we’re not in competition with the One who designed everything. It is, therefore, logical to believe in the existence of those unknown things even if our eyes cannot see them.
As far as the anatomy goes, eyes of the species differ from each other. For example, eagles see better when flying over things. This is because an eagle can change both its lens and cornea, which increases the bird’s focusing power; whereas we humans only change our lenses to focus. Moreover, some animals have multiple eyes while others have eyes in the most unusual parts of their bodies. Then others, like owls and raccoons, can see well in the dark.
In addition, there is another kind of seeing that has nothing to do with the anatomy. It is the seeing with the heart. Some call it the psychic ability, but I prefer to refer to it as seeing with the heart, for those things we see with the heart are never non-existent, and I believe that the heart never lies.
There is also the seeing with the mind, but the mind sometimes fools the humans. For example, a human may feel bad for another human who lives in appalling conditions and tries to help him only to be hurt or killed by that person. In this case, the seeing with the mind’s eye has tricked the human and has shown the inability of a human to see the disability in the other person. Yet, the mind sometimes provides the ability to see the ability in others, too, but I still think it does this with the help of the heart. This means if we can learn how to see with our hearts, we'll never be wrong with using our sight and insight.
|
Previous ... - 1- 2 ... Next
© Copyright 2024 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. Joy has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|