Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Hollow-een

Write on Edge: RemembeRED

This week we asked you to take us back to a memorable Halloween costume, to show it to us and draw us into your emotions and memories in 400 words

Halloween was not a special holiday at our house.  More of an excuse to stay out past dark, because you could do that in the 60's without fear. And the candy of course, it was all about the candy.

Our costumes were not memorable, store bought in a hurry the day before. Plastic, face covering masks with a tiny mouth slit to suck air through, and eye holes that may be where your own eyes were. Just the act of walking caused a build up of sweat.  That, with the humidity of breathing, made them almost unbearable.

The flimsy, I'm sure not fire-proof, costumes didn't always last the night.  The seam stitching gave out at the least tug of arm or leg

We were five kids, but I don't think more than three of us at a time were of an age to go trick-or-treat together.  By the time my sisters were old enough, I was staying home passing out the candy.

That has always been my favorite part over the years.  Greeting little and not so little kids and drop candy bars in bags or pails or pillow cases.  Even when my daughter was growing up, I'd rather stay home and hand out goodies.  Her step-sister took her a couple times.  Most often she was at her grandparents' house.  Grandma made sure she got plenty of treats.

My husband and I have moved back to that house.  It sits back a long driveway from a busy street.  The neighborhood behind it is separated by a half acre field.  As long as I can remember it's been the scary house in the neighborhood. Especially on Halloween night.  Just because it's big and old.  And for years, the only light was from my Mother's bedroom, at the front, facing the busy street.  All other windows were dark.

The house is alive with light now. 
Yet.
There are no little pirates or princesses at the door. 
I buy the candy every year. 
Just in case.




.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

text

Write On Edge: Red-Writing-Hood
Compose a post in the form of a text–160 characters.

Your text must elicit or express fear.



where are you you said you'd be here voices they say bad things about you they're laughing and laughing closer and closer I see them they're coming please hurry

Monday, October 17, 2011

Falling Leaves

For you, what does autumn evoke?
Show us in 300 words or less



I'm in love with the fall. Cool mornings followed by warm afternoons.  The air smells clean, freshly laundered. Scented with hints of burnt leaf.  As much as I love that smell, we don't burn leaves here.

Those unburned leaves are colored in the shades of the fire from which they were spared. They  rush across the lawn, blown by playful gusts. Some take flight, reaching for the branches they recently left.  Some are content to somersault across the fading grass.

They migrate from our yard to the neighbor's, only to return in a day or so.  They'll pile themselves around the flowers and shrubs.  Protecting the tender roots from winter's cold.

 I hear them crackling whispers to each other of summer past. Before the rains pin them to the gardens. Before the colors of glory fade to brown. Before winter's snow buries them with icy weight.  They blanket the sleeping plants singing lullabies of spring.



Thursday, October 6, 2011

The Mist


This week, I want you to take me there.

Where is up to you: Someplace real? Imaginary? From your past? In your future? It can be fiction or creative non-fiction. But make your descriptions so rich that I can’t help but feel like I’m right there.

What do you see? What does the air feel like? Smell like? What are you stepping on? Who else is there with your character or you? Time? Weather?

Close your eyes, paint the picture in your mind, and then use your words to paint it for me.

You have 200 words. Go. For. It! Take me there, baby! Then come back Friday and link up!




If Naddnē closed her eyes, she could strip away the years. See the forest that framed her
childhood.

The smell of trees pushing up from fertile earth.  Multiple greens gracing their boughs.  The promise of fruits, full of sticky sweetness dripping down chubby cheeks and chins.

A symphony of bird song, dadeedeedee, cheercheerprettyprettypretty, beebeebee,the melody underscored by the heavy drone of honey bees. Feathers fluttering in the in leaf tinted light.

Children playing games, hiding, chasing, their high pitched giggles filling the treetops and
underbrush.



She opened her eyes.

The trees were dull through the mist.  The dripdripdrip of moisture from leafless limbs.
Listless clack of broken branches against sodden trunks.

No birdsong, no nests in the empty trees. No buzz of bees, or fluttering wings.

No children running through the moldy leaves. The sweet, sickly smell of rot released with each squishing step.

Only Naddnē, trying to wish back the multiple green of the leaves.


Naddnē was first introduced here , she's a part of me, I think.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

In the Pocket

This week Galit asked you to conjure something. An object, a person, a feeling, a color, a season- whatever you like.

But don’t tell us what it is, conjure it. In 100 words.

Fourteen pounds in my hand. 
One step for balance. 
Two, my arm pushes out, weight and gravity pulling it down. 
Three, it swings back in pendulum motion.
Four, my arm swings forward again.  
Five, my feet, arm, and ball at the line.  
My thumb leaves the hole drilled to fit. 
As the ball rolls from hand, my fingers create rotation. 
It hits the lane, sliding through the oil, then grips, and  begins to roll.  
At the end of the oil, it turns and accelerates, striking the rack between the headpin and the three-pin.  
Boom! 
Strike.