Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=DUST. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
Cat sits comfortably curled about himself in the square of Autumn sun, his tiny snore and twitching legs causing a greater swirl of dust motes that dance and dream and foretell of future hunts.
Continue readingJoin us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=OPTION. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
Before she, Esme, lifts the ivory linen that protects the remainder of the morning’s bread from the inquisitive, errant bluebottle fly, before she takes another sip of the water-wine mix that has settled and reached a cool room temperature in the chalice, the ewer now drained and removed by her sole servant, she reaches for the wooden box wherein the cards rest, awaiting activation by her thoughtful consciousness.
Intention precedes intuition to get a true reading.
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January 30: CINNAMON. Many Thanks to Tessa K. (Itsa me! Nom de Plume) for today’s prompt, as we take a moment or two each day this month to reflect on words that come from the community. And thanks to Linda G Hill for getting us organized!
I don’t know what they put in the new cat food formula the veterinarian gave me, but it sure had an affect on my old Tuxedo cat, Tolstoy. We’ve been together for about 15 years, and he’s gone from fluffy, with wizard locks beside each ear and a sage, but kittenish expression, to a bony-bummed, splay-legged, swinging belly, rheumy-eyed dreamer who seeks the sun’s warm rays in winter, but loves snuggling at night. We have a lot in common, in our respective old ages.
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January 29: PROMPT. Many Thanks to Cheryl for today’s prompt, as we take a moment or two each day this month to reflect on words that come from the community. And thanks to Linda G Hill for getting us organized!
Watcher Doings Extra: Ferah
“Sittin’ on the dock of the bay, watchin’ the tide roll away…”
God knows she’d spent plenty of time staring out at the waves, the gulls bobbing like whitecaps let loose when the winds picked up on gray afternoons. When cold rain dimpled those same white-capped waves on stormy days, she’d stand in the treasures she’d found in the shed, the fisherman’s long jacket flapping around her long legs, a sou’wester tied under her chin, her feet bare and near frozen, but turned northward. The scene was different than what her deep-forested homeland offered up, and sometimes she thought she’d grown up in the wrong place, wrong time.
Continue readingIt’s the final year of FlashNano, by Nancy Stohlman, where we write a flash a day in response to a prompt, or just because. This is a quick write, but it was kinda fun. And I just happened to have the right image!
Day 2: “Write a story in which something turns into something else.”
Evie woke up on the edge of the property, a sour taste in her mouth, muscles aching, and her bag of Halloween candy ripped apart, treats smashed and scattered just past where dirt meets curated lawn. Rubbing her face and neck, she came away with blood on her hands and a laceration in her shoulder that stabbed as she twisted to see what had happened to her. There was definitely a mark. Could be a knife slash, or— this thought rustled a shred of memory—a slice from a claw, or maybe even a bite from trying to escape whatever had attacked her.
What had attacked her?
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Many thanks to Jenne Gray and C.E. Ayr for their photo prompt, THE UNICORN CHALLENGE. (07/18/2025). No more than 250 words in length.
The room is cool, a soothing respite from the blistering heat outside its door. Her bare feet shuffle across the smooth wood floor. She reviews each object of art: bucolic landscapes, highland towers, night streets, dawning oceans. Paintings stop in interesting places, to continue with other voices, other rooms. Perhaps a novel, or love-lost poem?
Continue readingWriting and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
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