#DailyPrompt: Dictionary… #150words

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Dictionary, Shmictionary.”

Time to confess: tell us about a time when you used a word whose meaning you didn’t actually know (or were very wrong about, in retrospect).

TemptationI told you, the day we first met. “I don’t believe you” you said in reply, smiling. Of course, I was devastated, what could have I expected, from a beautiful witch?

In those somber days, before I was initiated, before I learned the meaning of those words, I could not see. It was a long journey, in darkness, often close to despair, but you were my constant guide.

Then, one day, the skies cleared, the east wind pushed the clouds away, and I saw the light.

Why did it take me so long? “Often, before you can understand, you need to learn the meaning of its opposite…” Finally I understood the meaning of Love.

#DailyPrompt: Of Glass & Paper

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “All About Me.”

Marie-Sophie Wilson By Peter GravelleThe lens lies on the desk, reflecting the evening light. Since this is the longest day of the year, I have plenty of time still to think of the significance of names: of glass – the lens on this camera, the crystal goblet on the table – and of paper – the paper my pen is scratching, the ultimate battle ground of a writer…

Photography is writing, a play on light and words!

Image: Marie-Sophie Wilson By Peter Gravelle

#Writing space (Thursday’s Musings) #amwriting

Faraway Looks, René Magritte, 1927The desk is littered:  photographs of the sublime Italian model he worships, another of himself in the Dolomites with two small children – now young adults – a postal card of Paul Klee’s “The Saint of the inner Light”, various requests for donations (well…) and more…

And what about this new work? Stalling, wandering, disrupted and drifting: this cannot continue! But yet, there are so many distractions, take for example that invite to meet xxx in London in June – wow! But work! Writing is a discipline, solitary confinement, self-imposed chastity – what else? O, yes, these pesky characters, both attractive and repellant, they want their way, can’t have it, protest, go on strike…

There is a start, a location, a loose outline, and some collaterals. But not enough to jump. Then those pictures flashing on the screen saver, so many moments of happiness, terror, doubt, pleasure! Writing is of course the best place, for an ageing traveller: revisiting, looking back, rediscovering… In one word: hard work.

Image: Faraway Looks, René Magritte, 1927

The Saint of inner Light

Paul Klee: The Saint of inner Light

#AtoZChallenge2015: quandary

quandaryI found a definition in Wiktionary for quandary, a word which somehow intrigues me. So it goes:

Etymology: 16th century. Origin unknown; perhaps a dialectal corruption (simulating a word of Latin origin with suffix -ary) of wandreth (evil, plight, peril, adversity, difficulty), from Middle English wandreth, from Old Norse vandræði (difficulty, trouble), from vandr (difficult, requiring pains and care).

quandary (plural quandaries)

  1. A state of not knowing what to decide; a state of difficulty or perplexity; a state of uncertaintyhesitation or puzzlement; a pickle; a predicament.
  2. dilemma, a difficult decision or choice.”

Related words include: doubt, indecision, dilemma… All very pertinent to the… learning writer, always in a … quandary!

Robert Frost:

“To quote the oracle of Delphi, / Love thou thy neighbor as thyself, aye, / And hate him as thyself thou hatest. / There quandary is at its greatest.”

#FiveSentenceFiction: Vindictive

Inspired by the character of Theo Decker in The Goldfinch

The GoldfinchI saw the cruel rictus on his lips, my friend on his knees, bleeding, the spent cartridges on the dirty concrete floor, and I knew: I would be next.

Beyond this place of despair, I saw my mother’s reflection in the mirror, her sweet smile, the deep blue eyes, her beloved mouth, showing me the way…

So I took a small step toward him, as he requested, very slowly, so as not to alarm his mind, troubled by the drug,

And in one smooth motion I threw the knife, deep in his chest, reading the surprise in the thug’s eyes as he fell on the floor, dying…

I could hear the Blade Runner laughing…

#FiveSentenceFiction: Envy

Morning envyThe moon appeared, a moody silvery face half masked by grey clouds, just above the trees. The young woman moved slowly through the quiet house: it was still early, perhaps before seven in the old clock time: she knew where to find her love, the writer, who must have been at work for a good two hours when she woke up.

There he was, one beloved hand resting still over the keyboard, the deep eyes reading; she did not want to disrupt his thoughts, soon enough the city sounds would bring him to the present (whenever that was, and hopefully close to her.)

He saw her reflection in the screen: “Good morning to my angel,” he said turning toward her, an unstoppable smile on his lips.

“I envy you so much,” she replied, kissing him with much tenderness, “you can so easily live in two worlds at a time…”

#VisDare 70: Aloft #Fifty

VisDare 70: Aloft

In my mind I see you dancing, fireflies in the cloudy sky.

Who are you: ghosts from a hidden past, forgotten dreams?

In the warm air you climb, perhaps ascending slowly to join the mothership?

Where you come from, I am sure, must be different from here: a secret world…

 

Weekly Writing Challenge: Fifty #DPChallenge #WritersWednesday

For this week’s challenge, you must write a fifty-word story. Not five thousand, not five hundred, but precisely fifty words.

riverIt looked familiar. That place I knew, without knowing its name. The river, the willow trees, the narrow path close to the water edge.

Then I heard your voice, and I walked in your direction. How quiet was the world, how fast my heart was beating. How dead we were.

Daily Prompt: Time After Time: #Coffee #Ritual

Traditions: we’ve all got ‘em. They might be family dinners on special occasions, or having a particular kind of cake on your birthday (Jeanne Cake, natch), or popcorn at the movies, or meeting your friend for a 5k run in the park, rain or shine, every Sunday morning. What are your favorite traditions, large and small? What is it about your traditions that keep them going strong for you?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us RITUAL.

Morning Morning: feeble light through the room’s curtains, stretching, listening to the city waking up…

Kitchen: fresh water, fill the machine, check the beans!

Ah… the beans… glorious scent – time to grind, grinding, celestial smelll of freshly ground coffee, antique grinder…

Check the filter, equalize the lovely, soft ground beans… Turn on…

Now firing the Mac, curtains drawn back, dawn sunlight filtering through the still naked trees, time to start working… soft keys… sublime aroma from the kitchen: bliss!