Write My Fire Blog

Write My Fire - 2020 At the crest of the CoViD-19 Pandemic, I was cross-examining my life.  I found myself over-committed, burnt out and unhappy.  My father-in-law had recently survived a brush with lymphoma.  He shared with my husband and I his bucket list: to rent a boat and motor around for a few days.  Such a simple wish, yet he needed cancer to reveal it.  My response was “not I”.   Bucket lists, I decided, are bullshit.  They are commensurate to waiting until your deathbed, for fear of rejection, to confess your passion to the love of your life.  You may win love requited, but with procrastination you lost your life together.   The pandemic added many layers of loss.  Early on I treated myself with wine and NetFlix.  Entertaining but disturbing, our popular culture teems with post-apocalyptic movies.  In each the apocalypse is different, but the aftermath is universal: we pick up the pieces, re-establish our priorities, and rebuild.  The theme is healing.  The difference betwee

  Image by  Bessi  from  Pixabay YeahWrite #498 - Poetry Tina They still laugh, his pick-up line was a frost Pinched for luck by closing doors to join her on the rickety lift Flushed faces reflected more than claustrophobic fear to fall Neither expected to fall This late for love, after their life's first frost A diamond ring in a hot air balloon lift Pounding ribs, their hearts would lift Streets layered in colours of fall Wrinkled hands joined to cut white tiers of frost Locks lightened to frost, joints creak for canes and a lift, catch them cackling should they fall!

Bunny Ears  Tripping over all your laces?  Forgetting your words, the dates, our faces?  Come now, time we’re trading places.  Do you remember?  “Bunny ears, bunny ears”  I was your little bunny then  “Playing by a tree.”  So wild and carefree  “Criss-crossed the tree”  You always helped  When my doubts were  “Trying to catch me”   “Bunny ears, bunny ears”  You read me Runaway Bunny  “Jumped into the hole”  You loved me unconditionally, mummy  “Popped out the other side”  How did we get so old?  Eyes crinkled and hands wrinkled,  "Beautiful and bold”

Breakfast  Breakfast - YeahWrite #496 Weekly Fiction Challenge Prompts:  1 st line, “She knew h e was terrified of small spaces.” Image by  Přemysl Čech  on  Unsplash She knew h e was terrified of small spaces.   She wanted to believe that was why her dog Charley kept his distance.  She beckoned him even as she slowly lost her grip on the crumbling moist earth and slid further downwards into the damp hole. His glowing eyes did not speak terror, but a primal hunger that he echoed with a wet lick of his drooling chops.  His body flickered as an image from an old film projector, and as her stomach locked in a wave of nausea her only thought was wryly that she wasn’t a breakfast person.   The night prior, Becca had pulled her car into the driveway of the bed and breakfast just as the sun was setting.   Kane, Pennsylvania, was a sleepy town of only 3,000 people, and it was well deserved stopping point on the way back to SUNY Buffalo State College.   She pulled her suitcase from t

YeahWrite Challenge # 495 10/7/20 (not submitted) Prompts: first sentence, Image by _Marion from Pixabay "If I could change one thing, it would be sharpening that knife,” spat Gordon, as he clutched his bleeding hand with the corner of his shirt.  He fought to regain his composure after the string of obscenities that erupted after the dull blade he used to cut the canvas from its wooden frame skidded into his palm. The angry burr of torn skin wept darkly.   “Careful,” warned Stanley, “won’t do us no good if you leave blood spatters at the scene of the crime.” “Idiot,” hissed Gordon, “you didn’t know the first thing about a successful heist until I met you.  You were still wet behind the ears when you started working at the pawn shop!” His job and their partnership had been fortuitous, thought Stanley.  He had been desperate for work, down on his luck.  The pawn shop was the ideal location to spot their next wealthy target.  There’s something about a lifetime of luxury followed by

Call me Tombas YeahWrite Writing challenge 9/27/2020 #494 Soft snores rippled the stillness of the dark air.  Tom dozed in his office chair, arms folded across his chest, head nodding slightly forward as his eyes fluttered. It was the same dream he always had, though it seemed to be occurring more often. In this dream he is a toddler of three years, he surmises by the white number candle outlined in blue.  The faces and the chatter of adults swirl indistinctly in the background, eclipsed by the sulfur heat of the candle warming his nostrils and the buttery scent of frosting.   This cake sparkles in the candlelight with columns of white frosting and sugar flowers piped in tropical hues.  Surely this is a mirage which will disappear in his grasp, but he delights when extending his hand his fingers pierce the frosting and emerge with a spongy sticky sweet handful of cake that he thirstily brings to his gaping mouth. Vaguely Tom is aware of another blonde head and an identical cake nearby.