Writer. Feminist. Historian. Person.
She blinked at her reflection. Was she destined to always be cast in the role of “mother”? Hell she thought. Let’s rock-n-roll. Chopping as she stared at her old eyes under the new fringe.
(34 words exactly)
The Battle of the Bang. I know it well! I’ve spent a life time chopping and growing and chopping and growing. (Oh … and coloring)
One year ago: 
This week: 
Next month: ?????
Thanks to Sammi Scribbles Weekend Writing Prompt
And to Linda and her SoCS writing prompt (roll/role)
commemoration?
or hidden treasure buried?
the harvest lays bare
This week’s Friday Fictioners photo prompt (courtesy of Rochelle Wisoff) brought to mind all sorts of dark thoughts, which made me wonder–why are my thoughts so darn dark? It doesn’t have to be a murdered girl’s gravesite. It could something completely innocent. Even something fun! So after battling with my inner demons, this haiku emerged. It’s not exactly following the rules, so if you need to dump it I understand Rochelle!
And thanks to Scotts Daily Prompt (harvest) It fit my mood perfectly.
Where the hell was that girl with his whiskey? It was cold in the courtyard. And drafty. But they wouldn’t let him smoke inside. And he really needed one. It was his first in six months so he probably didn’t need it so much as he wanted it. But right now he wasn’t in the mood to dissect the difference. He was too busy trying to pretend he didn’t really care. But his attempts at pretending collapsed almost immediately. He couldn’t lie to himself. He had wanted it. Bad.
As he thought about their rejection, he second-guessed every decision he had made. Where had he gone wrong? All he ever really wanted was to belong. Maybe that was it. Maybe they could smell the overwhelming need seeping out of his pores like a rancid perfume. The kind that claims to be glamorous but really is just cheap. Well screw them. He didn’t need to belong to their stupid group. Probably just a bunch of blowhards and know-it-alls. He took a long drag off his Camel and let his mind drift. He could see the headline now: “Unknown Author Defies Odds with Million Dollar Book Advance.”
But even as that thought formed, a single tear dropped. Stupid writing workshop.
I dedicate this to all my past rejections. Without them, I would not/could not be ME!
And thanks to all y’all (below) for your inspiration in word and picture!
love, hot to the touch
still rough at the edges, yet
soft in its embrace
Today’s haiku was inspired by dVerse and the challenge to think about touch. Plus, I REALLY REALLY wanted to capture the essence of this photo from over at The Haunted Wordsmith.
How’d I do?
Got touch?
truthfully she pledged
to “love honor and obey”
then parody died
Thanks to FOWC and Ronovan Writes for the prompts.
And for the record, this is not a reflection on my marriage, which is alive and happy, maybe because we never promised to “obey.” 😉
Tina Stewart Brakebill 