Write about games you played or things you did as a child.
Slinky
Silly putty
Rubik’s cube
Chatty Cathy
Barbie
GI Joe
Mr. Potato Head
Matchbox cars
Hot Wheels
Jump rope
Roller skate
Ping-pong
Spirograph
Etch a Sketch
Magic 8-ball
Jacks
Dodge Ball
Board games
Marbles
“No matter how many proofreaders one has, there can still be errors/typos. Reading for typos/errors is like a Sherlock Holmes mystery; looking for that stray character lurking in the shadows.” — Janet Pierce
Can’t Help but Wonder
By Ken Delpit
Can’t help but wonder
What’s to become of us all.
Can’t say it’s a blunder
When it’s done as resolved.
Can’t help but remember
In protests of the past,
April or November,
Beaten, jailed, tear-gassed.
Can’t help but make note that
Huge prices were paid.
Wasn’t no joke that
A nation’s guts were be-splayed.
Can’t help but recall hope,
Despite most precious tolls,
Light cleansed then, like soap,
Baring leaders without souls.
Can’t help but recognize
Times are so not the same.
What now affronts open eyes
Seems to carry no blame.
Can’t help but lament
Now, leaders duck and cower.
They grease our descent
And, deny us our power
Can’t help but feel helpless
I hate that it’s so
We used to clean up our mess
Now, it’s just part of the flow.
Bio:
In the troubled times that opened the twenty-first century, Ken Delpit recalls the troubled times of the 1960s and 1970s.
It would seem that turmoil and protests are book-ending his life. He is struck, not only by the similarities, but even more by the differences between then and now, especially by the differences in how we, as a nation, react to and handle the troubles.
Calculus
By Deb Fenwick
I show up at dawn, stepping into the murky slipstream of a new day, considering whether a patch of sunrise or a bruise of blasphemy will win. Every day there’s some calculus to work out. Read the breaking news or not. Watch the video or not. Tie myself in knots. Or not.
It’s twenty-three degrees in this Midwestern city of big shoulders, and there aren’t really any streams near me. But if there were, they’d be frozen deep in the center, like winter amber. We, the huddled—bundled masses, insulated in layers of synthetic fleece, put on our Costco gloves, one finger at a time. We like to believe we’re sturdy stock. But we’re all just small creatures trying to stay warm, crawling our way to the next thing and the next thing. Make it home. Safely. Alive.
February midday is breath made visible. The sky, brilliant blue for miles, is unmarred by streaks of clouds. Yet, I’m squinting West, far beyond my gaze, double-checking the horizon, checking the weather app on my phone. You can’t be too careful.
At half past four, I’ll try to work out the math. Can I add more? Can I divide myself into two? What’s the formula for holding fast to hope? It’s so easy to forget.
Here’s a word problem: If I call on seven generations of ancestors to save me—save us all, add a psalm, two hymns sung on the way to the supermarket, and promise to pray five times, is it enough to subtract any trace of doubt that each of us is particle, wave, and light just trying to make it home?
Tonight, as the moon shines its bonebright light through the sheer fabric of another day, I’ll revisit the whispering, white-on-white, ghost-ink ledger that haunts me. What did I say? What have I done? What’s been left undone? Was it too little? Too much? Despite it all, I’ll make a vow to rise tomorrow, remembering what it’s like to be a clear blue sky, wide open, unmarred, even when, deep in the center, I feel frozen like winter amber.
Deb Fenwick is a Best American Essays Notable and Pushcart-nominated creative nonfiction writer who coaches women and individuals from traditionally underserved communities using the healing power of art, imagination, and dreamwork.
Her essays have been published in Hippocampus Magazine, In Short: A Journal of Flash Nonfiction, Cutleaf Journal, Cleaver, and elsewhere.
You can read her work and reach out to her here.
Who are you mad at? Why?
Do you want to stay mad?
Would you like to reconcile, even if it’s just in your mind and heart?
Or: Who are you no longer mad at? What did you do with that anger?
Or: Who are you disappointed with?
Just Write!
Write about a time you were late.
Write about something it’s too late for.
Something you wish you would have said, but now it’s too late.
Something you wish you would have done, but now it’s too late.
Or is it?
The Last Waltz
By Kathy Guthormsen
There’s nothing quite like waltzing through the kitchen with a refrigerator and a mop, sweeping and gliding through pooling water to get your heart pumping in the morning.
The refrigerator had been sick. First came a fever that caused all the food – and it was full of food because the kids were visiting – to thaw and warm. Then it exhaled and released the freon from its pipes. That was last week, before the fridge doctor came to try to revive it. This morning, it gasped its last breath, lost control of its plumbing and poured water onto the floor. Hence the waltz.
I summoned my inner Wonder Woman and wrestled the thing out of its cubby. It did not want to move from its bed, but I wasn’t going to take NO for an answer. I managed to turn off the water before grabbing an armful of towels and the mop and asking the fridge to dance. We sloshed and twirled and I mopped and wiped. Now, the forlorn and lifeless fridge is sitting in the middle of the kitchen waiting for the appliance morgue van to take it away.
I hadn’t even had my second cup of coffee yet.
A new fridge is coming this afternoon.
Growing up in Skagit Valley, Washington with its verdant farmland gave Kathy Guthormsen an appreciation for the promise and beauty of nature’s bounty. The Cascade and Olympic mountain ranges and old growth forests offered the magic of things unseen and fostered her fertile imagination.
Kathy’s writing has been published several times on The Write Spot Blog and in four The Write Spot anthologies.
Her Halloween story, “Come, Calls the Demon” won first place in the Petaluma Argus Courier’s Halloween Story Contest in October2020.
Her book, The Story of Jazz and Vihar, is available from your local bookseller.
When she isn’t writing, Kathy volunteers at the Bird Rescue Center in Santa Rosa, California, working with and presenting resident raptors as part of their education and outreach program. Walking around with a hawk or an owl on her fist is one of her favorite pastimes.
Kathy lives in northern California with her husband, one psychotic cat, a small flock of demanding chickens, and a pond full of peaceful koi. She maintains a blog, Kathy G. Space, where she occasionally posts essays, short stories, and fairy tales.
On my next birthday, I will be (___) years old.
It’s a big deal, because . . .
It’s not a big deal, because . . .
If neither money nor health/mobility were issues, here’s how I would celebrate my birthday . . .
At my age, my parents . . . . or my grandparents . . .
Just Write!
Brief definition: A hero or heroine goes on an adventure, is victorious, and is transformed.
This can be fiction or memoir.
Examples: Dorothy in Wizard of Oz
Kerrin in Amoran, recently published by Debra Koehler
If you were to write a story of your life, or a real person’s life, or your fictional character life as a hero’s or heroine’s journey, what would the lowlights be?
Write a scene involving a conflict or overcoming an obstacle.
Prepare to write:
Get into the head of the character, real or fictional, that you want to write about. This could be a younger version of yourself.
Become that person, that character. It could be a younger you.
Walk around as if you are the person you are going to write about.
Pantomime an action, or activity, the character might do.
Fully embody that person.
Walk around for about 3 minutes.
As you walk, imagine you are the character you have in mind.
Feel that character in your body.
After walking, write about what you just experienced.
Then, write a conversation or an interaction from real life or imagination, with the character you just inhabited.
Possible sentence starts:
You always . . .
I hate it when you . . .
I love when you . . .
Why didn’t you . . .
Remember when . . .
I thought . . . and then I learned . . .
In my mind, the trouble started when . . .
This exercise was inspired by author and writing teacher B. Lynn Goodwin.
Use a situation from real life.
Or:
Make up something that could have happened with either a real person or a fictional character.