I’m taking a blogging break until the end of June.

Lately, I haven’t been a very good blogger buddy. You may have noticed I’m hit and miss on responding to comments and even making my visits, which I usually love.

The reason for this is I’ve been working hard on a project, which is very challenging for me. I’ve enjoyed it — well, most of the time – but it takes a lot of my energy. Consequently, many of my other activities, like blogging, have gotten a half-hearted effort. I don’t like this.

Two difficult lessons I’ve learned about myself: 1) I’m very persistent (meaning I don’t give up easily) and 2) I’m not very good at rationing my time.

I need to prove to myself whether or not I can accomplish this project and stay sane while doing it. Being divided is giving me excuses.

So, I’ve decided to give myself thirty days of working solely on the project. If I reach thirty days and I’m not much further than I am now, I will know it’s time to stop.

I’ll still make visits when I can, but this project will be my main focus. Well, that and taking time to rest and “smell the roses” occasionally.

I appreciate your patience and I’ll see you in May.

Frail webs glistening in dewy morning grass

Tiny leaf buds emerging on tree branches

Long gray beards of moss swinging from sturdy oak arms

Jet streams crisscrossing a cornflower blue sky

Mockingbird squadrons diving at a weary hawk

Squirrels playing “catch me” with raspy scratches on tree bark

Metal rods chiming in a wind conducted symphony

Bird wings fluttering to and from the feeder

Big fat raindrops showering diamonds on green leaves

Mourning doves lamenting life high in trees

Geese honking as they settle in for the night

Crickets chirping a crescendo as night swallows day

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Comments are closed because I’m at a conference all week. Have a great week:~)

Where I live there are numerous canopy roads. I’ve mentioned this before, but I’ve never been able to get a decent picture of the roads because they are tree-lined, narrow and frequently in use. Consequently, there’s no safe place to pull over and take pictures.

Lynn, author of Good Things Happened, shows beautiful pictures of Atlanta and other areas around there on her site. She frequently takes “windshield pictures,” but is always careful to mention she’s stopped when she takes these pictures. It’s fun to see what Lynn “sees” in her world. When you visit her site, be sure to click on the pictures to see them enlarged. They are lovely:~)

I figured if she could do it, it was worth a try. I took this picture from my car. It wasn’t easy, but I was lucky this day. The road was clear, allowing me to slow down and snap the picture. I liked it.

What struck me about this picture is that I captured the “bend in the road” and, of course, this made me think of the following story photo challenge:

Imagine you’re driving this road and are about to go around the bend, what do you see?

Ideas to play with: (Pick one you like)

1)  Create a short conversation about what you see between you and a passenger in the car about what’s around the bend.

2)  Describe whatever is around the bend in as much detail as you can.

3)  Make up something crazy and wild; something that will make me laugh out loud.

Quickie Challenge

Tell me about a favorite road in your area. Why do you like it? What’s special about the road? How do you feel when you’re on the road, whether driving, a passenger or walking?

Regina stepped on the bus. She was dressed simply – a white button-down shirt, jeans and scuffed boots. She wore no makeup and her long blond hair was in a ponytail. Heads turned as she walked down the aisle. The bus was crowded. She looked for an empty seat.

A heavyset man stood and said, “Take my seat. It’s by the window.” He lumbered over the woman sitting next to him. Regina thanked him. His face blossomed crimson and he mumbled, “I don’t mind standing for a pretty lady.”

The woman in the aisle seat rolled her eyes, straightening her clothes. Regina eased past her and sat down. She pulled out a paperback book from her big purse and tried to read, but felt the weight of the stares.

Men either stared outright or gave her furtive glances. Either way, their stares made her feel dirty somehow. The women’s stares were more subtle, but hurt the most. Their eyes searched for flaws. When they didn’t find any, they either froze her out or made snide comments, loud enough for her to hear.

It was because Regina was beautiful. Everyone said so. Her symmetrical cheekbones, full lips, smooth skin and wide-set eyes graced the covers of women’s magazines. If that wasn’t enough, her figure was as good as her face. One magazine cover called her “The Flawless One.”  Someone framed it for her, but she hid the frame in her dresser under a pile of old clothes.

Regina hated being beautiful. She never blended in anywhere. If she walked into a room, people noticed, but most were afraid to approach her. Boyfriends were intimidated; girlfriends hard to keep. Consequently, only a few people knew Regina had a delightful funky sense of humor, a love of poetry, a terror of taxis and a tendency to gab when nervous.

She looked out the window. The bus was approaching Bay Bridge. Half of it disappeared into thick fog. She smiled; being late for the beach shoot wouldn’t be a problem. They’d have to wait until the weather improved. Regina fell asleep to the thump-thump of the tires on the bridge.

A loud KA-BOOM woke her. Someone shouted, “A tire exploded.” The bus began to slide sideways, filling faces with terror. Horns blared and the screech of metal made Regina cringe. She glanced out her window and wished she hadn’t. A huge metal tower approached too fast. Glass splintered. Her head slammed into what was left of the window. Everything went black.

Years later, Regina stepped on a bus. She was dressed simply – a white button-down shirt, jeans and scuffed boots. She wore no makeup and her long blond hair was in a ponytail. Heads turned as she walked down the aisle. She found an empty seat and glanced around the bus. A few people gave her sympathetic looks, but most averted their eyes from the jagged scar on her face. With a contented smile, she opened her paperback book.

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Write at the Merge Prompt 17 gave us a choice of two pictures. I chose the one at the beginning of my 500-word story.

If you are a writer, you should check out Write On Edge and their excellent advice and prompts.

Photo Credit: pinhole 970, bridge © Darius Kuzmickas via Flickr

Picture One

Picture Two

Your Photo Challenge

What do you see?
How creative can you be?
Make up a story for me?

Take your pick of these
Say what your eye sees.
Please!

In the comment box:

Help me. Give me a clue
Did you pick One or Two?

What REALLY happened here?

Water is something I love
But coming from above
Making quite a big mess
It’s expensive I confess.

Have fun, be creative and enjoy:~)

It was late afternoon. Sassy was dressed in her blue striped cotton pajamas, lying on her mama’s couch, trolling through TV stations. She landed on a cooking show. The chef was making crepes.

For a second, she forgot. Crepes sound good. Maybe Dan could make them for her, wearing only the flowered apron. She giggled at the thought, but stopped as she remembered. Dan was dead. He’d never cook or make love to her again. She shut her eyes, trying not to cry.

Someone pushed her shoulder. She opened her eyes. Tommy, her six-year-old son, was watching her. “What’s wrong, Mama? Are you sick? Where’s Daddy?”

“I don’t know.” It was the only answer she had. With his blue eyes, bushy brows and inky black hair, Tommy looked just like his daddy. It hurt her to look at him. Big fat tears finally fell down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry, Mama.” Tommy tried to hug her, but his small pudgy hands were muddy. She pushed him away. Hurt filled his eyes. Ignoring it, she said, “Go outside, Tommy. Mama needs rest.” She shut her eyes, willing sleep to take her again.

But he stayed, begging with a wavering voice, “Mama, please get up.” He tugged on her hand; Sassy resisted. Tommy fell back, landing hard on his butt. He cried. She made no move to comfort him.

She looked up. Her mama stood in the doorway, glaring at her. “That’s enough, Sassy! Get dressed and come to the garden. Tommy, you come with me.” She and Tommy left. Neither of them looked back at Sassy.

She wanted to disobey, but knew better. Mama Jo’s tone said she meant business. Sassy pulled on dirty jeans and a stained t-shirt. A glance in the mirror, showed her tear-bloated face, matted and greasy hair, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered without Dan.

Once outside, she leaned against the porch railing, watching Tommy and Mama Jo talk near the fence covered in climbing roses and honeysuckle.

Tommy’s high pitched voice floated up to her. “Mama Jo, how can those soft white flowers grow among the sharp thorns of that rose bush?”

Mama Jo’s eyes looked up at Sassy. She spoke in her teacher’s voice. “Thorns are part of life, Tommy. That honeysuckle embraces them; it doesn’t fight them. That’s how its tender flowers survive. It’s a good lesson for all of us. Don’t you agree, Sassy Girl?”

Sassy felt the slap of her mother’s words. Tommy looked up; his blue eyes troubled. For the first time since Dan’s death, Sassy really saw her scared little boy. Mama Jo was right. She’d been so selfish. In battling her own pain, she’d forgotten about her son’s grief, but no more.

She walked down the steps following the scent of the honeysuckle to Tommy. Nervous, he edged closer to Mama Jo. Sassy’s heart ached, but she bent down and said, “Tommy, Daddy’s not coming home, but you and I are going to be just fine.”

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Write at the Merge gave us this quote by Emily Brontë from Wuthering Heights: “It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.”

My story is based on words in the quote:~)

Story Photo Challenge

Several years ago as a joke, my daughter gave me a magnetic poetry kit called “Mixed-Up Romance Novel.”

For whatever reason, the kit ended up in a drawer in my kitchen. During the renovation, I uncovered them and finally pulled them out to play.

Needless to say, the magnets are rather graphic fragments of language one might find in the romance novel. You know the kind with a cover showing a half-naked man holding a beautiful woman, dressed in a low bodice gown, which almost qualifies as a “wardrobe malfunction.”

Of course, I wasn’t going to use these words and phrases as they are supposed to be used. What’s the fun in that? Instead I gave myself the challenge of writing something not exactly “romantic” with the phrases.

Mind you, this isn’t actually easy to do since most of the words and phrases are like “burning desire,” “hungry loins” and “bursting passion.” And these are the milder ones:~)

I had to work at it. Below is my attempt.

(click to enlarge the picture)

Now, I challenge you to give it a go. Write something that would NEVER end up in a romance novel. In other words, PG or PG-13 ratings apply.

Rules:

1) Use the words/phrases in my picture and/or the EXTRA PHRASES listed below.

2) You can choose how many words you use and how many sentences you make.

3) Any form of writing is acceptable — poetry, free style, fiction, etc.

4) It’s okay to add an occasional extra article, pronoun or conjunction.

5) Put the words and phrases you use in CAPS.

EXTRA PHRASES: Just in case you need a few more phrases, here are some I didn’t use:~)

“wand of pleasure, her tattered dress, slowly licking, gleaming sword, her glistening body, on the lips, throbbing loins, the butler watched, quivering flesh and leather couch.”

Due to other commitments, this will be my only post for the week. Feel free to copy the image and play with this. Come back anytime between now and next Monday with your responses. Oh, and you can play with the words more than once, if another idea tickles your fancy.

Have fun with this:~)

(Best read out loud:~)

I am the cellar door
I have many rusty locks
Open me and hell or more
Will strip you down to your socks

I am the cellar door
I have unique secrets you see
Until the dweller poor
Opened me with the aged key

I am the cellar door
I possess such a mighty gale
From my propeller four
That fool became a coffin nail

Someone, close the damn cellar door.

image courtesy of Thor Carlson
(via Flickr Creative Commons)

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This short poem is written based on the prompt: So “cellar door” and a propeller… use either or both to craft your piece. Happy writing!

I did not adjust the color of the moon in this picture.

Creative Challenge

Write something no more than 150 words about the moon. You can choose to:

1) Write a description of an imaginary moon from another world

2) Write a haiku or a short poem about a moon

3) Make up your own creative challenge (just be sure to mention what your challenge was in the comment box)

Creativity isn’t there today?

Add your favorite moon poem or song. For example, I love an old song my mom used to sing to me. I gave you the lyrics to the main verse because it’s not a short song.

If I knew how to use audio, I’d sing it to you. Then again, maybe you’re glad I don’t know how to use audio on my site:~)

I see the moon

I see the moon, the moon sees me
The moon sees the one that I want to see
God bless the moon and God bless me
And God bless the one that I want to see

P.S. Sorry I’ve been so absent replying to your comments. I have been reading them, but the work paying the bills has been a demanding master as of late. Please forgive me. Hopefully, everything will be back to normal this week :~)