Legends — 3 Line Tales

From Sonya’s 3LineTales at Only100Words.
You can find the original prompt here. Thank you, Sonya.

photo by Wyatt Ryan via Unsplash

Their friendship is forged from the first tentative contact, a bond strengthened by generations, descended from a single legacy.

Doubt does not exist, devotion shines for all to see, a devotion no one can set aside.

Forever linked, the protector and the protected are the subjects of legends.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote


The best way forward is the last part of this quote. At the end of each day, we should be able to read what we have written and know “we have applied the best of ourselves to the task at hand.”

I write daily and know some pieces are more successful than others. I don’t beat myself up over the less than wonderful pieces because I know I have written the best as I could on that day. Every day I learn more, practice the fundamentals one more time and edit with more objectivity.

My faith is in the process and it doesn’t matter if I win or lose because I have already won.

How do you judge your work?


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Cinnamon Toast — Description Challenge #1

Title: Cinnamon Toast
Source:  Description Challenge #1: Childhood Home
Word count: 477 words

This is a new challenge sponsored over at Writings By Ender.  Here is my contribution.

Cinnamon Toast and Coffee

Photo by Stephanie McCabe on Unsplash

All these years later, the memory is as fresh as if it had been this morning. It was winter, and the single-paned window was thick with frost. Rolling to my right side I wormed my arm from under the covers ensuring the precious warmth didn’t escape and the chill didn’t snake its way in. I exhaled. My breath floated cloudlike in the air.

I placed my hand flat against the pane, recoiling from the cold. The frost didn’t register the warmth of my handprint. Blowing on my hand warmed it, and I placed it back on the pane. I waited until my hand tingled and icy pinpricks stung me as the frost melted. I wiped my hand on the covers and then the windowpane so I could peer outside.

Dawn tinted the world’s dark edges with an orangish pink glow. I saw Papa pulling wood to replenish the hopper next to the stove. I snuggled deep, relishing the warmth and gathering my courage.

The back door slammed followed by thumping noises as Papa dropped frozen logs onto the pile.

“Is it morning?”

The layers of covers muffled Laura’s groggy voice, and I nudged her with my foot.

“Yes, Papa’s making coffee. Wake Bridget,” I said.

My two sisters and I slept in the same bed. The bedroom was a tiny space at the top of steep stairs. Tucked under the eaves of the cabin there was one window, the stove flue, and three clothes pegs.

I waited, listening to Papa’s morning chores as Laura and Bridget squabbled.

“I don’t wanna get up,” Bridget said pushing Laura.

“Girls. Rise and shine,” Papa yelled.

I threw back the covers, the chill morning air swept over my exposed sisters, and I sailed across the room. The clothes peg closest to the flue held my clothes, and the heat seeped into my clothes. I dressed and was ready for breakfast.

Bridgett cowered in the corner, clinging a corner of the cover Laura was trying to wrench from tight desperate baby fists.

I scooped Bridget from the bed, dumped her on the wood floor and snapped the cover from her hands. I stepped around Laura and smoothed the covers on the bed.

“Noooo,” Bridget sobbed.

I bent, lifted her and turned her tear-stained face towards me.

“Bridget, go stand by the flue where its warmer and get dressed. Hmmm,” I said, sniffing the air. “I smell cinnamon. You know what that means Bridg?”

Her nose twitched like a rabbit’s and a smile spread across her face.

“C’maman toast.”

“Yes. If you get dressed and hurry downstairs, it might still be warm.”

Bridgett scampered to her peg. Laura was half dressed as I left the room headed to the kitchen.

Today, the nurse placed a tray in front of me and I smiled at the mingled aromas of coffee and warm cinnamon toast.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer


Twins — FFfPP

Title: Twins
Word count: 200 words

August MorgueFIle 139596857318u1t

Henrietta Hen was a good layer, with a good temperament and laid double-yolk eggs. We placed thirty eggs in the incubator, selected from the best hens on the farm. We marked each one with the hen’s name and collection date.  Candling the eggs, we checked for life. One of Henrietta’s eggs excited me and raised concerns.

This special egg held two embryos.  Our hatch rate in the incubator ran between eighty and ninety percent so we expected a loss. But I determined the twins would survive. I tweaked the temperature, obsessed over the optimal humidity level and checked conditions every hour on the hour, day and night. I counted days and held my breath.

Chirping sounds emanated from the egg on day nineteen. Straining, I identified two distinct voices, they had almost made it. The next day cracks appeared in the shell. I could barely contain my excitement as the shell broke away piece by piece. Tiny feet stretched and kicked through the membrane revealing the two tiny creatures.

My wife hung over my shoulder, watching them.

“Are you gonna name them?”

I looked at her and smiled like any proud papa.

“My dear, let me introduce Sugarfoot and Tenderfoot.”


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote


This quote conjured images of old Jack traipsing across a field with a shotgun nestled in the crook of one arm and a switch in his other hand. He whistles to a pair of good bird dogs as they beat the bushes in search of inspiration.

After successfully capturing a little inspiration they head back to the cabin for a celebratory drink and session of typewriter pounding that lasts into the wee hours of the night.

Where do you look for inspiration?


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Write

Not the Point — 100 Word Wednesday

Title: Not the Point
Source:  100 Word Wednesday: Week 93
Word count: 100 words

Photo by Jenni Jones

James had a plan to prove his point.

“It’s so stupid. It means nothing. They get all ‘wow this is deep’ over nothing,” he said.

He registered for the school talent show and began his work. He recruited Leslie the head cheerleader as one of his props. James assured her the only requirement was to sit in a chair wearing a mask. No words to memorize, no singing, nothing. She agreed when he promised to pay her.

His talent show skit went as he planned. The audience sat in stunned silence. They took James for an evaluation the next day.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote


Writing to the head bangs of Megadeth or a noisy coffee shop is very doable for me. I have also written to the strains of classical music or in total silence.

I don’t find I must have specific conditions to write. It would be a luxury and something that only occurred once in a blue moon which would make my writing much more sporadic. So, I adapt and write when and where I can.

What is your preference, music? Silence? The din of a coffee shop? Something else?

Maybe a little Megadeth?


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote


This a special thank you to everyone who reads, comments or follows along on my writing journey. You are the diamonds in my day.

Every day there are adventures waiting to be explored, stories begging to be written, knowledge yearning to be learned.

Where will you find your diamonds today?


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Wind Gypsy — Friday Fictioneers

Title:  Wind Gypsy
Source:  Friday Fictioneers sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Word count: 100 words


PHOTO PROMPT © Jilly Funell

The tower caught Coraline’s eye, and the breeze transported her. She was aboard the Wind Gypsy once again flying for the finish line.

Thirty-three boats started, but as they reached the windward mark three had distinguished themselves as contenders. The spinnaker launched with a satisfying snap. They dropped and secured the genoa as the bow blasting through a swell. Wind Gypsy trailed Lady Zoom and Wave Bye Bye in a fight that was theirs to win. Coraline loved this crew. Joyous laughter skipped across the waves as they sat folded over the port rail. Winning was only half the fun.


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote


I live for the rewrite. My process is to write like mad, letting everything fall onto the page. It marinates while I grab a cup of coffee. Then halleluiah, I get a do-over. Or two or three or however many it takes until I like it. It kinda makes me feel sorry for the brain surgeons.

What are your feelings about editing and rewriting?


Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer