“Too much noise going on out there, and nothing more I can do about it, than what I’m already doing.” She clicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the scarred, stained coffee table. “I wish I had a remote to use on myself and my busy thoughts!” Continue reading
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
The task is to write a story in 6 sentences, no more no less, and if you’d like, share your creation or just visit and comment, with GirlieOnTheEdge, Diana. The prompt is ‘Clip”, and here’s where you join the party: Six Sentence Story on “CLIP”
She’d hoped to make the rounds before the storm blew in and kept her indoors and isolated for the next week and a half. She started out with the usual chores–library, groceries, pet supplies for the cat, liquor store, quick visit with her mom—but wanted one final hike at the State Park, taken at a fast clip, with its rolling hills, pine forests, and sparkling creek. Continue reading
Hot and humid.
Hot and humid and COVID.
So much so, that folks are divided on whether to wear masks or not, and what the actual distance of six feet looks like: whether distance is different in an enclosed space versus an open space, whether the current air filtration system is adequate to dispel the exhalations (the coronavirus soup), whether six feet is buffer enough when one is active, whether adding a drink or two to the mix makes for exponential risk… Continue reading
Wind howls down the street, down the sidewalk and hill, so difficult to tackle on mornings like today. Icy shards lift, whip around and slap Laurel’s cheeks as she trudges against the wind. She swears, wishing she’d strapped ice grippers onto her hiking boots. The sun limns the hilltop. Continue reading