Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Where I Live By Ken Delpit When I walk into where I live, I smell memories. This is where we first beheld what would be our first and only home, from the inside. Over there was where his first, very tentative, steps took place, from the parquet mahogany coffee table to my luring, waiting hands. Right there on the carpet is where she often would get rolled up into a daughter burrito, with auntie-made birthday blanket as tortilla, and with generous gobs of tickling cheese. When I walk into where I live, I smell unfulfilled should-haves and wish-I-hads. I wish I had done this, that, and especially that, better as a parent, and for that matter, as a husband. I should have taken care of that household repair long ago. I should have spent more time…
Scary Tradition . . Prompt #821
Write about a tradition that scared you as a child. Krampus Yule goat Burning of the Böögg Guy Fawkes Night Or, something unique to your family. See what CM Riddle wrote on this subject, Wild Man of The Hunt. Just write!
Wild Man of the Hunt
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Wild Man of the Hunt By CM Riddle Mom grew up in the country with her brother and sister, along with what seems like hundreds of Italian immigrant relatives. Mom’s great-grandparents Albina (the mean one who kept a lid on the candy jar) and Rosalina (the sweet one who didn’t have a lid on the candy jar) were sisters. They sailed into San Francisco from Luca Italy in the late 1800’s with their husbands, who were brothers; Pietro and Romolo. While making great efforts to become a part of the new world, the family still clung to ways and traditions from Italy. Working on their land they grew vegetables and flowers, and made wine. Their families thrived in West Marin. Rosalina, or as Mom called her, Noni Rosie, had an original “bed and breakfast.” She hosted…
Winter’s Walk
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Winter’s Walk By Cheryl Moore On these dark mornings I feel the fog’s kiss on my cheek As though waking me to a new day; So unlike a much drier place I once lived so many years ago Where dust storms were more likely. I walk to the river where The fragrance of wild fennel fills the air Reminding me of the black liquorish I loved as a child. On the muddy banks wild fowl often appear On their daily hunt, bringing to mind They too fill their senses. We are not so unlike in our goals. When Chery Moore came to California in the early 1960’s, she realized she’d found her home. Then moving to Petaluma in the 70’s, she was as close to paradise as she’d ever be. Travel has taken her…
Marshmallow Webs Between My Fingers
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Marshmallow Webs Between My Fingers By Robin Mills It’s a summer morning on Granville Avenue, my grandparent’s home. The wafting smell of Sanka, released by boiling water poured over freeze-dried crystals in the bottom of a cracked and stained white porcelain mug, slinks out of the linoleum floored kitchen with yellow counter tops, sails down the hall to our bedroom where we sleep, our heads on flattened pillows and our little bodies under mothball infused quilts. Dragging our summer-tanned and happily worn bodies to the table, twisting fists dislodging sleep from our eyes, we sit, awaiting our breakfast. For the kids, ¼ cup Sanka, ¾ cups milk and a heaping teaspoon of brown sugar. I stir the mixture, from brown and white swirls to a tan much like the color the summer sun has laid on…
I Know Now
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. I Know Now By Mary O’Brien I know now not to bet on a sure thing. Christmas caroling with Grandpa and the grandkids at a nursing home the Saturday before The Big Day? Piece of cake…and there would be cake and treats for all participants afterwards. The perfect ending to a memory-making afternoon. This I had promised. I know now that my 86-year-old father, once blessed with a deep, rich and mellow bass voice now sings 1.75 pitches above the tone for which he aims. You know, the melody everyone else is singing a Capella because no musicians showed up. I leaned toward my oblivious and progressively hard of hearing dad, aiming what was left of my contralto towards his left ear. I had lost my voice the day before and at this point all I…
Joy . . . Prompt #820
Write about something you own that brings you joy. Or, write about something you own that does not bring you joy. Why do you keep it? #justwrite #iamwriting #iamawriter
Scent: Powerfully Evocative
Rainy Day Chocolate “The seasonal ingredient that might be the most powerfully evocative is scent. Physiologically speaking, the central location for identifying aromas lives in the front of our brains in the olfactory bulb. This structure is closely tied to the limbic system, a command center for our emotions and long-term memory. That explains why scent is so closely allied with thought.” — Stephen Orr, Editor in Chief of Better Homes & Gardens magazine (December 2023). Choose a prompt related to sensory detail and Just Write! Smell, Taste, Hear, Touch Imagery and Sensory Detail ala Adair Lara Sensory Detail
Smell, Taste, Hear, Touch . . . Prompt #819
Using sensory detail when writing. You can use any place you wish. The prompts use “house.” Prompt 1 When I walk into where I live, I smell . . . You could write about where you presently live, where you have lived in the past, or a place you frequent (now or in the past). Prompt 2 When I walk into my house, I can taste . . . You can switch from “house” to “heart.” Example: If you walked into my heart, you would taste melted butter on crispy toast, creamy coffee first thing in the morning, sweet and sour flashes of time rushing away from me. Prompt 3 When I walk into where I live, I hear . . . Or: When you walk into my house, you can touch . . . Use the details of texture. You could write in first person point of view, or…
Winter Sunrises
Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page. Winter Sunrises By Elizabeth Beechwood On the darkest days The glorious sunrise shouts And still we persist! Winter solstice marks the beginning of our journey around The Wheel together. It’s a mysterious dark time here in the Northern Hemisphere, when Nature challenges us to turn inward. Inward to our homes, inward to our bodies, inward to our minds and thoughts. In my part of the Pacific Northwest, winter is marked by long stretches of blustery rain punctuated with cold, clear breaks in the weather. Many people find comfort in starry winter skies, chunky knitted blankets, and twinkling lights. But it’s during these breaks that I find comfort in something different: the winter sunrise. The sunrise is especially glorious on these mornings; the sky is banded with robin’s egg blue, house finch blush, and warbler yellows and…