Tag Archives: #Retirement/Writing/Memories

Writing 101: Day 7/Give and Take

Struggling Writer, Writing September 23, 2014 Comments: 6

Sep 23, 2014

Focus today’s post on the contrast between two things. The twist? Write the post in the form of a dialogue

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Give and Take

Myra pulled the car seat belt across her chest, buckled the metal lock and said,
“Are you taking the Interstate or Old Kings Road?”

Her husband increased the air conditioning than said, “What difference does it make?”

“Well, if you’re going by CVS I’d like to stop and get a few things.”

“Does that mean you want me to drive by CVS?”

“No, it means that if you’re taking Old Kings, please stop at CVS, I’m not telling you which way to go, just that I would like to stop at CVS, if you are going that way.”

“So you are telling me which way to go.”

“Well if I were driving I would take Old Kings Road and stop at CVS.”

“But you are not driving, do you want to drive? Because if you want, you can, or you can tell me which way to go.”

“Forget, it just drive.”

“Forget it just drive, okay it’s forgotten I’ll just drive.”

“Great, which way are you going?”

“Old Kings Road!”

. . . Seriously just saying

Writing 101 Day 6/Don’t Be A Stranger

Struggling Writer, Writing September 22, 2014 1 Comment

Sep 21, 2014

Writing 101: A Character-Building Experience

Today, you’ll write about the most interesting person you’ve met in 2014. In your twist, develop and shape your portrait further in a character study.

Don’t Be A Stranger

Interesting, what makes a person interesting? Hard to say, certainly the owner of Evans & Son Jewelry store, wedged between the movie theater, Cimematique, and the used book store, Abraxas, on South Beach Street, was not, at first interesting.

There was nothing special about him, a man my age, who later mentioned he was sixty-two, slightly younger than I was, he appeared ordinary. Al, he called himself Al, leaving me to wondered if it was Alan, Allen, or Albert.

The family business specialized in appraisals, and they were gemologists. We brought in a one of a kind piece, a gold elephant head studded with gems to be evaluated or decide what to do with an ugly piece of jewelry.

Al said the jade it was mounted on was of little value, it had imperfections. He rolled around on a stool that sat him waist-high behind the counter giving him easy access to an i-pad and cell phone.
Occasionally he would hike the shoulder of the cargo shirt he wore, the way Fred Couples does before a golf swing, but Al was not swinging he was talking, nonstop, incessantly. He was a pilot trained at Embry Riddle and brought the business to Daytona from Baltimore Maryland.
Now he was bald, and referenced selling his personal gold chains for scrap, after they lay idle on display after a life style change.

It may have been that single phrase, “life style change” that led to my speculation he was interesting. I imagined him melting down his youth, keeping only the tiger’s eye ring that today fit his pinky finger. His hands were small and when he stood to introduce himself, a surprise that he was tall, over six feet.

“I’m Al,” he said and shook my husband’s hand than took a small step to his left to position himself directly in front of me to repeat, “Al.” We shook hands.

His behavior was not interesting or unusual, but somehow conveyed he was interested. A story-teller, he lead the conversation carefully, weaving his life experience among our few questions. He spoke of being in Italy and how the Europeans loved Daytona Beach and when Daytona was touted one of the ten best places to retire on an income of thirty thousand dollars, people were thrilled. He was not, and raised a good point; they had no money to spend.

After we made our transaction; he stood again to shake both our hands, and said, “Don’t be strangers now.”

What makes a person interesting, hard to say?


. . . Seriously just saying

Writing 101 Day 5/ Before I Go

Struggling Writer, Uncategorized, Writing September 19, 2014 1 Comment

You stumble upon a random letter on the path. You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter.

Today’s twist: Approach this post in as few words as possible.

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Before I Go

Yesterday, I’m walking my dog, Fife, and Fife is pulling the leash way off the path going in circles, making me crazy, looking for just the right spot to do her you know what, and find an area that might make her happy, then starts scratching and pawing at the leaves only to uncover, an envelope addressed to Charles.

So after poop scooping Fife’s deposit, I examine the item.

The Charles, written in cursive with a black felt tip pen, has a romantic squiggle underneath. The seal is broken and a single page letter unfolds easily in my hands.

The letter reads:

Dear Charles,

        Before I go, I want you to know, and goes on to explain why she’s leaving.

Now I’m in a pickle, Charles would definitely want this letter back and Fife and I have a big decision to make.

 

Writing 101Day 4-Write about a loss

Struggling Writer, Uncategorized, Writing September 18, 2014 Comments: 2

s2e084581-3bad-4f17-8a85-15cd7485eeacAuthor: Трахтенберг Михаил

(For today’s assignment I am taking Myra on a longer journey or series about loss of self. Myra appeared in Day 2 of Writing 101, the first two paragraphs are that post.)

A View of My Room

After dinner, Myra walks to the beach. Mahogany and apple green coleus, line the cement path along 16th road, and crêpe myrtle, provide shade. The sun is soft and will soon set. Low tide gives the shore width and Myra removes her sandals to feel the tepid water on her feet and walks.

The beach is empty and the waves peak white, then brush the water’s edge and provide an upbeat tempo that match her mood. This is as near to heaven as you can get, bad still exists.

Silly, it is silly to leave after all these years, but sillier to stay with who knows how many years left. He does not drink or womanize, pays the bills on time, and takes the garbage out in a timely fashion. Unlike Hillary Clinton, she could not boast, “He is the most fascinating man I know.” There was no reason to stand by her man.

An earlier disagreement over a wash bucket in the kitchen sink spurred her decision. A chartreuse green plastic bowl bought at the Dollar Store and his comment, “Why are you so stubborn?” Like a thorn in her side, needed removal.

When she cooked, he cleaned up and vice verse. Tonight, not saying a word he noisily shifted and tossed silverware, splashing water across the counter, his body language giving him away.

After water dribbled down a cabinet door, Myra said, “Sweetheart if the bowl is in your way, empty it, put it under the sink.” And repeated her previous explanation, “I like to use the bowl to hold water so I can rinse my hands or clean a sponge without running water, while cooking.”

His response, “Well, now I know,” as he emptied the bowl and set it on the counter with calculated force, wreaked of sarcasm.

On the counter, the textured bowl resembled a horn toed frog and Myra thought she heard a rib-bit sound, but did not. She put the bowl under the sink, and filled the void by saying, “Don’t be stubborn, if it annoys you don’t use it, please. . . just put it away.”

“You’re the one who’s stubborn, why do you insist on using it?” He said emphatically.

And so her decision was made.

Her mind is clear. She will leave tomorrow.

 

. . . Seriously just saying

Writing 10:1 Day 3-Commit to a Writing Pratice

Struggling Writer, Writing September 17, 2014

Writing 101: Commit to a Writing Practice
Today, celebrate three songs that are significant to you. For your twist, write for fifteen minutes without stopping — and build a writing habit.

The Kindergarten Verson

The clock just switched to 7:08 and here I go, no pause I have until 7:23 to wrtie and this will he hard, no back spacing to correct that I typed he instead of be, this is very hard but uncensored I doing it no pause or hesitation, the two or three songs that come to mind are songs from my childhood, how am i doing I not looking at the screen I’m looking at the key board the three songs from my child hood are songs my mother sang to me. The first Ma He’s Making Eyes at Me, always makes me smile I recall her sitting on a living room couch and tickling me while she sang. It is one of the few times I felt her love, as one of eight children I always felt unwanted and in fackthe family joke was that the milkman left me because of the first five kids I was the only blonde. But I loved that Long it ended by singing, Mom, he’s kisssing. The second sond would be By The Sea a well known favorite and the sea and ocean have aways brought me joy. Again it makes me giggle just to think of if. The last song would be Over The River and Through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go. We sang that song traveling in the car to not only grandma but anywhere. There was at least five or six kids squeshed in the back seat, no seat belts or any protection. It sounds like I had a great childhood and in many ways it was except I never felt loved and even though the songs bring a smile I am filled with a sadness a heavyness that is pressing on my chest that makes me want to stop typing and pause go into gaga land a place I have fought years to avoid. The clock says 7:18 that means I could stay in this uncomfortable place for five more minutes and that is not happening. I have spent way too much time depressed so I am sighing heavily and wondering if what other songs have meaning for me. I love music and about 6 month bought a new 49 dollar ipod that I still can’t figure out how to load songs because when I hook up to my computer to upload or download cd i have stored it goes to the apple store and i don’t want to purchase from the apple store i want my songs to be put on the device free. now i’m stopping because worried i have gotten too far away from the topic and feel done  with this assignment and just backspaced to insert the word with that i left out. I have a serious editor going on and with two minutes left can’t wait to get this over but perhaps I’ll sing the song

Ma, he’s making eyes at me

Ma, he’s being nice to me

Ma, he’s almost breaking my heart

He’s beside me mercy let his conscious guide him

Ma, he want to marry me and be my honeybee.

Now he’s leaning on my shoulder,

Ma, he’s kissing me.

Well I went over one minute, it’s 7:26am

. . . Seriously just saying

Black Cherry Berry

Struggling Writer, Uncategorized, Writing August 22, 2014

Pick Your Potion
Captain Picard was into Earl Grey tea; mention the Dude and we think: White Russians. What’s your signature beverage — and how did it achieve that status?
(Thanks, Bea Patricia, for inspiring this prompt!)

Cherry Tree-67698

Black Cherry Berry

He who likes cherries soon learns to climb!” German Proverb

May stood in the kitchen while the kettle boiled, reminding herself not to forget she had turn on the damn stove. She examined the package of herbal tea called “Black Cherry Berry,” to kill time. This was the only beverage she drank.

The box top showed a picture of a 1969 Ford pickup truck driving a dirt road with cherry trees in the backdrop. A wooden basket filled with cherries filled a bottom corner. White cherry blossoms decorated the adjacent corner. It was pretty.

Celestial Teas marked the bottom of the box along with the boast, “We’ve blended healthy teas with environmental consciousness since 1969.” The environmental consciousness pleased May.

Her arthritic hands struggled to remove the clear cellophane, open the cardboard, and unwrap the parchment paper. The message, “The famous cherry blossom trees of Washington DC, given as a gift by Japan in 1912, are ornamental trees and don’t produce cherries,” was printed across the box lip.

Good to know thought May. 

She turned off the stove, poured hot water into a two-cup Pyrex measuring cup and deposited two bags of Black Cherry Berry tea.

She would wait until the tea reached room temperature then pour the liquid into a plastic pitcher add the rest of the boiled water deposit the container in the refrigerator to chill. She had prepared her chilled drink of choice everyday for the past five years.

May glanced at the clock, it was eight o’clock in the morning.

. . . Seriously Just Saying

Money Money

Struggling Writer, Writing August 21, 2014

 

Daily Prompt Work? Optional!
If money were out of the equation, would you still work? If yes, why, and how much? If not, what would you do with your free time?

 Money Money

Yes! Yes! Yes! But we need to define work.

If you mean out the door, dressed, hair, makeup done by seven or eight than; I don’t think so.
If you mean to “sustain physical or mental effort to overcome obstacles and achieve an objective or results,” than I’m in.

The question poises more about value and purpose than a job. Once a person has enough money to live the life style they are comfortable with, what are they going to do?

Really, what makes you happy?

In my case, with enough money not to work, I planned to party in retirement. I had followed the rules:

• Put others before yourself
• Volunteer to work long hours
• Spend less than you make
• Never take any sick days

Now good times and travel here I come.

Then my husband got sick, and a writing bug bit me.

Today, Bob is enjoying good health and we are traveling but, I like to write, damn I just enjoy it!

. . . Seriously Just Saying

New Wrinkles and Prunes

Struggling Writer, Writing August 11, 2014 1 Comment

Word Press Prompt New Wrinkles

You wake up one day and realize you’re ten years older than you were the previous night. Beyond the initial shock, how does this development change your life plans?

 

New Wrinkles & Prunes

Seriously?

If I was twenty and woke-up thirty, no big difference. Actually I might be happier. Similarly at forty, saying “good morning” to fifty would be a piece of cake.

However, I am sixty-six and my life expectancy is eighty-one, so probably have about fifteen more good years. Fast-foward ten years, I am seventy-six and would have five.

So the questions becomes; how would I spend the next five years?

For starters, I would stop fretting about commas, and my latest obsession; reusing typed letters to form new words.

What am I talking about?

Here is an example; I type there instead of their. Rather than delete the word, there, I delete the last e (ther) and use the left side arrow to insert the letter i. It is time-consuming.

I also save periods for later use.  

At seventy-six I would sell all my belongs then write and travel for the five years.

Which prompts another question; Why not do that at sixty-six?

                                            . . . Seriously Just Saying

Daily Prompt Flash Fiction

 

Why Zero to Hero?

Struggling Writer April 15, 2014

I started my first blog, claudiajustsaying, in 2011 to practice writing, and have had some success. I have written 112 post, have 570 followers, and was even Freshly Pressed, but never learned the basics.

So why go back to the beginning and start over again? I hope to gain confidence and how to give claudiajustsaying a fresh look. Every time I experiment with a new theme I shake. Actually I shake, fret, edit, edit, and edit, debating where to place a comma every time I publish. I am caught up in perfectionism, and it’s draining my creativity.

Bottom line, I am struggling to write and finish a product, you know a novel or novella, or short story, something that I can consider publishing. Many of my followers are family and friends, they know me. A new blog may give me the anonymity to be comfortable in making mistakes.

Why do that publicly and not in a private journal? I want feedback and write better towards a goal. A year from now I would like to have followers who, like myself, are novice writers sharing their experiences and success.

I would like to just write free and easy and know, why my “about me page,” cannot be viewed and what the heck is a pic monkey and ping back. I’ve read the help section several times and haven’t a clue.

So this blog, Seriously Just Saying, will chronicle my writing struggle. Seriously, it has taken me an hour and a half* to write these 252 words.

                                                              . . . . What’s on Your Writing Mind?