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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.
 
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The Writing-Practice Journal
New Intention:
Now in 2017 and the following years, if any, I shall use this journal for whatever I please to write. 
Still, I reiterate: Read at your own risk!
Old Intentions:
Now, starting with June 2013, I will use this journal for the entries for "I Write in June-July-August "  . Afterward, I'll go back to the part I have down below in red. Still, read at your own risk. 
Now, starting at the end of 2010, I am going to write into this journal directly, without making any other copies. Freeflow, but from prompts. I may use prompts or simple sentences as prompts, which I'll put on the subject line. I'll probably use some of the prompts from the Writing.com app.
And yes, I do intend to make a fool of myself, because I miss writing on a good old fashioned typewriter with no other cares. Maybe some ancient and wise author like Dickens will watch me from Heaven, shake his head, and say, "You haven't made a dent." Not a dent, but making my own mud is my intention. So, if you read, read at your own risk.
Truth is, I had started this journal in 2002 for the different reason of writing down ideas on the craft of writing. Over the years, my personal blog took over what I wanted to do here. Afterwards I continued with writing exercises with no order or plan to the entries. And now, this.
Who says I can't let my hair down! Okay, I can't because my hair is short.  But I've got nerve.
  
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That evening, McCluskey's Bar was more boisterous than I liked. Soon, I hoped, the crowd would thin and the noise would drop.
Across from me, my brother Jerry picked up his drink, Stolichnaya on the rocks, still holding his other arm around the girl, one with a Kardashian butt and Elizabeth Taylor eyes. I wondered where he'd picked her up.
"My next invention's a doozy. We're going to be rich, Phil," he told me. "And...before you finish film school."
"Yeah, sure!" I said, only peripherally aware of his words. My failure to finish film school was the butt of his jokes.
I'd just downed my Tequila when sudden gun sounds exploded by the entrance. I set the glass on the table, and positioned my cellphone against it, turning on its video.
Four masked men with guns burst into the room while the fifth one holding a semi-automatic stayed by the door.
"All hands up in the air!" The snub-nosed one barked, lowering his half-mask. "We want nothin' from the customers. Don't push your luck!"
They got in and out in a hurry. One went for the register and made Don open it; the other emptied the jar with the green four-leaf clover logo that held the donations.
The guy with the cap and paisley-design handkerchief around the lower part of his face winked at me while they retreated. I forced a weak smile, worrying someone might report on it.
"Gentlemen and ladies, please calm down. Nothing's happened. No need to call the police. Next round's on the house!" Don announced as soon as those guys left.
Later, in gratitude, I reimbursed Don for lost money and then some. After all, he was elemental in allowing me stage that great footage, so I could graduate from the film school.
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299 words
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Prompt: Write a story (in 300 words) that includes the line: "We're going to be rich"
For: "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"
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