Daily Quote

A daily writing practice is hard to achieve. Many things vie for our attention and our time. Family, friends, social media and the newest Netflix release are relaxing, enjoyable, and easy.  Temptations abound. But every day I write. Sometimes the agonizing grind produces one hundred words. Occasionally, a writing session is filled with magic, pixie dust and a torrential release of words.  It is the sporadic reward for making a commitment and doing the work.

What steps are you taking to make writing a habit?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The Drop — Friday Fictioneers August 10

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

PHOTO PROMPT © Ronda Del Boccio

His directions showed a booth in the empty section at the rear of the diner. The hostess motioned for him to sit and dropped the menu on the table. Bart sat his back to the brick wall and watched her disappear around the divider, leaving him alone.

He leaned forward and ran his hands underneath the tabletop and the bench where he sat. He checked his phone, determining he was in the correct spot

“Where is it,” he wondered?

A planter box sat on the divider and Bart’s hand snaked along the rim, searching. He removed the envelope and smiled.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote

When I write I live in perpetual surprise. I may know the story when I sit down to write, but seldom does it ends as planned. A character speaks, and their words disarm me. Rain falls on a nighttime highway, setting in motion a chain of events. A song plays, and the lyrics uncover a plot twist. Writing is a journey that becomes a grand adventure.

What adventures will your writing take you on today?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Duplicity — FFfPP Week 32

Title:  Duplicity
Source:  FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2018 WEEK #32
Word count:  184 words

MorgueFile May 2018 1400068700w0086

Lisette tried to look inconspicuous as she walked past the restaurant’s main window. The restaurant was empty, so she adjusted her sandal’s strap and scanned the interior. The main dining room held twelve linen-covered tables. She noticed everything, but she focused on the oil paintings. Eight hung in the room and she dismissed each one. It had to be here. She pretended to shuffle through her purse and saw it hanging behind the hostess stand. Lisette pulled her phone from her purse and walked away.

Jean-Pierre took over the family restaurant from his father, but times changed, the neighborhood changed, and the business suffered. His grown children had no interested in running the family business. It was time he retired, so he closed the doors. They had a party to say goodbye to the neighborhood and his loyal customers. The next morning Jean-Pierre dismantled his life. He removed the oil painting from the wall where it hung all these years. This one painting was his retirement fund.

Jean-Pierre took the painting to a dozen appraisers. They agreed his original Edward Hopper was a fake.

 

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote

I am lucky I can write. As a child, stories crowded my head, fantastical tales, gripping dramas and horrors that kept me awake. Daily the stories multiply. I am the only one who knows them and I am compelled to write. Telling stories keeps them alive. Sharing stories is new for me and I the responses I get surprised me. I never realized a story was a gift to the reader.

What is the story inside you?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Keeping Promises – 100 Word Wednesday Week 83

Title:  Keeping Promises
Source:  100 Word Wednesday: Week 83
Word count: 100 words

Image by Bikurgurl

Danny and Suzie had spent decades planning this trip. They were young when they married, and money was scarce. Danny promised he would one day take her on a dream honeymoon. Suzie dreamed of Hawaii.  Life always interceded, and they postponed their trip. Four babies came with bottles, bicycles, and braces. The years flew and there were college tuitions and wedding celebrations. They never stopped dreaming. They researched and planned but family was more important.  Today they would view the lava flow where it entered the ocean. Suzie hugged the urn in her arms. She didn’t want to say goodbye.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote

The study of music introduced me to articulation. Each note executed, separate and distinct from the note preceding and the note following. Slurs were notes that flowed together, no separation, no distinction.

Later, I learned articulated words are easier to understand. Words join, moving in relation to each other allowing us to express feelings and ideas.

How will you expand articulation today?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Brake Lights

Photo on Visual hunt

The taillights in front of me blazed red, he was stopping, fast, and I was barreling straight for him.  I slammed the brakes and felt the anti-lock feature pumping the pedal beneath my foot. My right hand flew to the passenger seat to stop my purse from tumbling to the floorboards. Too late. I was getting closer to the car’s rear bumper and I couldn’t stop. The anti-lock brakes still pumped the pedal, but my tires skimmed across the wet pavement. There was a car to my right, no escape route. In my rear-view mirror, I saw the horrified face of the driver behind me. He was too close. I had no intention of becoming the middle of a sandwich.

Both hands clutching the wheel, I yanked it to the left. Terrified the action might send me into a spin, I prepared to steer into the skid. I prayed the shoulder was wide enough to maneuver without hitting the cement divider and ricochet me into a collision I wanted to avoid.

My car shuttered and shook as the tires hit rumble boards and loose gravel. That bit of resistance stopped me from hydroplaning, the traction violently slowed the car’s forward motion. My whole body lurched forward, the seat belt locked, digging into my shoulder. White knuckles gripped the steering wheel, and I screamed as the windshield raced to connect with my face. The car stopped throwing me against the seat. The purse and its contents disappeared underneath the passenger seat. My heart raced, my pulse throbbed in my ears and I gasped air. My hands held their death grip on the steering wheel. I forced myself to let go of the wheel, my hands shook, and I wanted to cry. I slid the drive shifter into Park.

The man in the car behind me slid to a stop gently kissing the bumper of the car I had been following. Three lanes of traffic doing sixty-five miles an hour come to a dead stop. I hugged the steering wheel allowing fear and tensions to ebb.

A tap on my side window startled me. The man from the car behind me stared at me.

“You ok?” He asked as I opened the window.

“Yeah, I’m fine. How are you?”

“I thought I was dead. The brakes locked. I couldn’t stop. So, I closed my eyes and waited for the collision. But it didn’t happen. My car stopped. I opened my eyes, and you had disappeared. But here you are. What happened?”

“I swerved.”

“You did more than that, you saved my life.”

We smiled like fools and laughed.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Daily Quote

Words contain magic. There is nothing better than when the words I write sing their song. I can be deaf to the music, but a reader may hear it.

What words create music for you?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Pushing Through — FFfAW Challenge

Title:  Pushing Through
Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
Word count:  150 words

This week’s photo prompt is provided by wildverbs. Thank you wildverbs!

Rachel passed the bench three times today. One more time she told herself.

She wanted to sit and rest. Doctor’s orders said one mile.

“This is crap,” she thought.

“It will get easier,” they said.

“You will grow to love it,” they said.

“Your body will crave the endorphins,” they said.

Who were they kidding? It was a conspiracy, lies they told themselves. It wasn’t working, she didn’t feel an endorphin-releasing rush. She had been exercising a week and none of the garbage they spewed had happened.

Rachel stopped, staring at the bench. Sweat trickled down her back, hair clung to her face and neck. Her clothes stuck to her body in places where they shouldn’t. She fanned herself with both hands, knowing a mirror would reflect a blotchy red face.  She needed a shower.

Rachel stood and stared at the bench.

“Ok, bench. See you in a few minutes.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer