Free Style Writing Challenge

Thanks, Julie, from light and life, for the inviting me to be part of the Free Style Writing Challenge. It has taken me far to long to settle down to do it, but here it is.
Here are the cut-and-pasted rules:
Open an MS Word document (or Pages)
1. Set a stop watch or your mobile to 5 minutes or 10 minutes whichever challenge you think you can beat. (Not sure what that meant so I just set the timer for 10)
2. Your topic is at the foot of this post BUT DO NOT SCROLL DOWN TO SEE IT UNTIL YOU ARE READY WITH A TIMER.
3. Fill the word doc with as many words as you want. Once you began writing do not stop even to turn.
4. Do not cheat by going back and correcting spellings and grammar with spell check in MS WORD (it is only meant for you to reflect on your own control of sensible thought flow and for you to reflect on your ability to write the right spelling and stick to grammar rules)
5. You may or may not pay attention to punctuation and capitals. However, if you do, it would be best.
6. At the end of your post write down ‘No. Of words =_____’ so that we would have an idea of how much you can write within the time frame.
7. Do not forget to copy paste the entire passage on your blog post with a new Topic for your nominees and copy paste these rules with your nominations (at least 5 bloggers).

The topic I had to write about: WHEN I WAS PROUDEST OF MYSELF

The time I was proudest of myself. I guess that’s when I discovered my poem, “The Difference” was being published. It was under the name “anonymous” because it had somehow escaped the small poem book my husband and I had put together and sold on consignment at a Christian bookstore. The book was for a printing class and it was the project my husband and I had taken together. We had chosen it because I had several poems I had written—many, in fact—and we needed a project for our class. It worked out well. My husband chose some paper for the cover, which was very nice.

Twenty years later, we found the poem in book had been published under “author anonymous.” It was quite a surprise. We had copyrighted the book and so we were able to contact the people who were using it to let them know I was the author of that poem. Several large companies had printed bookmarks, plaques, among other things, and when they acknowledged that I was the author, they gave me a royalty on what they had sold.

Selling poetry is not easy. There is a lot of poetry out there and it sells to not a lot of people. However, one man who worked for an art company got hold of me and asked if he could use it if he gave me a royalty in advance. I said yes. He sent the paper work and I signed it. I received the check and the future royalty sales of that poem were taken out of the advance. He had a beautiful picture with it, which went along with the poem so well. It was a large stone altar on one side of the poem and a door on the other. It looked so beautiful. And he put my name on it!

Actually, to say I was proud of myself was not quite the way to say it. I was blessed, proud that God could use what I wrote to bless others. Many said they were blessed by it.

I was not able to sell more of my poems because I was not well known, but to know that I was a blessing to others, even though unknown, was neat.

Number of words: 379

The Difference
“The Difference” poem on poster, picture by Raymond Greenberg Art Publishing

The words for THE DIFFERENCE:

I got up early one morning
and rushed right into the day.
I had so much to accomplish
that I didn’t take time to pray.

Troubles just tumbled about me,
and heavier came each task.
“Why doesn’t God help me?” I wondered.
He answered, “You didn’t ask.”

I wanted to see joy and beauty,
but the day toiled on, gray and bleak.
I wondered why God didn’t show me.
He said, “But you didn’t seek.”

I tried to come into God’s presence.
I tried all the keys in the lock.
God gently and lovingly chided,
“But child, you didn’t knock.”

I woke up early this morning,
and paused before entering the day.
I had so much to accomplish
that I had to take time to pray.

Now it’s the turn of my five worthy opponents:
good woman
spencesgirl
all about cheryl
Friendly Fairy Tales
send sunshine
set your timer and scroll down:
 
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Your topic: A time you had victory over a problem or fear

FOLLOWED!

Thanks Author S B Mazing for another story prompt for Blog Event Finish It #13. I hope you enjoy the finish of the story! The prompt: she kept looking in her mirror. The car was still following her. She was sure it was the same car. She did another unnecessary turn, just to see what the driver in the dark Suburban would do. Maybe she was crazy. Maybe he was heading the same direction she was. But there was this weird feeling. This sick gut feeling and the last had taught her to listen to her instincts.

Please continue…

The last time Lisa had been followed was when she went to visit her daughter. She had passed a man and he began to follow her too closely. She had tried to leave quite a bit of room when she pulled back in the lane, but perhaps he thought she was too close. After a few miles of his tailgating, she started to call 911. Just then, a police car pulled in front of her. She blinked her lights several times and the police car pulled off the road. He pulled back on the road behind the car following her and pulled him over. Lisa had turned off at the next corner and taken several other streets so whoever it was couldn’t find her.

It had been a long time, but Lisa could remember how she had breathed a prayer of thanks for God’s protection. It helped overcome the fear that had nagged her while the car was following her.

Now as Lisa glanced in the mirror at the suburban behind her, she had a sense of peace that helped her not to panic. She knew she was too close to home and she couldn’t  go there with this guy behind her.

“Father God, I’m going to go to the police station,” she said to herself. “I sure don’t want to take this guy to my house. I ask that you would send him away!” She turned onto the next street away from home and toward the police station. The suburban followed her. Another couple turns and she pulled up into the parking lot of the police station. She left her engine  while she watched the suburban slow, than speed away.

A woman had come out of the building and came over to her car.  Lisa rolled down her window. “You okay?” the woman asked. “I was leaving and saw you pull up and that guy take off.”

Lisa let out her breath, and nodded. “Yes, thank you. He has been following me for several miles.”

The woman nodded. “It was a good thing to come here. Do you have a license number?”

“No. I only saw the front of the car.”

The woman smiled. She reached in the window and put her hand in hand on Lisa shoulder. “I’m Officer Kate. Tell you what, I’ll follow you home.”

Lisa nodded. “Thanks. I’m a little shaken.” Kate went to her car and followed Lisa out of the parking lot. Lisa appreciated Officer Kate’s friendliness and help. She kept her eyes open on the way home. No sign of the follower.

At her house, Lisa waved as she pulled in the driveway. Officer Kate waved back and Lisa pressed the garage door opener button. She pulled into the garage, turned off the engine and pressed the button to close the garage door. As she stepped out, she breathed a prayer, “Father God, thank you.” She smiled and pushed open the door into the house.

Never Talk To Strangers

What an eye-opener!

amommasview's avatarA Momma's View

We’ve all been told to never talk to strangers and we probably all said the exact same thing to our kids. Easy to remember, right? Or maybe not so much. Especially when we also teach the kids not to be rude. So what is it now? Which one to consider? Should they be polite and answer questions as long as the person asking seems nice and polite and actually not dangerous? Or should they follow the don’t talk to stranger rule?

View original post 442 more words

LINK WITH THE PAST

Last assignment of Writing 101 is for Day Twenty: The Things We Treasure: Today’s Prompt: Tell us the story of your most-prized possession. For this final assignment, lead us through the history of an object that bears a special meaning to you. Today’s twist: We extolled the virtues of brevity back on day five, but now, let’s jump to the other side of the spectrum and turn to longform writing. Let’s celebrate the drawn-out, slowly cooked, wide-shot narrative. You can go with a set number — 750, 1000, or 2000 words, or more (or less!)

I looked down at the item in the box that my sister Gayle put in my hands. I hadn’t seen it for years. What memories it brought back of the fun of looking at three dimensional pictures.

These memories began with visits to Aunt Laura’s house, a small home that this widowed lady had stuffed with many things. Aunt Laura was the oldest sister of my mom’s father, born sometime in the late 1870’s or 80’s. We loved Aunt Laura and she always seemed glad to see us. However, her house was not a very exciting place for two youngsters, five and six. Aunt Laura had the answer. She would bring out her “Holmes Stereoscope” and this “machine” would bring the world outside alive to my sister and me. With great anticipation, Gayle and I would argue about who got to see it first, but at Aunt Laura’s urgings to share, and my mom’s warnings about putting it away, we would share it. As we put a card in the holder and moved it backward or forward until the picture was in focus, magic appeared before us. The double images on the stiff cardboard rectangle before us blended together in a three-dimensional picture and the walls around us opened to the waterfall cascading over the cliff; or a mother in her kitchen, baking; or a small boy and his dog kneeling beside his bed, saying their bedtime prayers. One of us would look and soak it in, then pass it to the other to enjoy, trying to wait patiently until it was time to put another card into the card holder.

Stereoscope
“Holmes stereoscope” by User Davepape on en.wikipedia – Photo by Davepape. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons –

We loved it so much that after a later visit, Aunt Laura said she wanted us to have it. We gasped in delight. The fantastic 3-D machine would be available whenever we wanted to use it.

And now, I held the precious machine. Its rickety state showed how much my sister’s children and grandchildren had enjoyed it. I knew it would never make it through more children unless I was there to oversee the process. I wrapped it up carefully, wondering what the value of a well beloved stereoscope was. I looked up stereoscopes on the internet and found that they were fairly recently still being made! Our stereoscope would remain a sentimental item.

3-D card
3-D Card for the stereoscope

Later, I wondered, would my grandchildren appreciate this old picture viewer? Would the pictures I remember be as wonderful to them as they were to me? Technology has improved things, even those things that to me are not so old, like eight track and cassette tapes.

There are other items classified as stereoscopes, among them the View-Master made in 1939. In the 1960’s and years following, they were a favorite toy of children, who like my sister and I, enjoyed the world around them reaching into their lives. They were great, but the pictures on the cardboard disks were never as nice as those on my stereoscope. But progress changes things and View-Masters were easier to use than stereoscopes.

View-master for 3-D viewing
1962 View-Master

Having the stereoscope goes beyond the fun of seeing those pictures as if I was looking at the real scene, it is about having something in my possession that links me to my grandparents and the time they grew up in. It makes me wonder what Aunt Laura thought about new inventions, like electric lights and telephones, to say nothing of cars and airplanes!

According to Wikipedia, this Holmes Stereoscope was created in 1861 by Oliver Wendell Holmes. “He created and deliberately did not patent a handheld, streamlined, much more economical viewer than had been available before. The stereoscope, which dates from the 1850s, consisted of two prismatic lenses and a wooden stand to hold the stereo card. This type of stereoscope remained in production for a century and there are still companies making them in limited production currently. It is primarily American, although it is often named ‘Mexican stereoscope.’ ”

COMING UP IN THE WORLD

Day Fifteen: Your Voice Will Find You. Today’s Prompt: Think about an event you’ve attended and loved. Imagine you’re told it will be cancelled forever or taken over by an evil corporate force. How does that make you feel? Today’s twist: While writing this post, focus again on your own voice.

The County Fair. What a neat place to spend the day with my daughters. We would get there early before the rides began, have hot chocolate and then wander through the exhibits to see what people had made or were selling. My girls were small then so they enjoyed everything, even the commercial exhibits where they could spend a little money on one of the million things being offered for sale! We would visit the animals: the rabbits, the chickens, the guinea pigs, the cows, the sheep, the pigs, the llamas, dogs, cats, horses. One year we even saw a camel! If we timed it right, we got to see the 4-Hers do their routines with their animals. There was a grandstand, but we were more interested in the small entertainment stages throughout the fairgrounds. We would take a break and get a delicious milkshake from the Dairy Booth. And when the rides were open, my girls rode a few of the kiddie rides since they were too young for the big ones. It was a wonderful day, out in the country, looking at interesting things.

As my girls grew, the visit to the fair took on different aspects. They both got involved with 4-H and were busy with the dog, cat, and rabbit projects. The days of coming for hot chocolate and wandering through the exhibits with my little girls was over, but I still enjoyed all the sights and sounds of the county fair.

And then, it changed. The county commissioners built a large building for all the exhibits, commercial or otherwise, out of the heat and weather in a nice air-conditioned building. They were planning ways to separate the animals and 4-H events from the rest of the fair; it was becoming sanitized; a place that lost its country feeling where you could buy cotton candy or elephant ears, and wander through the exhibits or into the places where the animals were. Or see, tucked in the back of the fair, farm machinery from the past or a man making animals out of a small sheet of metal. We could walk through one exhibit hall back to the outside where you could buy a piece of jewelry or a scarf, and with your gems in a bag provided by a political booth, go through another exhibit hall and out to a small entertainment plaza, surrounded by grass sitting to watch someone, or group, sing, dance or be a comedian.

The country fair was giving way to the city. I along with others felt betrayed by those who ran the county fair and decided it should come up in the world.

MY LETTER

Day Fourteen writing assignment for Writing 101: To Whom It May Concern. Today’s Prompt: Pick up the nearest book and flip to page 29. What’s the first word that jumps off the page? Use this word as your springboard for inspiration. Today’s twist: write the post in the form of a letter.

Dear Lord, You always know what to send to add cheer to my life. You are so good to me. Thank you for the beautiful red bird that fed at the bird feeder outside my window. You give me many gifts to enjoy. I always want to have a thankful heart.

Your servant,
Me

NIGHTMARE

Thanks to Author S B Mazing for her Blogging event: Finish It. Here is her opening:

Her hands were shaking. Her heart was racing. Enough! She had enough! He would no longer hurt her! She could feel the cold metal in her hand slowly adjust to her body’s temperature. She had her back in the corner of their bathroom, the door locked and outside of it footsteps approaching.

Please continue…

He began to beat on the door. She thought the banging on the door would cause it to collapse and he would come raging in to beat her as he had in the past. This time he might kill her. Why did he have to drink? He was kind and reasonable when he hadn’t been drinking. But when he drank . . .

His drunken voice filled the air around her. “You . . . better come . . . out!”

She lifted the gun and pointed it at the door. She was trembling with fear. What if she misses? Or it doesn’t stop him? What if she kills him? She gritted her teeth. She couldn’t going to put up with him anymore.

The door gave way. Her husband moved toward her, drawing his arm back. She pulled the trigger. . . .

Autumn sat up, startled out of sleep by the nightmare. Her heart was beating hard and her breathing was fast.

“Autumn? You ok?” her husband asked in a sleepy voice.

“A nightmare. I think it was brought on by the news report last night of the woman who killed her husband because he kept beating her up,” Autumn replied.

Dan sat up. “Sorry, sweetheart.” He started rubbing her back. “Want some tea?”

“No,” she said, “just keep rubbing, please. It’s relaxing me. Maybe it will help me go back to sleep. Dan, there are advocates who help women in the same situation as this woman. Tomorrow I’m going to look into it. I found a site that deals with this kind of advocacy on the internet yesterday while I was looking for something else. I will call them.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Dan replied.

Finally, she leaned over and kissed him. “Thanks for the back rub. I think I can sleep now.” She lay down and began to pray quietly for whomever she was dreaming about and for guidance to do what she could. She couldn’t do everything, but she could do something.

If you want to join the storytellers, you can find the rules by clicking here.

FOUND

Writing 101 Day Thirteen: Serially Found. Today’s Prompt: write about something you found. Today’s twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second installment—loosely defined.

I’m told to share

one thing I’ve found

and so I tell

three things to share.

Car keys laying

on the seat.

Wedding album–

lost is found!

cell phone hiding,

I have it now.

But greater still

than all those things—

not what I found,

but what found me

and took me as

I was with all

my foibles, failures,

emptiness.

I know that if

you measured me

in spirit, soul,

I could not stand.

But Jesus’ blood

upon the cross

covers me

and now I live.

His joy is mine

and peace and hope.

Yes, I am His—

for God found me.

2015

THE CONVERSATION

Writing 101 , WordPress: Day 12: Dark Clouds on the (Virtual) Horizon
Today’s Prompt: Write a post inspired by a real-word conversation. Today’s twist: include an element of foreshadowing in the beginning of your post.

Mama and I sat at the table, eating breakfast. At 91, she knew her life was coming to a close, but concern for me, a widow, and her dog, companion for fifteen years, made it difficult to let go. I think her concern came partly from the death of my brother, her only son, a few months earlier.

“Who will take care of Rascal when I die?” she asked, offering her Rascal a bite of her peanut-butter toast.

“Oh, Mama, I will care for Rascal. I love him, too,” I answered.

After a moment’s pause, she continued, “Don’t you want to get married again? Have someone to take care of you?”

I smiled. I’d been a widow for seven years and my life was busy taking care of Mama. “No, Mama, not now. I’m fine. I really am happy the way things are.”

Mama gave Rascal another bite of toast. She looked at me again, anger flashing in her eyes. “Why did your father leave me? Why doesn’t he care enough to come back?”

I’d answered this question so many times. Daddy had passed away fifteen years ago. Now, in the last few weeks, this had become her question. They had been married almost fifty-six years. I knew that because of her dementia it wouldn’t matter what I answered; she would ask that again and again. She wouldn’t accept that he was dead. The chaplain said perhaps this was easier to think about now than his death. I tried a different answer. “Mama, he has been called to a mission. The Lord wants to use him. You’ll see him when his job is done.”

She added, still angry, “And why doesn’t Wayne come back to visit me? Doesn’t he care about me?”

“I think he will when he can. Why don’t you take your pills now? I know there are a lot of them, but the doctor says you need them.”

She complained a little about the pills, but took them.

There was a knock on the door. Our friend, Margot, was at the door. I had to go out and Margot from church had come to be with Mama while I was gone. Margot was ten years younger than Mama and in good health. She and my mother loved each other.

“Margot!” Mama exclaimed. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Want me to turn the TV on?” I asked Margot.

My friend shook her head, smiling. “No, we always have lots to chat about.”

I cleared the table and put my shoes on. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.” Margot nodded and she and Mama sat down on the couch close together, Rascal at Mama’s feet.

I went to do what I needed to do and when I came home, they were engrossed in conversation, mostly Mama sharing the past and Margot listening.

“Thank you, Margot,” I said as she got up to leave.

Mama got up and gave her a big hug. “Come back again, please.”

Margot smiled. “I will. I love your mom,” she said as she returned Mom’s hug.

The time came where Hospice came to help with Mama’s last days. We put a hospital bed in the living room. A couple weeks before she passed away, she stopped asking what would happen to Rascal or if I wanted to get married, or why Daddy and Wayne didn’t come to see her. Rascal got sick and I took him to the vet, but we lost him. I didn’t want to tell Mama; she didn’t say much about him these days unless she saw him, which didn’t happen often because she couldn’t see him when she was lying in the hospital bed.

One day after I had taken him to the vet and he passed away, she asked, “Where is Rascal?”

“He’s sick, Mama. He’s at the vet’s.”

Finally, after her question and my answer several times, and consulting with my sister about it, I decided to tell her, expecting a very emotional response. I sat down beside her. “Mama, Rascal died. He was very sick.”

She simply wept a few tears without saying anything and never mentioned Rascal again before she died. When she lay sleeping that last week, she seemed to be holding on; my brother-in-law took her hand and said, “Your girls will be okay. You don’t have to worry about Darlene. We’ll take care of her.”

Within less than two days, Mama went home to be with Jesus. Her concerns were behind her. She was at rest at last.

THE AGE INSIDE

The years go by, but deep inside
my brain says I am still sixteen.
And though the face denies it’s true,
and gray replaces brown in hair,
the age inside can’t be denied.
But as I look back down the road
and see the two that came from me
and seven more who came from them,
I find that I don’t really mind
that I am so much older than
my soul would have me to believe.
Heaven’s door is closer now,
to dwell with Jesus Christ my Lord.
And when my days on earth are done,
my life continues to be lived
in those that I have left behind.
So while my brain says I am young,
and mirror says that I am old,
I’ll smile at inside trickery
and let God fill my life with joy.

2015