Fifty Words: Open Season
This Week's Writing Prompt: This week you can submit any writing that fits one of the previous challenges: Monkey Mind; Figuratively Speaking; Tall Tale; Early Memories; Spring has Sprung; or last week's incredibly popular One Small Thing.Basically, it's open season at Fifty Words.
Submissions: Submit your entry by email or by leaving a comment on this post. Include a short title, your name or pen name, your fifty words and a link to the rest of your entry ... If you do not have a web site, or do not want to post your writing on your own site, you may submit up to 200 words (by email only) and I'll post your entry here in its entirety. Check the FAQ for more information. Suggestions, comments and questions are always welcome. You do not need a user name to comment -- just choose "anonymous" or "other" on the comments page.
4 Comments:
A Letter to Spring
Dear Spring,
I see you! You keep on peeking around the corner of Winter's skirts, and then quickly hiding again. Don't be like that! I can't speak for everyone here, but I truly have missed you.
http://tracetalks.blogspot.com/2005/03/letter-to-spring.html
This started out as an entry for One Small Thing, but it could pass for Early Memories and it's kind of springy, too. I guess it's just a mishmash.
I may have jumped in surprise or I may not have reacted at all, but I remember that it tickled. My little puff of air caused the blade of grass to vibrate, tickling my lips and letting out a little trumpet sound.
Read the rest here
I picked Monkey Mind :-)...
I always wind up static in a room, with a blank heart and nothing to fill it but you. Who wobbled away.
I always keep all my pieces contained in one me. One me with one piece of you
I never know anything all your other selves and wonder where…
I'm (Not) Falling To Pieces
Sister America
I am proud to be an American, and I still love our country, but she is like a desperately ill sister, and sometimes, I just can't watch.
The illness that creeps through her body is dementia, a chemical imbalance inherited from generations of mysticism and brutality. Carried like a recessive gene through the years, she has grown weary even of herself. She has delusions alternately of grandeur and of despair. She is caught in a bipolar spin out.
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