January 8 – “Stumble”. Many Thanks to Lou 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!
(Part 2 of 3, continued from Intentional…)
I guessed we’d have to try another approach to find out more about the Squirrel Bird Woman.
Continue readingJanuary 6 – “Intentional”. Many Thanks to Dan 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!
(Part 1 of 3)
We knew she’d pass this way at just this time, a bucket full of seed for the birds in one hand and weighed down by an overstuffed backpack. Once she’d made sure the wildlife—well, CITY wildlife—were fed, she’d stop by our near-campus coffee shop for a small black coffee, which she took outdoors to watch the birds and squirrels scratch through what she’d left for them. She’d sit on the hard bench in the campus greenspace, tiny woman with a tight smile, pull a crust of bread out of the side pocket of her Goodwill wool jacket, and join them in their feast.
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Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=FORCE. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
Montay found safety in the cottage’s shed, just managing to slither his way through the woodpile stacked and placed against the east wall, and into the shed itself through a small hole near its base. In the coolness of the northern evening, he was subject to the vicissitudes of the cold-blooded form he’d chosen to transform into; add that to his bad planning to shapeshift into a snake blinded by molt and he was screwed.
Continue readingJanuary 4 – “Arms”. 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!
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I wake up in heavy darkness this morning to what sounds like airplanes flying low in the sky. Steady drone in multivoice, for what seems like a long time. Swimming upwards out of sleep, I remember the old munitions site a few miles away, and that this thought crosses the deeper pools of my consciousness whenever the U.S. is mired in things that they shouldn’t. Or shouldn’t be, in the way that we do. The old munitions plant, long dismantled, but still haunted, and undeveloped into something more hopeful, is a few miles and a quarter of a century away.
Continue readingJanuary 2 – “Magnify”. Many thanks to Barbara 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!
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Joseph stared at his beautifully plated entrée, the seasonal speciality at the high-end restaurant his wife had begged to visit to celebrate her birthday.
He’d expected and budgeted for what he knew would be a high-priced meal, assumed the food would be the chef-architect’s finest designs. He’d hoped for flavor and texture that would knock his socks off, even if he couldn’t quite identify what was placed before him by the wait-person with the Inspector Clouseau accent.
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=CHANNEL. Read, write and come back for more on SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
The remaining three—Sangfroid, Plangeduc, and Redrue—arrived by late ferry, crossing the channel from mainland to island, easily mixing with the post tent-concert human crowd who were enthused and tipsy, some sufficiently high, so that the trio were barely noticed.
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=SHED. Read, write and come back for more on SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night).
The night had come on suddenly, like thick wet wool dropped over a shivering body, and Montay wondered what this cottage and the lands surrounding it would be like in wintertime; Ferah and he had always loved the perennial summer of their homeland, the heady scent of decay and new growth, the feel of dirt and dappled air as they chased each other through field and forest as cats, took to the sky as birds of prey, sinewy scaled tails combing the river’s rush as they cut up against stream, so why would she choose a place like this to retreat?
Continue readingWriting and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
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