Writing Prompt #15
Today’s creative writing prompts are…. 1. The dogs of war have just been fed. 2. Yellow. Or, use the picture! Link this post in anything that you write, as always… Read More »Writing Prompt #15
Today’s creative writing prompts are…. 1. The dogs of war have just been fed. 2. Yellow. Or, use the picture! Link this post in anything that you write, as always… Read More »Writing Prompt #15
Follow my blog with Bloglovin So, it took more than 30 days as some days were missed, but I managed 30 days and had some lovely feedback from many of… Read More »The 30 Day Writing Challenge- A Review
Did David definitely dance down Devon, dear?
If you don’t do this, I will…
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“It wasn’t me!” I said, although it was a lie.
Where was Wendy when we were water-skiing?
Calmly, Claire closed the cover. Chapter-after-chapter of choice violence haunted her without a scar.
He was crying. Ruining the hard work of men in the forevers of history who have stood proud without shedding a tear.
The sky was luminous as we hot-footed into the park. I held your hand carefree, unhooking the dog from his reins. He ran. Enthusiastically skipping childlike from bush to bow to bark. These moments are ours to
But you are like a bolt out of the blue. The sparkle on the edge of a star. Everything has meaning and everything is full. Not just half full. No short measured optimism. The glass is full.
Not in sleep, but in the moments and hours between; I waste valuable seconds, minutes, and months on feeling instead of doing. Imagined futures and projected fantasies that come to nothing permeate the fog of a life lived in some half-awake state.
Mixed emotions flank the end of an illustrious career. Hard toil giving way to empty days. The rush of the nine-to-five now leaving space for brunch and afternoon tea.
Outside pack rear. Favourite place. Whistle blows. Black jammer takes lead. Double pip, the pack moves on.
Her footsteps crunching through crisp autumn leaves beat in time to the thud of her heart and the rasp of her breath. The rhythm grew pace as she corned the outer rim of the dusk soaked forest. She had left leaving too late, and now panic was in for the night.
Three thirty, on the dot. He sits. No paper. No dog. No pipe. He just sits.
So I guess I’m on a precipice. I like that. A big goddamn word. Like plateau. How do you like that fanciness?
Today’s challenge comes from Chris Hewitt who challenged me to write about what my dog Pablo was thinking. My wife and I got Pablo about eight weeks ago. He came… Read More »DAY 2 – 30 Day Writing Challenge