Daily Prompt: Proclivity Creative Writing: Megan’s daily practice, a ritual developed to make it from one day to the next, had become her only solace. An escape from what she couldn’t face in the faces of everyone she knew, and many that she didn’t. Now, the very thing she felt was holding every molecule of her…
Daily Prompt: Clutch Creative Writing Lesson 10: Part 1: using creative licence. Part 2: change the context of this chapter by switching the last paragraph to the first. Diary entry June 17 He had always thought his family didn’t get us and that made me sad. Not for me…
Daily Prompt: Grainy Through sometimes grainy, carefully preserved images of our lives well lived I am reminded of all the beautiful memories my family have created together, when looking through treasured photos. Today I am prompted to reminisce…and as always have found an uplifting happiness in the faces of family and friends. It is not…
Her little hands tucked under her chin in prayer position, lips pink with gloss, hair all tumbling curls pinned with tiny rose buds, I wondered how she was going to get through such a long day
He is strong and fierce, determined and not at all predictable. He is love, he is lovable – he is loved.
Challenging…to say the least when you can’t seem to stay one step ahead, no matter the effort, the strength and resilience shown.
It wasn’t like I had meant to add to the busyness of her day, yet I could feel her glaring at me through the phone. It was all rather odd.
You’re not ready for the world yet little ones. Stay inside. Stay inside.
For me they had been pretty hedonistic times with just enough common sense thrown in to keep me out of trouble. It appeared to be different for him.
As she made her way through the throng of scantily dressed models, production crew, buyers, family and friends all excitedly celebrating the success of the show –she looked down and saw a beautiful Tiffany’s solitaire on her finger. Coming to an abrupt halt as she ran into someone — she excused herself as she looked up to see Wilton staring back at her.
It doesn’t matter if it’s the emptiness and sorrow of a lifetime of love gone – or the sting and humiliation of love unrequited. It’s painful and can strike you unawares.
I wasn’t a wild child really – but there were six teenage boys growing up right next door.