Tag Archives: writing

Flash Your Fiction!

Opportunities to participate in various writing competitions or flash fiction challenges pop up frequently throughout the year, giving everyone an opportunity to flex their grey matter, whether a literary genius or novice writer. Yup, I’m looking at you!

Colleen Chesebro, the Faery Whisperer, has kindly shared an active flash fiction challenge from Charli Mills at Carrotranch.com, which I’ve posted below.

Why not take up the challenge and see what you can free from the depths of your imagination?

Here is the prompt:

January 3, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a character who looks back. It can be a metaphorical reflection or a glance in the rear-view mirror. Who is looking back, and why? Go where the prompt leads.

Send a link back to myself in the comments or to Charli at carrotranch.com and share the love of writing with everyone you know.

Here’s my attempt at the flash fiction challenge…

Shadows grew as the winter sun faded behind the neatly packed houses. Children scampered in for tea and street lights twinkled to life. She sighed, unclenching her fingers and loosening her jaw. Another day – gone. Still no sirens, no-one searching for her. She was one of those shadows, forgotten from the light footsteps skipping home for tea. Her skeletal fingers traced the remnants of light filtering through her cramped prison. Sun-kissed skin, now wrinkled, stretched and cracked at the effort. Yes, she was now just a memory of the little girl who once lived at No. 15.

Now it’s your turn! Share your thoughts – its always great hearing from you.

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Monday Coffee

Happy New Year’s Eve! Continue reading

Poem

Sewn

Threads dispersed, tendrils drifting,

Cross stitches holding my heart together

Fragile grips for forever

Like kisses on a broken organ.

Undisclosed attachments to materialistic grips

Patterned designs meant for purpose

But, oh, giving me goose bumps of joy

As I blanket stitch them together.

Expressing my toxic insides

Filtering them with padding

Slip stitch my lips so nothing escapes;

Shh! Here comes the blunt truth…

Nothing can hold back the black and white

No shade. Backstitch that bad stuff,

But the running stitch won’t erase it.

The stark truth prevails like a blind stitch.

In Sickness and in Health

I won’t pretend it hasn’t taken me forever to reach out to you and share news over a coffee or a walk through the forest next door. Continue reading

Broken Voices

There are voices in the attic

Static sounds of confusion

Scattered murmurs of insecurity.

Voices of misshapen dreams

Lying dormant for so long

Now stirring, writhing whispers.

Attic beams once a safe space

Creaking and moaning uncontrollably

Holding back voices searching for escape.

There are voices in the attic

Bold and ready to be heard

Scratch. Click. Roar!

They are free.

publishedtodeath.blogspot.com/2018/08/22-writing-contests-in-september-2018.html

Leaving the nest

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. As we grow older, the memories of our youth jade ever so slightly, giving us that rosy vision of what has been.

As my eldest sprog prepares to fly the nest to University, I get the feeling I’m reliving my youth through him. Of course, one cannot avoid the pangs of heartache at the thought of said sprog leaving. He’s my eldest, the one I devoted unlimited time to and energy to; the one that resembles me the most personality-wise – so yes, we get on like fire and ice most days.

This doesn’t stop me from pulling out the memories of me at his age and how I felt about leaving home. I couldn’t wait! Home equalled a prison with burglar bars and ridiculous rules set to break even the sweetest and most obedient child in creation (that I was not). My parents’ loved us like anacondas love their food: suffocated and crushed.

My years spent mothering my sprogs should have given me a better perspective on my own parents and hindsight of my behaviour as a youth should soften my jaded perspective of their parenting skills. Instead, all I seem to do is fluctuate between mourning the loss of presence of my eldest before he goes and celebrating his freedom from our parenting shackles. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions and I am far from out of the woods because my next sprog will be journeying forth at the same time next year on her own adventure too.

My rosy reminiscence of my past definitely affects my present and I feel the need to go all out to make sure my sprog has a soft landing in the big ugly world – unlike my first experience. Deep down I know that no matter what I do, he will have his own vision of life and what it should offer and when he grows to into a ripe old prune like me, his rose-tinted perspective will shape how he waves good-bye to his offspring. And so the loop continues.

Therefore, no matter what we go through, our pasts will always affect our reactions to the present. I just hope I do enough today to ensure my sprogs’ opinions of me tomorrow leads to happier memories.

Moofy and Flo

As a writer, the brick wall of procrastination and mind block is fatal to any projects awaiting completion. Here’s an example of one of my projects which have fallen under its deadly blocks of silence. Continue reading

From now on

From now on I’m not going to drown in your ugly words

From now on I’m not going to hug my sides because it hurts

From now on I’m not going to wish I could just disappear

From now on I’m going to wear my bruises loud and clear.

From this day forward I will climb back inside my skin

From this day forward I will be proud to be African

From this day forward my British roots won’t fail

From this day forward my Dutch forefathers will smile with pride as I prevail.

From now on I choose my destiny

From now on my skin speaks and says it’s free

From now on whomever I dare to love is okay

From now on till my last remaining day.

My Poetry Book is available from Lulu.

Zimbabwe

It’s a shame I haven’t finished writing my post on the riots back in 1998. I had intended on completing that story and moving on to how I met Morgan Tsvangirai after an attack at his offices. Continue reading