Daily Quote

Lynn Abbey Quote on writing

Today writing is hard. Period. Wouldn’t matter if it was a novel, a short story, or a piece of flash fiction. Today writing my name is difficult and I know the solution. Do anything except write. Laundry, dishes, vacuuming, garbage, even cleaning the toilets make the list.

Well, I checked off three items stopping with the garbage. An idea yelled at me and I had to go write.

What do you do when the writing gets difficult?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

FINISH THE STORY BLOG HOP #6

Autumn path through the woods

The story started with a challenge set up The Haunted Wordsmith, to be continued by the next tagged writer.

Teresa’s Rules–

  1. Copy the story below as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)
  2. Add somehow to the story in whichever style and length you choose
  3. Tag only 1 person
  4. If you choose to not participate or finish the story, please comment/tag this post so that I know.

Chapter 1 The Haunted Wordsmith

“It’s in your blood, hun.”

His mother’s response to the announcement that he was leaving home echoed in his ears. He knew she would be supportive, but he never expected to feel both exhilarated and let down at the same time. They were close, and always had been, but a little part of him now felt she had already let him go years ago. Pushing that thought from his mind, Eric picked up his loaded backpack and set off for the adventure of a lifetime. With one last hug and long look at his old life, he …

Chapter 2 Light Motifs II

… began walking down the familiar sun-dappled path toward town and the bus station. Eric still appreciated the quiet, peaceful beauty of the old trees as their leaves donned autumn’s colors, but his mind was elsewhere. His imagination conjured up images of vibrant city life, the music, the lights, the faster pace. He’d have to get a job, of course, and was prepared with various resumes. He couldn’t wait to begin his new, exciting life, and was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he didn’t hear the rattle as he stepped over the log…

Chapter 3 This, That, and The Other

Eric braced himself for the rattlesnake bite that he knew was coming. He looked down at the log expecting to see a coiled rattler poised to strike. But he was totally unprepared for what he actually saw. There, in a small wicker basket, was a baby, no more than a few months old, Eric guessed, rattle in hand, looking back up at Eric. The baby shook its rattle and then smiled up at Eric. Eric reached down and lifted up the basket. The baby looked healthy and, given the circumstance, remarkably happy. It even started cooing when Eric lifted it up out of the basket. And that is when Eric found the note attached to the baby’s diaper.

Chapter 4 A UNIQUE TITLE FOR ME

The typed note said, “I am a victim of incestuous rape and I am not fit to be a mother. I named her Tuesday, because that is when she was born, but who ever finds her can rename her whatever they want.”  Eric being the genius that he was, realized that the baby was only two days old, because today was Thursday, or possibly it was a week and two days old, but he really had no idea and it could have been a few months old and two days.  Eric felt that this was better than getting bit by a rattle snake, or for that matter getting hit by a javelin, but Eric knew that he did not want this baby and he would have to figure out something to do with it, so he could get on with his busy life.  It was kind of a cute baby and he always liked that song Tuesday Afternoon.  Eric wondered how any mother could not feel any emotional attachment for their own baby and that is when he crouched down to pick the baby up.  As he grabbed the baby, he heard a voice say, “No stupid, you have give her proper support because she is still developing, so put your hands under the baby’s head.” Eric looked around and saw…

Chapter 5  Reena Saxena

He put the baby back in the basket, blew a kiss and moved on,

“All the best, Tuesday! May you find a parent who deserves you….”

He had barely moved ten steps, when he heard the baby’s cooing again. Reluctantly, he looked back and found her smiling. She even managed to wave at him, or was she imploring to be picked up…. He was now sure that she was more than a month old, as she could communicate so well. But how had she survived for so long? Did the callous mother take more than a month to abandon her? He was imagining a face similar to the baby’s … maybe, the mother is young and beautiful, but callous … no helpless or .. innocent or .. what? Darn… it was not his problem to think about that.

Another cooing sound, and he had picked up Tuesday again. He looked into the baby’s innocent eyes, and knew that he was hooked. But how was he going to manage this?

There were only two options. One, go back to his Mom and seek her help. She might suspect something else, but it didn’t matter. Or look for the baby’s mother ….

Chapter 6 Sync With Deep

The thought of searching for Tuesday’s mother sounded hectic. Eric decided to take the baby home to his mom. When mom saw Eric, she was quite surprised by his return. She was taken aback to see a pair of tiny toes peeking alongside Eric’s shoulder. The baby’s cries filled the room. Mom quickly grabbed Tuesday in her arms.

‘I had doubted mom unnecessarily,’ thought Eric and smiled a sign of relief.

‘What’s your story?’ asked mom.

Eric quickly started from the rattle sound to the note in the diaper.

Mom’s eyes were clouded with tears. ‘The history repeats,’ she said to herself.

She remembered that day how Eric arrived at her. It was the time of sunset and she was having her usual walk along the neighborhood park when she heard a feeble cry. A day 1 old baby was found in a brown cardboard carton wrapped in a piece of bloodstained cloth. She frantically waited for an hour to see if anyone came to claim the baby. Finally, she took the baby herself and a homeless baby got a home and a mother too.

She named him Eric, meaning Ever or Eternal.

Chapter 7 Morpeth Road

Eric’s mother was quickly hard at work fussing over the baby. There was so much to do and first thing was to change the baby’s nappy as it was considerably wet and smelly after so many or few days.

Eric knew his mother was a good mother after all he had her to blame for being the man he was.

His thought of adventures in the city were put on hold as he and his mum discussed what to do. Tuesday would have to be handed in as his mum knew the mother would in time want to know where her child was.

They decided to put a lost child sign up on every post in the village. Surely someone would come forward.

After a week there came a knock on the door…

Chapter 8 Pensitivity 101

The man stood on the porch, taking off his hat when Eric’s mother opened the door.
‘I understand you are caring for an infant which I believe is my daughter. I’ve come to take her home.’
Eric’s mother distrusted him on sight, and rather than invite him in, decided to keep him on the doorstep.
‘Yes, we are looking after a young child temporarily. And who Sir, are you exactly?’
‘My name is Edwin Mallor, and I live in the next village. My fourteen year old daughter ran away with her sister some weeks ago, spreading malicious rumours about misconduct under my roof. I have come to claim what is rightfully mine, and will see to it that you are well compensated for your time and trouble.’
‘And what Sir, has happened to your older daughter? Has she been found and returned safely to you?’
‘Sadly no. Her body was retrieved from the river eight days ago. It is believed she had left the babe unattended whilst she bathed.’
‘And where Sir, might this have been?’
‘In the woods over yonder. May I take the child now?’
‘How old would your daughter be Sir?’
‘About six weeks of age.’
‘I am sorry Sir, but the child we are caring for is about a year old. I will bring her to you if you wish, but I am confident she is not your kin.’
‘That will not be necessary then, so I’ll bid you good day.’

Eric could not believe his mother could lie so blatantly to the man, and asked why she had done so.
‘Eric, son. You are a good boy, but you don’t understand these matters. Tuesday may well be his daughter. She may also be his grand daughter. How convenient that her mother drowned and cannot defend her actions.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Eric asked.
‘I want you to remove all of the notices in the village. I need to think of a way to keep this baby safe……………..’

Chapter 9 The Dark Netizen

Eric nodded. He did not quite understand how these things worked, just like his mother had said. However, he knew that little Tuesday would be safer with them. He blew a flying kiss to Tuesday, and ran off towards the village. He had to remove all the notices.

He returned in the evening. He knocked on the door. He heard his mother’s voice coming from inside.
“Password?”

“Mom, it’s me.”

“You know the password, Eric.”

Eric sighed. When he was a little kid, Eric had been fond of making makeshift tents inside the house. He would let his mom enter the tent only if she used a password he had made up. Eric spoke towards the door.

“Olopolo!”

Mother opened the door to let Eric inside. To his shock, Eric saw an assortment of weapons laid out on his dining table. Bows, knives, swords, axes, it was a complete arsenal. He looked at his mother with questioning eyes.

“Mother? What is all this?”

Mother placed her hands on Eric’s shoulders.

“Child, you should know. Tuesday is no ordinary baby. Men will come to take her away. Evil men. We need to keep her safe.”

“But, mom what about the oath you took? And what do you mean by Tuesday not being an ordinary baby.”
Mother ruffled Eric’s hair.

“See Eric,….”

Chapter 10 Jo Hawk

“See Eric, we have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Eric had been so annoyed with Mother’s password nonsense and surprised at the weapons he had not seen the figure sitting next to the fireplace. He watched as it unfolded from the chair rising until her head nearly touched the ceiling. She was thin, her face full of sharp angles and sharp eyes. The flowing amber-brown fabric of her dress fell from her shoulders to the floor, softening her bony structure.

“What…” Eric blinked several times. “Who are you?”

“My name is Laila. I am a fairy and Tuesday’s godmother.”

“A fairy godmother?”

Laila’s pale face might have been alabaster. She stood motionless, her slender fingers dangling from the sleeves of the gown.

“Tuesday’s fairy godmother? Some godmother you are. Aren’t you supposed to protect her?” Eric’s voice rose as he spoke, he clenched his fist and shook it at the being in front of him.

“Eric,” his mother said placing her hand on his shoulder.

“I led you to her. You required guidance holding the babe,” Laila said.

“It was you I heard?”

Laila slowly closed and opened her eyes. Her chin dipped a fraction in acknowledgment.

“What do you mean you led me to her? Me? Why me?” Eric shook his head.

“It is as foretold by prophecy.”

“What prophecy?”

Laila’s eyes closed again and though her mouth didn’t move her voice filled the room…

I have tagged Gina@Singledust

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote

Venetian mask Ken Kesey quote

I found this quote very funny for the visual I got from the words. I imagined the words on the page pealing themselves off the paper and combining to create the scenery, the props and the characters. And as they formed they began to take shape and act out the story.

There are a handful of novels that become real as I read them. What novels do the words get up and move for you?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Relics — Three Line Tales, Week 135

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

books library shelves

photo by Davide Cantelli via Unsplash

They came as they always had, speaking reverent words in hushed voices, paying homage to the masters.

But as time passed, and they no longer clutched us in their arms or caressed our patterned pages.

We became decorations, wallflowers longing for a dance.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Cocktail Party — Story-A-Day Prompt

Title:  The Cocktail Party
Source: [Writing Prompt] StoryADay September 2018 Day 1
Word count:   414 words

1958 style kitchen

Photo credit: SportSuburban on Visual hunt / CC BY

Pamela entered the kitchen thinking how exquisite it looked. It was her domain complete with state-of-the-art appliances, countertops, and flooring. The linoleum flooring was the newest product on the market, guaranteed to last a lifetime, it was easy to maintain, and it was easy to create custom designs. The other indulgence in the kitchen included a pair of refrigerators, large enough to store the items she needed for her well-attended cocktail parties. She negotiated with the builder to have everything as she designed them.

Tonight’s mission entailed ensuring she had forgotten nothing for tomorrow night’s party. Rodger admitted Pamela’s parties were the reason for his promotions at work. Everything hinged on the success of this party. A high-profile client was considering placing a substantial book of business with the firm.

Pamela stood in front of the refrigerators to check items off her list. One freezer contained bags of shaped ice cubes, a week’s work for the drinks. From the other freezer, she retrieved the Swedish meatballs she made earlier and moved them to the refrigerator to thaw.  Two lime jello party salads, one with coconut and one without, waited in their stylish ring molds. They had set nicely. Two more copper molds held prawns in aspic ready for their assigned places on the buffet table arranged in the dining room. Two dozen hard-boiled eggs sat on the next shelf. She had everything to transform them into piped deviled eggs with a pimento garnish. Next to the eggs were the large containers of deviled ham. A crowd favorite, Pamela hoped she wouldn’t run out.

Bags of celery washed and cut into bite-size pieces were also ready for the buffet. Along with the other cut veggies, their place was next to the cream cheese spread and the peanut butter. The popular cheese whiz she planned to place strategically along the buffet. Marge had confirmed her three o’clock arrival time to help finish setting the buffet and drink cart, allowing Pamela to change into her new blue cocktail dress.

She nodded to herself everything appeared to be in order. Tomorrow morning, she would prepare the pineapple upside down cake and her signature cherry angel food cake. With the cakes finished she would prep the pigs in a blanket and the canapes. Pamela patted the kerchief holding her curlers in place then flipped the page on her notebook. The next item was to review her latest changes to the client proposal with Roger before going to sleep.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote

This journey to write a short story every day is defiantly a point A to point B exercise. Armed with a list of story ideas and writing prompts, I hope I have enough for thirty days.  Several ideas give me the sense they may develop into longer stories. We will see. Now, it is writing time.

Which path are you traveling? The direct route or the scenic one?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Battle Lines — Friday Fictioneers

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

mirror reflecting old shed

PHOTO PROMPT © Nathan Sowers grandson of our own Dawn M. Miller

They said it reflected poorly on the neighborhood, devalued their property.  She explained they built the shed decades before they conceived of the neighborhood. They didn’t care they wanted it gone. Grandma prepared for battle.

They suggested a teardown, replaced with a new big box store shed. Grandma countered that those sheds were eyesores, uglier than her shed would ever be. She would not lose her family heirloom.

The city engineer confirmed the shed’s construction was sound and would last another hundred years.

Grandma played her ace, protecting it forever when she registered the shed with the Lancaster Historical Society.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

 

Daily Quote

The beginning of a new month heralds the start of a new challenge. This month I will be attempting to create one short story every day. Thirty days, thirty stories. Like Ian Fleming, I plan to write without looking back to edit or revise. The focus is to get a story written and I am targeting each story at 3,000 to 5,000 words.  Sounds like a tall order, right? Well, we will see how it goes.

What is on your goal list for September?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Gift — FFfPP Week 35

Title:  The Gift
Source:  FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER
Word count:  200 words

MorgueFile May 2018 file1831341080767

Daddy said Mother’s Day was coming, and we needed a nice gift for Mommy.

“I know. Breakfast in bed,” I said. Daddy agreed. We decided pancakes, syrup, juice, coffee and a flower would make a pretty breakfast tray.

The big day arrived. Daddy woke us early and warned us to be quiet. We sneaked downstairs to create Mommy’s breakfast tray. She was surprised! When she ate, we raced downstairs to eat our pancakes.

The kitchen was messy, and I loaded the dishwasher and started it like Mommy does. I wanted to help, but I didn’t realize there was a difference. Soap is soap, isn’t it? The dishwasher spewed bubbles everywhere. They crept from the sides and leaked out the bottom. They cascaded over the top joining the ones on the floor.  The bubbles advanced filling the kitchen floor. I didn’t know what to do.

“Mommy,” I cried.

She raced into the room wading through bubbles to stop the dishwasher. I thought she would be mad, but Mommy laughed. She grabbed my hands, and we danced. As we danced, they swirled around us and bubbles floated into the air. Mommy said she loved bubbles. They were the best Mother’s Day gift.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote

I have no intention of failing. So I plan, and I write, and I read, and I study, and I write more. I write and edit and rewrite.

I won’t give up.

Are you committed to winning?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer