Word Of The Day 2-25-2017

crapulous

crap·u·lous \ˈkra-pyə-ləs\
Popularity: Bottom 40% of words

Definition of crapulous

  1. marked by intemperance especially in eating or drinking

  2. sick from excessive indulgence in liquor

Examples of crapulous in a sentence

  1. <a crapulous wastrel who went through the family’s once-fabulous fortune in less than a decade>

Did You Know?

Crapulous may sound like a word that you shouldn’t use in polite company, but it actually has a long and perfectly respectable history (although it’s not a particularly kind way to describe someone). It is derived from the Late Latin adjective crapulosus, which in turn traces back to the Latin word crapula, meaning “intoxication.” “Crapula” itself comes from a much older Greek word for the headache one gets from drinking. “Crapulous” first appeared in print in 1536. Approximately 200 years later, its close cousin “crapulence” arrived on the scene as a word for sickness caused by drinking. “Crapulence” later acquired the meaning “great intemperance especially in drinking,” but it is not an especially common word.

Origin and Etymology of crapulous

Late Latin crapulosus, from Latin crapula intoxication, from Greek kraipalē
First Known Use: 1536

Sunday Photo Fiction 2-24-2017

Each week a photo is used, donated by one of the participants of Sunday Photo Fiction, and the idea is to write a story with the photo as a prompt in around 200 words.

Sunday Photo Fiction

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© A Mixed Bag

“Make him dance again, Grandpa. Pleeeease!”

The old man smiled, warmth flowing through him, banishing the cold of winter. “Later,” he told the little boy. “Grandma will be calling for dinner soon.”

Danny pouted.  “I want to see the dragon dance. I’m not hungry.”

“Your Grandma’s special Mac and Cheese? Are you sure.”

Danny glanced from the dragon back towards the dining room. “But,” he said softer, “I want to see the dragon dance!”

“Scoot along, Danny. I’ll bring him to the table.”

Dragon ate with them, charmingly alive as Grandpa worked the strings of the puppet. Dragon dipped his nose into Danny’s dinner (to Grandma’s frown). Played with the boy’s napkin. Sniffed his nose. And the dragon danced, feet tapping the table in time to music no one heard but Danny.

In the morning, Grandpa laid the dragon in Danny’s small coffin so the two could dance forever.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 2-24-2017

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This week’s photo prompt is provided by Dawn Miller.

1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Monday evening.

3. Please credit photo to photographer.

4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please stay within this limit.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers


Bustle, bustle, bustle. Airports the world over were all the same. Crowds of people hurrying this way and that, afraid of missing their flight, afraid of becoming lost, afraid of being left behind.

Dante slumped down in the seat beside Jay, dropping his carry-on at their feet. They could have taken the jet with the rest of the band, but both men had wanted to be alone. Alone together as it turned out.

“You think he’ll be okay?” the Italian asked. Neither needed to ask whom ‘he’ was. Chris. Always Chris.

Jay shrugged.  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You’re a font of happiness today, Jay-jay.”

The saxophonist shrugged. “He’ll be all right. Now at least. It’s on tour I worry about.”

“You’ll keep him together,” Dante stated. “We all will.”

They would all hold him together. Nobody left behind. What else were friends for?

 

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 2-24-2017

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Guide for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

1. A prompt photo will be provided each Tuesday to be used as a base to your story. Please include photo prompt with your story.

2. Linking for this challenge begins on Tuesday and runs to the following Monday evening.

3. Please credit photo to photographer.

4. The story word limit is 100 – 150 words (+ – 25 words). Please stay within this limit.

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This week’s photo prompt is provided by Sunayana with MoiPensieve.

The confusion of the city surrounded him; strobes of light, the roar of motorcycles, the rising endless sounds of a million voices talking at once. How had he come to be here? Why?

He knew, of course, but still it made no sense.  He’d never thought he would be afraid  of the city. No, not the city exactly, but what lived inside the city. The people, the sounds, the dark and light.

“You coming?” Jen shouted, leaning close for him to hear. “We’re almost there.”

Where, he wanted to asked, but she wouldn’t tell him. She drew him through the dark-light as if in a dream. He hated dreams. They reminded him only of failure.

“Do I really want to go?” he shouted, but she was focused ahead, didn’t hear.  And so he followed, afraid of becoming lost in the confusion.

Reaching a door, Jen pushed inside, pulling him into another kind of darkness. He heard the pound of his heart; fear howling in his belly.

Lights flashed on. Shapes appeared and there rose a shout. “Happy Birthday!”

He wanted to cry.

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017 WEEK #09

parking-lot
https://pixabay.com/en/city-people-street-night-lights-1487891/

 

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, February 22nd. Allow the prompt to take you anywhere you want to go! (Limit your stories to 200 words.)

This challenge is open until 11:00 pm Friday night, March 3rd, 2017.

FFftPP


The emptiness slashed against the sharp edges of his soul, leaving him raw and bleeding inside. The rows of abandoned parking spaces ran endlessly on, he imagined, to the end of the world. Where had they gone, those mothers and sisters and daughters who once flocked to this empty expanse of asphalt and the abandoned mall beyond?

“Gone,” he said aloud to nobody. “Gone.” As if repeating the word made it not so. Not so lonely; not so abandoned; not so empty. How was it they all disappeared yet the parking lot remained, flat and even and new?

He’d seen nobody since emerging from the shelter. No living being. No bodies. Nothing but empty expanses and abandoned buildings.

Was he the last man on earth? Was this a dream? It felt too real to be a dream. Too empty to be a dream.

He moved towards the abandoned mall. Stealing hurt, but he needed to survive. Was it theft if nobody else was alive? Scavenging, maybe? Maybe not.

Approaching the doors, he saw the hint of a shadow move behind the glass, just a glimpse of motion. Something seen out the corner of one’s eye.

Afraid, he began to run.

 

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER 2-24-2017

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, February 15th. Allow the prompt to take you anywhere you want to go! (Limit your stories to 200 words.)

This challenge is open until 11:00 pm Friday night, February 24th, 2017.

FFftPP

bottle

He stumbled across the bottle half-way along his walk; the roar of waves, the feel of tiny shells beneath bare feet, comforting him like little else in the world. He dreamed of staying on the beach forever. He wouldn’t miss the hectic world of work, the few moments of play, which dominated his existence over the past years. To be honest, he wouldn’t miss anything and nothing would miss him.

It was an old wine bottle, or maybe one of those fake champagnes. He’d heard countless stories, seen countless films, of bottled messages, but he’d never imagined he might find one himself. It was a romanticized idea with no place in his realistic world. And yet, the bottle felt real in his hands, crusted with sand and seaweed.

“My name is Kylie. I feel alone. Arigatou gozaimasu.”

It ended with an address in Japan.

The note fluttered from his fingers. Who was he to take on anyone else’s loneliness? Didn’t he have enough of his own? And yet, he picked up the note and crumbled it into his pocket.

Returning to his cottage, he sat on the deck, paper on his lap. After a moment, he began to write.