Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Super Villains?

Only one question this week: In your opinion, what constitutes a villain?
Answer in the comments, link up a longer answer from your blogs, etc. I’m very much interested in your thoughts.

Bonus question: Who is the best villain you’ve read/watched/met, and why?

And here's something to get you started...

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

My Blue Looks Like This

And my results from this are:


Today you said I’ve come full circle,
Round and round I go.
Munching my own tail.
Please. Give me benefit of spiral instead, movement rather than ground zero.

link to original here

“Lands gad,” he says to my lad.
“Up there ahead, do you see?”
Reeling left, my son lifts his great heft
Calling, “Harbor ho!” bitterly.
He hates coming home to see me.

link to original here


Because I said I would.
Our love started on a night
When the moon was round, and the stars hung
Low. Now my belly is round, and my breasts hang low, and

Only you could love me so
Voraciously still.
Each memory is a chemical balance, fermenting with age until we are
Ripe with such fullness. I partake of this drink, with you, because I said I would.


For another rendition from the same palette check out Sleepy Joe's lovely story here. Much thanks to her for sharing part of her world.

And for your final piece of magic today I bring you some love from Xavier Rudd:


Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Same Palette, Different Blue

I’ve been thinking a lot about how we’re all working with the same proverbial palette – red, yellow, and blue. No idea can be truly original, right? And yet in a world crowded with people, we are each so very individual, original in our own ways. 

My green doesn’t exactly mirror your green. Your purple is perhaps a little more bright.

So this is an exercise in both faith and diversity. I’d love to see how many people will join in, then see how different and amazing our stories can be regardless of the fact that we’re working with the same limited prompts.

Please participate and share with those you think would be interested, then link up in the comments by next Monday night (February 18) so we can all see your masterpieces. Here are the parameters:

Write a short story no more than 500 words long. It can be any genre, fiction, non-fiction, lyrics, poetry, whatever. Just be sure to include three of the five words below (or some past, present, future derivative), as well as one of the pictures.

Words (choose at least three) –


Pictures (choose at least one) –

link to original here
link to original here
link to original here
link to original here
link to original here

Optional, use one of the following songs as soundtrack (they're all instrumental; I would suggest ignoring the images and just listening to the music) –



When you’ve finished and posted your work, don't forget to link up in the comments. Thanks for playing along . I'm looking forward to reading and sharing pieces of your worlds.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

300 Words or Less: Pale

I'm not usually one to take my shirt off for people, but when the person telling me to strip has a gun on her hip and a title on her name? I only hesitate a moment.

At least I can be proud of that moment.

We are both workers, she and I, born in the same complex. Obviously the authority of my title holds nothing against hers though. I’ve definitely not been issued a gun.

Her face is hard, like the grey stone walls around us are hard. Still, I can’t imagine she’s much older than me. None of us get much older than me without losing something important. An eye, a hand, a piece of our soul.

I wonder what she’ll do when she gets off work tonight. Will she lean on her fridge door while rummaging for something to munch? Maybe she’ll pop a lite beer, put her feet up, watch a re-run while winding down. Maybe she’ll head straight to bed. Will someone be waiting for her there?

link to original here
Her eyes scan lazy over my pale breasts, her voice monotone. “Height?”




She looks me up and down, doing her own calculations. I have no idea what she writes on her form. The questions never end.

Until they do.

The last one makes me smile.

“Are you suicidal?”

I smile because a truly suicidal person would never say yes. We all know this, right?


She scrutinizes my face, my answer, my crime. She calculates again. But then she just shrugs, throws me my shirt. She’s got a pale ale at home that’s more important than I am.

“Put her in the tank with the rest,” she says, and they push me forward.

Or perhaps I’m moving backwards.

At this point, I can’t tell. 


That's the latest story, morning glory. Let me know what you think about this or anything else you want to rant/share. Have a lovely week, lovelies, and here's a little magic from Cat Power's new album:

*Update: I'm linking with the Dude Write flash-fic competition this week, so check out this and other bloggers' work here.
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