“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.”
I am keeping it simple this week with a picture prompt.
Image Credit: Mary Shelley
The format can be a a story/poem/rant/anecdotes/journalistic coverage of events/ reflections as usual. Please give due credit to the image.
Pour out, and let it flow ….
LAST WEEK’S ROUND-UP
Reena Saxena at
hecblogger (Amit Agrawal) at
Jim Adams at
Please feel free to answer these questions on your blog or in the responses. If you leave me a link to your post, I will re-post it on my blog. You can also feel free to forward these questions to anybody who might be interested. Thank you to those who have already shared their thoughts.
What is the best thing that has happened to you this week?
I got tired. Tired of living small. Tired of being afraid. Tired of saying, over and over, that I was going to change my life, work on my manuscripts, clean my house, fix my yard, live in the moment and then not doing it.
Have you ever had the feeling that something is changing inside you? Something vast and fantastic?
I have been feeling that way all week, like I am waiting for something new to be born inside of me. I was depressed and tired and just not able to do anything much.
Today, I woke up happy. The sun is shining. My mood is better. I am positive and hopeful and ready to try again to shape my world to my specifications.
Let the birth begin!
The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner will open early Wednesday morning, June 27th. 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 Thursday night, July 5th, 2018.
Pedro Fogueras pexels-photo-626164 shadow
It was the nightmare again, always the nightmare, trapped in a gauzy world of nothing on nothing on nothing. The Notherworld, he called it. A nothing world. Full of nothing. For nothing. For nowhere.
Only for the dream.
As always, he called. Searching. “Maria! Maria!Maria!”
Always answered by the strange silence hung in that land, a silence made of nothing.
Stumbling through a white eternity. The Notherworld wastes. No Santa Claus. Not in the nightmare.
When he woke up in the morning, he was still clutching her teddy bear. Knew she was gone forever.