Writer Wednesday Blog Hop 6/10/2015

Hello all! Today our blog hop hostess for the week, Heather, asks us important questions. We hope you can participate by sending in a story you craft according to the prompts given. Enjoy!

Hi folks! It’s been a while since last we brought you a prompt for your mid-week dose of flash fiction, but after a much needed rest we are back to get you going once again.So, have you missed us? We’d love to know your thoughts on our little weekly hop, if you enjoy writing/reading the stories each week, is there any way we can improve? It’s important to us to get it right, so that we can all still enjoy it.

The Writer Wednesday blog hop is a little something we like to bring to the writing community to help you kick-start those writing urges, to help you through a lull in your bigger projects or just a bit of fun to get you to your weekend.

As usual, there is a picture prompt and five random words, and all you have to do is give us a bit of flash fiction in 500 words or less. It’s that simple.

So, to get us going once again, here is this weeks picture:

Property of H J Musk

And this weeks words:          colony, vice, vegetable, barber, trumpet

You have until the end of next Tuesday to link up your story with the linky frog below, and on Wednesday we look forward to sharing your stories as well as bringing you a brand new prompt.

Don’t forget to link back to this post when you linkup and reference the WWBH. We want to spread our message as far as we can!

Blog Hop Story for February 25, 2015

Kudos to my friend/sister Tena who helped me out with technical difficulties in posting my story.  Here it is:



I am catching up…I have missed being part of the Writer Wednesday Blog Hop. Now the tides have turned and I am able to write stories again. Here we go:


(Key words: mine, resemble, messenger, crew, gaunt)


The people in Mesa who had a good imagination were sure to think Kevin could resemble an old miner. To them he looked about 80 years old, with his shabby clothing and thin, gaunt face. He looked to be a messenger of death.

Truth be told, Kevin was only 39 years old. He wandered from town to town, working only long enough to pay for food while on the way to yet another town. Relationships he had had, but nobody snagged his heart so that he could stay in one place longer than a week.

Down on his luck, Kevin went inside a saloon. He met a crew of miners who said there was a job for him if he wanted it. They didn’t want commitments from him but sure would like it if he worked for them a little while. Always positive, Kevin assumed this was a good turn in the road for him (he would find out there literally would be a turn in the road). He got directions to the mine and promised to be there the next morning. He ignored the ravaging hunger in his belly.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Kevin looked at the wrinkled piece of paper in his hand and followed the directions. “Come to the road that has a sign that warns that the road becomes a dirt road and the speed limit is only 25 mph.”

Arriving at the mine, Kevin stopped into the little building in front. He figured he had to fill out some paperwork to start a job…Becca, the manager, came through a back door into the office. Upon seeing Kevin, she dropped the file folders she was holding.

“Ke-Kev-Kevin?” Becca whispered. “Is it really you?”

“Becca? I didn’t know you moved back to Mesa!” Kevin said, equally surprised.

“I haven’t moved back — I’m just filling in for Uncle Marty.”

A year later, Becca was still working in Uncle Marty’s mine office. Kevin was no longer a mine apprentice, but a full-time miner. The two had celebrated their both having been at a place longer than a week by marrying. Kevin let someone love him and didn’t have the wanderlust he had once had.

Things had turned out well for Kevin and Becca after all. Kevin was no longer a desperado, and Becca had let love catch her, too.


It’s Off to the Races!

I’m referring to the race I was on to finish the first round of my book’s manuscript.  I

One of the quilts made for me during my cancer journey

One of the quilts made for me during my cancer journey

have now sent it away to my editor.  I must tell you, my editor was not pushing me to hurry up and send me the manuscriptI was pushing me, especially since I noticed that I posted about 2 months ago that I was spending time on my book.  Yikes!  Maybe I need to “sit down with you” before bedtime each night and let you know if I did some writing – any type – just so I can keep myself sharp until it’s time to work on the 2nd round of the book.  Does that sound good?

“You make me feel like dancing” — yes, Mr. Leo Sayre, that’s how I feel right now about my book!

Love to all, and to all, love, peace and understanding.


Rachael at the Cat Palace

For my friends who are not familiar with my two cats, you probably need an introduction.  The next time I write, I will write about Micah.  But for today…Rachael is presented in my poem:


Rachael came to us from a shelter

You could tell she had been abused in Ohio

She got to Minnesota to find a new life

Why (how) could anyone abuse a little cat?

One that had been a mother already

in her young life?

She is a tiny thing

yet weighs about 8 pounds

Rachael is a torbie (tortoise shell + tabby)

and you can tell she knows she’s beautiful!

She loves her “brother” Micah

She chases him up the stairs

to make sure he gets some exercise

She also sidles up to him

plays with him and gives him kisses

Dave and I have determined:

Rachael knows she has a good deal here.

Rachael’s Cat Mom, Debbie,

has turned the dining room into a palace

for her precious (and only) babies

She installed a bird feeder outside

the large sliding glass door

and therefore, Rachael loves watching the

woodpeckers eat their suet.

She chatters at them constantly;

however, when the big squirrel

gets up on that feeder

and hangs from his toes

to be able to finger the sunflower seeds,

Rachael becomes quiet

She puts her body in full hunting mode

and does not say a peep

She gets quite aggravated

that the squirrel shoos the birdies away

Rachael knows when her cat mom should

be in bed

So she even herds her big mom

to her bedroom at the right time

Debbie lies reading her Kindle for a few minutes

and Rachael puts her through the paces

She needs love and attention,

you know

and Rachael likes to roll over,

back and forth,

and play with the blankets.

In the cat palace there is also

the cats’ food and water dishes

and two cat beds

There they have it:

entertainment, lounging

and an eating and drinking facility.

So many uses for that one edge

of the dining room

that’s why we call it a palace.


Hello Friends!

I’m just dropping by to say hello and that I miss writing this blog.  I’m working on my book and pushing the limits so I can send the first draft to my editor soon.  I guess it’s normal for writers to be eyeing their next project before the current project is coming to an end…but I will have three stages of editing from my editor, so maybe by year-end 2015 I’ll be more able. 🙂

I’d like Stanton Sunshine to be one of my next projects after my book Happy Tears has gone through its paces.  I’ve missed talking to you!  Fortunately for me, some of my friends from this blog are also my Facebook friends. Drop me a line if you want to see where I hang out while on Facebook.

The Writer Wednesday Blog Hop, which currently is taking a short break until June 1st, is what I aim to write stories for.  That’s something I miss greatly, too!  Maybe I can eke out a story or two when my manuscript for the book is in my editor’s hands.  Did you know that anyone can write to the prompts for 2015, even when the blog hop is on sabbatical?  Drop me a note and I can give you more details.

I’ve often been told I should be a teacher.  I have no idea why.  I am good at giving instructions, though.  :)  Look at what I’ve already asked you to do:  1.  Drop me a line about my Facebook pages.  2.  Drop me a line to find out about the blog hop.

I have to get back to my muse and continuing my work on the book now.  I hope you have a wonderful April, and I send you my best wishes.  Please do keep in touch – you just may see another blog post before too long!


Happy February!

Hello, friends!  A happy new month to you!  Yesterday afternoon the Twin Cities’ snow began.  The lawns are all white again with beautiful peppermint snow (the kind that sparkles).  Yay!

The new header picture for this month is called something like “Monet’s Bridge in the Park in Winter.”  Unfortunately, the title of this blog covers the bridge part, but you get the idea.  :)  This bridge is in many of Monet’s “summer pictures”.

Keep smiling…

Dear Friend, What is it about God…?

Very nice~ love this, Leanne!

Writings and Ruminations

Dear Friend,

What is is about God that makes you so mad? The mere mention of His name causes your shoulders to tense, and your fists to curl, and your mouth to spit words of hate.

What is is about God that makes you so skeptical? The mere mention of His name causes indignant doubt and the passionate desire to prove His non-existence.

What is is about God that makes you so irritated? The mere mention of His name causes you to turn your back, to tune out your heart, to question the intention of the Believer.

What is it about God that makes it easier to believe in the universe, to believe in coincidence, to believe in “just meant to be”–all of which are equally unseen and void of visible proof and human explanation. Why is God so much more intensely unfathomable than those other things to which we…

View original post 771 more words

Back Home (blog hop story)

novel, socks, morals, spar, stool

novel, socks, morals, spar, stool

Photo courtesy of Heather Musk


Marcy retired, and it was a gift from God for the timing to be so perfect — she inherited her great uncle’s farm (called “Everly” by everyone).  She had always spent her summers as a child there. Aunt Dee had passed on five years ago, and now with Uncle Arnold’s death, she had a big void in her heart.  Perhaps she could recapture the joy she had had as a child.  As she remembered the smells in her mind, the dew and the fields and the rain and sunshine, it was easy to make her plans.  Marcy would sell her house in the city and move to Everly.

Moving day came.  When the moving van left, she put her perishables in the refrigerator and went to the “Back 40”, wooden stool and journal in hand. This was the corner of the farm that she had loved.  Marcy and her brother Andy loved to play around the funny, very small building with a sloping tin roof.   They pretended it was a place to hide during an air raid.

It was late fall.  The deciduous trees had lost most of their leaves; the weeds looked like beautiful heather.  Marcy put her stool against a tree, breathed deeply and settled in.  What a wonderful setting for a novel.  Perhaps the characters want to live a simpler life as part of their morals and fiber.  Maybe horses in the fields would play and spar like young ponies.

Marcy named her book’s characters and wrote their names in her journal, saying this to herself:  I feel like I’ve come back home.  I lived here every summer as a child, but  this is something new, something different.  Maybe home is more than just a place you hang your hat.  Your home can house one person or ten, it doesn’t matter!  Wherever you feel blessed and safe, that’s where home is.  So according to my theory, I am back home.  Thank you God for taking care of me so well and for the beauty of this farm.

 Marcy looked carefully one more time at the Back 40 before going inside.  Her gaze happened upon the grass by the edge of the road. The mud seemed to beckon to her.  I can’t go barefoot through the mud, I’m too old for that.  Another voice chimed in:  What does that matter, as long as you are home and safe?  Can the joy of jumping in mud or puddles ever really leave a person?

Although Marcy didn’t like sitting on the ground, the thought of frolicking in the mud appealed to her.   Off went her socks and she ran through the mud, striking a pose like Maria in The Sound of Music.  Freedom!  Mud gushing in between her toes!  Such a delicious feeling!  Marcy giggled then, no longer editing her words or her actions.

After she took a bath in her claw-footed bathtub, she put on a thick bathrobe and comfy slippers.  Marcy was back home.


w 503

Hello, folks!  Debb here.  This was one of my favorite blog hop stories to write.  Perhaps it’s because I sound just like Marcy!  My dad grew up on a farm in Michigan, and he and I shared a love of the land, nature and wildlife.  Like Uncle Arnold, both my parents and sister are deceased.

I wanted to give you a link to the rules for the Blog Hop if you would like to submit a story. 🙂 I hope you do.  Please read HERE.

Until next time,