Blog challenge · Daily Prompt · Humor · Mi Vida Loca · postaday

The Story of the Woebegone Office Chair

it really does need vacuuming! lol
it really does need vacuuming! lol


I walk into my home office and it glares at me. Stopping in the doorway, I look at its poor scarred face and feel guilty.

The poor thing should have been retired years ago, but I can’t seem to let it go. It’s gray with age, has small snags and rips from the cat’s claws. It needs a good vacuuming also. So much hair on it, as the cats like to lay across its back and watch the birds out the window.

Its hydraulic lift doesn’t always work anymore either. Sometimes when I sit down it will slowly lower itself. I then have to get up and raise it higher. I mutter to it, but then feel guilty as I know it’s old and tired.

Even though it’s old, it is the most comfortable of chairs. My butt feels at home in it. I can sit for hours, and most days do, without discomfort.

I’ve tried to retire it a few times. I really had good intentions of doing so. I have bought shiny new office chairs to take its place. They are never the same though, they don’t have that softness for my butt that this one has. The backs are not high enough so I don’t feel drafts on my neck. They are usually just not up to my old one’s standards. So I give them away or put them someplace else and take my gray one out of retirement.

I know if it could talk it would beg me to retire it for good, but I can’t. I need it too much. I love it and it would break my heart to give it up. I do apologize to it every day. I pat it and say, “Sorry I can’t let you go. Maybe one day I can find and afford a younger one. But not today Mr. Chair, not today.”

I hear its heart-felt sigh as it slowly lowers when I sit down. I get up, give it a loving pat and raise it again. Swear to it that I will vacuum it soon and then sit down once again.

Every day we go through the same routine. I feel the same guilt. Then I sit down in it and feel the comfort of an old companion and whisper, ‘I love this chair’.



This post was done for the Daily Post, Wronged Objects prompt.


Blog challenge · Daily Post Writing Challenge · Fiction · stories · writing

Writing Challenge~~~ Tracks Backward

Source:Cheri Lucas Rowlands/The Daily Post
Source:Cheri Lucas Rowlands/The Daily Post


I had been here before, a long time ago.  Deja Vu.  I was about 10, just a damn kid. The world was all ready a hard place to be in.

Abandoned by a good-looking, smooth talking traveling man, my mother ended up eight and half months later with me. I was impatient to come into this god forsaken world back then. Came early, some say I sent my mother to her grave. I say, to hell with them. My mother sent herself to the grave. I was eight when she finally had enough of the hard life and just laid down and died. She gave up. I won’t ever give up. It’s not in me.

The group of misbegotten, ragtag bunch of idiots that my mother had hooked up with were a superstitious lot. Took it out on me. A small red-headed girl with one green eye and one blue eye. They said I was the product of the devil. For a couple of years after my mother died, I just hung out on the fringe of the group and tried to survive the best I could. They took turns throwing me scraps to eat and cuffing my ears when I let them get too close.

I had just turned 10 when they decided to get rid of me. They weren’t brave enough to kill me themselves, so they thought the wolves in the wild would do their dirty work for them. So they gathered a few of my belongings up, a bit of bread and rotten cheese and left me at these railroad tracks to fend for myself.

In the middle of damned nowhere. Just a set of rusty, disused rail tracks and me. If I wouldn’t have let my guard down they never would have had the drop on me. I was so tired. I drifted off to sleep and a couple of brave men of  the group put a sack over me and tied me in it. They tossed me over a rough boney shoulder. I didn’t yell or scream, I remember that. Never was one for wasting my energy on something that wasn’t going to work anyhow.  They walked what seemed like forever in my mind, barely talking to each other. When they got to these tracks they tossed me to the ground and just walked off.

Took me  a long time to finally work myself out of that damn sack. By then my anger was burned deep inside of me. I swore I would get revenge. First though I had to survive long enough to figure out how to get that well deserved revenge. When I got out of that sack it was coming dark. I found my pitiful bundle of belongings laying a few feet to the side of me. I ate the bread and moldy cheese. I was always hungry back then. So a bit of mold didn’t bother me none.

While I ate, slowly chewing the tough bread I took a look around. All I could see in the dusk was trees, lots of trees and those old railway tracks. I knew the trains weren’t running anymore. I had overheard some of the group talking about the trains not running after the last world war pretty much desecrated the country, hell the world from what I heard. Bands of people got together after the war and survived best they could. Too bad my mother hooked herself up with one of the worst.

For some reason I remember not being scared. Nothing much frightened me back then. Still doesn’t. I was more curious than scared. I knew about the wolves of course. Anyone who spent anytime out here knew about them. But they fascinated me. The group with their stupid superstitions were terrified of them.

I used to sneak out in the woods at night and watch the wolves. I would lay still as I could for hours and just watch and learn.

Who knew that all that watching, that learning, would help me survive. Those wolves turned out to be my best friends. My family, my survival.

Now I was back. I was older, smarter, and deadlier. My revenge would happen soon.



This story was done for the The Daily Post’s Weekly Writing challenge. Let me know what you think. I may add on to it on a later date.





Blog challenge · Daily Post Writing Challenge · Fiction · Uncategorized · writing

WRITING CHALLENGE A Lost Art ~~ The Future Looks To The Past

The Daily Post: WRITING CHALLENGE A Lost Art

For this week, we want to hear your thoughts on the hand-made, the tangible, about all those things we experience when disconnected. Are we losing them, or learning to savor them more?

  • Tell us about a lost art or skill that you know, or that you think needs to be revived.
  • For fiction writers, craft a story that centers around a slower pace of life, where there’s always time to talk and Smartphones stay in your pocket at dinner. Or, better yet, tell us about the extremes of our fast pace of life. What would it be like if we never stopped to smell the roses?
  • What’s a skill that you think needs to be replaced by something better or automated? Use your imagination! Who knows, maybe someone else agrees that grocery shopping robots are the way of the future.
  • Tell us what it means to really lose something. Once something is gone, can it never come back?


This writing challenge got me to thinking of the future and what it might be like. What if we were so far into the future we no longer had need of paper, trees were sacred, the government was out of control (not that they aren’t now but it could get so much worse). What if letter writing was a thing of myths? That is how far into the future, I wanted to go with this. So here is my take on that. It’s in the form of the lost art of letter writing. A woman writing in this lost art that she heard of from an elder that only read about it once in a long forgotten ancient tome, in a world that has revolted against the monitoring of all communication and oppression of the government. Yeah, it created a spark of creativity and this is what came from that spark.




Hello Mike,

I hope this writing finds you. I know it’s a very old-fashioned way of communicating. In fact, I always thought it was a myth. But we happened to find an elder who vaguely remembers their elder talking about this way of communicating with people. So I’m giving it a try in the hopes it will find its way to you.

We need to find a way of communicating all over again. After the devastation of our world from wars and natural disasters. The people don’t trust the government anymore as they continuously monitor all our other ways of communication. They arrest people on whims of ass kissers and people who have the money in the world. So most of the people have left the monitored cities and are now trying to survive in the wastelands that are outside the city bubbles. Some of the brave men, women and children have all ready either lost their lives through accidents or been picked up by the government drones as spies and been killed.

We can no longer trust the ways that we have known, so we need to find new ways. Or go so far back we use arcane ideas of our distant past. This is one of them. It’s called ‘letter writing’. Yes, I know, it’s not letter writing really, it’s more word writing. I’m just telling you what the elder called it. She called it ‘letter writing’ and said the people of the past used pens or pencils (still not sure I understand what those are) and something called paper. The paper came from trees! Can you imagine that Mike? Now the trees are so protected one doesn’t want to kill it, just to turn it into something else. The idea is ludicrous!

We, of course, don’t have paper, so I am writing this on cloth. I’m using a white shirt I found and a piece of stone that the elder said would work. It does too, it’s amazing! It is very laborious writing this way, as we were so used to just talking into our wrist units to talk to anyone, anywhere. No one really wrote to people. But we have to do something that won’t be tracked by the government of the world.

We are asking volunteers to carry these letters to different places to pass them on to the next person till it reaches its destination. We’ve been making plans for this for months. We discussed with a few elders that remember reading about ‘post offices’ way in the distant past. These post offices had people who delivered these letters to the people they were meant for. Of course, having post offices is unthinkable, but the eldest Elder remembered reading a book once long ago about what they called “pony Express”. They actually used horses for this! Can you wrap your brain around that, Mike? Animals! The only horses any of us have seen have been in controlled zoos. We could never get our hands on one of them. So we will use what we have plenty of resources of, people.

It will take months if not years to deliver this letter. And then it’s only if the person carrying it does not die from some horrible accident or get caught by the government drones. We can only hope for the best.

So Mike, I am hoping this letter thing does reach you at some point. So you will know that your life partner is well and alive and where I’m at. I will wait for your reply or for your coming to me in person which would be the best scenario. When we revolted and made a run for it, I couldn’t get in touch with you when you were half way across the world. It had to happen that quickly. But I knew where you were and that you were making a run for it at the same time. It’s just I’m here and you are there, but we are free Mike, free! The government will not find us, we are certain. I can only hope that you are just as safe and will make your way to me, if you haven’t all ready.

Let’s just hope this thing called letter writing actually works. The elder has assured me that she has read the it did indeed work, even though it was so terribly slow in it’s getting anywhere. So I am sending it your way. If you start this way and I start your way, maybe in a year or two we will finally be reunited. I am hoping the powers that be help us in this. Stay safe and I will try to do the same.

Till we are reunited. I bid you farewell.




Blog challenge · Blogging · Fiction · Humor · stories · Uncategorized · writing

Weekly Writing Challenge: Fifty

For this week’s WordPress weekly writing challenge, you must write a fifty-word story. Not five thousand, not five hundred, but precisely fifty words.





My palm is sweaty where I  grasp you, my hand against your firmness.  My breath quickens when I think of what is to come. A long term affair continues. My eyes close, lips purse. First your smell hits my nose. Ah, so seductive, you are.  Coffee, how I love thee.







  1. Life goes on… as it never ends | The Chaos Within
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  9. SnapPost #1 | Life. In Light Of Eternity.
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  13. Crashing Dreams | The Silver Leaf Journal
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  15. Swiss Secrets | A Nerdy Geek’s blog
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  29. Another Day | loyal muse
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  31. Fifty word challenge | Indigo Dreamfire
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Blog challenge · Blogging · Mi Vida Loca · nonfiction · Stories of my life · Uncategorized · writing

Weekly Writing Challenge: Golden Years

For this week’s writing challenge, we’re asking you to explore what age means to you. Is it the loss of youth, or the cultivation of wisdom? Do things get better as you grow older, or worse? There are many ways to interpret age, often depending on your relationship with the passing of time.




Age, we all age. In years, in experiences, in memories, in how we view things. We all age, unless we die young. For this writing challenge I’m going to take you on a road most have never been, except me. I’m going to take you down MY road.

In November, for NaNoWriMo I started writing my memoirs. Now I‘ve lived a long time. No, I’m not going to say how old I am, but take my word for it. It’s been a long time since my mother pushed me so rudely out into the world.

When I was writing my memoirs, I began to realize a few things. One, I’m amazed I’m still alive! Two, I’ve been through a lot of shit. Three, I’m still amazed I’m still alive! Ok, maybe that’s repeating myself, but I could have died any number of times. Just wasn’t my time.

(Age 0 to now) From day one I haven’t had it easy. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not whining about it. It is what it is and I’ve survived. We all have choices in this world, depending on what choices we make, it could go badly, or well.

(Age 5 to 16) I’ve had friends from childhood that made their choices and it did not end well. I made other choices. Oh some were not the best and some were downright stupid. But I own them and give no excuses as I made my choices at the time the best I knew how.

(Age 3 to 10) I was born the second youngest of a family of 4 siblings. I wasn’t planned and I wasn’t wanted. How do I know this? My mother told me this several times. I believe her. I was born in a time when you kept your kids, whether you wanted them or not. So there I was. We were very poor when I was young. I remember eating ketchup or lard sandwiches. Yeah, lard, you know, animal fat. Back then you could buy it in big tubs. That’s what people cooked with before we knew it was bad for us.

My mother would spread the lard on a piece of bread and sprinkle sugar on it. We kids ate it and were glad to have something to eat.

(Age 2 to 9) Then growing up was hard. I was sexually abused for years by a family member. Since I was about 2 or 3 till I was nine. So coming from that I could have made wrong decisions and gotten into alcohol and drugs. But I didn’t. Those were my choices. I didn’t do it. I watched a childhood friend go that route when she was abused by someone. She became a prostitute and a drug addict. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. I doubt it.

I’m not saying I’m stronger than my friend was. I’m not. I just made different choices. I choose to bury myself in books. But I suffered in other ways. I became painfully shy, especially with boys and men. For  a while I hated myself. Sometimes I still do. I would gain weight just so I was unattractive. So you see, I made different choices.

(Age 18 to now) Then I made a choice to leave home, as my mother and I never got along. I moved in with a friend and she almost killed me. Twice. I wrote about that before here. I don’t blame her, as her mind broke and she didn’t have any choices, they were taken away from her. But it is part of my history. I could have died by her hands easily.

After that I moved briefly to Mississippi. For a man, of course. Needless to say it didn’t work out as he was a major asshat, not to mention he was a mama’s boy and mama didn’t like me. I moved to Texas after 6 months of him calling me names and fights. He was the only man I punched.  Ha! He called me a whore, I punched him in the face. A few days later I was on a bus to Texas and my little brother. Again choices. Some not so good.

I lived and worked in Texas for almost a year when I met my ex. Yeah, another bad choice. I married him, he turned out to be a major narc, I went into deep depressions.

Then I got cancer. And another depression. Now I know these things were not choices. They were just something that happened. I had no control over the cancer. Not much over the depression until I got mad and whipped its butt. That was where the choice came in. I got lucky and I know it. Most people can not beat depression on their own. I know this and I am deeply respectful of those people. It’s not an easy fight with or without drugs and counselling.

The first depression could have been my last as I contemplated suicide. I had the gun in my hand, ready to do it. My four dogs saved my life. Another story I wrote about on here.

The second time I found out I had cancer and my ex was a major douchcouch. I had lost my last of 4 babies. Miscarried. He refused to talk about it as usual. I kept the pain inside. I was told I had cancer, he refused to talk about it. I went into a major depression. After a couple of years I crawled out of the depression and was cancer free. Yeah, I should have died then too. Because I ignored the cancer.

I left the narc. We divorced and he stalked me for 5 years. My best friend was terrified he was going to harm me. I believed her. I moved back to Wisconsin, where I was from. He showed up one day. I left and moved to Canada. To this day I believe he meant me harm. Where I was living in Wisconsin there was a whole forest to hide my body.

There were of course, lots of other things in between these life changing events. But I don’t want to bore you. As I said I’ve been alive a long time. Sometimes I have no idea how I managed.

As for now, I’m thinking of another life changing event. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’m hoping it will soon. That won’t be dangerous, I’m sure it won’t. Unless some critter gets me. I’ll just have to wait and see.

Lives are about choices. Good, bad, and ugly. We can regret things, hold hate inside, fury or some other destructive emotion, till it eats us up. Or we can let it all go and rejoice in being alive for another day. Choices.

I prefer celebrating. So it comes down to age, years lived. For me age is just a number, granted, it’s a relatively high number, but it’s all good. Don’t be afraid of aging. Don’t worry when the years rack up and you see a bit more wrinkles, a bit more gray in the hair. Be thankful you got this far and look to the horizon for more years to add to your age. You’ll be fine.





  1. Here’s The Thing About Age (That No One Seems To Know) | Sammi Talk
  2. Worlds Apart | Apoplectic Apostrophes
  3. Death and Suffering: A fear of the Unknown | Thorough and Unkempt
  4. The Path | siobhanmcnamara
  5. Weekly writing challenge, the Golden years : It’s all Gold, a 95 word story | Challenged for Words
  6. Weekly Writing Challenge: Golden Years | Wendy Karasin – Musings of a Boomer
  7. Turning 26 | Eclecticfemale’s Blog
  8. Teenage years? | Paper Plane Pilots
  9. Meaning of age | MamaAsparagus
  10. Beauty In A Plastic Age | the TEMENOS JOURNAL
  11. The Young Old Lady, Mrs.Thopmson | alifemoment
  12. Twenty-seven: The Year of My Death | Schizo Incognito
  13. Weekly Writing Challenge: Golden Years: After the Lights Went Out: The Lost Years | Just Be V
  14. Wrinkles | The Seminary of Praying Mantis
  15. Weekly Writing Challenge: Golden Years | Sarah Alison
  16. On Being 22 | motor city blondie
  17. Bending God. | thejimmieG
  18. If You Could Have Immortality..Would You Take It? | B.Kaotic
  19. “HIM” Weekly Writing Challenge | standinginthestorm
  20. Weekly Writing Challenge: Perspective Through The Ages | Fit 4 Life, LLC
  21. Aging like a fine Wine | C Life, Live Life
  22. “Can I See Your ID Please?” | littleladyme
  23. Birthday March | accidentallyreflective
  24. The Golden Years : Fashion Sense Vs. Fashion Sensibility | The Day After
  25. youth | yiching lin photography




Blog challenge · Fiction · Humor · poetry · Uncategorized · writing

Weekly Writing Challenge: Threes~~Sheila’s Poem

In this week’s writing challenge, you’ll write a post using three photographs for inspiration.

You can choose to write a post inspired by a response to the “Threes” photo challenge, or you can write your post based on three photos you supply.

This week I am going to be different…..again. Yeah, I do that a lot. I am going to post a poem or verse or whatever it’s called. haha! Included is three pictures that relate together and to the verse. It’s a bit different as I did it in collaboration with someone else, who wishes to remain anonymous.

My friend and I were talking via email and this friend was lamenting the fact of their singleness. So with tongue firmly in cheek we came up with this little thing. Hope you enjoy. It’s called Sheila’s Poem (not their real name).



The Undemanding Girlfriend Poem

by Sheila

My name is Sheila and celibacy

has been my way of life

Strictly have I lived its creed

for nigh on twenty years.

Now is my time to change, to stop

thinking about it and just do it,

Time to be the woman I can be to the fullest.

It will be a challenge, as so many

things in this life are.

I know my bits are all rusty, crusty and musty

But I’m putting myself out there near and far.

I am the ultimate undemanding girlfriend of your dreams.

Now I will require very little,

Your love and affection, of course

Your loyalty and devotion.

Your understanding that everything up until now

has been my way and no other.

It may take me a while to adjust.

To understand your ways,

I am big on compromise,

So have no fear about that.


You can  lift the toilet seat up,

but please leave it down.

And when you sit upon the throne,

leave no curly hair deposits in your wake

to make me frown.

I am your ultimate undemanding girlfriend of your dreams.

I like my tea of a morning,

as the sun tips the horizon in red.

A little cinnamon toast would be a nice touch,

fruit loaf my preferred bread, sliced thin.

Fresh baked that morning,

is the only way to have it, you know.

It’s just a short twenty-minute drive,

to Archies Harbourside Bakery, please don’t be slow.

When back you come, tea and toast

on breakfast tray,

Resplendent with a fresh-cut rose,

You remember I did mention that, no?

I am your ultimate undemanding girlfriend of your dreams.

As I shower and perform those necessary functions

A lady of beauty must see to each morning to thrive

You’ll clear the breakfast dishes,

wash and wipe up, oh and scrub the kitchen,

you never know when company might arrive.


When I enter our sitting room,

my morning coffee, ground fresh I’m sure with love,

Will be set upon the glass-topped table,

The one with the starched napkins,

you so graciously provide.

We will sit and enjoy the morning sun.

You leaving me temporarily to fix the bed,

Tucked corners, stretched tight,

fluff my pillows, I’m sure you’ll remember

just how I like them, won’t you have fun!

I am your ultimate undemanding girlfriend of your dreams.

Beside the pool, the one you so beautifully cleaned,

Sits our pool furniture, the best your money could buy.

Occasionally I will dip my toes into the water,

Call you for the towel, the good one of course

For I cannot afford the risk of getting wet.

My nails, my hair, you understand

I shall help you my love in the garden,

I am experienced in horticultural pursuits.

Our garden will look a picture,

with your muscle and my ideas we can’t fail.

Don’t forget your boots.

I have gifted you every garden tool

you will ever need to use,

to keep the weeds at bay.

I will be happy to supervise as you

trim  the orchids, roses and

my favorite petunias too.


I am your ultimate undemanding girlfriend of your dreams.

Our lives will be lived in constant bliss,

I will guide you,

lead you to perfection

It won’t kill you but you may

feel a little off a bit.

But my love, what can be gained

without a little pain?

Our love will be cemented,

our lives self-directed

My love will be there for you,

Ticked off as you complete each

little task I ask of you.

I’m sure you will handle

the south wing renovations.

I saw your bank account my love,

You have more than enough

to cover the costs.

Though if you paint it yourself,

it will save you a lot.

What a life we have ahead of us,

for me to awaken each day

seeing your back heading

to the kitchen,

Knowing with all your love

you are preparing my tea.

As I doze in the half-light of dawn.

You do your little bit

to make this relationship the treasure it is.

I am your ultimate undemanding girlfriend of your dreams.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Abandoned, 03.03.14 | Markie’s Daily Blog

Blog challenge · Blogging · Mi Vida Loca · nonfiction · poetry · Uncategorized · writing

Weekly Writing Challenge: Object

Objects are evocative; they hold stories. The writing challenge this week is to begin with an object. Take something small, and concrete — a thing, a noun — and use that as a starting point.

I began thinking what I could use as an object for my challenge. I looked all over my home office, nothing came to mind. I sat and thought and thought and thought, nothing came to mind. I decided to do some other things to clear my mind of everything.  Start with a blank canvas so to speak. It usually works for me and sure enough, it did again.

I had the object I wanted to write about. It was perfect. It meant a lot to me. It held great meaning. It was a simple object, yet with so many emotions attached to it. Below is that object.


Dad's coffee cup (c) JLPhillips 2014
Dad’s coffee cup (c) JLPhillips 2014


It usually sits in a glass cupboard with other things I value. So it’s a bit dusty, a bit dirty, but means so much.

It was my Dad’s favorite coffee cup according to my mom. My dad died a little over ten years ago from prostate cancer. I loved my dad. So this coffee cup holds lots of memories and love.

Sometimes I take it out of the cupboard and just hold it in my hands and think of him. I talk to him and tell him I miss him and I wish I could see him one more time. I tell him that I would have been there as he passed to tell him I loved him if I could have.

But I wasn’t there. That makes me so sad sometimes.

My mother sent me this cup several years after Dad died. You see, the time of his death is doubly sad as I wasn’t on speaking terms with my family at the time. No one told me he had died till several months after the fact. I never got my chance to say I loved him, I never got my chance to say good-bye.

I believe he knew I loved him. My dad and I could communicate silently. We did it most of our lives. He was a quiet man, kept to himself a lot. But, I always could talk to him. He was always honest with me. I appreciated that fact.

So even though this cup never gets filled with coffee anymore, it’s filled with other things. Memories, love, forgiveness, and peace.


It’s just a cheap glass coffee cup

But inside, it’s not empty

as memories fill it to the brim

Memories of quiet talks when no one else was around

of flower beds and growing things

that surrounded you

of black coffee with just a touch of sugar

and a doughnut on the side

This cup isn’t empty at all

as my love fills it up to be drank by the ghosts

of the past

Long fingers on strong hands grasping

the handle with care

This may look like an old cheap glass coffee cup

but to me it’s much more

It’s you Dad, I love you

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  16. Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | Of Glass & Paper
  17. Me, the Fockers and a Cosmo. | Hope* the happy hugger
  18. Bicycle Balancing Act | Wright Outta Nowhere
  19. Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | medicinalmeadows
  20. Three Red Chairs | The Silver Leaf Journal
  21. Weekly Writing Challenge: Object – My Grandma’s Reindeer | Blogizing
  22. Can You Hear Me Now? | thatchristalgirlsblog
  23. L’Object de Superflu | Perceptive Pot Clueless Kettle
  24. Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | Morrighan’s Muse
  25. DP Challenge: ONLY IF SOME BOOKS COULD SPEAK | one hundred thousand beats per day
  26. Second-Hand Tsukumogami | Fish Of Gold
Blog challenge · Blogging · Fiction · poetry · writing

Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence


There are multiple ways of interacting with silence: purposefully leaving something unsaid, breaking the silence around a topic, or, quite simply, getting tongue-tied. For this week’s challenge, we want you to take the theme of silence and explore it in your own way.


For this week’s writing challenge I really tested myself. I did poetry, again. I’m beginning to like this! Eventually I will even get better at it. I decided to show my softer side, romantic, even some might say. It just came to me and I ran with it. Hope you enjoy what you read.



In silence we walk, hands clasped, fingers locked.

Slowly we make our way along the beach

Smiling softly, we walk close together

Shoulders touching as intimately as a soft kiss

In silence we walk, knowing words do not need to be spoken

For we talked all night before the dawn

We learned so much of each other during those hours

It plays back in our minds, in slow motion

In silence we walk, content within our hearts

Almost strangers, yet as close to each other as lovers

For we are getting there from our words to each other

From the night before

In silence we walk, our footsteps muffled in the sand

A wind surrounding us in its warm cocoon

The sun peeking over the water, golden rays sparkling

As the water flows and ebbs and covers our tracks

In silence we walk, content to be touching ever so slightly

It is all we need in this moment of quiet

Two old souls, growing close with words, not even spoken

Each smile, each glance, each kiss draws us in

In silence we walk, words have no place here

Not yet, soon they will make their noise

But for now we rejoice in the absence of chatter

Hands clasped, fingers locked, satisfied, for now

  1. When The Silence Almost Deafens You | Unload and Unwind
  2. Classy Broad
  3. The Day I Found My Voice | A Path of Living Stones
  4. When you said “Nobody loves you” | So Not Simple
  5. Finding what you didn’t know you were looking for… | Crap I Blog About
  6. WWC: The Sound of Silence | Learning the Anishinaabe Way
  7. Who Said So? | Buzzy Beez
  8. Silence challenge | knovak616
  9. The Silence Welcomes Me | StormieSteele
  10. Weekly Writing Challenge: Have you seen me? | Life of A Fallen Angel
  11. Silence | Perspectives on life, universe and everything
  12. The Things We Don’t Say | A Sign Of Life
  13. Breaking The Sound Of Silence | At least we made it this far…
  14. In the silence of a word | MC’s Whispers
  15. From Silence Came Wisdom | Lifeinpawprints’s Weblog
  16. Blog challenge – The sound of silence « Defy The Narrative
  17. Could the end of ‘that time of the month’ be related to that time of the year? | Minnesota Transplant
  18. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | Echoes of My Past
  19. Good Grief |
  20. silence and snow | from dreams to plans
  21. Weekly Writing Challenge: Sounds of Silence | Reflections and Nightmares- Irene A Waters (writer and memoirist)
  22. Jumpers for goalposts… | Dreaminspice
  23. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | Pop-Culture-Referenced
  24. The Silent Sisters | 22 going on 33
  25. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | Bringing Out the God-Colors in the World
  26. Suicide no. 27: Vow of Silence | derekalanwilkinson
  27. Silent White | Mary J Melange
  28. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | Your Original LUPUSDIVA….
  29. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | No Apologies
  30. Cable Cut-off | The Zombies Ate My Brains
  31. Silence so Loud | My Weigh To Lose
  32. Silencing the Critics’ Chorus | V Learns Something New
  33. Silence of the Blog « ph.d. in creative writing
  34. Life: The Search For Someone Who Understands You | Paint Before Death
  35. Silence | Dandilyonz-4-U
  36. Remaining Silent | Bits of Life
  37. Inexhaustible Treasure | Love in the Spaces
  39. A moment in Paris | The Bohemian Rock Star’s “Untitled Project”
  40. Weekly Writing Challenge | Fit 4 Life, LLC
  41. No More Honesty | Among the Whispers
  42. The Silent Storm | Martialing Art
  43. I’m excellent at taking criticism (see? that sounds weird, right?) | sincerelyimitated
  44. My worst nightmare is coming alive, the silence is the glue to it all | From One Crazy Life To Another
  45. This is the absolute FPiTS! | Thorough and Unkempt
  46. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | My name is Ellie and this is who I am.
  47. Ah-kyakhalooi | I’m a Writer, Yes I Am
  48. Don’t Change That Channel-er ! | Once Upon Your Prime. . .
  49. Enjoy the Silence | Kokopelli Bee Free Blog
  50. “Oh” | Gnome Lover
  51. Breaking the Silence on Autism | Love, Support, Educate, Advocate, Accept…
  52. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound Of Silence | imagination
  53. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | sailingthroughthefog
  54. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence | alysslombardi
  55. Minnie’s Quite Silent | Minnie | A Personal Blog
  56. Silence Breaker | thenaturalprofessor
  57. I’m Hoping My Mother Ignores This One. | meg lago
  58. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence – Silent-phobia | SA:ME (사메)
  59. Favorite quotes from Alabama literature | Andrea Reads America
  60. A resounding silence. | Multifarious meanderings
  61. Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence? | seikaiha’s blah-blah-blah
  62. What I Didn’t Say | My Newingness
Blog challenge · Blogging · Fiction · Photo Challenges · stories · Uncategorized · writing

Weekly Writing Challenge: 1,000 Words ~~ Juanita’s Joy

This weeks WordPress weekly writing challenge: We are to take one picture and write 1000 words about the picture. The one I chose is below. Why did I choose this one? Because it’s bright, cheerful and full of color. And it was challenging trying to figure out what I would write.

I did come up with a short story, I hope you enjoy.

Source: Cheri Lucas Rowlands
Source: Cheri Lucas Rowlands


Juanita trudged up another hill, carrying her paints and brushes in sack over her back. No one seemed to know Juanita’s exact age, not even Juanita herself. She had been orphaned at a very early age, left to fend for herself in a hard climate, sparsely populated.

Today her gray hair was swept back in a ponytail, her clothes ragged but clean. Her face lined by the harsh sun until you couldn’t distinguish one line from another. Her toothless mouth wide in a smile of pure joy. She loved her life, hard as it was. She knew nothing else, so was content with what  she had.

She taught herself to paint  early in life after she found a few used brushes and paints behind a small shop. Years passed and she became better and better at her chosen work. She sold a few paintings to the frequent tourists to provide food, clothing and her precious paints and brushes.

One day she saw an old abandoned building, sitting alone and forgotten. In her mind, she saw a blank canvas, a beginning of something beautiful. So she started her painting. She loved her old town, the people in it as they had been kind to her all her life. She wanted to give something back and all she had were her paints and her imagination.

She wanted to give the old building life again. With her vivid blues, reds, yellows, greens and purples she painted from sunrise to sunset. Soon the townspeople began to come and watch her paint. They would drop off pitchers of water and baskets of food.

They watched her paint and sometimes heard her sing softly to herself as she painted life into something that was left for dead. That building even got a new person to live in it, as Juanita painted a man in the window content with his work.

When someone saw she had run out of a certain color, a new jar or tube would show up on the doorstep the next morning when she trudged up that hill to the building. Juanita would just smile, and continue with her work.  Her painting was the talk of the town and they would ask the other, “Have you seen what old Juanita is doing to that old building? It is a work of beauty!”

Juanita painted what she knew about life, what she enjoyed. Her neighbors plowing their fields in the hot sun. Ribbons the color of the rainbow gently swaying in the wind. Oxen and cactus and the rare flowers of the desert. She painted them all in a mural that was a beacon to everyone who came through her town.

The townspeople began calling the building “Juanita’s  Joy.”

One day someone noticed Juanita did not show up to paint on her building. They got some friends together and went looking for the old woman. They found her in her old ramshackle hut. The town doctor said she died peacefully in her sleep. The always joyous heart, giving out as she slept.

They gave her a fine funeral, buried her under a large tree near her beloved painted building. The whole town mourned a quiet woman who always looked at life with eyes full of color. The owner of the old building donated it to the town in Juanita’s name. They put her paintings inside for all to see and it was run as a gallery for young and old artists.

One day a beautiful sign showed up on the building.

Juanita’s Joy

A place for all to enjoy beauty in all its glorious colors





  1. Final Goodbyes | Shawn’s Ramblings
  2. Change I can believe in | Random Musings
  3. your absence is an | y
  4. Weekly Writing Challenge – Contemplation | DragonReader
  5. Daily Post: Weekly Writing Challenge « Mama Bear Musings
  6. The 17th of August 1993 – Lincolnton, Georgia | Forgotten Correspondance
  7. Happy Accidents and Embracing the Disaster | Michele Baker
  8. Weekly Writing Challenge – Relaxation | medicinalmeadows
  9. sometimes emptiness has a capacity/Weekly Writing Challenge: 1,000 Words | Louie Behogan
  10. Baffles | the Grace Apparatus
  11. We Are Painted People « eternal Domnation
  12. Green Eyed Blizzard | Anecdote Love
  13. A lighter enlightenment | litadoolan
  14. Weekly Writing Challenge: The New Business | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
  15. A Bather’s Reflection | The Life of A Thinker
  16. Weekly Writing Challenge: 1,000 words (wellsome words) | Pop-Culture-Referenced
  17. Staring at the Sky | Life’s Unfiltered Ramblings
  18. The Darkness | Apoplectic Apostrophes
  19. The Camino Plan | Weekly Writing Challenge: 1,000 Words
  20. Creative Collaboration of the Painted People | DCTdesigns Creative Canvas
  21. solitude contains | y
  22. Where have you been | Lewis Cave
  23. Lights in the Tunnel | Ever Upward
  24. every morning, i | y
  25. there is pleasure in | y
Blog challenge · Blogging · Humor · nonfiction · writing

Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave Your Shoes at the Door

This week’s Weekly Writing Challenge on WordPress  is from none other than our own esteemed Rara!

“This week, we’re asking you to consider things from a different point of view — to walk a mile in someone’s shoes. Leave your moccasins and bunny slippers at the door, and tell us a tale from a fully-immersed perspective that is not your own.”

Now, according to Rara, this perspective can be fiction or non-fiction. So for my story I am going fiction. Well, sort of fiction. I’m going to do a story with three different viewpoints as seen by my dog Sam and my two cats Pouncer and Notwen.  All three have very distinct personalities which I am going to try to capture in words.

I have often thought these 3 have conversations when I’m not around. They probably talk about me all the time, the brats. I’m going to attempt to do this in flash fiction form.


(c) JLPhillips 2013
(c) JLPhillips 2013   Sam

Sam: Oh boy! Oh boy! Look, look, look! They have my favorite show on TV. There are other pups on TV! Hey guys, come look! I wonder why they won’t talk to me? Maybe I should bark louder and then they’ll see I’m here and they’ll talk to me! Ruff!!! Ruff!!! Ruff!!! I wonder how those pups get in this funny box thingy?! I want to get in there too! Maybe from the back side? I’ll go look.  Nope, can’t get in that way! Hey over here pups!! I’m here and I want to play with you! These stinkin’,  lazy cats I live with don’t want to play with me!

Notwen  (c) JLPhillips 2013
(c) JLPhillips 2013

NotwenThere he goes again with the TV. Stupid dog is always interrupting my nap. Why does he have to be so noisy? Can’t he see that I need my sleep? How is a fine-looking cat like me suppose to prowl the house at night if I don’t get my cat naps? Sam! Shut up!! Those animals in that darn TV can’t hear you, stupid dog! Why did my human have to get that dog in the first place? She should know cats are better! Maybe since I’m awake anyway, thanks Sam you mangy dog, I’ll go head butt my human and see if she’ll feed me early. She might as well do something much more important than playing with that stupid dog.

Pouncer  (c) JLPhillips 2013
(c) JLPhillips 2013


Pouncer: I just don’t know why I have to live with two such animals as these two. I should have been an only cat. Really! Sam! The TV animals don’t hear you, so be quiet or I will have to take a swipe at you! I am NOT amused by your rambuctionness. Brother Notwen! Please stop complaining for a change! Oh, and if you will, please pull some food down out of the self feeder for me. I hate getting food crumbs on my paws. I simply am not made to dig my paws in my food! I simply don’t know what my human was thinking! She just wasn’t I’m sure. Sometimes I wonder if I am the only one in this household with brains. This is just unacceptable! I shall talk to her sternly. Later though, as I must have my nap.






  1. Weekly Writing Challenge: Make It Stop |
  2. Getty up time | British Chick Across The Pond
  3. Splashform | Stealing All the Sevens
  4. Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave Your Shoes at the Door | life n me!
  5. The prisoner | Life is great
  6. The Embrace | Not a Punk Rocker
  7. Ecuador Volcano Adventure Meets Mafia Memory (I Kid you NOT) | reinventing the event horizon
  8. Sharing This Moment (Weekly Writing Challenge: Take Your Shoes Off…) | jennsmidlifecrisis
  9. Some day, one day | Fonts and Frosting
  10. Weekly challenge: Imagining anorexia | helen meikle’s scribblefest
  11. Creature Comforts | Leena Says
  12. Another Day | Sarah’s Typos
  13. That One Night | No Blog Intended
  14. A bit of fiction…. | 101 Challenges in 1001 Days
  15. Gardens Past, Garden Future | Nightingale Acres
  16. Weekly Writing Challenge: A pair of lunatics [her perspective my words] | Life of A Fallen Angel
  17. Dreams and Hope | My Diary
  18. There’s a Snake in My Couch! True Story | mariestephensgardening
  19. The Hanger | Jorgeisms
  20. A Week in the Death of Ragnhild | Pedersen’s Last Dream
  21. Unrequited | D Lonely Stoner
  22. Thoughts of a Little Lamb | Life’s Unfiltered Ramblings
  23. Sole Mates. |
  24. Another Dumb/Happy Day | HAPnHAP






Blog challenge · Blogging · Mi Vida Loca · nonfiction · postaday · Stories of my life · writing

Weekly Writing Challenge: Lunch Posts

This week in WordPress’s  weekly writing challenge. We are to write what we observe on our lunch break. As I ‘work’ (work is relative here) from home, I don’t see a lot of different things or people. So I’m going to have to come up with something more creative.

Being a diabetic, I try to stay on a schedule for my meals, as it is easier to control my blood sugars this way. So I usually take a break from my writing about noon or 1:00 to have lunch. Also, I always have it at my desk, sometimes I combine lunch with reading blog posts or doing other paperwork. But on rare occasions I just sit back, gaze out my window and have a leisurely lunch and daydream.

Sam (my dog) is always with me, sometimes begging for a handout. Most times sleeping on his oversized pillow.

The view from my window is the back of the property, past the fence is nothing but open fields and coolies. I’ve always spotted something moving out there. I’ve seen hawks, geese, magpies and various other birds. Once in a while I spot a cat from one of the other homes slinking through the tall grass in search of something to stalk. One day I hope I’ll see deer, or a moose. I’ve heard coyotes out there at night and once I could have sworn I heard wolves as they have a different howl than coyotes. I know it spooked Sam.

I love nature and looking out that window is so peaceful and relaxing. I have to force myself to get back on the computer and do something constructive. It’s nice to know I have that to look at if I need some recharging during the day. It’s certainly one of the perks of living more out in the country.

Here’s a little poem that I wrote about my view from the window.



My window is my view of the world of nature

Hawks swoop down and around seeking food

Tall grass bends with the cold winter winds

Solace and peace fill my heart as my mind relaxes its hold on stress

Recharged, energized, revitalized

Ready to face what comes next

My window  world of Zen.

  1. The Cigarette Break – Day One – Thoughts on How I Suck at Relationships with Females | An Upturned Soul
  2. DP Weekly challenge – Lunch post – A bit of mayo please. | Its all about a bit of this and that.
  3. Day 2: The Lunch Box | Abstractions of Life
  4. Weekly Writing Challenge: Memories Lost to Fading | Shawn’s Ramblings
  5. I woke up | In my world
  6. Lunch Posts: Lunch at Rural Hospital | Whispers of a Barefoot Medical Student
  7. Dinner in the shadow of Shabbat. | jenny’s lark
  8. Momentary Observations: Aftermath of a Death | melanielynngriffin
  9. Chimichanga Line « eternal Domnation
  10. Wednesday, why don’t you meet me later? | Stories from aside


Blog challenge · Blogging · Fiction · stories · writing

Weekly Writing Challenge: Dialogue

Weekly Writing Challenge: Dialogue

by Cheri Lucas Rowlands on September 16, 2013

We blog for a million different reasons, but in the end, we’re all storytellers. Creative Writing Challenges are here to help you push your writing boundaries and explore new ideas, subjects, and writing styles.



“Is it dead?”

“Yup, pretty sure it is.” Rob stated as he poked the lump in the road with his stick.

“Do you think it was hit by a car?” asked Rob’s little sister Emma.

Rob was still poking it with his stick as he squatted down for a closer look.

“Don’t be silly Em, cars don’t usually come down this old back road. Least not since they built that highway further north.”

“Well then why is it dead? Answer me that smarty pants!”

Emma stood next to her brother, small hands on small hips. A pout forming on her young lips. She was a younger,  feminine version of the young boy with serious brown eyes who was studying the form lying motionless on the cracked worn road.

Standing straight Rob ignored Emma’s pout. He was used to his little sister’s ways and knew if you ignored her pout, she put it away.

Emma was a kind-hearted girl Rob knew, just young and a bit flighty. At the ripe old age of twelve Rob felt protective of his sister and was ever patient with her. Home was about half a mile down a dirt road, vaguely seen through the tall weeds off to the right. It was Saturday, so no school today. Rob and Emma’s parents were screaming at each other, again. So Rob took his sister for a walk to dry her tears and take her away from the yelling adults.

Home was not always pleasant and sometimes cruel, but it was the only home they knew. Rob hated when his parents fought, hated it worse when his Dad used his fists. Which he did too often. That’s when he would take Emma for a long walk. He would show her all the secrets of the woods and fields around the house. They usually walked till they couldn’t hear the screamin’ any more. Sometimes, like today, they had to walk all the way to the main road.

“Don’t rightly know why it’s dead Em. Maybe it was sick.”

Rob looked down at his 10-year-old sister and watched as her eyes filled with tears. His Em hated it when they found dead animals. Especially young ones like the small fawn. Didn’t have any blood around it, so Rob wasn’t sure what happened. He didn’t like finding small animals like this either. The young boy wanted to be a Vet when he grew up. He loved animals of all kinds and was always helping ones he found in the woods.

“Can you help it Rob? Can you make it better?” Emma asked with big brother worship. In her mind Rob was her hero and could do anything!

“I’m thinkin‘ it’s past help Em.”

“You gotta try! Please?!”

Frowning down at his sister, Rob sighed. One day he knew Em was going to drive the young men wild. He was going to make sure he was around then. He would make sure no one took advantage of her big heart. In the meantime, like those distant men in the future, he couldn’t deny his sister.

Kneeling on the rough road, Rob laid down his stick and rubbed his hands over the fawn. He noticed the body was warm yet. Surprised he slowed his hands and held his breath. Yes! He felt a faint heartbeat under his palm. The fawn was alive!

“It’s alive Em!”

“Really? Oh Rob! You did help it!” Emma cried as she jumped up and down next to her hero.

“Hush Em!”

Rob felt for any injuries and was surprised again when he didn’t find any.  If he didn’t know better he would think the fawn was just sleeping.

“Rob! Look! ” Emma whispered loudly.

Rob looked up and spotted a full-grown female deer in a small clearing. She was watching them intently, her ears forward and twitching.

“Is that the Mama deer?” Em asked her brother.

“It just might be Em.”

After watching the deer for a minute Rob looked down at the fawn. Gently he scooped it up in his young arms and stood.

“Stay here Em.” Rob told his sister as he slowly started to walk toward the deer with his young bundle in his arms.

The female doe blew nervously out her nose, but stood her ground. Rob got within a few feet of her and gently laid the fawn down on some soft grass. He slowly turned around and walked back to where Em was waiting for him.

Emma’s eyes were huge and her small hand was covering her mouth. When Rob reached her side he turned to look back at the doe. His smile grew as he watched the doe nudge and lick the fawn. Then the fawn stood up on long thin legs and leaned against his Mama.

“Oh Rob!” Emma softly said through her hand.

Rob and Emma watched as the fawn started to feed from its mother. Rob put his arm around his young sister and whispered.

“See Em, sometimes miracles do happen. Ain’t I always telling you that?”

He felt her small hand clasp his own and heard her whisper back.

“Yup, I believe you. Like when you are always telling me one day we can leave the yelling and fists behind.”

“One day we will Em and we’ll never look back.”