The amazing Tess at Magpie Tales challenges us weekly to flex our writing muscles and our imagination. She supplies a picture, we supply our words. Keep 'em coming. I enjoy these writing prompts. Hop over to her site and read all the creations and add your own. Thank you, Tess!
When I was very young my sister would tell me there were little people that would come and swim with her while she bathed. Being a fan of The Borrowers I hoped it was true. I thought only that my sister had a good imagination...until this week.
The Saturday Centus prompt this week is: "There's a yellow rose in Texas..."
Number of words: 100 PLUS the five words of the prompt for a maximum word count of 105
Style of writing: Any
Pictures: As many as you like
She cleaned the glass in the captain's quarters unaffected by the foot steps of soldiers long dead.
The fort where she worked summers has shown her many secrets: a shimmering Captain working at his desk, glimpses of military formations on the common, and the indescribable feeling of sadness from the prison barracks. All these she had seen or sensed during her late work hours at the fort.
People years gone had left their mark in the air, the wood, the stone of the old fort.
Clomp! Clomp! Clomp! The change of the evening guard was something she didn't look up for anymore. Although they were all around her and she could sometimes feel a breath on her cheek, she worked alone.
Tess Kincaid knows how to stretch your writing muscles. Each week she presents a picture and you're challenged to write a piece according to her directions at Magpie Tales.
Image by Alex Stoddard
The Frog and the Princess
The Evil Doer had long ago cast a spell on the handsome prince to spend his remaining life time as a frog. He became accustomed to the life he lived but discovered he still thought like a prince.
One day as he was hopping and croaking around the stream in the woods a young beautiful maiden bent to drink. Thinking like the male he was, he immediately jumped into the low cut bodice of her dress. The maiden laughed at the boldness of the frog. After gently removing him, she planted a soft kiss on his shiny green head.
Before her stood a handsome prince. The young maiden was not surprised. She had heard many tales about good luck when kissing a frog. The only thing that shocked her was the poor prince having popped out of his frog skin stood before her completely naked.
Lending him her cloak, she helped him back to his home where he was greeted with great delight. They had thought the prince has met some ghastly fate (which he actually had) and would never return to them.
Oh, how they celebrated his return and during it all, the young maiden stayed by his side.
They were married shortly thereafter and The Prince and Princess were very happy with only one problem.
Having spent most of his life as a frog the handsome prince could not stay out of the water. The royal aquarium was built in the woods near the castle and when the prince felt a need for the comfort of water, he climbed in.
The Princess insisted he wear underwear and they lived happily ever after.
Tess gives us a challenge. I love them! Each week we write using a picture she chooses as inspiration.
1) Write a poem or short vignette using the picture featured in this post as your inspiration. Feel free to take the photo to use for your post.
2) Link back to Magpie Tales from your post.
3) Sign up in the Mr. Linky list, linking directly to your post, AFTER you've posted.
Ms Jenny at Saturday Centus offers us a writing prompt each week. They are challenging. Many weeks I have to dig deep. This week was easy, a hundred and five exactly. I think I have mother issues. Mother has been long gone but she is still with me, bless her heart.
The prompt this week is: "Why oh why oh why..."
Number of words: 100 PLUS the five words of the prompt for a maximum word count of 105
Style of writing: Query
I’ve never felt talented or special. There was always something wrong with everything I did. Didn’t you know how hard I tried? Did I ever come close to making you proud?
I suppose I should thank you for giving me this drive to always be better, ever striving to be the best at whatever I tried to do.
“No job is worth doing if you don’t do it right.” I’ve heard that a thousand times.
Now I am an obsessed adult still trying to please my mother. Mom, why oh why oh why could you never just once say, “Good job. I’m proud of you.”?
and I'm not talking about Sesame Street (is that even on any more?) I'm talking CSI, NCIS, SVU. Shows like that pull me in not for the death and gore but for the mystery of who done it and how we gonna prove it. I watch Bones, too. Although not really an alphabet show, the title is short and only has five letters so it lands right after NCIS.
I love a good mystery and they are hard to find today without the gore so I endure gore for the thrill of the hunt. Do you really think they can track spores that only grow in a certain place to find a killer...it stretches my imagination but it still pulls me in...hopelessly hooked. Then I never remember the schedule. I think I'm at least a year behind on most of them. Thank goodness for the channels that have the reruns.
I don't do a lot of tv but that's okay. I can catch up anytime.
A few asked which painting sold. I am surprised and honored that someone would think it worthy of purchase.
I am not an artist. I paint for the love of painting. When I began I used cardboard because I could always throw it away. With my first canvas I stood frozen with fright that I might mess it up. It took me a while to become comfortable on a canvas. I would paint over many before my sister stopped me saying, progression should never be covered that each of my paintings told a story, a phase of me.
The feeling when I paint is indescribable. There is nothing but me and the paint. The paint tells me what to do. Just as when I write the fingers do the work not me. Strange, I know but sometimes it's fun being strange.
I sold a painting this week, not enough for me to retire but it was an honor to know that someone liked it enough to pay money to take it home. It was almost a bittersweet experience but I know it is loved and that makes it easier.
I have a mention on the famous author's blog, Alex Cavanaugh . I did land on the Jester post but that's an honor. Alex and I love to spar with words...it is a delight and a challenge, but when it comes to a battle of wits with Alex, I am poorly armed. Alex visits my other blog, Familiar Spirit, and always has a humorous comeback. Thank you, Alex, for the honor of including me in your Jester post.
when he wakes with a blue tongue. Cobalt blue! When asked about what he had eaten, he replied nothing blue.
He was shocked when he brushed his teeth and blue hit the sink instead of the red of the toothpaste. An immediate report was made to the adults. We examined, we oohed, we awed and Andrew was not amused. I offered him ten bucks to let me take a picture. He refused. Papa was then offered ten bucks to pry Andrew's mouth open so I could take a picture. Andrew disappeared.
After much serious thought, the blue tongue mystery remains. No cotton candy nor snow cones nor early blue Easter candy nor and colored products had been consumed.
I googled blue tongue. It's a serious disease that does affects cud-chewing animals but not pigs and young men. Mark that one off. Since Andrew's health was not affected, we did not worry.
Papa mentioned, April Fool's Day may have arrived late. Andrew searched the pantry til he found blue food dye and blamed innocent Papa of squirting blue dye in his mouth as he slept.
After reviewing the food Andrew had eaten the day before, I came up with the instant dark chocolate pudding theory. My logic: All colors are used to make black, dark chocolate, food clings to the taste buds of the tongue. Since he did not brush his teeth before bed time. I believe all colors disappeared with the pudding except blue which stayed on his tongue.
I did place some blue clean tablets in Andrew's bathroom today. I warned him not to drink the water from the toilet bowl due to the possible return of the blue tongue malady.
Several weeks ago, we purchased plywood at a pretty penny to repair some weak spots in the lodge. Well, the hubby has repaired maybe four square feet then he wandered off to fence building. I'm gonna write a date on this plywood to see exactly how long this project takes to completion.
I don't complain, it is a waste of energy and too negative in a world full of negatives. On the other hand with the plywood laid out in my computer room floor with all its wonderful arches and bows. I do get a little frustrated. When my computer chair rolls me completely under my computer desk and I have to hold myself away with my feet, I get a tad frustrated. When I rise, the computer chair rolls wildly across the plywood and ricochets off the wall. I am totally discombobulated.
I was thrilled when he had completed one area. I proceeded to paint a section in Andrew's bathroom and about half way through, I realized there are no vents. Now, vents are an essential part of our floor heating system. So at this point the partially painted floor boards have no vent outlets. I quit.
On the brighter side, the cows have a pasture filled with green grass for their tremendous pleasure.
After moving the cattle, hubby mowed the yard, partially. All you farmers know how important perimeter fences are but hubby puttered along making groups of fencing so he can rotate the cattle and the grass will not be over grazed. Pasture Management 101 was a class missed by hubby. When his erratic fence joins into a nice whole pasture maybe he will realize I have been a farmer far longer than he has. Maybe, just maybe, a light will go off and he will know I was right.
Two shots, too late, too tired to do anything but too mortified at my laziness to just sit. That was my Tuesday.
A steroid shot, a B12 shot, nasal spray and meds may have this crud on the run. Doc thinks it's the record high pollen count in our area that has everyone under the weather. Yesterday, I had trouble breathing and that is too scary to think about. I've been sleeping very little and when I slept it was almost in an upright position made with mountains of too many pillows for a bed. I'm not a patient sick person. I refuse to accept rest may be the best thing. Since Horehound Candy (although it did stop the coughs) and Vick's salve didn't cure it, I had to seek medical attention...and that gets my goat! I, the stubborn, the know-it-all should be able to cure myself but humbly I submitted to real medical treatment.
Hubby waits to be scheduled for his pacemaker/defibrillator thingy. We hope the schedule accommodates us before it is too late. Does he sit and worry? Nope, out building fence. Good man.
And the very things that cause my malady bring me such pleasure it is hard to be mad at Spring.
I did restock cleaning supplies while I was out but for the life of me as much as I have waved my arm at them not one bottle of cleaning stuff has started doing the job without me.
I have spend my afternoon lazily reading the talent posted at The Mag. It is so amazing how every one has the same picture and yet seventy-five different, talented tales with poetry and prose are posted.
I hear the grass growing. The dust bunnies are having a party while the spiders are busily spinning their intricate traps for food as I write this yet something compels me to ignore it all and rest...
Tess Kincaid has a wonderful writing challenge. There are no limits or named styles for you to follow. Just create the words from your take on the picture she supplies each week. The magic of Mr Linky (and I'm not talking dirty!) allows you to connect your published interpretation of the weekly photo and visit all who joined the party.
This week's prompt by Tess had me bumfuzzled for a while but I came up with something...I always do. I thoroughly enjoy these challenges, it stretches my imagination and causes ideas to surface that I never would have guessed were in me.
The Eagle Landed.
Tracking the eagle hadn't been easy especially in his city clothes but he had an idea where she was going with her bundle and he followed. Tripping over briers, falling, and crying out with the frustration and the fear of failing, he continued, determined.
Climbing the bluff, he had to rest often, not accustomed to this type of exertion. His heart, his fear kept him going. This had to be a success, there was no choice.
Spotting the nest, the eagle was no where in sight. Was this a good sign or a bad omen?
Racing, stumbling across the plateau, he approached the nest. The habit of taking off his shoes as he entered his home was done without any thought.
What lay before him was not within his scope of imagination. He had read horror stories of giant eagles swooping up pets and children. He had never believed until today.
They had been in their own yard in suburbia with nothing to fear except where the newspaper boy threw the daily newspaper. He and his daughter were laying on the manicured lawn, untouched by the natural world. They had just finished a giggly game of "This little piggie..." and he had walked five steps to retrieve his iced tea from the lawn table.
The large female eagle had swooped down and in mere seconds had clasped the tiny human bundle in her enormous claws and just as swiftly climbed the air with her wings. Up and toward the mountains, her flapping wings had carried his heart, his soul, his child with her.
As he crouched in the nest with no thought of danger, he observed his daughter laying with the eagle fledglings. There was blood, but wait, she was moving. The small eaglets seem to be mesmerized by the food gift their mom had dropped into the nest as she returned to the hunt.
The child, just slightly scratched where the giant eagle had clutched her, was quietly playing with the fledglings' toes. He thanked all the gods that ever were hearing his daughter giggle as she said, "And this little piggy stayed home".