Tag Archives: writing prompt

Memorial Day Ceremony

Daily Prompt, Gratude, Struggling Writer May 28, 2018

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Daily Prompt

Today our local paper’s feature story is about Hal Kushner, a U.S. Army veteran and the keynote speaker for this afternoon’s Memorial Day ceremony at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C.

Kushner known from “The Vietnam War,” a ten-part documentary series aired last September is 77 years old, still works as Ophthalmologist, and was a five-year POW. I was pleased to see the News-Journal coverage of his story and several articles sharing other veteran’s stories.

Reminiscing,  Earl Tingle Jr. said ‘I wanted to go,’ ‘I feel a sense of tragedy’  Dr. Frank Farmer explained  and Neal Coates expressed gratitude saying,  ‘I was blessed to come back.’

Each tell poignant stories, however the caption, ‘This one will be different’ above Hal Kushner front-page picture struck a chord. He was referencing today’s ceremony and intrigued as to why his experience would be different continued reading.

Kushner says speaking has taken on a “personal difficulty” and he thinks as we age have less control over our emotions and are more emotional.

I cannot help thinking he is a lucky man and wish I was attending the ceremony.

.  .  .  .  Seriously just saying


<a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/ceremony/">Ceremony</a>

 

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Gooey Snack

Daily Prompt, Learning to Write, Struggling Writer, Writing Exercise June 30, 2017

 

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Daily Prompt

     Remember the days of mushy white wonder bread spread with margarine and sprinkled with real sugar, that was a snack after we changed out of school clothes into play clothes (woolen Jamaica shorts, argyle socks and white Keds.

     It was the time of hot dogs, English muffin pizza, Bologna sandwiches, cool aid, powdered milk, and the introduction of frozen vegetables.

     My all time favorite snack, however, was crackers smeared with gooey peanut butter and of course grape jelly.

     Today I indulged in that with an afternoon cup of coffee and found myself in heaven.

 

. . .  Seriously just saying

The Scent of Coffee

Daily Prompt, humor, Learning to Write, Struggling Writer February 2, 2017

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Daily Prompt

     I walk into the coffee shop a strong whiff of coffee descends and I am in heaven. There is no other way to describe the effect and close my eyes inhale the aroma. My chest expands savoring the moment, and then with relaxed shoulders I join a line of customers. The line is not long.

A voice behind a “Flavor of the Season” sign calls out, “Sara, frozen latte extra whip cream.” A woman steps to the counter with a receipt in hand, “That’s me but I want a frozen latte with extra caramelized whipped cream.” Her emphasis on caramelized is exaggerate.

I study the iced plastic container with a sleek black straw poked into its dome cover as it is set aside and search my senses for a hint of coffee.

The line is not getting shorter but longer behind me.

I hear the cashier take orders for a Cappuccino, a Frappuccino (whatever that is), several Smoothies and a Latte Macchiato, and believe I am next in line when she announces her break.

The customer line is now out the door the strong coffee aroma diluted. Be patient I tell myself thinking I may have caffeine withdrawal when I am called and order, “A regular cup of coffee.”

“Tall or Grande?”

I want to tell her to just shut-up, hurry up and get me a cup of coffee but do not. I smile, “Tall, please.”

“Would you care for a Croissant, Scone, Cheese Danish or Cinnamon Morning Bun?”

“No, just coffee! I’ve been standing in line for thirty minutes I want a cup of coffee, not a Latte, Cappuccino, Espresso, Caffé Misto, or Green Tea. I just want a cup of coffee.”

. . . . Seriously Just Saying

Filter

Daily Prompt, Learning to Write, Struggling Writer January 28, 2017 1 Comment

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Photographer: ДмитрийВладимирович

Daily Prompt

     The sunlight filters through the slots in a wooden blind and reveals what was not seen before. The five o’clock sun makes the dust and single strands of blonde hair twinkle on the dark pine floor. There are some pencil shavings and itsy -bitsy pieces of paper She grabs a sweeper from the closet. It is lightweight, less than three pounds, reminds one of a dust-buster but has a long handle and is more powerful. She vacuums intensely conscious of the fading light outlining the evidence. When the sun is gone, her shoulders relax and she sighs. Is a dirt house a crime?

Ten

Daily Prompt, Struggling Writer January 26, 2017

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“I’ll be back in ten.” He said twenty minutes ago.

She unfolds herself out of the car, waves and rushes inside for coffee and a favorite, crumb cake.

Now she sits at an umbrella table, the too hot to hold cup cooling surrounded by the  Mountains and hugs her tote. Reminds herself; we are in Albuquerque staying at the Holiday Inn or is it the Comfort?

How long does it take to get gas?

She savors the cinnamon crumbs alternated by sips of dark roasted coffee.

After thirty minutes, she does the math. Thirty minutes ago he said, “I’ll be back in ten.” So forty minutes have passed. I’ll phone, and uses voice command to Call Bob, her husband of forth-six years.

His voice mail automatically goes on and she says, “It’s me, where are you?”

Ten more minutes pass.   

In the distance fire sirens screechy, and she thinks, maybe he had a heart attack and tries to recall the car rental company they used at the airport.

She caresses her cell, debates whether to call 911, and deposits her empty cup in a nearby garbage pail. When a car horn honks and he calls, “You’ll never guess what happened.”

 

. . . . Seriously Just Saying

Big Foot

Daily Prompt, Learning to Write January 23, 2017

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Photo by Orkun

Daily Prompt

 

Big Foot

“It was an oversight!” He responds the sole of his shoe crushing the rug binding.

“An oversight? How can you say that?” She answers, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. “You know my concern.  To you it’s silly, but will make a difference.” She monitors her voice and hangs the towel to dry.

“A difference, I’m walking here . . .  in my  house and now need to pay attention to every step I take? A march on Washington makes a difference . . . side-stepping a rug, not so much.”

“Don’t dismiss me. You heard the difference yesterday. Remember? Traffic patterns,  wearing down carpet and it you simply walk on the wood floor we won’t have to replace the living room rug in five years.”

“No I don’t remember, I’ll  be dead in five years, am I not more important than a rug?”

“Of course you’re more important than the carpet, it’s inexpensive. But it’s not only the rug. You don’t listen, disregard what I say, and ignore my feelings.”

He interrupts, “Okay, because I inadvertently walked on the carpet I now don’t care what you think or feel?”

“You could say that. Actions speak louder than words.” Her arms are folded across her chest.

“It was an oversight, I walk crooked and stepped on the carpet when, as you explained, easily could have stayed on the wood floor, call me careless.”

“Did you call me careless when I inadvertently didn’t park the car in the center of the driveway?”

“That is unfair. You know why that is important; the sprinkler system goes on and tarnishes the car’s hubcaps. It wasn’t an oversight that you forgot again and again.”

“There was no rust.”

“ There is no dirt.”

“Yet.”

He looks down at his large size twelve foot and smiles.

 

. . . . Seriously Just Saying

Sincere Valediction

Daily Prompt, Struggling Writer, Writing Exercise November 3, 2016

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Daily Prompt

Amanda holds the pen tightly and pauses, she could go vulgar; an f-you or drop dead? That is not her style. Love or hugs, both would be sarcastic. She scans the words, a Dear John letter of sorts, hastily scribbled telling him farewell, adios, and good-bye.

Her cell rings. The screen says it is John, not the real John, her John. Seconds before the call transfers to voice box, she picks up.

His raspy voice says, “Amanda, I’m so sorry, Jimmy got stopped, a DUI, I went to pick him up. He was so messed up I didn’t have a chance to phone, I know I said this wouldn’t happen again, please say you’ll forgive me.”

Amanda takes time to respond thoughtfully, with patience, “John, that’s what you said last time you were a no-show. What happened then? Was that the time your mom fell in the driveway? I have trouble remembering. Perhaps it was the time you drove that woman who was attempting to transport $500 of groceries in a baby stroller, home.”

“Amanda, you know I love you. I’m just no good about calling. I start getting caught up in their problems and the next thing I know I’m in trouble with you. Please you got to understand.” His voice is soft and genuine, sincere.

She clears her throat and states firmly, “John, let’s be candid.”

“Amanda, why are you calling me John? And candid? You don’t love me. Never could accept me for who I am. You want me to be perfect, show up when I say I will, phone when I can’t. I’m a sloppy careless stupid person who loves you. But that isn’t enough! No never enough. Guess what Amanda, we are so done.” John hits the end call button.

Amanda picks up the pen and writes a valediction, Sincere Regrets, before signing her name on the bottom of the letter.

. . . . Seriously Just Saying

A Tiny House

Daily Prompt, humor, Learning to Write October 24, 2016

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Daily Prompt

I want a Tiny House

A place to rest my weary head, be quiet as a mouse

An itsy bitsy treasure chest

With walls of solitude

Miniscule and clutter less

One pot, one coat . . . .

A best dress and pair of shoes to match the rest

Perhaps a weed-less garden

Its flowers tango to the breeze

This is what tiny means to me!

. . . .Seriously Just Saying

(I welcome any comments, especially regarding how to punctuate poetry)

Red Pepper

Daily Prompt, Writing, Writing Exercise June 11, 2015

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It has been a real struggle to write recently, so I have returned to a daily writing exercise. Randomly flip through the dictionary and point at a word. When you have ten words stop. Like them or not, use as many of them in a story/paragraph.

June 11, 2015:

Spacecraft, understated, dummy, numbers, goblin, downriver, rigor, sneak, thief, cayenne

Red Pepper

      A dream woke me in a terrible fright. I was swimming downriver and goblins were everywhere. In the moonlight, their distorted features appeared ghoulish. Some had their eyes in the wrong place, others suffered with over-sized lips, missing ears, or a hole in place of their nose. To say I was glad to be awake was an understatement.

     In the bathroom, I applied a cold cloth to my head then decided to sneak downstairs. I could hear my husband snoring. It was the middle of the night and everyone else was asleep. I took the stairs one at a time avoiding the steps I knew would creak.

     The numbers on the kitchen clock read three thirty and I sat to ponder my dream and recover. Then felt like a thief rummaging through the pantry looking for something to eat.

     The rigor with which the goblins had chased me chewed at my mind. They had not been violent but only a dummy could believe that would not happen with time. Who could these monsters represent in my life? I munched on stale popcorn and made a mental list of anyone I might have harmed. While looking for salt in the spice shelf the cayenne pepper fell on the floor. When I looked down broken glass and red powder covered my feet. My husband was still snoring as I fell to the ground.

. . . . seriously just saying