November Notes, Dancing Girl

Yes, I’m very aware that it’s no longer November, but, you know, I really, really wanted to participate in November Notes but that novel writing thing that will go nameless pretty much took up my life.

So, if you don’t mind, and the hosts don’t mind, I’d still like to play. This is for “The Girl from Ipanema.” Continue reading

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Music Monday: Go Your Own Way, Fleetwood Mac

Music Monday is a meme started by Drew @ The Tattooed Book Geek. Pick a song you really like and share it. Continue reading

Chasing Life

SPF July 8 2018 (2 of 1)

Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

Chasing Life

It’s hot, one of those sultry steamy days in the south where the sun caresses rather than sears.

The neighbor boy ambles up the street, dressed in long dark jeans and a blue thermal jacket zipped to his throat, like a turtle ready to disappear. He smiles shyly as he passes. Like his parents and seven siblings, he won’t speak to AnneMarie unless forced, not anymore. The world has become “them” and “us.” Continue reading

Dreamed Memory #writephoto

Thank you to Sue Vincent for providing #writephoto.

photo courtesy of Sue Vincent

 

Dreamed Memory

They bought a beach cottage, but it was just one more thing they perceived differently. He wanted to make money. She wanted to make memories. Continue reading

S’no(w) Dream

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Written for Friday Fictioneers. Thank you, Rochelle!

S’no(w) Dream

Always at the edge of a dream, you appear. Your fingertips caress my cheek, a feathery kiss upon my brow, and a whispered word: “soon.” Continue reading

Dreaming Darkness #amwriting

Thanks to Rochelle, as always, for providing a home for these wonderful photo prompts for Friday Fictioneers. If you would like to join in the fun, visit here.

vw-in-israel-wmq

PHOTO PROMPT © Kent Bonham

 

Dreaming Darkness

Darkness threatened as I navigated twisting streets trying to catch a glimpse of Joe’s taillights. This recurring dream inhibited my daytime, injecting uncertainty where none before existed.

Our life was good; why would he leave?

The house shook with thunder. The shepherd cowered between my knees and the stove where I stirred onions in olive oil.

Mary’s tiny voice filled brief quiet gaps. “What game is this, Daddy? How do I play?”

I peered around the doorway to see him, sweating, prostrate on the carpet.

Through thick rain I trailed the ambulance, its taillights red in the eclipsing darkness.

 

end 7/21/2017

Sascha Darlington

What We Lose #amwriting

Photo by Daniel von Appen on Unsplash

Thank you to Sonya for hosting the prompt. To read other stories or the instruction to take part, visit here.

“If art, all art, is concerned with truth, then a society in denial will not find much use for it.”     

Jeanette Winterson

Continue reading