When Writers Write

Spirals Of Life

 

I’m a writer.

You may have noticed this. The thing is, most of us who read are writers (more or less … sometimes way more and sometimes way less) and therefore …

When writers write (story tellers tell and/or people with opinions opine) the universe expands. No, truly it does! Each to our own uniquely individual way, we add to the collective consciousness existing in an ethereal part of the everything that isn’t understood – at all – but which nonetheless manifests itself somewhere within our imaginations, our thinking processes, our restless souls and/or the mysterious cosmos.

One of the primary reasons I find spirals fascinating is because it isn’t the (coined expression) ‘circle of life’ that brings renewal but the ‘ever occurring’ change brought about by spirals of life; expanding, growing, spiraling ever outward. We writers are a part of this – life’s glorious spiral effect. Fascinatingly so.

It is a wonderful thing, adding/sharing to freedom and universality of thought, word, expression and deed.

At least this particular writer believes so. Therefore, all your thinkers and writers, doers and believers … carry on. Creation is always a very good thing.

~Plh

Words Within Worlds Within Words


~ Well written words reveal themselves to be branches spiraling ever outward; releasing and igniting an ever changing spectrum of emotions ripe with potential for the emergence of new thoughts and ideas from those readers/speakers of our verbal creations.

~ Whether fiction, nonfiction, prose, scripts, lyrics or other, writers do much more in our crafting of words than just informing or entertaining.

~ Perhaps we may view each of our written endeavors as not just creative methods of communication and/or expression, but more aptly as inventions of innovative and thoughtful imagination, serving up potent catalysts of change involved with the evolution of who (as human beings) we are or in an even more expansive view ~ of who we’ve yet to become. ~Plh, 2017
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I hope this new week is being good for you. Take care . . . I wish you well.

With great affection,

Penny

The Lesson of The Color Yellow … Friday Fictioneers

A big shout out to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and Friday Fictioneers. An outstanding place for authors to finesse their writing style each week by writing a flash fiction (100 words or less) or short story based on a photo prompt. For more info on how you can be a part of this fun loving group of writers or to just sample their creativity, click HERE!

My entry:

PHOTO PROMPT © The Reclining Gentleman

PHOTO PROMPT © The Reclining Gentleman

The crowd was spellbound.

“It’s not just about the color yellow,” she said pausing for affect. “Although if one thinks about it yellow’s a most exceptional color. After all the sun shines yellow, the moon at its brightest is a rich golden yellow and we mustn’t forget glorious spring daffodils. Yes, yellow a truly fulfilling aspect of color.”

The shining vision of loveliness continued. “You see it’s not only about color in one’s life. It’s about the absence of it and most definitely one color should never be sufficient.”

Then with a mighty sweep of her wings the angel vanished from view.

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Thanks for stopping by, I hope you enjoyed my words. Have a wonderful rest of your week and weekend to come, rich with colors of every kind!

With sincere affection

~ Penny

INK – and Global Scribes.org

Escribano

INK

When I think of ink, scribes come to mind. Industrious, hardworking individuals who over the millennium painstakingly wrote down historical happenings for the preservation of events and beliefs of the time. Even today if one thinks about ink (unless you’re a printer) you associate it with the writer and his or her written words.

Originally, every written word laid down by a scribe was a work of art, not just the words themselves but also the beauty of their hand written script and scholarly works of art referred to as illuminated manuscripts.

Ink is life’s blood or liquid essence to writer/artisans. It always has been and always will be. Where would Shakespeare or Mozart have been without ink? Yes ink, containing within its elements the amazing magic to convert creative thoughts and ideas into physical reality. And that’s pretty darn awesome, if you ask me. (writer and an artist)

 

Recently I was contacted by Global Scribes™ (A nonprofit organization which fosters global unity by connecting youth to build cultural understanding and worldwide community through the beauty and the power of the written word). As a result, I have participated in a few creative writing projects for them. Including the short piece you just read “INK”.

If, like myself you are interesting in helping a  nonprofit group that fosters and actively encourages creativity in our youth around this amazing planet of ours, I strongly recommend you become involved as well. Contact them at Global Scribes™ . You won’t regret it. Global Scribes is new, young, flexible and appreciating all of the help they can get growing Awareness and Participation. 

Most sincerely,

Penny L Howe

Mondays Finish The Story – The Dream of Longevity!

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Prompt sentence that accompanies the photograph: “In the compound on the hill, lives a man with a dream.”

My entry:

In the compound on the hill, lives a man with a dream. An ordinary man, if exceedingly wealthy. His dream is to live forever, and at the age of 95 and in good health, many believe he’s found some clue to immortality.

But he hasn’t. What he has done is take very good care of himself, shoring up the weak parts of body and mind with the aid of very expensive doctors and other professionals. His quandary is his acute awareness of his mortality and the statistical averages regarding the longevity for humans. He knows he’s running out of time for figuring it out and then one day sitting on his private veranda, sick and tired of being alone while gazing at the expansive and expensive land around him, he knew.

It wasn’t so much about living long as it was about living a full life. He donated most of his many millions to worthy charities and causes, and lived a modest but happy rest of his life (which turned out to be a fair amount of time) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (oh no wait that’s this writer’s dream, well anyway I hope it comes true, re: millionaires giving their money and hearts to the needy! Definitely a wishful dream on my part!)

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Thanks for stopping by and reading, I hope you enjoyed.

For more information about Mondays Finish The Story (flash fiction) Writers Challenge, where the writer uses both a photo and an opening sentence for the prompt: click HERE. Barb will guide you through the process, be sure and read some of the other entries while you’re there.

Happy beginning of the week, I hope your week is a great one for you,

~ Penny

Sunday Photo Fiction – A Scary World Out There (in your head)!

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photograph © Alastair Forbes

Trapped in A Vortex of Negativity

“Hey, I tell you it’s a scary world out there.” Jerry said.

“I think it’s all in your head.” His best friend replied. The two were sitting in the warm den near the fireplace, mugs of coffee in their hands.

Paul waved toward the window. “Just look outside into the forest. It’s frightening. Weird sounds and I’ve heard people are going missing. Bad things are happening everywhere.”

“You’ve heard, yes. but has anyone actually been lost in our forest?” Paul held his fearful friend’s gaze with his own level one, waiting for the response and then he motioned to the window and the beautiful forest scene unfolding outside. “The sun is coming up, it’s going to be another great day. Enjoy the day Jerry, enough with this negative crap, already. There are always bad things going on somewhere, but no more so than at any time in history, maybe less.”

“Yes but they say…” As Jerry stopped for another drink of his coffee Paul interrupted him.

“They say, they say … it’s all in their heads too. You know what Jerry, I’m sick of all this.” He stood up banging his cup down on the table. “You all need to come to your senses. I’m going home.”

Jerry watched as his friend headed for the door calling out to him “It’s dangerous out there Paul, would you like me to walk with you to your house?”

Paul snorted, shaking his head sadly as he looked back at his friend before heading to the doorway, derisively adding “Jerry, I just live next door.”

Paul could be heard to mutter to himself as he slowly opened and then closed the door behind him. “An emotional epidemic, that’s what this is and it’s contagious, everyone thinking, saying and writing all these negative things. When will they see it’s all in their heads.  Thoughts are things and they’ve created this condition with their thoughts. They’re trapping themselves in a vortex of negativity.”

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For more information about Sunday Photo Fiction where the photograph is the prompt to your imagination, click here for the details. Alastair will be your guide. And, while there, be sure to click on the little blue guy for more short stories by some great writers!

Thanks for stopping by, have a great Sunday and week to come,

~ Penny

Sunday Photo Fiction: Formation of stars – fantasy style

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photograph © Alastair Forbes

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He gazed at the formation of icicles. The first two stars were shaping up nicely but the third one, he was having some problems with that one. Well great! This meant another trip. Another one of those long and lengthy and wearisome trips. Sighing, he grumbled, Ah well, best be on my way.

Retreating back inside his remote mountainside cabin, he grabbed a few essentials, placing them carefully into his knapsack, all the while figuring in his head how long the trip would be and what to take. He thrust ancient arms into a thick overcoat, hung his loaded knapsack over his shoulder and then pulled on heavily padded gloves. He was ready for his trek down the mountain.

Another sigh as he started on his way. Just a few feet from the cabin a soft whine to his left stopped him in his tracks. He smiled, turning towards the sound. “Hey Prince, my friend, in my hurry I almost forgot you fella.” The wolf smiled, a wolfish type of grin on his dark muzzle and trotted up beside him.

“You up for a trip?” The wolf cocked his head and stared directly back at him.

“Yeah, me neither, best get this over with though. I need that third star. You know what time of the year it is?” As if in agreement the wolf headed off down the mountain.

The two made good time together, stopping only for quick bites of dried food and brief resting spells before moving on. At last they came to the city.

The wolf left him just at the edge of the forest clearing. He continued on into the city. It was night time so fewer people to notice the stranger, but around him an extra shroud of darkness, assuring no one did. Making his way to the outside of a high-rise apartment building, in a very run down section of the city, he climbed the fire escape until  reaching the forth floor. Peering inside the dirty cracked window he saw a mother singing a lullaby to a small child. He waited patiently for her to finish.

When her song was over she kissed the sleeping child gently and closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer that all would be well. The essence of her pure and loving thoughts made its way across the room, passing through the window crack and into the small container he held carefully in his hands. Once the vapor was inside, he stoppered the bottle, placed it back inside his rucksack, and then climbed down the stairs, walked through the city and out into the forest where the wolf waited. The wolf looked expectantly at him.

“Yes,” I’ve got it.” He said to the wolf. “So easy to find. Just follow the trail of goodness and honest caring.” They made their trip home and upon arrival he carried the vessel, filled with the essence of love, over to the icicles.

As he poured the vapor over the third icicle, the ends of the icicle formed into a third star. “Yup that oughta do it.” He said to the wolf. “They’ll be up in the sky in no time, glowing brightly.”

“With so much open space in the heavens …” he said later that evening to his friend the wolf, as they sat gazing up at the star lit sky in contemplation of life, “… it’s a good thing love is still to be had. I don’t know how we’d make our new stars without it.”

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Yes, another longer short story (that sounds silly doesn’t it). Hope a few of you enjoyed, however! Sorry it isn’t scary, or horrifying or sad, or depressing or in any other way negative. I figure real life seems to have a pretty good lock on that one right now, for many, so I went to a different place.

If you’d like to try your hand at writing a story for Sunday Photo Fiction where the photograph is the prompt for your imagination, click here for the details. Alastair will guide you along your way. And, while there, be sure to click on the little blue guy for more short stories by some great writers!

Have a great week ahead,

~ Penny