A freewrite

I cannot seem to find an appropriate time to write.
Whether work is stealing time or the TV
is just a little too entertainingly monotonous - the moments
aren't there.
The kids squealing like pigs at the cats strumming the sofa -
mesmerization is vacant.
My face grows weary of it all and when I cannot bear the longing
I grab my pen and scribble:

Hunters shooting / stabbing
Rulers measuring Geometry Assmt 2.4 question twelve.

Assess me.

Flash Fiction Challenge 2015 - Challenge 1

okay, so here we are - thanks to NYCMidnight.com's Flash Fiction Challenge, I am attempting something new.

So here goes!

My group for Challenge Number 1 - Group 29
Genre:  Ghost Story
Location:  Honeymoon Suite
Object:  A pizza

So here is my first submission to this contest.

Honeymoon Suite

310 words

Alex’s father owned the Orion Bed and Breakfast in a small village outside of St. Louis, and on weekends Alex worked there. He occasionally sat up in the honeymoon suite when it wasn’t busy, but he had heard the stories. A young married couple lived in the home fifty years ago. When police arrived they found a home-made pizza in the oven and classical music on the radio. The wife was in the bathtub, arms slit from wrist to elbow; the husband, hanged in the kitchen.

Police searched the grounds from hilltop to river and uncovered absolutely nothing. Rumors flew across town about a suicide pact, murder-suicide and even gang violence, but there was no evidence of any kind. The case ran cold and the property was placed for auction.

“Housekeeping.” Alex announced himself according to protocol, even though the suite was scheduled to be empty. He took his usual chair in the corner. He reached for the remote control and found a small, half-broken locket. As he picked it up to investigate, he heard a whisper, “help?”

“Hello?” Alex looked around the room and saw nothing. He shrugged it off and grabbed the remote from the side table. Alex flipped channels for half an hour until the screen went blank. “What the…” he smacked the remote against the floor and broke it. “Dammit.” As Alex maneuvered around the dresser, he found a small piece of paper painted into the wall. As the paint released with one more tug, Alex fell backwards onto the bed.

Alex was stunned, almost as if he had been pushed. “Help?” The whisper was louder now, and Alex crawled carefully across to the wall behind the dresser. The paper was delicate and almost fell apart in his hands. “Dear Alexander, Please forgive me.”

Alex looked in the mirror and saw a rope around his neck.

I Could Say That...

I Could Say That

I could say that a woman produced by city parents met her future husband painting a latrine at a camp in the middle of New Hampshire. They met in June and were married that December in her parent's living room and six years later her doctor swore she would have twin boys that April, until her first daughter was born, weighing in at 8 pounds 14 ounces.

I could say that the daughter was raised to love, not hate. She was raised to treat everyone the same, and to make sure that you treated them better than they treated you - not out of spite, but because nobody deserves to be treated poorly.

I could say the daughter was so shy as a young child, her teacher was afraid she couldn't read. That her first attempt at creative writing stemmed from being told "The Truth About Santa Claus" and made her seriously consider running away.

I could say the daughter is now 39 and still questioning her place in life. She has had several acquaintances, but not many close friends, and without Facebook and the internet, she wouldn't have been able to connect with her best friend from her freshman year of college.

I could say that she is strong on the outside because she fears so terribly on the inside, that nobody will be able to handle her emotions better than she can. That sometimes she wishes someone else will make a decision for her because even what pair of socks to wear is too complicated to decide.

I could say she is strong because she has to be. She needs to feel that she is being heard, which is why she yells - because she needs to drown out the nay-saying voices in her head.

I could say she has Bi-Polar and Depression and revisited some very dark places in writing the collection presented.

I could say that...

Day 28

Today's Prompt from NaPoWriMo.net

Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem about bridges. A bridge is a powerful metaphor, and when you start looking for bridges in poems, you find them everywhere. Your poem could be about a real bridge or an imaginary or ideal bridge. It could be one you cross every day, or one that simply seems to stand for something larger – for the idea of connection or distance, for the idea of movement and travel and new horizons.

Bridge

of a nose

or in the mouth

a circuit board

the cue rest at Saturday's pool night

the card game - Clubs Trump

the musical passage

the rail gantry.

We yearn to build

hope to not burn

cross when we must grow

and toss pebbles as wishes into the water below.

Day 27

The Hay(na)ku is the prompt for today by NaPoWriMo.net.



Never
write about
politics or religion.

One,
two words
three words spoken

trying
their best
to find meaning

beyond
a number
or sound bite.

Tomorrow
I will
ask for favors:

money
and time
from my devotees.

Day 21

The prompt for today was creating an erasure.

The original selection is from Tony Dunbar - Shelter from the Storm.

It is available for free on Kindle, I have not read it yet - but considering the words offered became this piece - I must say, I have to read it.

Thank you, Mr. Dunbar, for the page - and thank you, NaPoWriMo.net for the prompt!

Day 20

Day 20 - And now for our prompt (optional, as always). Today, I challenge to write a poem that states the things you know. For example, “The sky is blue” or “Pizza is my favorite food” or “The world’s smallest squid is Parateuthis tunicata. Each line can be a separate statement, or you can run them together. The things you “know” of course, might be facts, or they might be a little bit more like beliefs. Hopefully, this prompt will let your poem be grounded in specific facts, while also providing room for more abstract themes and ideas.  (from http://www.napowrimo.net/)


It is snowing
on a Monday in late April.
I have to pay daycare next week
and I don't know where to find the funds.
The phone rings only when
I take a bite of a cracker
and after I take a swig of
Diet Coke.
My mouth is full and
I pick up the phone to say
Lommm, dish ish Mmmly...
The car gets fixed in a week
a new door, new rear-view mirror
so I'll be able to see the pole
next to the lane.
Ah well, EastEnders is on.
Time for a distraction.

Day 15

Day Fifteen of NaPoWriMo

Whole Poem

my pen

my keyboard

are at odds


with my wrong-brain.

i don't do 'pray'.

think?

To sit and to write and to read and to work and to learn and to read and to teach

relief would be a death

Day Twelve

Describe in great detail your favorite room, place, meal, day, or person. You can do this in paragraph form.

Now cut unnecessary words like articles and determiners (a, the, that) and anything that isn’t really necessary for content; leave mainly nouns, verbs, a few adjectives.

Cut the lines where you see fit and, VOILA! A poem!

Day Twelve

Dorm Room

Small enough to be a jail,

large enough to house two men

and their equipment. She

turned her head to see

television displaying pictures

of sitcom actors arguing.

No sound, except for

country music twanging

in the background, the bed

shaking like a sick child.

All she heard

was Taps being played ... gently

keeping her cool,

wincing at every thrust

every push

shaking the bed more and more.

Day Ten - Abecedarian

via NaPoWriMo

~~

All Brian Could Do...

All
Brian
could
do was bring
Eve
flowers for her birthday.
Genius was not
his middle name, and
intellect wasn't his
judge, but genuine concern
kept him
likeable,
mentionable and a
'nice guy'
(OUCH!)
Perhaps the
quest for friends
resulted in
standards
too high.
Under the circumstances,
victory
would be
x-actly what
you'd expect from a
zionist.

Day Nine

Okay, I'm starting this a little late - but hey!  I'm working on my thesis so I'd better grab some extra inspiration, right?
Time for a visual poem - here's the prompt from the NaPoWriMo site:
Our prompt for the day (optional, as always) plays of our resources. Today, I challenge you to write a visual poem. If that’s not specific enough, perhaps you can try your hand at a calligram? That’s a poem or other text in which the words are arranged into a specific shape or image. You might find inspiration in the famous calligrams written by Guillaume Apollinaire. And a word to the wise — the best way to cope with today’s exercise may well be to abandon your keyboard, and sit down with paper and pen (and maybe crayons or colored pencils or markers!)

I've written a couple of these for classes - one has been sent off for possible publication, so I won't share it here yet...  Later, after it's published, maybe (some lit mags are very specific about what is considered previously published, sometimes on my blog or facebook is considered previously published - so I'm careful with the work I want to see in print!)