Untrained

Master Class

 Stacey of Stacey’s Writing Moments was chosen to pick our line this week, read her piece from our last lesson, titled Winter. .

She chose Erma Bombeck’s Motherhood, The Second  Oldest Profession. Your line for this week, to open your stories, is….(drumroll please!!)

“One of the biggest complaints of motherhood is the lack of training.”

Put your thinking caps on and set your Muse to create. This assignment is due by 6:00 pm Monday, April 1, 2013 . Please identify the starting line by enclosing it in quotes, bolding, or italicizing.

"One of the biggest complaints of motherhood is the lack of training."

That's what I hear.  Oh, there are plenty of books, magazine articles, web sites, or pod casts.  But honestly, I wouldn't have read/listened to them if they'd been available anyway.  

I was busy reorganizing my life.  Buying baby clothes, furniture, supplies.  

My pregnancy was not planned.  I was a single mother.

I'd been hitting the snooze on my biological clock for years.  Evidently nap time was over.

No time for training in the motherly arts or keeping up on the latest mommy trends.  So, when the daughter arrived, I asked the best expert I knew.

My mother.

Was she an excellent mother?  Probably not, there were issues.  But, she had five kids.  She kept us all fed, housed, healthy and loved.  What other qualifications were necessary?

Did I turn out to be an excellent mother?  Probably not, it wasn't exactly my calling.  But, I kept her fed, housed, healthy, and loved.  Because that's how I was trained.




  

Weekend News

Velvet Verbosity;prompt-324

The current prompt is MISBEHAVIN'. Open from 3/25 - 3/39/2013. Get it while it's hot!



Miss Bee Haven was detained by the local authorities last Saturday evening.  

Miss Haven was stopped as she was walking south on Main Street after leaving the local tavern.  The arresting officer reported that upon repeated requests that she verify her personal information, she was escorted to the town lock up pending further investigation.  There is a preliminary charge of resisting arrest, as well as refusal to confirm her identity.

The officer's report indicated that she denied being Miss Bee Haven, and in fact loudly proclaimed several times that she was a good girl, and most certainly was not misbehavin'.

Bad Timing

Trifextra: Week Sixty-One

Congratulations to the winners of both Trifextra and Trifecta.  I wish I'd had time to read you all.  Also wish I had time to reply to your gracious comments, this group is so supportive.
Now, on to the prompt: 
This weekend we're asking for exactly 33 words including an idiom somewhere within.  Examples of idioms include - add fuel to the fire or wear your heart on your sleeve.  You can find more examples and a definition of idiom here.  Good luck!



He could see her simmering rage building as she went through the bank statement. 
 He wanted to tell her about his new game console, but chose not to add fuel to the fire.

Egg Shells

Write at the Merge, Week 13
The prompt from Cam: Week 13 (my lucky number!)

So, today, we took our son to Boston’s Museum of Science. His favorite part of the museum is the audiokinetic sculpture (or as my son calls it, the ball tower) on the lower level of the atrium, a piece called Archimedean Excogitation, by George Rhoads.

For this week, take your inspiration from this video of the sculpture in motion and from the word WONDER:

Seven year old Bree was shooed outside after she'd completed the simple chores assigned to her.

 "Go play a while, child, enjoy your days now.  In another year it will be time to teach you to weave. Then your time will be less your own."  Mama's smile held a hint of regret. Her fingers cramped and her back ached from long hours sitting at the loom.  "Be home for  midday meal."

With a hug for Mama and a promise to be home on time, Bree scampered outside. Her home nestled within a corner of the King's forest.  The day was breezily warm, as spring days often are.  Wild flowers beckoned butterflies and bees.  And Bree.

She gathered the prettiest and sweetest smelling for Mama as she
made her way to her favorite place. A small glade, not too far from home, where the tallest tree Bree had ever seen stood proudly in the center.

She lay on her back at the edge of the clearing watching the antics of three squirrels as they raced up, down, and around the old trunk.  From her vantage point, she could see a nest near the top.  Occasional flashes of red could be seen coming and going.

One squirrel chose to investigate. Bree saw its bushy tail over the nest's edge, twitching impishly.  An angry squawk and belligerent chitter erupted from the canopy. The squirrel popped out, a shiny egg captured in his little paws.

As he scurried along the limbs, Bree saw the red flash careen across the squirrel's path. Unbalanced, he fumbled his loot.

Bree watched the egg spin unsteadily on the limb a few moments before it dropped over the side. It fell a short distance to a leafy branch that broke its fall.  The leaves quivered under the weight, bowing to shed the interloper.

The squirrel's playmates, having intently watched the altercation, raced for the egg.  The quicker of the pair snatched it from the shaking fronds.  The slower snatched at her partner's tail as he spiralled down the trunk.

Red wings spread wide, the hostile parent confronted the new possessor, who wheeled back, and slammed into his partner. The egg began a free fall to the ground below.

Bree jumped up, bouquet forgotten, and ran to the tree. There were no more leafy branches to interrupt the fall. Two squirrels watched the egg's descent with curiosity. The first used the distraction to return to the nest, followed closely by the raging red flash.

Bree held out her hands and willed herself to not clutch too tightly when she caught the fragile orb.  She heard a small crunch as the egg landed in her hands. She waited, eyes tightly shut, afraid to look.

Movement surprised her eyes open as the shell parted with a crack.  She breathed an "oh" of wonder as the tiny scarlet lizard shed the remaining shards and spread its brand new wings in the palm of her hand.

A Scene from Renewal

Trifecta: Week Seventy

Congratulations to the Weekend Winners, good work!
I found a bit of one of my  Works Chaos in Progress that had the word of the week in it.  I cleaned it up a bit, cut a lot of excess.  So, here we go...


On to the weekly prompt. Pay attention to the third definition, as always. Good lucky!

LUCKY (adjective)

1: having good luck
2: happening by chance : fortuitous
3: producing or resulting in good by chance : favorable

Please remember:
Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
The word itself needs to be included in your response.
You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
Only one entry per writer.
If your post doesn't meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us. 



Sheriff Denny Clark pulled into the farm yard.  Nate Foley was waiting for him, angry and impatient.

“Mornin', Nate.  What’s the problem?”  he asked.

“The problem, Sheriff, is somethin' killed more than half my best layin' hens.”  The old farmer led Denny to the chicken coop.  Feathers, blood and torn birds littered the yard.  “Whatever kilt 'em didn't do it for eatin'.  These animals was killed for the fun of it.”

Denny squatted to inspect the remains more closely.  Nate was right.  The birds had been torn apart, one after another.  Whatever?  He was inclined to lay bets on whoever.  The local wild life may take a chicken once in a while, and that's exactly what they did, take.  One may find a few feathers or bones, but those remains showed obvious signs of feeding.  These didn't.

“You didn’t hear anything, Nate?”



“Nope.  Take my hearin' aids out at night.”

“Dog didn’t raise hell?”

“Ain't got no dog.  Last one I had thought the chickens was his.  It were his lucky day, the grandchild was here, took 'im home." 

“Got a count on how many you lost here, Nate?”

The old man figured a minute.  “ I’d say 'bout three dozen.”

Denny nodded, “I'll grab some bags, take a few to Doc Kelsey.  See if he can come up with anything evidential.”  Denny popped the trunk of the squad, he returned with several plastic bags and latex gloves.  He brought a camera to document the scene.  He took a dozen pictures, then bagged eight birds for the Kelsey, the local veterinarian. 

“Make sure you show all that to my insurance agent.  Only about twenty left.  That won’t pay bills for long.  Kin I get rid of the mess now, Sheriff?”

“You gonna burn ‘em, Nate?”

Nate Foley nodded.  “Yep, gotta burn ‘em.  For sure.”

Conversation with the Gargoyle

I've gone a little crazy today and opted to tell a story in two different ways, on two different sites.  The other story is at Velvet Verbosity



"Thee will never reach the light, Liam.  Thee hast chosen the unclean path. Thy soul is forfeit."

Liam leaned on the remains of an ruined pew. He considered the old gargoyle's words. "Ye're sayin' the only way to be saved, is death and rebirth?" 

"Aye.  Without death, thy actions cannot be weighed."

"Ye could vouch for me, old friend." Liam said, "ye've known me since I was a lad."

"I am only the guardian of this ancient chapel, not a judge.  I pray when my weighing comes, the harboring of a ghoul will not tip the scales against me." 


As always, you have 7 days from NOW to write 100 words inspired by the Indigo Girls Galileo. Please use the Mr. Linky below to post your 100, then tweet, book o face, google +, smoke signal, morse code, and text a friend or 50 your new work of audio austered art.

Cedric's Sorrow

This is my first shot at the 100 Word Challenge.  I've gone a little crazy today and opted to tell a story in two different ways, on two different sites.  The other story is at Lance Burson's 100 Word Song


Cedric sat back on his haunches.  He should not have allowed Liam entry to the old chapel. Though it was long abandoned, he was still guardian. And Liam was unclean.

Yet, he couldn't forget the young boy that used to come here long ago.  The lad that had named him Cedric used to crawl atop the tower he perched upon.  He would tuck his small body under one of Cedric's stony wings and talk of his dreams.

Liam dreamt of a life filled with adventure and wealth and glory.

Never did the boy dream of choosing to become a ghoul.

Rebel Yelp

Trifextra: Week Sixty 









This weekend, we are revisiting a prompt we've done before.  We are giving you three words and asking that you add another 33 to them to make a complete 36-word response.  You may use the words in any order you choose. 
Our three words are:
remember
rain
rebellion
Now you give us yours.



They would fight to the finish!  
They'd win back their slowly disappearing rights. 
They wouldn't take it anymore! 

The news said the rebellion was over before it began.
I only remember standing alone in the rain.

Working Girl

Write at the Merge, Week 12
The Prompt: Speaking of legs… we’re offering you a photo and a song this week. Happy writing!

I chose the photo, and had a hard time coming up with something.  As usual, I found the weird.  Actually with help from the husband.  Sometimes I wonder about him....

Terry swaggered up the street.  She was late getting started this evening, she had to have an extra snort of powder to steel herself for another night of reading the johns.  Her goal was surviving until morning.  Too many girls had gone missing over the past month.  

She rounded the corner, making her way to her favorite post, a street light in the center of the block.  It would be a long night, traffic was unusually light.  

As Terry neared the light pole, she slowed her stride. Someone else was under the light.  It was a woman, her back turned to Terry, long legs in fish net stockings, perched atop impossibly high stiletto heels.  The woman's body hugging shift grazed her knees. 

"Not gonna get the homies that way," Terry muttered to herself.  To the figure ahead she shouted, "Hey! Bitch!  That's my track!"

She picked up her pace, "Imma kick your ass, bitch, get off my..."  The figure turned, arms opened wide.  Terry tried to stop her momentum as she saw the glowing red eyes, the only feature in the space that should have been a face.

Needle Shy

Trifecta: Week Sixty-Nine

Congrats to this weekends winners!
This week's word is:
INFECT
1: to contaminate with a disease-producing substance or agent (as bacteria)
2a : to communicate a pathogen or a disease to
  b : of a pathogenic organism : to invade (an individual or organ) usually by penetration
  c : of a computer virus : to become transmitted and copied to (as a computer)
3a : contaminate, corrupt <the inflated writing that infects such stories>  
  b : to work upon or seize upon so as to induce sympathy, belief, or support <trying to infect their salespeople with their enthusiasm>




"You'll feel a little stick." The tech smiled as she eased the needle into the exposed vein in Ben's arm.

"Nah.  Didn't feel a thing." Ben watched the vial fill.  Bright red, and thicker than he'd thought it would be. The tech, her badge proclaimed her Mandy, changed vials twice.  

Ben frowned at the tray holding the tubes, two full, several more empty. "Why do y'all take so much?"

"Different tests, its easier to have multiples than to pass one tube all over the lab." Mandy smiled again as she swapped vials once more, "It's not so much.  You have plenty."

Ben wasn't so sure. Mandy's smiles, meant to put him at at ease, were beginning to infect him with apprehension. "I'm startin' to feel woozy.  You done yet?"

"Just a few more, hon. You don't want us to miss anything important."  She flashed her teeth again.  "There!  Last one."  She thumbed a cotton ball over the needle mark and strapped it down with tape.  "You wait here while I run these down to the lab. I can grab you a candy bar if you want."  

"No, that's okay. I need to go, got stuff to do."  Ben tried to rise, but Mandy pushed him firmly back into the chair. "You just sit there and catch your breath. 

         ********

Mandy locked the door behind her, then hustled to the lab. The one man waiting was no technician.

"Another vamp trying to pass. He was pretty depleted when I left," she said.  Laying the tray in front of him, she counted the vials.  "Oh, hell!  There's one missing, he must've nabbed one!"

Together, they ran back to the room.  The door was thrown from its frame and Ben was nowhere to be seen. 

"I'll get security, yelled the non-tech as he ran back up the hall.

He'd disappeared around the corner when the cold hand covered Mandy's no longer smiling mouth.

"You'll feel a little stick," Ben whispered in her ear.

Car Jammin"

100 Word Song – Car Jamming

Linking up with Leeroy again.  This one made me think.  Then the muse came home and it was all okay!  




As always, you have 1 week from, now, to write 100 words inspired by The Clash’s Car Jamming. Be sure to use the Mr. Linky at the bottom and tweet/book o face/google +/smoke signal your link and tell a friend or 50.


It was all they had.  This old car, parked in an alley where the street lights had all been shot out.  Bald tires and peeling vinyl top made it seem right at home with the rest of the trash.

Classic rock blared from the old radio, tinny and under amped.  The jug of Boone's Farm, emptied hours ago, lay abandoned on the front floorboard amidst greasy wrappers that once held greasy hamburgers.

They rolled around the back seat, steaming the windows and risking the remains of the shock absorbers.  It was all they had, this old car.

And each other.

Redemption

Trifextra: Week Fifty-Nine




A chill mist coils amid the heated crowd 
Cooling and containing.

In small pockets of relief and reflection,
Tension flushed faces slacken into peaceful tone as
Angry sweat gives way to goose flesh.





Photo credit: Bérenger ZYLA / Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND
This weekend we're asking for exactly 33 words inspired by this photo.  . 

No Worries!

Write on Edge Giveaway!


Problems?  What problems?

The furnace only blows cold air once in a while.

That spot on the ceiling hasn't gotten any bigger since the last rain.  So, that's okay.  Right?

And the car?  Well that noise doesn't happen all the time. It can't be too urgent then.  Can it?

There's food in the cupboard and milk in the fridge.   Coffee in the can...

Wait?

No coffee in the can?

Now that's a problem!

Blowing Bubbles

/>Write at the Merge, Week 11
Two photos this week for you to reflect upon:(I chose this one.)



Trifecta Challenge; Week Sixty-eight

Congratulations to the weekend's winners, and on to the weekly prompt.
TIME (noun)

1a : the measured or measurable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues : duration
 b : a nonspatial continuum that is measured in terms of events which succeed one another from past through present to future
 c : leisure <time for reading>
2: the point or period when something occurs : occasion
3a : an appointed, fixed, or customary moment or hour for something to happen, begin, or end <arrived ahead of time>
b : an opportune or suitable moment <decided it was time to retire> —often used in the phrase about time <about time for a change>

Please remember: 

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words. 
• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post. 
• The word itself needs to be included in your response. 
• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 
• Only one entry per writer. 
• If your post doesn't meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
• Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us. 

The children squealed in delight.  Bubbles!   Hundreds of bubbles.  Iridescent globes, dancing through the forest on the whim of gust and breeze.

They chased the fragile spheres, shrieking in glee.  Bubbles hung from branches, flashing with reflections of leaf and bough.  They caught in the undergrowth, where little hands tried to capture them whole.

At the far side of the forest, the ground rose through gentle foothills to the mountains beyond. She perched on a sunny outcrop watching the forest edge, puffs of smoke curling from her nostrils with each breath. Her wings folded in readiness against golden scales. 

"Is it time for lunch yet, Mama?"

She flicked her gaze toward her dragonet, still marvelling at the strange emissions flowing from her tiny throat.

"Not yet, Baby, let them get clear of the trees."

Dig Two

I have to admit, I've missed Anne Marie and Liam,  the music more than the words built this...

"The elder ones always put up such a fuss, sweetling?"

Anne Marie shrugged as she finished cleaning the gore from her sword.  "Depends on how tired of it they are."  She grimaced as she resheathed her weapon.  "If you must feast on it, Liam, wait until I've left."

"There be things even ghouls won't eat, Annie, me love.  Werewolf bein' one," Liam answered.  "Suppose I ought dig a hole for the bits 'n pieces ye've left?"

Anne Marie raised her head, redrawing her blade at the same time.  A low growl repeated from several yards away.  

"Better dig two, Liam."




As always you have 7 days from right now to write 100 words inspired by my wife’s love of The Band Perry and their new song, Better Dig Two. Make sure you use the linky below and then tweet/book o face/and smoke signal your handiwork. Tell a friend or 50.

No Mercy

Trifextra: Week Fifty-eight

Congrats to this week's winners!
On to the Trifextra challenge, where we try our damnedest to incorporate the concept of three into something varied and inspiring.  This weekend, we're really stretching.

As you can see, the third element in the periodic table of elements is Lithium.

http://chemistry.about.com/od/periodictableelements/ss/Basic-Printable-Periodic-Table-Of-The-Elements.htm

The word lithium comes from the Greek word lithos, which means stone  (http://chemistry.about.com/od/lithium/a/10-Lithium-Facts.htm).  This weekend, we want you to give us a thirty-three response using the wordstone as one of your thirty-three words.  You can use any definition of the word that you'd like, but we are specifically looking for serious, well-conceived entries.  This isn't the weekend for light-hearted posts about the difficulty of posting before the linkz close, and we are not looking for hilarious commentary about your cats (THIS time).  We want something serious and deep from you guys this weekend, because the sun is starting to shine a bit more, and we think we can handle it now.  Take your time with it and give us your very best work. 





The bread was stale, her children hungry.  
The villagers jeered as they closed on her.  
An emaciated girl with a protruding belly cast the first stone.
"Thief!" 
Her daughter's taunt joined the others.



Concrit is welcome, and encouraged!

Tres-Path

Write at the Merge; Week 10

This week we’re honoring the genius of Dr. Seuss, who was born on March 2, 1904.  Our two Seussical offerings are an image and a line from one of his books. Happy writing!

“I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees. I speak for the trees for the trees have no tongues.”
Dr. Seuss, from The Lorax

And because a birthday celebration should include everyone, if you don’t find either of these offerings inspiring, use your favorite Dr. Seuss quote or story as inspiration — just leave us a note letting us know what you chose!

I may have just chosen trees, which gives me an excuse to revisit the Elementals for a minute...

Chuck was gazing out the kitchen window when a movement caught his attention. He watched the young girl slide down the rough bark of the old oak in the back yard. She wasn’t at all dressed for tree climbing, her long legs were bare as were her arms. She didn’t seem to have shoes, either. The jumper she wore was far too frilly.

He called to his wife, “Hey, Beth, who’s the kid in the tree?”

Beth joined him at the window, still holding a plate and dish towel. She watched for a moment, then raised her brows, “That’s no kid, chuck,” she said as she lay the towel down. “That? Is a dryad.”

“A what?”

“A dryad, wood nymph.” Beth put the dish aside and headed out the back door.

Chuck muttered under his breath as he followed, “Wood nymph? What next, unicorns?”

Beth was already half way to the tree. “Whoa there, Toots! That oak is taken!”

The girl had started back up the tree when she saw beth approach. She hesitated, she had been caught by humans. Disappearing into the tree would not be a good idea, she dropped lightly back to the ground.

“I’m sorry, lady.” She did her best imitation of a young human girl, letting tears fill her bright green eyes and twirling a lock of honey brown hair. “I just wanted to play.”

“Give it up, I know what you are, and as I said, that tree is taken.” Beth glared at the nymph. “Whats your name? And no games, I’ll know if you lie.”

“Acalia,” she answered with a very unchild like scowl, “and how is it you know what I am?”

Beth looked Acalia over, she was too thin for even a dryad. “I know a lot of things. Except why you're crawling all over this tree.”

“I didn’t know this tree was taken. I need to find a new one, mine is sick.” Acalia squinted at beth, “You're no dryad, why do take this tree? I can make it a better tree, if you let me live in it.”

“The tree is in my yard, but I’m not the one that has taken it.” Beth said with smirk as the back door burst open once more.

“Get away from that tree, dryad!” cried the newcomer, her leaf green eyes blazing. “That’s my personal doorway!”

Acalia’s eyes and mouth fought to see which could open wider.

Beth chuckled, “Acalia, meet my mother, Tameryn Leafeyed, Element of Earth and Lady of Treecairn!”

Doors

I've combined two prompts.  Again.

StoryDam Writing Prompt

Prompt:

Free write for ten to fifteen minutes about what is inside of you whether it is metaphorically or physically. Or… write a story about the above choice, will you find the key to open the door to your past, present, or future?

Word Prompt: Key

Sentence Prompt:

I held the key but didn’t know where it would lead…

Did she really want to know what was behind the door…

Of course this may lead you in a completely different direction. Follow your heart and write what you think, feel, know!

Trifecta; Week Sixty-seven

JUGGLE (transitive verb)
1a : to practice deceit or trickery on : beguile
  b : to manipulate or rearrange especially in order to achieve a desired end
2a : to toss in the manner of a juggler
  b : to hold or balance precariously
3: to handle or deal with usually several things (as obligations) at one time so as to satisfy often competing requirements <juggle the responsibilities of family life and full-time job — Jane S. Gould>
Please remember: 

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words. 
• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post. 
• The word itself needs to be included in your response. 
• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 
• Only one entry per writer. 
• Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us. 

There is a door inside my head.  Or rather, there are doors.

One is the door of responsibility, the one that opens on orderly shelves. Where bills are paid on time and promises are kept.  The one that has my time scheduled minute to minute. Everything is tidy and perfectly spaced.

Around the corner is the door of dreams, where I have a whirlpool bathtub, and I can sleep until I feel like waking up. A place where I can all my own food, spin my own yarn, and make my own soap.

The door of imagination.  Packed behind that door are the voices of the page. The immortals that have a book for me to write. Or the stories of the widow and her late husband's dog.  And the tales of cats with more than mice on their minds.  

I want to unlock all the doors at once, let their contents loose.  I want to juggle it all into a manageable, glorious adventure.  

I just want it all.

Happily Ever After; Part 5

Master Class, Week 8
First the congratulations and the prompt:  This week we had two aces. Michael of Innocents and Accidents, Hints and Allegations went outside the box with the cosmos of newborn parenting in Baby Monitor, and Tina of Not Just Another Mother Blogger came through with a calculated tale of domestic abuse with The Laughter of the Cosmos.

I asked them both to open a book and give me the first line from each. Tina chose Shadow of the Night by Deborah Harkness. Michael chose Winter Journal by Paul Auster. Your lines this week are:

From Shadow of the Night:

“The past cannot be cured.”

And from Winter Journal:

“You have entered the winter of your life.”

You can use these lines in any order, however you must begin the story with one and end it with the other. Please identify the lines in the story by enclosing them in quotes, bolding, or italicizing.

And now, my excuse prologue; I'm trying something a little...well, crazy here this week.  I have been writing and linking up to several prompts every week.  I've combined prompts and I've written separate stories to the individual prompts.  This week my goal is to write one story, and split it into parts.  Each part fitting one of the prompts I use.  It's my hope that each part stands alone, yet makes one understandable tale all together.

Part one is here  Part two is here and Part three is here and Part four is here


Okay then, on to the story....


“The past cannot be cured, Meeribel.” Arlord said. “You are Princess of the Realm of Windmore. All the choices that were made, by you, by myself, or by others, have placed you here.”

“You're saying that my father’s choice to trade me for a ewe made me a princess?” Meeribel raised an eyebrow, “He only wanted me to learn to be a lady. I’m sure becoming Princess of the Realm was not part of his vision.”

“Had he not sent you to the herbwife, who introduced you to Witch Willin, do you believe you’d be Princess now?” Arlord asked.

Meeribel raised the other eyebrow, “Maybe. Perhaps if my father had made a different choice, so would your father have made a different choice. And perhaps, a different Prince would have come to the farthest reaches of the Realm of Windmore. And perhaps, that Prince would have chosen me to be Princess.”

“Perhaps,” Arlord chuckled. “And would you still think that princessing was too much work?”

“Probably,” Meeribel sighed. “It can be very tiring to always smile and be polite.”

“That is part of the duty of a princess, Meeribel.”

“Part of the duty? What else would a princess do?”

“Well, a princess could, if she had the knowledge, inspect the royal flocks. Then she could report on the disposition of those flocks.” Arlord continued, “I have no real expertise in that matter. I can only accept what is told to me by the royal shepherds.”

“We have sheep? Why did I not know we had sheep?” Meeribel exclaimed.

“You never asked if we had sheep. You have never asked anything about the running of the Realm, Meeribel.”

Meeribel looked away from Arlord, her brow furrowed. “I never thought about the running of the Realm. I suppose I thought it simply took care of itself.” She looked back at the Prince, “I think I would like to learn more about that, perhaps I could do more than smile and be polite.”

“It could be harder work,” Arlord said with a wink.

Meeribel grinned, “It could not possibly be harder than smiling for no reason all the time. How much is there to learn?”

“I expect you will still be learning, Princess, when you have entered the winter of your life.”

                                                      
                                                       The End???
                                            

Happily Ever After; Part 4

Trifextra Weekend Challenge; Week Fifty-seven

For the weekend challenge we're asking for exactly thirty-three words written in first person narrative. Have fun with it and we'll meet you back here on 3/3! - 


I'm trying something a little...well, crazy here this week.  I have been writing and linking up to several prompts every week.  I've combined prompts and I've written separate stories to the individual prompts.  This week my goal is to write one story, and split it into parts.  Each part fitting one of the prompts I use.  It's my hope that each part stands alone, yet makes one understandable tale all together.
Part one is here  Part two is here and Part three is here





I didn't realize how much a princess has to do.
Mediate disputes.
Attend parties, host dinners.  
And all the while, I'm expected to look like a princess!

I miss being a shepherd's daughter.

Happily Ever After; Part Three

100 words inspired by Linda’s pick of Elvis Costello’s Brilliant Mistake. Be sure to use the Mr. Linky below, tweet and Facebook out your link, and tell a friend or 50.





I'm trying something a little...well, crazy here this week.  I have been writing and linking up to several prompts every week.  I've combined prompts and I've written separate stories to the individual prompts.  This week my goal is to write one story, and split it into parts.  Each part fitting one of the prompts I use.  It's my hope that each part stands alone, yet makes one understandable tale all together.
Part one is here  Part two is here





Meeribel had expected to be thrown from the palace, or into the dungeons. She hadn’t expected that Arlord had known all along of her deception.

“So, do you love me without the potion, then?” she asked.

“No, not particularly. Though, you are fair to look upon, and you have a pleasant disposition.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. Because even though I believed I could, I don’t love you either. And I really don't like being the princess, I made a mistake, it’s hard work. Should I leave, now?”

Arlord raised an eyebrow. “Leave? I think not. You serve the people now.”