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…
Tag: creative writing
Missed Opportunities
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…
Red sky at night sailors delight
Its sail unfurling against the storm, it would carry us forward, us clinging to hope …
Why we share our happy snaps
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…
Second Dates, Beetles and Coco Pops
I was wrong, 40 seconds goes by in a snap and next minute I was standing in our lounge room, in front of this gorgeous creature, him just out of the surf and smelling like salt — me standing in my favourite navy and white stripe, Disney Dopey night shirt!
From little things …
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
The Game of Life
Challenging…to say the least when you can’t seem to stay one step ahead, no matter the effort, the strength and resilience shown.
Lost in translation.
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.
Serendipity: love and other adventures
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.
Heartbreak-can it be cured?
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.
Raising August
I wasn’t a wild child really – but there were six teenage boys growing up right next door.
My Best Friends Brother
Mr and Mrs Wilton were raising a house full of boys into men, right next door to me, and when you sat at the dinner table with them, which I did often, the fragrance of male hormone mixed with sweat and dirty socks was intoxicating to a fourteen year old girl.
