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.”
is a meme started by Drew @ Music Monday The Tattooed Book Geek. Pick a song you really like and share it. Continue reading
#writephoto Thanks to Sue Vincent!
How many paths have I walked to find you?
Posted in #writephoto, fiction, Flash Fiction |
Tagged 100 words, beach, dreams, love, ocean, sand, sea, seagulls, soulmates |
Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding
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.”
Thank you to Sue Vincent for providing
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.
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
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.”
Tuesday at dVerse, we are inspired by art! Ghosts
My dreams haunt the old neighborhood
and dead people Continue reading
Dreams Vs. Reality
Floating on an airstream, she felt invincible until the phrase, “May I be
candid?” brought her crashing back to earth with the reality that her slam poetry didn’t seduce all the masses.
Sascha Darlington 1/22/2018
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
PHOTO PROMPT ©
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.
Daniel von Appen on Unsplash
Thank you to Sonya for hosting the prompt. To read other stories or the instruction to take part, visit
“If art, all art, is concerned with truth, then a society in denial will not find much use for it.”