Friday Fictioneer: Field of Broken Dreams #amwriting #flashfiction 


Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting FF.

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Credit: Liz Young

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I was out to meet my friend who lived nearby when I found this ravaged mannequin head. Her exquisite hazel eyes and pencilled brows, lifted towards the sky as if mannequin heaven was there. 

In reality her mutilated head lies in the tall grass. A used beer bottle leans against her face, an empty red cigarette package nearby. 

If she was alive I think she’d be wondering how she ended up here? Why she wasn’t the modelesque mannequin in the window display for Holt Renfrew or at least for H&M. Who had tossed her out like refuse and left her to this fate? 

Count: 91 words

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“Boulevard of Broken Dreams” By Green Day

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Grandpa’s Fish Pond #amwriting #flashfiction #fiction 


Thanks too Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.

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Credit: Sora Sangano – http://www.unsplash.com

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Phallon watched the fish swim in the pond his Grandpa had installed in his backyard. He enjoyed visiting his Grandpa each Saturday. Grandpa had put the pond in because young Phallon loved the fish so much as a toddler; ‘fishes’ had been his first word. 

Now he sat with Grandpa who asked him about school and of course the girls in his school. Uncomfortable, Phallon wished Grandpa didn’t ask him about that. 

Grandpa simply laughed,”Phallon, I’m only teasing you. It’s good you have friends who are girls and that there are girls you like. This Jennifer, have you asked her out?”

Phallon’s face turned red, “Yeah we’ve gone to a movie together and bowling. I want her to be my girlfriend but her parents say she’s too young to have a boyfriend.” 

Grandpa nodded a smile on his face, “You’ll find the right one when you’re older. When I saw your Grandma the first time, my heart lept out of my chest. I wonder if I will ever meet that right girl of yours and see you marry her?” 

Phallon felt uncomfortable again, “Why wouldn’t you be there Grandpa? You’re only eighty-one?” 

Grandpa patted Phallon’s hand then squeezed it, “You know, my boy, I’ve been sick a long time. It’s a battle I’ve mostly conquered, but my strength is waning these days.When you get married someday, think of your old Grandpa, okay?” Phallon nodded feeling a lump in his throat.

Two-years later Grandpa succumbed. Phallon was sixteen and felt raw inside. He returned to the fish pond in Grandpa’s  back yard. He noticed the fishes were floating and the reality of life made tears wet his cheeks. In the mess of the last two weeks including Grandpa’s funeral, no one had remembered to feed the fish. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved. 

Three Line Tales: A Million Times Better #3LineTales #nonfiction #amwriting 


Thanks to Sony of Only 100 Words, our gracious host of #3LineTales:

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Credit: Jennifer Pallian via UpSplash

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Everyone either loves or hates fruit bread and more often than not, this stiff and solid rock like cake which sits in your stomach as if you’ve ingested a stone, is detested by many people. No matter the tradition or reason we bake/eat fruit bread at Christmas, it is a custom many of us wonder about; I can honestly say, however, there is only one fruit bread in the world I love because it tastes wonderful and is nothing like any fruit bread I’ve ever tasted before, or will ever taste again. 

Grandma’s fruit bread wasn’t like traditional loaves of fruit bread because it was soft and tempting as I believe, any kind of bread should be; inside her bread was sugared and candied fruits much like traditional fruit bread, except my Grandma’s fruit bread was melt in your mouth and we used to toast a small slice or two for breakfast during the holidays and have it with becel; the buttery, sweet, soft bread was delicious and makes me hungry thinking about it; Grandma’s fruit bread was not traditional fruit bread — it was a million times better.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Free Verse – “A Congested Mind” #poetry #amwriting 


http://www.pinterest.com

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They call it the unknown

The future lying before you. 

No matter if you’re psychic, 

No one knows what happens. 

There are varied scenarios,

Ways it could play out, 

But truly we don’t know the future

It’s a mystery creeping forward, 

And it pulls us along on our knees.

Whether we go willingly, 

Or go kicking and screaming;

Time marches in to the beat,

Of father time’s own drum. 

****

I don’t know what’s coming, 

I know worrying won’t help. 

I think sometimes I try to give advice, 

Reassuring myself in kind. 

There are bright possibilities, 

Hoping people become, 

More kind than they are mean to each other. 

Pray people look-out for each other, 

But sometimes I think society is self-centred. 

I admit to such fault and others too,

But I’m still fearful;

When I think of a year or two ahead, 

I’m afraid what if it’s not the right plan? 

Experience deftly taught me,

Plans are dim outlines of reality. 

Mostly, life goes where it goes

And God only knows where or why. 

Leading us through dark valleys, 

Into trenches with piercing bullets flying. 

Into classrooms with screaming kids, 

A gunmen on the loose. 

He leads us through to people, 

Whose power makes one nervous. 

How even democracy isn’t safe —

A tyrant could rule all. 

Maybe the world will surprise me, 

But I fear for the little person. 

*****

My own personal fears weigh heavy, 

Though others bear pains greater. 

Of lawyers and cases, 

Of corruption and crime. 

Those crimes we deem terrible;

Those crimes brushed under the rug. 

Greed and all those other sins,

Abhorred but freely ignored. 

Though I can never say what’s worse —

My own flaws or imperfections

Or those I’m faced with. 

Stress shows through cracks, 

Egg yokes running. 

No one likes raw eggs except in cookie dough

The future is overwhelming. 

But at least they’ll still be cookie dough, 

And I don’t know why —

I’m particular and observant

Why I know it’s better to be alone

Than be truly alone with another. 

Why I wait for that spark

Why I wait for the morning dawn. 

A smile in his eyes which is genuine

Wherever he is. 

But maybe happiness is a puppy

Paws following me on the hardwood, 

Barks at random sounds. 

The glory of a puppy skidding down —

The off leash trail and wheeling;

Turning around to jump on me, 

To pick her up when she’s tired. 

*****

My bones are stiff and ridged

My dreams fall to despair

So many books and writers, 

And not anyone can compare

How to rise above the masses, 

Or fill your own niche contented. 

But perhaps one could be something

Success in small moments. 
Afraid and weighted

Need to cry, tears unshed, 

Because disease is cruel. 
Even if Heaven is the end of the tunnel,

So many words are left unsaid

The timing of it all, does it work? 

I feel alienated

Though I try hard to keep the connection

It’s all in your planning Lord;

So must I say, your will be done.

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Flash Fiction for the Aspiring Writer: The Sun’s Ascent


Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting FFftAW:


sunset-ff
Credit: Footy and Foodie

Words deserted her as fire shot across the sky. She welcomed sunrise casting brilliant light into the dawn, while purple-tinged clouds of white still held wisps of night’s inky black guise.

Beautiful sunrises were evocative for her and could easily bring forth a memory. They had the power to make her eyes hunger and delight, to forget her words. A sunrise’s influence kept her caught in a distinct moment of enjoyment, while at the same time, lost in thought.

The rising sun also inspired prayers of thankfulness. It was a raw moment in nature, primordial to her being. No matter what she was experiencing in life, the sunrise momentarily healed her. Sunlight glazing across the dawn sky mended her body, alleviated her suffering. 

Above all she thought, the hope a sunrise brought was vital. Each day it rose, she was graced with another day to do better and be better. To her, this sense of hope was most profound. It was why she cried, tasting the salt of her tears, as the sun finished it’s ascent.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Writing 101: Why Do I Write? #everydayinspiration


notebook
http://www.aacc.edu

Why Do I Write? What a question. It’s a difficult concept for me to explain. I have said before, writing is like breathing for me and I know many other writers can relate.

While some people talk a great deal and say everything they’re thinking outloud, some of us prefer to put our thoughts to paper or on a keyboard. You see, such as it is with conversation, when words fly from a talkative person’s mouth nearly unfiltered, the words I write or type flow from my mind to my hands and there isn’t any stopping them.

Where ever I go I write. It’s my most comfortable form of communication. Sometimes, if I have something vital I need to express, I write it down first and then later, I remember what I wrote as I speak it outloud.

I make lists. I always have. I take notes listening to a TED Talk I want to remember, or some other new activity I’m attempting to learn. I make notes or highlight in books on my IPAD or in hard copy. Sharing my thoughts and remembering what I’m learning, is vital to me.

I’m not exactly sure why my tendency is to write first, other than when I write what I need to say, my soul flutters free. I let go of my burdens when I write and make the points in conversation I couldn’t say as concise or eloquently outloud.

Moreover, I think in writing. As I drift to sleep, I think in poetry. I think in half-rhymes, in full rhymes, in metaphor, assonance, alliteration, simile, personification, and in changing points of views.

Writing makes me consider character and the motivation of people in real life going about their everyday activities.I wonder why they do what they do? How they do what they do? What person hides under their public persona?

I don’t always want to know the answers but I wonder and I’m full of questions. I don’t trust easily, but I feel a kinship with those who also use words such as I do, to unburden themselves, to prove a significant point.

I write because what else would I do? I have always written and writing has become my breath. I write because writing is me and if you want the truth of me, it is most easily found in what I write


 

©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Quotes To Consider this Week


1. “What we remember is probably fiction anyways.” – Beryl Bainbridge

2. “It was not the feeling of completeness I so needed, but the feeling of not being empty.” – Jonathen Safran Foer

3. ” Sure you have a couple of scars, and a couple of bad memories, but then again, all great heros do.”- Ltn

4. ” Never be ashamed of a scar. It simply means you were stronger then whatever tried to hurt you.” – Unknown

5. “Everyone has a chapter, they don’t read outloud.” – WordPorn

6. “Don’t judge someone just because they sin differently then you.” – Unknown

7. ” Some doors are meant to be closed, and when you try to re-open them, you remember why they were closed in the first place.” – Life Quotes

8. “I’m a writer. If I’m staring at you, I’m not being rude. I’m trying to decide if you need to go into a book. If you’re a snot, I maybe deciding on how to kill you.” – Someecards

9. ” What Christian’s call answered prayer, skeptics call coincidence. Whatever it’s called, the more Christian’s pray, the more it happens.” – Ranal Currie

10. ” The only things you can take with you when you leave this world, are the things you’ve packed inside your heart.” – Susan Gale

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Poem: Rondel – “Before the Fall”


A French form consisting of 13 lines: two quatrains and a quintet, rhyming as follows: ABba abAB abbaA. The capital letters are the refrains, or repeats.

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information.

Also, Thank you to The Daily Post for the word prompt edge.
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http://www.pinterest.com

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Looking down, your head starts to spin,

You’re on the edge, everyone falls,

Your breath is short, on the ledge crawl,

Infinity awaits, dive in.

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The wind rushing round you, air thin.

Pushing off the ledge; you wait, stall.

Looking down, your head starts to spin.

You’re on the edge, everyone falls.

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Unsure why you came up here, head spins.

Waiting for pain, you’re enthralled.

Ground appearing close, appalled.

Kissing the earth; you took a risk, grin.

Looking down, your head starts to spin.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

A List of People, Living or Dead, I’d Like to Meet


Thank you to La Duchesse D’erat for her prompt for a list this week.

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1. My Grandpa Eifert – My Grandpa died on my fourteenth Birthday. He had been in hospital quite a few weeks and they were preparing to move him into a senior’s home for assisted living. He smoked a lot when he was younger and didn’t stop until his fifties. By then, it was almost too late. On the Eifert side of the family, there are ‘bad lungs’ so it’s especially stupid to smoke but when my Grandpa started most everyone smoked. 

He had emphysema from smoking and that early July 16th morning he died, the nurses said Grandpa’s heart had been working at a pace of someone running for twenty-years.

I miss Grandpa a lot. I talk to him sometimes. I don’t know if he hears me. But I wish we could play a game of chess or I could share with him a good book I’ve read. I would like to be with him for even an hour, and we wouldn’t have to say anything. Only, being with him again would be enough.

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2. John Donne – He is simply one of the greatest and best poets whoever lived. Maybe, that’s debatable but his poetry is so vivid, full of imagery, and he seems like he was a genuine person. I liked his poetry, how in his youth his poems are about his lady friends and he grows up and eventually becomes a Cleric in the Anglican Church. I would love to discuss his poetry with him and his thoughts on the time. He was a Renaissance man, and the relationship he has with his wife, is one I would like to have with a guy someday. Check-out some of his poems I love below:

– A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

Love’s Alchemy

– Song: Go And Catch A Falling Star

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3. William Shakespeare – How could you not want to meet Shakespeare? The author of so many wonderful plays that even today we still have performed, laugh and cry over. We love his comedies, his tragedies, and even if we must his historical plays. One of my favourite activities to do in June and July is to go to Hawerlack Park with my friends and see Shakespeare’s plays performed. You can grab an ice cream or some of our famous Alley Kat local beer and watch the show from the amphitheatre outside. I would have so many questions about Shakespeare’s plays, why he did this and that. What was his most prized work? And yes, you can read Shakespeare, it only takes practice. Rearrange his lines as you read them, they often make more sense. Here are a couple of my favourite plays below: 

– Anthony and Cleopatra
– A Mid Summer Night’s Dream

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4. My Mom on her Wedding Day – Yes, Mom is fine. Nothing happened. But I have always wondered what she was like before she had kids. She sewed her own wedding dress, and she was so pretty in it. She was so young and skinny. I would have liked to know her then. To know what her dreams and aspirations were. I would like to know what made her choose to marry my Dad ( he’s a great guy, I’m just curious). I would like to know how she felt at thirty with three young children and how she did it. It would be educational I think and interesting.

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5. I would like to meet a whole bunch of actors, to know what they dream of, what they value, to understand why they work how they work, before they are huger stars then they already are. Or, if they are big stars, I’d like to hear their stories about their lives. I would like to meet Jennifer Lawrence, Jamie Dornan, Dakota Johnson, Theo James, Orlando Bloom, Nina Dobrev, Kerry Washington, Patrick Dempsey, Kiera Knightley, George Clooney, Ian Somerhaulder, Hugh Jackmen, Michelle Pfeiffer, and Meryl Streep. 

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©Mandibelle16. All Rights Reserved.