Last night, I spent three hours on a phone call with my dear friend, Diannah. Half of that time was spent dissecting the live action Avatar: The Last Airbender.
Now, some people may ask, why do you care so much? It’s a freaking cartoon, for heaven’s sake! It’s a children’s show!
I have rebuttals.
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(Image taken from https://www.pathwaystogod.org/my-prayer-life/daily-offering/offering-those-who-wander2018)
The prompt was “conversation.” I took it a bit further and made a short story entirely out of dialogue because dialogue is my jam.
“You know, this could be worse.”
“Oddsballs, Lawrence! We’re scheduled to be banished. Forever. How could it possibly be worse?”
“Well, I mean, we could have been killed, so….”
“Yes, being taken away from our country, never to see our friends and family again, is much better. I feel so much more optimistic now.”
(Image taken from: https://www.ecarenphoto.com/Fine-Art/Pygmalion-And-Galatea/5)
(On thirdcoastwriters.wordpress.com, our theme was to rewrite myths….I’m terribly late with my post and not completely satisfied with the end result, but here it is, nevertheless…)
As soon as I finished her, I knew I had created a masterpiece.
She was perfect. From her long, softly braided hair to the tips of her rounded toes, she was wonderfully proportioned and lovely to behold.
Years of inhaling marble dust and whittling away until my fingers ached and here she was – the best that I could have hoped for. Better, even.
(The prompt was “tradition” this time around).
It was that time of year again.
The time to drag all the members of the household to the local graveyard and stare at the sky.
Andrin hated this tradition.
For one thing, it was freakin’ cold.
For another, it was a freakin’ graveyard.
And for the last, freakin’ Alina always hogged the freakin’ blankets.
But there was nothing for it. November 1st had come and by golly, the parental units were committed.
Our theme at the the Third Coast Writers’ blog this month was Halloween/ghost stories. I can’t write scary to save my life, so here’s my offering instead:
Frederick Crimweather Larkin was not scary.
And that was okay. Many people aren’t scary and they get through life just fine.
But that was the problem.
Frederick wasn’t a people.
Frederick was a ghost.
So I joined a blog of Texas writers and we take turns posting on Mondays. (If you want to give it a look, here’s the link: https://thirdcoastwriters.wordpress.com/) It’s helping me to at least be a little more consistent with writing, which means this blog may be updated more consistently. (Hooray!) We decided to do themes and this month’s theme is “Describe the Indescribable.” Here’s my entry:
Flowah
The place is on the verge of being too warm. A couple more people, a few more smokers, and the air’d be too close, too thick. But for now, it’s comfortable, hazy in a way that feels like contentment. Just slightly sticky tables, a couple of beers, and two blokes in a pub.
But Harry’s determined to disturb the peace. “Come now, no backing out. Give us a definition.”
“But it ain’t –“ Tom rasped, taking a moment to clear his throat. Collect his thoughts. Pull himself from dampened atmosphere. “It ain’t the kinda thing that you can describe.”
“Try.” Harry wasn’t impressed.
ali oleary 