What makes a writer?
I am a sucker for articles and blog posts about being a writer. I’m always curious to read the advice of others, and their take on what it means to be a writer, because, if you follow me, you know I’ve got my own opinions. Continue reading
This challenge is for all of you fans of flash fiction. It’s from Joe Owens at Fiction Playground. If you choose to take on this mission….enjoy! 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄
First of all allow me to apologize if you have been looking for this post for nearly a week. I wrongly assumed I could return from my bi-annual international mission trip with my head collected and ready to resume my regular activities. Even after my fourth trip I found my head to be anything […]
via Christmas Character Origin Story Flash Challenge — Fiction Playground
Okay, I just have to say that a fox is screeching really scarily as I write this intro and upsetting Louie the loaner dog.
Thank you Friday Fictioneers for keeping me out of trouble.
Nevertheless we carry on.
You are my sister.
From my first memory to 21 I semi-trusted you. I respected you. I even thought, sometimes, I loved you although you were as disparate from me as a penguin and canary.
You tossed that in the toilet with the first man you met.
“Rachel? My little sister? No significance.”
I heard your words the other day repeated by your girlfriend, not your boyfriend.
It occurred before my book reading.
I shrugged, lit a cigarette, which I seldom do anymore.
Life is short.
A shot of bourbon.
My words rang true.
Sascha Darlington 12/4/2017
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
Thanks to Rochelle for providing us with Friday Fictioneers!
In The Way
Old Lady Henderson was the widow of a World War II hero.
Her house, with uneven pine floors, built in 1790, belonged to a famous Civil War historian.
Abraham Lincoln spent several evenings with the Custuses here strategizing possible outcomes.
The stone fireplace shows exquisite handiwork.
A tunnel leads to the nearby park, once a dense forest.
“Get rid of it,” says Morgan Baum.
Old Lady Henderson refuses to let it be torn down: so much historical value!
At the end of Morgan Baum’s day, the only thing left standing is an old stone fireplace and a tunnel.
Sascha Darlington 11/20/2017
PHOTO PROMPT© Jan Wayne Fields
Thanks to Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers for hosting. If you’d like to join in and read the instruction, please visit her site here. To read more stories with this prompt, click here.
cloud illusions I recall
Both Sides Now
We were at the “moons and Junes” phase where we danced, stared into each other’s eyes, and our heat coalesced. Passionate kisses lasted hours.
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
For Friday Fictioneers. Thank you to the wonderful Rochelle for hosting this group. To read the instructions and join in, please visit here.
I met a Swedish boy on Christmas Day and kissed him on Boxing Day and felt the earth move at Kamala Bay.
I touched my fingers to my lips and smiled at this boy, my first kiss.
We were still holding hands, not comprehending when an accented man herded us and other tourists toward a packed bus.
“Tsunami,” someone said.
The joy of the kiss evaporated as my emotions unspooled like myriads of delicate thread concentrating on my parents and little sister at the pool. Praying.
The bus bumped up a steep road and the shore behind became ocean.
A to Z Challenge Reflections
This was my first A to Z Challenge so it was quite an experience. Fortunately I have done nanowrimo and octpowrimo so I do have some experience with the task of writing everyday. It was very, very nice to have Sundays off though, which you don’t get with the other two challenges.
What made this a tremendous experience for me was finding fellow bloggers who were also doing the challenge. Some bloggers I’ve been reading for months and some were new to me, but I enjoyed reading their works progress through the month.
Tate referred to everything as a “blast” but she didn’t take him literally until she was seatbelted in the spaceship.
To play, visit here.
S. Darlington, 5/2/2017