pandemic

Recharging, WWYD?

/ Liz H-H / 11 Comments

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2024)

The challenge? Write a story in exactly 6 sentences based on Denise’s one word prompt: BOND. Visit, comment, and write & post your own on SIX SENTENCE STORIES. The Café is open. Come as you are!

(Because setting boundaries and holding space for ourselves is OK)

She slid onto the padded stool at the end of the otherwise empty counter that snaked and double-backed on itself through the diner, still sweaty and now cold from a cloudy afternoon hike around every unmarked trail in the nearby nature preserve.              Continue reading →

Just-Jot-It-January (Jan 4-7)

/ Liz H-H / 5 Comments

Just Jot It JanuarySo, this month I’m doing a challenge to write a micro a day, for Just-Jot-It-January. Thanks to Linda G. Hill, bloggers in the “Play Group” have proposed a one-word prompt for each day. Today’s prompt, “TEMPEST” was my suggestion! We share our responses back to Linda’s page, and are able to read what others come up with. I’ll post my responses every few days in bundles, to respect your in-boxes. But if a prompt tickles your imagination, please click its connecting link to read more!

Jan 7:  Tempest

Eye of the Storm

It’d been one hell of a night. She came home from the evening shift to find the kitchen sink full, with dishes, as well as soapy water. This suggested an attempt had been made. Baby steps, she told herself, and opted to leave the mess for tomorrow. Continue reading →

Dilemma

/ Liz H-H / 21 Comments

green lightningShe stared in the mirror, one hand holding the ends of her hair, the other running a brush as gently as possible over its knotted curls; sparks crackled green and sharp, and she didn’t want to burn down the apartment complex. Continue reading →

Avocado Toast in 99, Times Two

/ Liz H-H / 8 Comments

Fancy Avocado ToastTwo 99-word tales of love and avocado toast.

Tea and Sympathy

“What’s the plan for today?” he asked.

Georgia watched out the window as squirrels chased each other through new-fallen snow, then up and around the trunk of the red oak they’d planted at Jessi’s birth. Snow chunks dropped like overcooked spuds.  Continue reading →

RIP Twin Cities

/ Liz H-H / 3 Comments

cracked heart picture in pavementThis gentle giant
Ended by corrupt police
Remember George Floyd.

Hope strained, smoke-stained streets
Shattered hearts, Minnesota
Patience, as we heal.

(This, on top of COVID. And those who gather together–prayers broken by opportunistic anarchists–risk a steeper next wave in the coming weeks.)

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2020)