It’s Never Too Early For Halloween.

ready-for-halloween-quotes-2

Linus: [writing] Dear Great Pumpkin, I am looking forward to your arrival on Halloween night. I hope you will bring me lots of presents.

Linus: Each year, the Great Pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch that he thinks is the most sincere. He’s gotta pick this one. He’s got to. I don’t see how a pumpkin patch can be more sincere than this one. You can look around and there’s not a sign of hypocrisy. Nothing but sincerity as far as the eye can see.

It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown is my favorite Halloween book of all times. Having kids meant we got all sorts of Halloween books – Pumpkin books, ghost books, witches book, monster books. All cute and funny, but not the Great Pumpkin. If you have never read the book or seen the TV show, you needs to attend to that loss right now.

You wouldn’t want to miss the Great Pumpkin now, would you?

Linus is my favorite Charlie Brown character.  Most times, he is a wise man in a child’s body. Other times, as with the Great Pumpkin, he is a little boy clinging to his belief even in the face of his friends laughter and teasing. That, after all, is what faith is, right? The inner knowledge which allows one to believe in something magical or religious even in the face of laughter and/or guns.  Or both.

I know the Great Pumpkin isn’t real. We all know that. I think even Linus knows that truth but he still keeps the faith each year, sitting in the Pumpkin Patch waiting – believing – this time the Great Pumpkin will come.

I like the thought that somewhere a little boy is waiting in a dark pumpkin patch every Halloween, waiting for this miracle to rise up before him and reward his faith. How many of us could do that year after year when the miracle never arrives?

If, by chance, in your holiday travels, you come across a small boy with a blanket sitting in a pumpkin patch on Halloween, say hello for me. Tell him, if he keeps the faith, –  if we all keep the faith – something magical just might happen.

And who’s to say there isn’t a Great Pumpkin after all?

JSW Writing Response 6-5-2017

Click To Claim Your Free eBook Of The Most Popular Prompts | Prompt | Dialogue | Writing | Inspiration | Read | Starter | Conversation | TFR’s Writing Prompts | Number 164 | Novel | Story | Writers Corner

“Really? Way back?”

He smirked.

“Like… you were born on the same day, time, space, and such brings such a deep connection…. Or, what? Maybe you met in Kindergarten and became fast friends for life?”

“No need to be snide.”

“I’d say there is definitely a need to be snide.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Stay behind or come with, your choice.”

“But wait!  It’s a demon!”

“So? He’s a normal guy like all the others. Wants a house, family, two and a half children. Decent meal on the table.”

“Yeah, it’s the meal I’m worried about.”

Laughing, he headed down the hall. “You’re far too stringy and tough to have any worries. Trust me.”

At the door at the end of the hall, he knocked.  “Got to be polite.”

“Humph.”

The door cracked open. An eye peeked out. The door opened to show a small, wrinkled demon, barely four feet tall.

“Come in, come in.” He warbled and wheezed, motioning with one claw. “I’ve just built a gingerbread house. Would you like a nibble?”

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 5-21-2017

photo-20170206154748327

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 try to stay within this limit.

photo-20170515154640540

This week’s photo prompt is provided by loniangraphics. 

Snow. Ice. Wind. The night couldn’t get any colder.

“Have you seen the witch?” a rough voice asked, but not to him.

Their horses stamped impatiently, wanting back in their warm barn. As the posse moved forward, he drifted behind, eyes searching the darkness. Stamping down panic.

It was then his eyes met those of the frightened girl, hidden in a jumble of brush across the clearing.

Something crashed in the brush ahead. The men broke into a run.

“Shoot the witch.”

“Don’t let her escape.”

He stared. Demon eyes. No, child eyes. Innocent eyes. Terrified eyes.

Thou shall not suffer a witch to live. What man held the right as judge?

Nothing would be the same.

He would never be trusted again.

Rushing over to the brush, he grabbed the girl out, scooping her up and starting to run.

Word For The Day 5-15-2017

orphic

or·phic \ˈȯr-fik\
Popularity: Bottom 40% of word

Definition

  1. of or relating to Orpheus or the rites or doctrines ascribed to him

  2. having an import not apparent to the senses nor obvious to the intelligence; beyond ordinary understanding

Examples

Starving will kill as dead as hanging, was Lieders’s Orphic response to this. –Stories of a Western Town Octave Thanet

He was represented in the Orphic Theology under the mixed symbol of a lionand serpent: and sometimes of a serpent only. –A New System; or, an Analysis of Antient Mythology. Volume II. (of VI.) Jacob Bryant


Did You Know?

Orpheus was a hero of Greek mythology who was supposed to possess superhuman musical skills. With his legendary lyre, he was said to be able to make even the rocks and trees dance around. In fact, when his wife Eurydice died, he was nearly able to use his lyre to secure her return from the underworld. Later on, according to legend, he was killed at the bidding of Dionysus, and an oracle of Orpheus was established that came to rival the oracle of Apollo at Delphi. Because of the oracle of Orpheus, orphic can mean “oracular.” Because of Orpheus’ musical powers, orphic can mean “entrancing.”


Origin

1670-80; < Greek Orphikós (cognate with Latin Orphicus), equivalent toOrph(eús) Orpheus + -ikos -ic


https://www.vocabulary.com/dictionary/orphic

JSW Prompt Response 5-14-2017

2e8dcd501dbc91b862d183dd52b326fb

He’d never been up the stairs, though he’d often thought, nay dreamed, about it. There was a mystery beyond that bend of which, he feared, he would never know.

He’d come here every day for the last year, wanting, hoping, wishing, but no. He was afraid. Wasn’t sure of what, but afraid none-the less. And now, this was the last day, the last chance, for him to buckle up his courage and set foot on the moss-covered stones.

Tomorrow, he was going home. University was over. Time to return to his normal life in America. Job. Guy friends. Girl friends. The Girl Friend. Engagement. Marriage. House. Car. Picket fence. 2.5 children.

2.5?  What?

Growing older. Grand-kids. Retirement – too poor to do anything but sit at home and watch TV. Death of his wife. His own death. Or at least assumed she would go first. Maybe not; maybe it would be him.

Well, life in a nutshell, but was that the life he wanted? A normal, ordinary life?

A boring life?

Now or never.

Putting his foot on the bottom step, he felt a thrill rush his body like an ocean wave. A tingling starting in his foot, running up him and over.

A second step.

Stomach threatening. Breath quick.

Easier as he went up.

At the bend, he paused before looking around. Behind him a normal life. Before him…. what? Probably just the top of the stairs.

Still……. maybe not……

 

 

FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER 5-10-2017

 

The challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner opens Wednesday morning, May 3rd. 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, May 12th, 2017.

Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner

man

Fog swallowed the night, glowing tail-lights of the car and the wound-slash of the sputtering bulb above the abandoned way-station the only light.

“You ‘re late.”

Voice cutting my spine like the knife which killed me.

His fingers wove webs of pain. My pain. His pain. Pain conscious in the night and fog.

Bone-bread. Bone-bread.

His hand grabbed mine, placing it on the string and stone between us.

“Bone-bread. Bone-bread, let me walk with the spirits of the dead.”

Bone-bread. Bone-bread. Words echoing in my head. Bone-bread. Bone-bread. Clear thy sight for the spirits of the dead.

“Bone-bread. Bone-bread. Clear my sight on the spirits of the dead.”

The pain was sharp and sudden. There shouldn’t be pain. Not in the land of the dead.

The night filled with shifting shadows.

Bone-bread. Bone-bread. God help the summoned dead.

 

 

 

 

 

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers 4-26-2017

photo-20161113155519791

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 try to stay within this limit.

photo-20170424154853515

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

Tom swirled their number between thumb and forefinger, eyes counting and re-counting the flowers on the tablecloth.

Jason rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I know you wanted to go, but it just isn’t going to work.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not…..”

“What?”

“I’m tired of being nice.”

Nice?

“You’re not…. friendly enough.  Forceful.  Basically you’re a wimp.”

Jason stood. Walked away.

Tom’s head rose slowly. Watching. Black hair skimming his eyes.

Not friendly? Wimp?

Flames flicked in his eyes.

Sunday Photo Fiction 4-16-2017

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.

spf

 1f260cb8f16c8fb6bbd5a13c4a866720

If he couldn’t lower his wings and shut his mouth soon, he was going to pass out. Really. Truly. Right atop the clock, on-the-hour bongs shaking him to his toes. Claws? Whatever.

When darkness fell, he sagged in relief, working the ache out of wings and jaw.

“Long day,” Peatry remarked from his right, skillfully pointing out the obvious.

There was a grumble at the far end of the hall, but he couldn’t tell if it was Dowser or Downer; they looked so alike. Gargoyles. Couldn’t live with them, couldn’t smash them.

Stretching and gossiping, they flocked to the table from all sides, to the leftovers from the day’s flurry of sights and scent. To the tossed crust of bread, the forgotten french fry. A potato chip if luck was with them.

Before dawn, they returned to their places, full and ready for the coming day.

The time, he made sure his mouth was closed and his wings folded before the first streaks of dawn froze him solid.

Naptime!