Source: “The Song of Sixpence” (1881), Walter Crane
The Hunter’s moon rose high as Henry knelt, pulling the pie out of the oven. Dear Liza’d been sent, holey bucket in hand, to gather autumn leaves for decoration. For their 154th anniversary, he’d sworn to make the pie on his own, Continue reading
Sara’d planned a lifetime for this.
She’d done the research: observation, repeated sampling, clearly defined measures, notes on outliers, meteorological forecast, personality inventory (willingly cadged by some pig, from the father’s file cabinet. Some pig, indeed!). Continue reading
The challenge? Write a story in 6 sentences, no more & no less, and if you’d like, share your creation or just visit and comment on others’ ideas, with GirlieOnTheEdge, Denise. The prompt is “Filter”, and here’s where you join the party: Six Sentence Stories
She set the timer on the tea for three minutes and considered the slow colorful cloud that drifted its way to the bottom of her clear glass mug. She had a need for a healing raspberry tea after that visit to the emperor’s office, with her four-year-old son, Toby, in tow. Continue reading
Norwegian Forest Cat
As part of my studies of Gothic fairy tales I offer up this quick write from our Carterhaugh class today today, all in the service of learning and expressing and using NaNoWriMo to focus in on what needs to be. As it is written, so mote it be…
Honoring My Gothic Present
I am the old woman you meet in the woods, dressed in shapeless, comfortable black, salt and pepper hair tucked under the hood of my green, woolen shawl as I follow the deer paths through the darker parts of the Wood. My boots are sturdy, laced over the ankle and meant for hiking, but if you look closely at my chicken legs, you’ll see that my boots are a deep burgundy color. Continue reading
A morning breeze tripped through the back garden. Tall cornstalks shivered and shushed one another, delighting in the sleeping baby that had fallen from the sky overnight. Continue reading
Janina sat on the stone wall of the spring-fed pool. Behind her, her father’s castle clashed with loud music, shattering glass, and women’s high-pitched giggles. Her fourteenth birthday; she was sick of it all. Continue reading
In deep woods, somewhere near the middle and the end, launching from the first and hovering near the last, always returning to the origin, is a clearing. Sometimes there, other times elsewhere, most often not present at all. Continue reading
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