Archive for February, 2013

Friday Fictioneers – 2/27/13

Posted: February 28, 2013 in Uncategorized

Submit a poem or a short story of 100 words or less, inspired by a weekly photo in this fun, flash fiction group. You can read entries, or submit your own HERE, or click on the little blue guy at the bottom of the page. Thank you Rochelle for keeping us going! Add you story to the Inlinkz tool so others can find your work. Simple and fun!

As always, feel free to point out a missing comma, a continuity problem or anything else that strikes your fancy.

home-made_car

Life after the collapse was hard. Power was sporadic and the town was frozen in the past. Adapting to life with no internet, public transportation or stocked stores was hard. Harder still was the weekly trek to the therapist helping his mom recover from her stroke. He had carried her in his arms and wheeled her on makeshift gurneys, but no more.

It had taken him months of welding, scavenging and engineering, but it was done. Neighbors cheered as his homemade car pulled away from the curb. Time to rebuild.

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What if today was my “This is my Done” day? What if today was the day I took my last breath? Fini, game over, you’re outta here day!

Did I do something to be proud of? Was I kind to someone? Did I take a moment to enjoy myself, or do something to enrich my life?

Or did I get up, grumble, snarl, procrastinate, complain and do nothing to better my day or the day of another?

I don’t know when I will go, I do know that today wasn’t my “done day,” so I am going to think about this when I rise. The last thing I want is for my last words being angry or critical. Kids need guidance and discipline, but I need to find a way to do both so they aren’t left with only the  criticism. I need to find a way for my mate to know I may have been angry over one of their actions, but I love them we would have worked through it.

If today was not your “done day,” you have time to rethink things and stack the deck in your favor.

Submit a poem or a short story of 100 words or less, inspired by a weekly photo in this fun, flash fiction group. You can read entries, or submit your own HERE, or click on the little blue guy at the bottom of the page. Thank you Rochelle for keeping us going! Add you story to the Inlinkz tool so others can find your work. Simple and fun!

As always, feel free to point out a missing comma, a continuity problem or anything else that strikes your fancy.

My story this week actually touches on a real-life event from my youth. It’s a story my mom told me, I was not there. The land was turned into a large greenhouse area that supplied jobs for hundreds in the area. Not sure why this pix brought that to mind.

copyright-janet-webb

Men, mostly white, gathered outside the soon to be torn down barn, hoping for a job in the business being built. Whites up front, others in the rear. It may be post-war America, but they weren’t about to let any damn inferior race take their jobs.

They jeered when a skinny Latino pushed his way forward, yelling until the guards pulled him inside to meet his punishment. The gates opened and the men gathered, waiting for the appearance of the new owner to pick his team. Their jaws dropped when the skinny Latino walked out with a smile.


Partners

Posted: February 17, 2013 in Uncategorized

I am a partner. After almost twelve years of living as a single mother of two, I gambled on another mate and bit the bullet. We have been together now for over thirty years. We have grown up, and fallen down. We aged, matured and gained wisdom. We have grown close and fallen apart. We danced with divorce, battled demons, celebrated accomplishments and sent kids into the world. We took on another set of kids when they needed a stable home. We have had money and we have been poor. We have eaten steak and Ramen soup. We have endured job loss, third shifts, illness, filing taxes and lived both apart and together. We have hated each other and loved each other like nobody else could. Today we stand together. A luck of the draw? Karma, hard work? I think it was a combination of all.

When my health took a dive he shouldered the financial burden, helped around the house, shielding my emotional state. He pays the bills, gasses up the car, repairs the house, drives the kids, helps around the house, does yard work and cares for our pets. He also doubles as a massage therapist for my pain riddled body.

I get the kids up for school at six a.m., plan the meals, shop, carry, put it all away and cook, no easy feat for three hungry teens! I monitor homework, grades and friends. I maintain the wireless internet connection and talk to teachers to keep the kids on track.  I do all the work to receive state assistance for food and medical care for the kids. I monitor their emotional and social life and hand out chores. (Which they rarely do if not badgered.) I keep tabs on social issues, schedule dinners, send cards, purchase and wrap gifts. I clean, organize, decorate and take care of the families pets. Geeze, this sounds like a movie out of the 1950’s, when women were expected to stay home and care for the house. However, it is the hand I was dealt, my body won’t allow me the joy of a career so I do the best I can with what I have.

I have turned to my talent in the arts as personal expression. I have paintings and drawings in collections all over the world. My oil paintings, colored pencil pieces, wood carvings, pastel paintings and textile pieces are all over the map. My spouse has funded, and supported every single piece. I have tried to support his wants, endured his mood swings, tolerated his temper, forgave cruelty, and lauded his personal growth. I worked hard to make him see he is not the person his father told him he was. I wanted him to see he was smart, talented, hard-working and moral.

With that said, I write as I look at the snow blanketing my yard. I am able to observe the beauty and not deal with the inconvenience because my spouse has made it so. We are partners. Sometimes one will give more than the other, but life is not a scorecard, it is a partnership, with a mate or with fellow humans. For some of us, connecting with fellow humans can be hard, a leap of faith we are not trained for. I am happy to say we danced over this minefield and came out on the other side.

We are attracted to certain people and we need to learn to recognize our weakness and pull on their strengths, be it a friend, or mate.

Friday Fictioneers – 2/15/13

Posted: February 15, 2013 in Uncategorized

Submit a poem or a short story of 100 words or less, inspired by a weekly photo in this fun, flash fiction group. You can read entries, or submit your own HERE, or click on the little blue guy at the bottom of the page. Thank you Rochelle for keeping us going!

You may go a bit over, or under the 100 word limit, nobody minds. If you would like editing help or critique, please mention that in your introduction. Add the link to your page in the Inlinkz tool so others can find your work. Simple and fun!

My story is under the photo. As always, feel free to point out a missing comma, a continuity problem or anything else that strikes your fancy.

copyright-David Stewart

copyright-David Stewart

That thing is uglier than my ex-wife’s personality”, he thought. Truth be told, it looked like what was left of him after her divorce attorney took him apart. Four years of marriage, down the drain because she found someone with enough money to make her happy.

He lost a house, a car and most of his bank account, but he was glad to be rid of her. Pulling away from the courthouse, he flashed his tallest finger at the statue and drove into his future.

 

Picture it & Write is a weekly creative writing exercise.  Talented writers from around the world submit their own stories based on a photo prompt, flash fiction style. I strive to keep up with this group as it stirs my creative juices and pushes me when I need pushed. You can read the stories or submit your own 250 word, (give or take a few words) story Here.

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Taylor Swift was complaining about an ex-boyfriend she “never, ever,” wanted to see  for the fiftieth time as she filled Bert’s glass. Fighting the urge to smash the jute box she delivered the beer and wiped the counter. She dealt with Glen and another under-aged girl, refusing to serve the girl and put off Hugh, who wanted her to lie to his wife if she called.

Why did she stay? She was an artist, a good one. Storming into Tony’s office she blew up.

“I can’t do this! I am an artist. I can’t deal with the lowlife’s or stare at that damn decal of the wine glass in the window one more night. I have to make something of myself!”

“It’s about time!” Tony bellowed, “Let’s see what we can do to get you started.”

When he was done, he had collected enough money for her to pay her rent as she searched for an agent. Humbled by the generosity of the people she had just deemed losers, she gave each and every one of them a hug before leaving to pursue her dream.

The Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, is a group of writers that come together to share weekly stories based on a photo prompt. Go HERE to read or submit or your own story; or click on the little blue guy under my story.

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copyright-Rich Voza

“I hope those things don’t delay take off,” she muttered as they waited at the gate.

“What’s things dear?” a woman asked.

“Those things on the plane.”

“There’s nothing on the plane dear,” she sniffed, moving away.

“Doesn’t anyone see those things?”

Met with blank stares, she glanced at the black, monkey like beings covering the planes skin. Rushing through the terminal, she canceled her flight. Hours later, she was eating pizza and watching T.V. when the news broke.  Flight 417 out of Newark had crashed, no survivors and no explanation.