Create a short story, piece of memoir, or epic poem that is 26 sentences long, in which the first sentence begins with “A” and each sentence thereafter begins with the next letter of the alphabet.
Argyle socks. Beatty always wore argyle socks. Couldn’t understand what in the world he saw in them. Didn’t really care. Everything was perfect in those days. Father took care of us the best he could. Gave us food, shelter, and clothes. He, of course, was the one who gave Beatty his argyle socks. I wasn’t jealous though. Jealousy would mean that I was lacking something, and I wasn’t. Khaki pants and polo shirts lined my drawer. Love letters from my girlfriend were discretely tucked into the back corner. Maybe Beatty knew they were there, but he didn’t seem to care. Never said anything about them anyways. Our relationship was more of the ‘mind your own’ kind. People always said we looked exactly alike, and it was so hard to tell us apart. Quizzical expressions crossed their faces when, in response, we lifted our pant legs and showed them our socks. “Really?” I would ask. “Surely, I would never wear argyle socks.” Together we would laugh at our own private joke and skip away. Until one day, many years later, when it wasn’t funny anymore. Victoria, my then girlfriend and now wife, called me at the office.
“We thought it was you at first,” she sobbed into the phone. “X-rays showed so many broken bones.”
“You sure it’s him?” I asked, completely in denial.
“Zayne, honey,”– she paused– “he was wearing argyle socks.”
- Daily Prompt: A to Z (burningfireshutinmybones.wordpress.com)
- Daily Prompt: A to Z (chrisjwrites.wordpress.com)
- Daily Prompt: A to Z (lumar1298.wordpress.com)
Wow. This lady definitely did not do her homework. How embarrassing it must be for FOX news. Reza Aslan was very gracious during the interview. He even politely said, “It sounds like you haven’t actually read my book.” Ouch. That must have hurt her career. I’d like to see her publicly apologize for such an unprepared interview.
According to MSN Entertainment, Johnny Depp–one of my favorite actors–hinted that he may be retiring in the near future.
Here are some clips from my favorite Johnny Depp movies that you may not know of:
She removed the pendant from around her neck and placed it carefully into the box she kept hidden in her room.
Arlene trailed her delicate fingers over the ornate carvings that decorated the lid of the box–an old, wooden box that belonged to her mother. When she was young, Arlene would peek into her mother’s study when she was supposed to be napping. And there, on a number of occasions, she witnessed the most incredible exchange of power between her mother and the ruby pendant she kept locked away, out of reach.
Arlene’s mother had been missing for three years now. There was no sign of foul play, and the town believed she walked out on her family. Arlene had a different idea. What if her mother’s disappearance had something to do with the pendant? What if she was next?
Link to Write Now Prompt
There are too many misconceptions about what it is to be a teacher. Some think we get paid too much. Some think we don’t work enough. I hope this graphic clears up the misconceptions.
When I was younger, I felt things so deeply that there was no other option for me, but to write out my feelings. I would write poetry and prose. I would wake up eight times in the middle of the night–each time to add more to a poem I had started before I went to sleep. I would daydream and draw in class. I would spend an entire day starting and finishing a new novel I had just purchased–one that ultimately brought me to tears or scared the crap out of me. I bought books on writing and the writing process. I dreamed of becoming a famous author, of writing for a living.
I still feel the ache of wanting to write. I have novels- and novels-worth of material waiting to be written, but I can’t seem to write anything of substance. What happened? I used to be so proud of my work. I would share my poetry willingly, and ask others for advice in my writing. Does it flow? Are the characters believable? What should I add or remove or change to make the story even better? Can you feel the emotion behind my poetry?
Maybe I’m scared to write. Scared of what may come out of me. I’ve worked so hard to fight past all the bad, and to break into this person who is caring and strong. What if my writing shows everyone my weaknesses? What will they think?
Or maybe I’m scared that it’s just not good enough. When I was in Middle School, I had an English teacher named Mr. Faulk. I will never forget him. We were doing a poetry unit, and I mentioned to him that I have a book of poetry that I had written. I brought it in the next day for him to read. I knew all the poems weren’t great, but I was proud of what I had accomplished. Mr. Faulk started his critique by telling my he really like a specific poem. And to tell you the truth, I’m not even sure which one it was, because his next words hurt so badly. “…but the rest really aren’t that good.” He handed back my book of poetry. I nodded my head, and returned to my seat. Embarrassed. Disappointed. Ashamed. Nothing like destroying a child’s dream.
I spend my days, wanting to be creative. Wanting to write. But something is holding me back.
I’m completely frustrated today. I’ve been on vacation since the end of June, and I have accomplished absolutely nothing. I had all these plans. I was going to write a book, and plan for next year, and start to meditate. All I’ve been able to accomplish is watching almost 5 seasons of Dexter. I’m completely addicted. Someone, please tell me it’s okay to veg-out and do nothing this summer. I’m feeling guilty.