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!


Tales And Time

Do you have time to sit a while?
Do you have time to hear a tale or two?
Would you mind if we spoke of crocodiles
And maybe a fairy queen too?

Do you have time to imagine?
Do you have time to dream?
Would you want to hear of magic
In a world where all is not as it may seem?

Do you want to dine on stardust?
Do you want to fly on wings of gold to the moon?
Would you want to do it today or tomorrow
Or sometime very soon?

When you choose to do so
And when you make up your mind,
Come and find me.
I have tales to tell and a great deal of time.

June 2021 Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt


Moondust and magic
Opals and onyx
Silver and satin
Golden and glimmering

That was her.
That’s who she was.

Ice and wind in winter
Tear tracks and overgrown train tracks
Abandoned buildings and broken windows.

That was me.
That’s who I was with her.

Illusions and mystery
Always out of reach and not to be touched

Such a lovely her.
Such a bewitching her.
Perfect and inaccessible her.

Leaving me behind
Leaving me hopeless and reaching
Even as she lightens her light on someone else.

June 2021 Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt

Sounds Of Summer And Memories Of Then

Abigail sat in her wheelchair with a knitted afghan smoothed over her lap. She turned her head. The movement wasn’t nearly as smooth as it used to be.

She looked at the long gauzy curtains. They were butter yellow, even on the grayest of days. Always like a bit of sunshine in her room. She liked that.

She wanted to move closer to the window, but this was not a good day for her. Her arms were too tired to make the necessary movements to inch the wheelchair forward. The nurse’s call button sat alongside her leg. Abigail could have pressed it to have the nurse move her, but no. She chose to stay put.

The curtains were like sunshine. Abigail still remembered sunshine. The warmth of it. The wind-chime feel and sound of it in spring. The melted ice cream taste of it in summer. The crunchy dry leaf sound of it in fall. The gravestone grit of it in winter. But the gravestone always gave way to the wind-chimes. It was something that was always. It would forever be.

She closed her eyes and remembered barefoot running to the running waves. Coarse! Hot! Ahh, cold! She smiled at the splashing cold. Squeals and shrieks of laughter. Laughter that lived always in her mind. Laughter that existed in her memories.

Memories of sunshine.

Memories of cotton candy and flying! Flying on a swing. Bubble gum pops. Cotton candy fuzz. Badly made braids. Tank tops and sandals. Roughed up knees and riding a bike. Pedals moving under her feet. Remembering how they felt under her feet. Metal. Remembering the motion. Rolling constant motion. Not walking. Not running. Legs rising. Legs falling. And it tasted like chocolate ice cream melting on her hand. Waffle cone getting saturated. Waffle cone going soft.

Always going so soft.

It whirred. The pedals whirred and the spokes twirled. Chains clanked. Brakes stopped. And it was summertime inside her mind.

Ice cream and fireworks. Holding someone’s hand. Sharing someone’s memory. Being a part of someone’s memory. Being a part of someone’s life story. They met. They fell in love. They married. Rice and cake and confetti. Buttercream frosting. So sweet and tangy. The cake, delicate and spongy. They married for so many summers and springs and winters and falls and back to springs. Oh, with him it always returned to spring!

Until winter came on ravened wings.

Her bedroom door opened. “Abigail sweetie?” The nurse. Not him. Not him ever. Only in her dreams and memories did he come and it returned to spring. “Your daughter is here to see you. Are you up for visitors today? Hmm?”

She opened her eyes.

The curtains were the color of sunshine and spring and summer.

She could almost taste the chocolate ice cream and hear the fireworks’ pop and sizzle. “Yes.”

Her daughter entered the room. “Mom?”

Abigail smiled as spring arrived again.

May 2021 Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt

A Thin Thread

A thin thread of a small life
17 years 4 months
4 white feet
Faint tabby stripes
And a white blaze down his nose.

A miniature mountain lion
In peaches and cream
Sleeping on my bed
And begging for dairy treats.

A fierce hunter.
A good companion.
A vibrant spirit
A clever mind
And sheer determination.

Silently sleep
Quietly pass
Into the darkness of the night
And into the brightness of the day.

(In memory of my cat, Lucky, who I had to put down today.) 

Not Another Ghost Story

I’m not going to write another ghost story.
No matter what they say.
Not going to write about chains rattling
On a dark and stormy night.

I’m not going to write about
Ghosts who weep and wail
And bang on the walls
While everyone else tries to sleep.

I might write about vampires seeking blood
Or about werewolves seeking friends.
I might write about a bigfoot and a Chupacabra
Looking for a long lost fishing pole.

But I’m not going to write about ghosts.
Nor about any women in white.
Nor about any spiteful spirits out to write wrongs.

Because I don’t want to write another ghost story.
No, thank you.
Not tonight.

Cranberry Carpet And Glinting Gizmos

“The carpet…I remember the carpet.” Polly kept her eyes closed. “It surprised me. It was a shag carpet. I didn’t expect it to be a shag carpet. Seemed strange for it to be in such a place.”

“Tell me more about it.” Sergeant Reynolds said.

“It was the color of fresh cranberry juice. You know, that rich, really red color. Almost looks black until you spill it. Then, you see the red of it. All over.”

“What else do you remember?”

“The carpet was incongruous with the surroundings. The carpet was so…” She smiled. “…soft and friendly. Like you could just lie down on it and fall asleep.”

“And the surroundings? What of them?”

A frown creased her eyebrows. “A lot of sharp metal. Silver-like. Glinting. Hard. Unfriendly.”

“Were they weapons?”

She shook her head. “If they were, I didn’t recognize them as such. They were just…gizmos.”

“But they struck you as unfriendly.”



“Too many sharp edges.”

“What else do you remember about them?”

“I couldn’t make sense of them. What they were. How they were meant to be held. How they were meant to be used. None of it made sense to me.”

“Did you touch any of them?”



“I had a strong feeling that it would be unwise to touch them. I don’t know why I had that feeling, but it was there.”

“Did they put that idea in your head?”

“I don’t know, sir. That thought, that feeling, seemed normal enough. Like something I would think. There was nothing foreign about it. Nothing that set my nerves on edge.”

“Would you be willing to go back for further investigations?”

Polly thought about her missing fingers, about the long wound still healing on her back. She opened her eyes and fixed a steady look on the man standing before her. His hair was trimmed in a tight buzz cut. A crisp military uniform covered his well-distributed 286 pounds. He carried his own world of scars on his body — some she had seen, others she had not.

“Well? Are you willing to go back once you’re fully healed?”

She considered the risks of returning to the alien spacecraft. There were many risks. She considered the benefits. There were just a few, but they were all well worth it.

Polly raised her head with pride and determination. “Yes. I will go back.”

April Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt

Guardians For Wizard Hen

I am Oliesh, a guardian.
A guardian of the Mushroom Forest.
It is my job to guard the forest and keep it safe.

I am Hramat, a guardian.
A guardian of the graveyard.
A graveyard so green.
A graveyard so serene.
It is my job to guard the graveyard and keep it safe.

I guard the Mushroom Forest for Wizard Hen.
This forest is important to him.
I don’t question why.
I am a guardian and I will do my job.

I guard the graveyard for Wizard Hen.
The graveyard is sacred to him.
It holds the bones of those he holds dear.
It is here that they were laid to rest.
And they rest breathless and well.
I am a guardian and I do my job.

I am Oliesh, a guardian of the Mushroom Forest.

I am Hramat, a guardian of the graveyard.

I guard the forest and keep it safe.

I guard the graveyard and keep it safe.

I keep it safe for Wizard Hen.

I keep it safe for Wizard Hen.

For it is my job.

It is my job.

And I do it well.

I do it very well.

April Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt


The lollipop was too danged hot. No matter where he tried to lick it, it was too hot for his mouth to handle. But he kept trying.

He hoped that maybe his taste buds would be singed into submission.

He hoped that he would somehow grow to like the taste of cayenne, sriracha, and wasabi mixed into a lollipop.

But it burned. Burned so much. Burned so hot. Burned so bad.

Tears welled up in his eyes and fell. Fell down his face. Fell onto the wedding announcement in the newspaper.

And he kept trying. Kept trying to like the painfully hot lollipop. Kept trying to convince his taste buds that it tasted just fine.

But more tears fell.

No matter how hard he tried, more tears fell.

They fell onto her smiling face.

April Writing Prompts – Putting My Feet in the Dirt