By Lynn Levy Daria stood with her nose up against the glass, peeking in at the door. She didn’t go in—she knew better. And when someone came out, she melted away, back into the shadows, back where she couldn’t be seen. But the tall blond man saw her anyway, and walked toward her. He was a giant, an enormous bulk of branches and limbs that looked like he shouldn’t be able to balance, let alone walk. She imagined him crashing over, like her string doll did when she pressed the button on the bottom. But instead, he folded himself down, quiet as a sheet, until he was squatting in front of her. “Are you Daria?” he asked. Daria furrowed her brow. The rule was, you don’t tell strangers your name. But another rule was that you don’t lie. “Yes,” she finally decided upon, because she liked his pale blue eyes,…
Author: mcullen
Marlene Cullen is enthusiastic about encouraging people to write, even those who think they can’t write. Her series of books, The Write Spot anthologies, features writing that entertains as well as inspires writing. Every story, vignette, and poem in The Write Spot books include writing prompts motivating readers to become writers.
Marlene hosts The Write Spot Blog, a treasure chest of inspirational gems for writers.
Fulfilling her passion for writing and sharing with others, Marlene has created unique writing environments such as Jumpstart Writing Workshops, where participants often experience transformational changes. Her workshops provide essential elements for successful writing.
Marlene is the founder of Writers Forum of Petaluma, a monthly literary event featuring presenters talking about the craft and business of writing.
Marlene's awarding winning short stories and essays have been published in literary journals, anthologies, and newspapers, including Tiny Lights, Building Bridges, More Bridges, Redwood Writers anthologies, and The Write Spot anthologies.
She is a member of the California Writer's Club.
Shoes . . . Prompt #363
Write about shoes. Your shoes, a baby’s shoes, or a grandmother’s slippers. A pair of shoes hanging by the laces on a high wire. A favorite pair of hiking boots. Ballet shoes. Sandals worn on vacation. Shoes.
Perseverance
By M.A. Dooley “Dad, why do people think the moon is made of cheese?” “Because of the holes, it looks like swiss cheese.” “Dad, what are the holes made of?” “They’re craters made by asteroids crashing on the surface.” “Dad, can an asteroid crash here?” “It’s possible, but not probable.” “Dad, is a shooting star a dying sun?” “No, they are meteorites burning up in earth’s atmosphere.” “But they’re good luck, right dad?” The Mars landing reminded me of days of infinite possibilities. I was born to an aerospace engineer who flew to Cape Canaveral for satellite launches. The morning of the Apollo 12 lift-off, our family huddled around a black and white picture box. My little brother was just happy in mom’s soft lap. I, the older one and already like my dad, asked innumerable questions before count down. Mom shushed me so dad could narrate the details…
California Winter
California Winter By Patricia Morris (with thanks to Ted Kooser) The wind turns the pages of rain As drops splatter on the skylights, beating a rhythm punctuated by the cracks of unmoored oak limbs hitting the roof. The rain chain dances, brass acorns jingling, water swooshing through its cups. The creek rushes over rocks, gushes into the culvert and out again, making its overground / underground way to the river. The thirsty earth soaks it in, filters it down into empty aquifers. One chapter ending, another beginning. Freewrite inspired by the poem, A Rainy Morning, by Ted Kooser Patricia Morris misses the summer thunderstorms of her rural Midwestern upbringing, but enjoys observing and writing about the California rains from her home in Petaluma. After careers as diverse as…
Diary of a Mad Poet
Jonah Raskin’s review of Diary of a Mad Poet: Robin Gabbert’s new book of poems, Diary of a Mad Poet—her first published book—comes out of pain and loss, fire and cancer, but they are also poems of healing and joy, family ties and friendships. Some take place in the far away past, others in the near present. Some experiment with form and the arrangement of words on the page. In one poem the author asks “Has God deserted you? Was he ever there to?” Altogether, Gabbert’s individual poems add up to a portrait of a life lived fully. They offer hope to readers like the author herself who have come through troubles and who delight in the powers of memory and the rigors of the English language. Jonah Raskin is the author of seven poetry chapbooks, a performance poet, and the author of American Scream: Allen Ginsberg’s ‘Howl’ and the Making of…
The Trees on Her Block
The Trees on Her Block By Camille Sherman Thick strands, split ends, hanging in zero gravity toward the sky A morning stretch, limbs painting fine details on the clouds Noble, astute, aged and ageless Naked and resolute, spindly in its brittle winter coat Immune from human error, impervious to neglect or over-watering Pledging a sacred vow of new life in the spring Thawing those that pass below Breathing new poems into poets, Fresh brush strokes into painters Holding our attention and springing our steps Until a season-long sunset When autumn leaves start to fall Camille Sherman is a professional opera singer from the Bay Area. She trained at The Boston Conservatory and the San Francisco Conservatory of music, and served as an Artist in Residence at Pensacola Opera and Portland Opera. She currently lives in Portland, where she continues to sing and develop artistic projects with local artists.
Perseverance . . . Prompt #562
Today’s prompt is inspired from the Perseverance Rover landing on Mars. What do you think about the Mars landing? Is this as impactful as man’s first walk on the moon? OR: Where were you on July 20, 1969 when Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin landed on the moon? OR: Write about perseverance. About the parachute that helped land Perseverance: The parachute that helped NASA’s Perseverance rover land on Mars unfurled to reveal a seemingly random pattern of colors in video clips of the rover’s landing. NASA officials said it contained a hidden message written in binary computer code. The red and white pattern spelled out “Dare Mighty Things” in concentric rings. The saying is the Perseverance team’s motto, and it is also emblazoned on the walls of Mission Control at NASA’s Jet Propulsion. “The Verge”
This Side of a Freeze
This Side of a Freeze By Deb Fenwick You have one last stop to make. The holidays are approaching, and you have one final card to mail. A quick stop at the post office, and you can tick the box and check that task right off the list just before dark hits at 4:30 on a December day. Parking strategies are key here, and when you find a second-tier one across the street, you grab it. You’ve got layers. Layers of fleece and GORE-TEX, even a new hat, to insulate you from temperatures that are just this side of a freeze. You cross Lake Street when you first see him. He’s just a little older than your daughter. He’s standing outside the main entrance near the flagpole as you approach the mailbox box with your stamped envelope—with your contents safely sealed inside. You see him approaching. He’s tall, and he…
If you knew . . . Prompt #561
If you knew then what you know now, what would you do differently?
Why not just get busy and write?
I’ve been reading back issues of Tiny Lights and found this gem by Suzanne Byerley, published December 2000. Even though this was written twenty years ago, it’s a perfect piece to share with you in these days of restlessness, as we wade through difficult times to find inspiration and energy to write.—Marlene Cullen “Steps” by Suzanne Byerley. I find myself restless. I prowl about the house in my slippers making sure the cats are behaving themselves, sorely tempted to turn on CNN and see if Florida has picked the next president yet. Maybe I’ll lay out a game of solitaire or fumble through that little Bach prelude my daughter mastered when she was six. What is this wild drive to diversion? Why not just sit down and get at what makes me happy? Why not just get busy and write? Because the steps to the desk are like slogging bootless…