First blog post

Well! I took a deep breath and jumped.

This is my very first blog. I’m kind of nervous and excited to get this started.

I’ve been writing stories on the Writer’s Digest Creative Writing Prompts forum every week for the past two years. It’s been a wonderful learning experience to take their prompts, no matter how weird or specific, and turn them into two or three completely different stories. I’ve written stories on there that I normally wouldn’t have considered writing – science fiction stories, vampire stories, and so on. My fellow forumites, who are awesome writers, have helped me with their suggestions and comments to grow as a writer.

So, after much mental fidgeting and nail biting, I finally decided to create this blog to give my prompt stories a proper home.

Hope you enjoy them!



Senseless And Staggering

It stood for centuries.
Tall and proud.
It reached to the skies.
It made people look to Heaven.

Gargoyles and stained glass
Spires and arches.
Witnesses to war and revolution
Witnesses to sorrow and joy and awe.

The backdrop to vacation pictures.
The scene of daily prayers.
The inspiration for a story.
The work of ordinary people.

Racing through.
Eating through.
Breaking through.
Flames everywhere.

Broken windows.
Crumbled stone.
Shattered spires brought low.

Some things saved.
Some things forever lost.

But she will live on.
In memories.
In pictures.
In Paris’ dreams.

April Writing Prompts

Blue Screen Of Death!

Hemingway didn’t completely believe in computers. They were so terribly newfangled and made his hands itch for the comfort of a pen. They made his ears twitch for the sound of a typewriter’s classic tat-a-tat-a-tat pattern. The only sound the computer’s keyboard made was a muffled taptaptaptap, which was not the same thing at all.

The computer was so complicated. So many menus. So many programs. And all he wanted was a simple blank page.

Yet, even he had to admit that there was something wondrously hypnotic about the words appearing on the screen without any hammers or ink. Voila! The words were there.

It was a bit like sorcery.

Yet, there was something insubstantial and effortless about the whole process that felt wrong to him. It felt like cheating the muse somehow. He couldn’t really explain how or why.

Hemingway picked up his tumbler of Scotch and took a sip. “Well. Enough musing.” He put his glass down and rubbed his hands together. “Time to get to work.”

He typed page after page, making careful notes in another document of what he needed to change when he did his second draft. His mind was on fire. His Scotch went down one sip at a time. He wrote fast and furious in both documents.

This will be the greatest thing I have ever written. I know it. I can feel it inside my finger bones.

I should probably stop and save it. But genius BURNS!

Then, for no real reason, his words came to a halt. He typed and typed and typed, but the words did not appear on the screen.

He frowned and poured some more Scotch into his glass.

Maybe if I wait it out.

The screen turned blue. A skull appeared in the middle of it. The skull laughed out loud “AHAHAHAHAHAHA! WELCOME TO THE BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH. AHAHAHAHAHA! ALL OF YOUR DOCUMENTS BELONG TO ME! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

And the screen went black.

“No. Nonononono!” He tapped the keyboard.

Nothing happened.

He pressed the on button, held it for forty-five minutes, and released it.

Nothing happened.

He picked up the computer and shook it hard.

Nothing happened.

He set the computer down and backhanded it back and forth.

Something happened. The computer screen cracked and dislodged from the base.

He swore furiously at it.

The computer burst into flames.

He quickly pulled out a fire extinguisher from underneath his desk and put out the flames. “Pauline!”

His wife entered the room. “Yes, dear?”

He looked down at the fire extinguished computer. “Grab your purse. We need to go to Best Buy.”

“Again, dear?”


April Writing Prompts

The Daily Spur Presents….Saying Good-Bye

This would be the last time and we both knew it. She felt it inside her heart.

I saw it in her eyes.

I saw it in her eyes and it killed me.

It killed her too.

We spent the whole day together, trying desperately to make at least one lasting happy memory. There were a couple of moments that came close. There was one I would never speak of, but I would always treasure.

As evening came in, we both knew we had to give up. We had to surrender.

We had to stop playing pretend.

We had to face the truth.

She had to leave.

I held her hand as we walked down the boardwalk.

I will always love that boardwalk.

I will always think of it as ours.

We’d spent so many summers walking it. Talking about our future together. Talking about nothing of importance. Just being together. Happy together. Eating ice cream together.

It would always be our boardwalk.

No matter what the future held in store.

We stopped at our favorite spot – the one perfect spot – and leaned against the wooden railing. I looked out to the sea.

She looked at me. “I’m sorry.”

I swallowed hard and tried to think of something that I would normally say. Something light and meaningless. But my throat was too dry and my voice refused to work.

“I’m sorry.” Maybe she thought I didn’t hear the first one. Maybe that’s why she repeated it. “Please look at me.”

I didn’t want to. If I looked at her, I would cry. I knew that I’d break down and cry.

“Please. You don’t have to look for too long. I promise.”

But I looked at her anyway.

I looked at her straight blond hair, her black eyebrows, the perfectly soft edges of her face. Oh, how I loved those soft edges. They were a pleasure to touch. A delight to kiss.

I would never be able to kiss them again. “Can’t I come with you?”

Tears filled her eyes and I knew what her answer would be.

I knew her answer and it broke my heart. “Please let me come with you.”

She shook her head.

The spaceship arrived as promised, right on time. Its searchbeams found her, turning her fair skin and blond hair into red.

“Can’t you stay?”

“I’m sorry.” she whispered.

The spaceship thrummed and purred. The searchbeam colored her black hoodie red.

Her hands, her fingernails, her black jeans, her favorite running shoes…all turned into red.

“Please don’t go. Don’t go.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t go!”

Her voice took on a inhuman tone as she said it again, “I’m sorry.” But she still looked like herself. Even though her color was all wrong and her voice was all wrong, it was her. It was her!

“DON’T LEAVE ME!” The words tore my throat.

“Sorry. I’m—” The searchbeam thoroughly saturated her with its red light until I couldn’t even see her outline.


The searchbeam pulled up into the spaceship.

The spaceship shot away.

And I stood alone on the boardwalk.

I sank to my knees and cried.

I knew she would never return.

For this was the last time.



Ambrose And Hildreth Going On A Road Trip. (Expect The Worst)

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  Didi Oviatt had a writing challenge I just couldn’t pass up. The theme was ‘ROAD TRIP’. The challenge was to write a scene/short story with the characters from your WIP (work in progress) going on a road trip to (fill in the blanks however you wish). So, of course, I just had to toss Ambrose and Hildreth into a car just to see what would happen.  

Ambrose covered his face with his hands and slowly rubbed his eyes.

Maybe he’ll get sick.

Maybe he’ll twist his ankle.

Maybe he’ll get a spontaneously fractured vertebrae somewhere in his back. Doesn’t really matter where.

The passenger side door opened and Hildreth Mayhew’s distinctive scent flooded the car.

Ambrose sighed. “I guess I should be grateful that you don’t smell like a werewolf.”

Hildreth got into the car and closed the door. ‘Well, you smell lovely too.”

“Ha! As if you know.” Ambrose shook his head. “I just don’t understand why our wives want us to become friends.”

“Probably because they’re tired of us being enemies.”

Ambrose shrugged. “I can’t help it if you don’t know how to control yourself.”

Hildreth gaped. “What? You think this is all my fault? You know, if you didn’t mouth off every time we share breathing space—”

“Well, if you didn’t jump to the stupidest of conclusions every time—”

“You know what? If we keep this up, you’re going to wind up with a fist in your windpipe.”

Ambrose scoffed. “Such a charmer. Should I tell you what will wind up in your windpipe?”

“If you say your fangs, I swear I’ll laugh my head off. Because that just doesn’t make any sense. In order for your fangs to get into my windpipe, I’d have to swallow them. Why would I swallow them? Like, in what universe/alternate reality would that make sense?”

Ambrose chuckled. “You’d be surprised.” He turned the key. “Okay. Key’s turned. Engine is…uhh…engined.”


“Okay. Um.” He checked his rearview mirror. “Okay. No one’s behind us. At least, I don’t see anyone back there. We should be safe.”

Hildreth looked alarmed. “Wait. Have you driven a car before?”

Ambrose checked his mirror again. “Mm.”

“Mm? What kind of answer is that?”

“Don’t distract me. Okay. I’m pretty sure I have it in reverse. No. Wait. No. Um.” He pulled the lever down a couple of notches. “Okay. That should do it.”

“Maybe we should walk instead.”

“Be quiet. I’m thinking. Okay. Don’t slam on the accelerator. Light touch. Huh? It’s not moving. Maybe a little harder.”

The car shot backwards in a death dealing mission to the mailbox.

Ambrose swore a whole long passage of French curse words as he struggled to get the car under his control.

Hildreth’s hands flared out, grabbing onto whatever was available – the section of seatbelt above his shoulder and Ambrose’s arm. “Foot off the accelerator. Foot off the accelerator.” he repeated it over and over as if it were a magic spell.

Ambrose let up on the accelerator and slammed on the brake.

The car halted with a haunted house shriek.

“I don’t think you have this driving thing under control. Can I please drive?”

“I can do this.”

“No, you can’t.”

Ambrose gave him a belligerent look.

“Please. Let me drive. I would like to live to see my fortieth birthday. It would really disappoint me if I died before then.”

“I can do this.”


Ambrose thought about it.

He thought about his wife.

She really wants us to get along. Me and this hunter.

It isn’t easy. He doesn’t make it easy.

But neither do I.

“Fine.” Ambrose unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. “I’ll let you drive to the store.”

“Thank you!”

Ambrose smiled, baring his fangs. “But I get to drive home.”



Sounds Of The City

Dogs bark.
Cats meow.
Something rattles in a garbage can.

Cars honk.
Doors slam.
And someone yells for another taxi cab.

And in the air
Something hums.
The life and the breath of the city.

Hear its heartbeat pounding in the pavement.
See its rhythm flashing red and yellow and green.

People yell.
Babies cry.
Someone gets kicked out of his nice warm home.

And it’s all another day
In the city.

April Writing Prompts

The Bridge To Malawi

There is a bridge between Malawi and me.
It seems to be safe.
It seems to be sturdy.

I could run across it.
It wouldn’t be difficult to walk across it.
All I have to do is cross it.

But I stand here uncertain.
I want to run to Malawi.
His very presence beckons to me.

But does he want me to come to him?

He does not call to me.
He does not shout out my name.

He stands on his side of the bridge
And I stand on mine.

I could run across it
It would be so easy to run across it.
It would be so easy to run across it to him.

But he turns and walks away.

April Writing Prompts

Wonder Whispers

Wonder whispers in a voice
That is soft and sincere.

Wonder whispers gently
Inside your ear.

Wonder whispers in a warm cello tone
That takes your breath.

Wonder’s whispers of things
That makes you say “ohh.”

Wonder whispers of beauty
She can whisper of love.
She can whisper of heartbreak.
Her whispers can break your heart and warm your soul.

Wonder whispers
But not everyone hears her voice.

Wonder whispers gently.
Lean forward and listen or turn away.
It is your choice.

April Writing Prompts