Woke up to subzero temps this morning, grateful that there is nothing…NOTHING…that requires me to go outside the house today. Yesterday, I returned overdue library books (a gothic horror novel by Elizabeth Hand, and a thick collection of Pablo Neruda poems), picked up a few grocery necessities, and got that teaspoon-sized dose of human interaction that’ll do me for about a week. Cuz Introvert. Continue reading
The challenge? Write a story in exactly 6 sentences based on Denise’s one word prompt: EVEN. Visit, comment, and write & post your own on SIX SENTENCE STORIES. The Café is open. Come as you are!
You start with a precise recipe: this many deciliters of starter, so many grams of flour (careful not to overpack, and smooth the top evenly with a blunt butter knife), a measure of vegetable oil, a half teaspoon of yeast dissolved in ¼ cup (plus two extra teaspoons) of warm water, and half that amount of salt, ¼ cup of honey, a single brown-shelled egg (room temperature and beaten), one quarter-cup of golden raisins (soaked for an hour and drained, to be added last) and a generous rounded teaspoon of cardamom.
Except that you halve the recipe because your mother has passed and she can no longer help you enjoy the bounty. Continue reading
The challenge? Write a story in 6 sentences, no more & no less, and if you’d like, share your own creation or just visit and comment on others’ ideas, with GirlieOnTheEdge, Denise. The prompt is “CAROUSEL”, and here’s where you join the party: Six Sentence Stories
She’d retreated to the kitchen to escape the cacophony of what had become weekly shouts and belches that took over the living room, to get herself together and decide the next big thing she needed to do.
She would start with something easy: bake a sourdough loaf, with its usual white-whole wheat mix, and add dried fruit and nuts, with a scattering of spices of indeterminate mixture; nothing calmed her like creating something with her hands that no one had ever tasted before (not that these over-enthused sports nuts her husband had gathered would be able to appreciate the craft that brought her calm). Continue reading
Subzero, Fahrenheit -451outside my window, but that’s really just me whining; we’ve been promised a high of 0 degrees F today, but the sun is shining hard through my south-facing windows to make my black cat’s fur hot. Continue reading
Well, at least he’s happy.
I wasn’t expecting a visit from my teenaged, road-working son, but here he is, leaning into a half-eaten, torn-into loaf of walnut-wheat bread, butter disappearing quickly. His bent arms are long enough to eclipse the entire side of my kitchen table, effectively blocking me out. Yes, of course I fed my kid. You always feed your kid. They never completely grow up, not in your eyes. Continue reading
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
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Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
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