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 A new blog to contain answers to prompts |
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas "  became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one. Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.  |
| Prompt: "Give everyday the chance to become the most beautiful day of your life. " Mark Twain Write about this quote in your Blog entry today. ----------- Ahha! Mark Twain! Someone who knows what he's saying and says it, so well! So the first word in the quote has my attention right away; "Give!" This is an active offering. It isn't "hope that" or "wait for." It is the door that opens instantly. Then "everyday"...another potential door. The power to hold the door knob and look out has nothing to do with fate or anything else. The day is ours, all twenty-four hours of it. Best yet, for any day to be the most beautiful day, it doesn't need a permit, a passport, or a parachute. I can find it in the steam rising from my morning tea. I can find it in the bird songs sneaking in from the open window. I can find it in the music coming from the tap when I do the breakfast dishes. This is because I think happiness may be conditional for some, and at times, for me too, unfortunately. This has to do with the thinking of "I'll be happy if..." or "I'll be happy when..." But whatever we place after those three dots may never happen. So, I think a rebellion against any conditional happiness is in order, here. For it is the declaration that beauty is not the prize at the end of any race or day, but the very air I decide to choose to breathe along the way. Giving the day its chance means listening, truly listening, to the same old story a friend tells me for the umpteenth time. It also means hearing not the repetition but the comforting rhythm of her voice. It means tasting anything I eat, say an apple, as if I'm eating it for the first time and savoring it. It means appreciating people and gestures and telling them that. It means seeing the colors in shades and shadows in anything, as if for the first time. It means choosing silence instead of complaints. As such, some days might greet me with open arms and dazzle me with connections, synchronicity, and anything beautiful. Yet, what about gray days and minor disappointments? This is where Mark Twain is challenging me and all of us. To give a chance to that gray day, which may be full of grief and stress, is certainly an act of creative courage. It is to find beauty, not in spite of the gray, but within its subtle textures. This is because I'd feel the beauty of warmth more deeply after coming in from a storm. It is always my flawed, soft heart that endures. It is the sigh I share with others and sometimes only with myself. It is resilience, I think. The most beautiful day, therefore, isn't necessarily the easiest or the happiest, but it is the one I am most present for, the one I paid attention to, the one I chose to experience rather than find fault with my humdrum circumstances. After all, if I'm dancing in my kitchen while the soup boils over or calling my cousins just to hear their voices or writing in my blog this entry, so I can search my own psyche, I'm giving today its chance, offering my attention, my gratitude, and my willingness to be amazed. May our todays and every days always turn out to be the most beautiful days for all of us. |
| Prompt: Busy on Halloween Can you think of a person or business whose busiest night of the year is Halloween? Who do you think will be the busiest this Halloween in your family or in your area? -------------- Halloween! The night kids count candy and call it, "my loot," and teenagers seek shivers and fear, Halloween is a harvest. This night, in most places, arrives with the rustle of fallen leaves and crisp autumn air, plus anticipation. For such fancy-seekers and dreamers, Halloween means the thinning of the veil. It becomes something way beyond folklore. It is the opening and, at the same time, the closing shift for some businesses. By that I mean those shops selling costumes, candy, and fear. Halloween is their Christmas, New Year's Eve, and the tax season rolled into one, as if a huge applause when the curtain closes. Also, the week ending in the 31st of the month, like this week now, turns into a blur of last-minute panic, plus a desperate parent or two searching frantically for the specific costume their children had been yearning for. For those parents and other frantic customers, the shop or store owners and workers--now fueled with extra caffeine--move or rush with the grace of the battlefield surgeons if only to mend seams on costumes and morale. How do I know this? Way back when, when we lived on LI, NY, we knew a couple like that; They were our store-owner friends. During the last Halloween nights, he and his wife kept running amok inside their store, muttering, "It'll be over soon! It'll be over soon!" It was as if the Halloween night and the few previous ones were their last breaths before their quiet and peace, with their harvest over and their fields of crop becoming empty. This adrenaline is not only for the store owners, though. It is for the parents lugging boxes and bags of candy and teens wearing masks under which they can barely breathe; and for the real enthusiasts, the make-up artists who spend hours painting wounds on smooth skins of people. Then, there are the serious businesses, commercial buildings, stores, and private residences that are the real targets of Halloween tricks. For them, Halloween is the one night every minor spirit, forgotten phantom, and amateur poltergeist is granted a temporary permit to manifest by making a mess. For these places and their owners, Halloween means a frantic effort to manage the chaos and to make sure, while the mortal world gets enough of the spooky, the entire system doesn't get messed up too much. I now live in a state where Halloween is not as much of a deal as I had experienced in the other parts of the country. Still, even here, as the sun sets on October 31st, it is not just the beginning of the witching hour, but it is the harvest of fear, of fun, of sugar, and imagination. And I'm ready with my bags of candy, mostly chocolate, for the cute trick-or-treaters in costumes to ring my door. |
| Prompt: Irrational fears Do you have “irrational” fears, and have you ever had a nightmare about them? ---------- I did have nightmares every now and then, way back when, but not anymore...I think not, or maybe now, I don't recall them afterwards. I'm sure at least some of those nightmares were based on some irrational fears, detected by me or not. But then, sometimes, when I wake up, most of my dream memory just evaporates in that instant. So, I can't tell exactly if I had a nightmare or not. As to fears and nightmares, they creep from the corners of my mind where logic doesn't linger much. Like shadows in a well-lit room, so to speak. All those implied fears! Something unseen waits just beyond the edge of reason. A creak in the floor becomes a warning or my fleeting image in the mirror breathes on its own and sticks out its tongue at me. I bet my such fears have no basis and no wound from my past can justify their existence. They pop up due to my imagination that has turned against itself. Furthermore, my nightmares just may be those fears' midnight offspring, as if they are dreams that slipped away from my consciousness and ran amok. Possibly, they echo my anxieties in grotesque forms, turn the familiar faces, things, and events into distorted shapes, and bend time to such a degree that I feel I can't escape, but still, escape I do, only to wake up to what is real. This makes me question the presence of the nightmares. Why are they there? Maybe they have a purpose, strange though it may be. Is it because they mean to force me to face the daily chaos I try to contain or are they rehearsals for my fears? Or else, they may have to do with my psyche, the weird one who might be testing its resilience in the safety of my sleep. Whatever the answer or the reason, there seems to be a terrible kind of beauty in those fears and nightmares, as they are also the products of my same mind, which mostly dreams of love, wonder, beauty, and hope. Is it because this mind is also trying to conjure up its own undoing? But no, most possibly, it may only be my imagination, creating its own worlds, just to haunt them. |
| Prompt: Horror Genre Do you like the horror genre, and what was the first scary movie you saw or the scary book you read if you remember it? ----------- I do appreciate the horror genre since a writer or a movie-maker can use horror to say difficult things very efficiently. But like it, no. I don't like it as a genre. Anything nasty, if and when used only to scare people out of their wits, feels unpleasant to me. During my earliest of years, my mother, who was a big storyteller, used giants as her horror elements when she told me her stories. My first scary story, therefore, was Jack and the Beanstalk, if I'm remembering correctly. Then, later, when an aunt took me to the movies to watch Snow White, later Cinderella and others, I remember hating Snow White's witch stepmother and the same happened with other story characters. Then, when I read a few ghost stories and hauntings and such, later on, I developed a phobia against the dark. Luckily, it didn't last very long. In spite of that, at times, I watched horror films with tales of creatures stalking humans or serial killers with traps of horror or spirits haunting a home and such. I never understood the internal or central idea in some of them, maybe because they didn't have a decent lesson or an understandable motive in the first place. Except, maybe, scaring people for no reason is a motive. I guess where horror goes, my favorite has to be the Phantom of the Opera. I took the story as a tale of love, despite the scary Phantom. But is it really a tale of love? The Phantom, as a character, might say he was deeply in love with Christine; however, he loves his obsession, not the girl. Maybe the Phantom doesn't really know what a really healthy relationship is like. So, in general, horror, is not my usual pick, as I don't normally volunteer to read a book or see a movie within the horror genre because I believe even the worst things can be said in a much nicer way. Still, chills or thrills, horror films and books have drawn many people into the genre. With that fact in mind, who am I to put a whole genre down! |
| Prompt: Let this song inspire your entry today: You can listen or read the lyrics, what every works best for you. "Still Crazy After All These Years" ---------------- I do remember that song. Truth is, at first, I only recalled the refrain part of it. I probably didn't listen to the whole thing when that song was all over the place, anyway. And that poor guy in the song! I think he should register to WdC and start writing something or begin reading a thing or two. He seems to be wasting away and is very unhappy about it; although in a way, he denies it. I mean, he possesses a distinct intellectual loneliness, wouldn't you say? As such, instead of with company and friends, his conversations are internal. I think he might just be a romantic skeptic, too, since his once-upon-a-time, young love is masking his profound immaturity. Sentimentality or narcissism, can you tell which? On the plus side, since I don't want to be too cruel to him, his defining characteristic is his self-awareness. He weaves it as a thin, flimsy layer of self-deprecation, however. He says, “I’m not the kind of man who likes to boast.” Then, he immediately follows it by detailing his achievements. He tells of his stability and wisdom gained from years of disappointment. Maybe only a subtle boast rooted in truth...but, still... Yet, the song isn't successful for this self-awareness of him. It is successful because of his skepticism touched by his coming across an old love, by chance. An old love that might still hurt him, internally, maybe? Sticking in that "old love" idea might be the fan-getter, this song needed, no matter how dreary the original theme was. I guess, to be fair, in addition to this old-love image, the music and who the singer is (Yay, Paul Simon!) have helped the song become popular, as well. So, it seems to me, in essence, the character in the song is a craftsman who built a fortress against pain, for himself. Yet, no matter how strong a fortress is, isn't it true that the most dangerous enemy always hides inside that fortress's walls?  |
| Prompt: “When everything went wrong at once, it felt like folding origami in a hurricane.” Lola Dodge Your thoughts about this quote. --------- Ahha! Don't I know it! How many times my innocent intents were swallowed by chaos! Origami is tiny but exact folds of paper with edges aligning. I know it because I tried it and failed miserably. Just imagine doing that in a hurricane! And believe me, for living in Florida, I know a lot about hurricanes. So, what this quote is referring to has to be the dread of facing such a tempest. The meaning inside the quote, therefore, is much layered. First, failure overwhelms. This is in failure's nature. It means not a single misstep or a minor setback but a cascade of disasters all at the same time. Now, isn't this the perfect storm of misfortune! I mean, one can handle a single misstep or a tiny setback. But a conglomerate of disasters? I hope no one ever goes through such an experience. Because it is paralyzing. I would give here an example of what happened to me six years ago, but even writing about it would unnerve me. So, just think about the excess volume of demands all at the same time, the urgencies that compete with one another, and the pain due to the impossibility of giving enough attention to each one. If this isn't a paralyzing effect, I don't know what is. This is because that "everything," which goes wrong in life, often targets our most sensitive points, our deepest insecurities, our most cherished hopes. As such, the origami maker's time, skill, and intention goes to the dumps when undone by forces beyond his control. He becomes blindsided by the hurricane. After all, when our world shatters, our best efforts feel useless, and the sheer force of circumstances make even the simplest action feel like a huge challenge. But then, even if the hurricane tore apart the origami, doesn't the origami maker feel, at least, a bit lucky to come out of that hurricane alive? Just maybe, that hurricane was sent by some unknown force to teach him a lesson. I think so, as I often search for the lesson beneath my misfortunes when and if they happen. |
| Prompt: "I'd rather be kind than right." Vince Gill Write about this quote in your Blog entry today. -------------- The saying, "I'd rather be kind than right," may be true in some or most cases, but I wouldn't bet on kindness being more beneficial to a person who hasn't realized his wrongdoings and keeps repeating them. That person has to be warned, however gently. On the other hand, there's a different way of looking at this situation. But first, this, as my personal experience: After meeting with some truth-advocate, important person, one of my sons decided to always tell the truth and not hold anything back. This went on for several months. Although, I did appreciate his truthfulness, I felt he had turned into a harder, harsher person, but I didn't correct him for the simple reason that he was 49 years old at the time and wouldn't take much criticism from his old mother anyway. In about a year or two, my truth-blaring son lost quite a bit of friends due to his extreme directness. Luckily, later, he met a new girlfriend who, I believe, gently goaded him to hold his tongue, at least to a degree. Nowadays, my son is still truthful, but he is also considerate and has learned to hold back his extremely truthful opinions to himself much better. Just watching my son go through such an experience showed me that such overt truth-telling can make the others feel that being wrong can be a threat. This experience and others like it also demonstrate that where interpersonal relationships are concerned, kindness, rooted in empathy and understanding has a much greater value than the blind chase for correctness. This is because kindness is the best bridge between people. When we approach others with kindness first, we create for them a safe space for openness and vulnerability This leads to a richer exchange of thoughts and feelings. active listening, acceptance of differences, and a deeper appreciation of other ideas. To me, this is much better than hurting another person with the truth. Surely, there will be moments when kindness can feel like a sacrifice, especially when confronted with ignorance or hostility. Yet, we must keep in mind that a kind response may have the power to soften hearts and open minds, So why not do things the easier, gentler way? That is, do them with kindness and be truthful, too. |
| Prompt: "People come into our lives for a reason." Write about this in your Blog entry today. ----------- I'm not sure if the people we meet and connect to, in any shape or form, were predetermined for an unknown godly reason. Yet, human connections are significant, be it they may be brief or enduring or joyful or painful. All of them add to our growth and understanding in some way. In my own life, friends have appeared just when I needed support or a teacher (or rather someone acting as a teacher) introduced me to a new way of thinking, or a total stranger's kindness made me happy and restored my belief in humanity. Often, I found out the meaning of what happened in hindsight; that is, after I felt healed or loved or learned something important about life or myself. Come to think of it, there may be a quiet order in the chaos of our relationships with other people. This may not be predestined but rather holding a potential to awaken something in us. I sense, it may be to help us through a difficult time, to teach us love or betrayal, to inspire creativity, or best yet, to bring out into the open the boundaries we didn't know we needed. Again, in my case, each person leaves an imprint. That person may be a writer who did or didn't live in my time but what he or she wrote impressed me. As for others, even when our relationships ended,--be it through death, misunderstanding, or any change in locations or interests-- the idea that I had a give-and-take with that person has offered me comfort. In other words, whatever happened at the end didn't erase the meaning of our time together. Best yet, this saying is positive as it invites gratitude. It encourages me to look beyond things, such as coincidences or misunderstandings, and I end up believing that there might have been a purpose in the relationship. Then, just maybe, that connection or the short-lived link to each person who has entered and still enters my life may be part of a much larger life lesson, similar to a word in a very long sentence. That is...if life is a sentence!  |
| Prompt: Favorite wild animal Which is your favorite wild animal? If that animal could speak and write what would its autobiography say? ---------- I love all animals, even snakes, but I wouldn't really go near or pet a snake. The same, more or less, goes for all wild animals. Yet, if I have to make a choice, the kind of animals I love the most are the cats, big or small, wild or tamed. I don't know what the autobiography of a big cat would say, but when I witness a wild large cat, even in a documentary, I feel a deep awe. I think they are so perfect despite their evolution through the ages. No wonder they are in our mythologies and are feared and revered at the same time. Unfortunately, I don't like what we humans do to them. I especially hated it when we visited several different zoos, way back when. I still recall the sight of a very upset, emaciated lion in a cage. I think it is beyond cruelty to take those animals from their natural environments and imprison them so heartlessly. After all, each species of the large cats are marvels. And they do adapt and keep the balance in their ecosystems. I see them as the guardians of nature, with their untamed spirits. They have grace, raw power, and perfection. The lion, with his shaggy mane is regal and he has social power over his tribe. When he roars, the ground vibrates. He and his tribe are hunters but their hunting is strategic with communal togetherness. The tiger, on the other hand, has a more solitary path for he is the solitary hunter. His fur has a unique pattern and it serves as a camouflage. A Bengal tiger in a bamboo thicket or a Siberian tiger moving as fluidly as smoke through the pines is a splendid sight. That is, if you can catch that sight! Also, I have to mention the leopard, the jaguar, and the cheetah. All these cats are slinky and fast, with cheetah wearing the crown of fastness. They can climb trees with agility and when they wish, they stalk in the shadows like ghosts. They all have powerful bites, too. All these big, beautiful, wild cats with strong instincts have elegance and power, and in my opinion, they are the untamed, yet magnificent, heart of our planet. |
| Prompt: Foods in Autumn Which fall foods and drinks are your favorites? Write about the foods most people enjoy during autumn. And if you wish, do you have any recipes to share? ----------- When it comes to food, I am not picky, but with autumn, pumpkin anything takes the front row. Yet, it is not the only thing that makes my mouth water and my eyes shine. Let me begin with soup. Soups are rich and they warm my soul. I'm a fan of soups at any season. And I always freeze in a plastic container some kind of excess soup for later. I like creamy wild mushroom soup (if I can get wild mushrooms), French Onion Soup, with melted cheese on top, all kinds of lentil soups, all delicious, hearty, and deeply satisfying. Surely, then, are the abundance of fall vegetables and Thanksgiving turkey. Truthfully, I am not a fan of turkey at any other time, but there's something special to be with one's family and carve the turkey at the Thanksgiving dinner table. Then, who doesn't love the serving of the stuffing, potatoes, and cranberry sauce, with possibly a joke or two to spice the meal, even more? Furthermore, I did say pumpkin first, didn't I! Pumpkin spice muffins and apple cider or a delicious pumpkin pie...How about that? Also, pumpkin spice baked oatmeal in the morning. This is because autumn food offers inspiration and the use of cinnamon, nutmeg, an cloves. Once upon a time, I made a pumpkin pie mixed with shredded apples and it became a favorite for my family. Plus, I can't pass by without mentioning our pumpkin bread. For me, it always is autumn's culinary best. |
| Prompt: What if a massive storm wipes out technology, thrusting society into a new dark age without electricity and internet? What would happen to you, then? Could you survive it? ------------ I guess I would survive it, but barely. As long as paper and pencil or pen would be available, but I bet during such a catastrophe, even those things would end up being luxury items. On the plus side, I'd go to bed as soon as it got dark outside and wake up as soon as the morning dawned, in which case, that could be an improvement. Yet, I'd miss the search engines, WdC, reading online or listening to books, not to mention my appliances and household items that work with electricity. Come to think of it, I can't imagine doing an entire laundry by hand. What I wouldn't miss would be the recent gauche handling of AI, by my email and internet company, Microsoft, and other companies that I deal with almost daily. I guess there wouldn't be phones anymore either, so no waiting on the phone for eternity for some agent from one company or another to answer, if only to put me on hold. Still, even though I carp a lot about people and companies mishandling AI, I think I am--just like most of us is--seriously addicted to technology. And I hope, in no time, whatever is making people deal wrongly with something so useful as technology can wear out, and people and businesses learn the most effective ways to deal with the technological advancements to make our lives better. |
| Prompt: Write your entry about supernatural happenings...from the POV of a character’s pet. Have fun! ------ Noche's Tale of the Midnight Veil They called me or rather the jet-black color of my fur, a bad omen. They whispered and clutched their charms when they saw me snoozing on Joy's lap as Joy defended my honor to them. But the truth is, I’m not the one they should fear. My name is Noche, and I am older than my paws suggest. I’ve had nine lives, possibly even more, though not one of them has truly ended. So, let me tell you a story that happened a long time ago, although I remember it as if it were today; therefore, I'm telling it in the present tense so you experience it as if it's happening at the moment. When you come down to it, what's time, anyway! Noche's Story: The Tale of the Midnight Veil Tonight, the moon sits swollen and pale above the crooked rooftops of our street. Its light stains the fog like milk on ink. An hour or two ago, as Joy slept, I escaped through the porch door that wasn't quite locked by the pool-man. And I made it into the graveyard. So now, I prowl along the stone wall that borders the graveyard, my tail flicking in rhythm with the pulse of something I feel beneath the earth. It’s coming awake again, that thing, which sleeps between the tombs. Humans never notice. They think their candles and prayers keep the dark at bay. They don’t realize how thin the veil is. But I do. I see the ripples. I hear the whispers. The air here smells of wet soil, a strange perfume that never belongs to the living. My ears move; there’s a hush in the wind, a gathering pause. Then, from the center of the graveyard, a sigh rises. It's the voice without breath. "Noche..." Ah, so she remembers me. The lady I served centuries ago, when she still wore skin and laughter. She fed me cream by the fire and whispered incantations in my fur. When her heart stopped, she promised to return...and she always keeps her promises. I slink through the rusted gate, its hinges shrieking like the ghosts here, startled awake. The fog thickens, curling around my paws as if it knows my name, too. Shadows stretch long and I see her. She's half-formed, glimmering like silver through the mist. “Still guarding the threshold, little one?” Her voice sounds like falling leaves. “Someone must,” I reply, though she hears my thoughts, not my voice. Then I circle her, holding my tail high. Her smile is a memory of warmth. “The veil weakens. They will come through soon.” “They already have,” I say. “Three nights ago, I chased a shadow through the backyard. It had too many eyes.” “You’ve always been my good hunter.” She tilts her head. The wind picks up. A clock strikes midnight somewhere beyond the trees, and the veil shudders. The cracks are forming now, thin fractures of light and darkness. The seam between worlds tear like old silk. Shapes begin to crawl out. They are shadows with the memory of limbs. They are whispers clothed in hunger. They sense her, and they sense me. I arch my back and hiss. The fur along my spine crackles with static. The Lady raises her hand, “Guard it,” she commands. “Until dawn.” Then she leaves, her glow sinking into the ground like moonlight into water. I leap to the highest gravestone, my eyes burning in gold. The creatures swarm below, dripping through cracks in the night. Their voices sound like rain on glass. I slash at the nearest one, and it recoils, hissing. Then it folds in on itself. They fear me, as they should. By the time the first bird sings, the veil has sealed again. The air still hums, but the danger has passed. I sit upon the stone, licking my paw clean, though the darkness clings to me like smoke. Soon, the humans will wake and see me perched among their dead, and they’ll whisper about bad luck and curses. Let them. They will never know how many times the world almost ended. They’ll never know it was a black cat named Noche who stood between them and the dark. And now, I'll head back to Joy, who always loved me, who never forgot me...even after I died for the last time. |
| Prompt: “Most misunderstandings in the world could be avoided if people would simply take the time to ask, "What else could this mean?” ― Shannon L. Alder Do you agree or disagree? ---------- I agree. Definitely. Most fights happen because we human beings with short fuses jump to immediate conclusions. This quote, "Most misunderstandings in the world could be avoided if people would simply take the time to ask, 'What else could this mean?'" shows that meaning can be constructed in any way it is heard. Even if the original meaning might be negative, we need to respond to the actual words, and not our, often flawed, interpretation of them. How we process information, any information, and interpret others' actions--as if they mean the worst--is not good for human relationships. My guess is that this also goes for the interactions and dealings among nations. I bet most of the wars and negative behavior in the past or here in the present are the results of either misunderstandings or reading into the words of the other group or persons. Our first understanding of what we see as the other side, be it through words or actions, may not be the correct or may not be the only interpretation. For example, a couple of days ago, I was complaining about the yo-yo weather we were having lately and the other person thought I was talking about the present-day governing party of the USA. That was so funny, because I never talk about politics. To me politics should stay as 'to each his own.' Also, because parties and governments change but the altercations and negative feelings among people tend to stay much longer. This, however, is only a slight example of a misunderstood meaning. Worse yet, another person may interpret a neutral comment as an insult because he or she has been hurt by a similar comment before, and they attach a malicious intent behind an innocent sentence or gesture. The simple act of asking, therefore, "What else could this mean?" has to be taken as an invitation to pause and think twice. This way, we decide to step outside of our instinctive reactions and judgmental natures, as well as searching outside of what we may think is the obvious. Another thing, this quotes points to the importance of using intellectual humility. By that, I mean accepting the fact that we don't always have all the answers, and that our first understanding or reaction may never be the ultimate truth. Stopping and thinking better about someone's words or even actions could be the better way of keeping good relationships. As the result, therefore, we are less likely to fall into the trap of rigid thinking and prejudice, and causing an existing conflict to grow bigger. |
| Prompt: Edgar Allan Poe's goal was to be a writer of poetry and short stories. Do you agree with his goal? ---------- It is his goal, isn't it! Whether I agree with it or not, it won't matter. Poe wrote only one novel, which must have freaked him out, so he might have opted to stick with shorter work. No offense, NaNo writers of this year, but I can certainly understand that, because I, too, was writing Nano novels at one time, up to a few years ago. Then, as I got far ahead in years, I tried sticking to short stories and poems. Now that I'm quite old and my eyes can't take too much strain, I'm into writing in my blog. So far so good, though, as I haven't missed a day...yet. Then, unlike that of yours truly, Poe's work is extremely dramatic; "Quote the raven nevermore" and such. I always thought it was because of his emotional makeup. Surely, there is that, but there's also another factor, as I found out later. Poe’s father and mother were professional actors. Should any one of us in WdC had been raised by actors in a repertory company, I bet we'd end up writing more dramatically, too. Poe wasn't only a writer of short stories and poetry, but also, a great literary critic of his time. We may not be great literary critics but we do write reviews here, don't we! I suspect what connects us writers here in WdC to Poe is that Poe started to write poems first, sometime during his early youth. I bet most of us did that. I did that. My first poem, when I was seven was about the flower violet.  I bet Poe wouldn't approve. There was nothing dramatic about it. |
| Prompt: Fog. Since it is Halloween Month, write something about fog. --------- Fog is usually referred to as a weather pattern. Today, though, I plan not to talk about that fog, the one pointing to a weather event. Instead, I'll try to look at it as a sigh. The sigh of a lifetime. And my sigh is sometimes one of sadness, sometimes one of relief. Such a fog is not born of clouds but of the intangible spaces between my thoughts and reality. This fog doesn't fall but it unfurls. When I step into this fog, I step out of myself. This, I came to look at and learn as inevitable in old age. It is like the solid ground under my feet is just a suggestion or a memory, but not a certainty. On the plus side, this fog makes sharp edges soften and blur into a haze of possibility. What is familiar, I question a lot, nowadays. This fog is now a veil, but not of ignorance or not paying attention. It is one of transition. It is where what is ordinary sheds its skin for a more in-depth feeling. The extraordinary, therefore, is there to be seen and appreciated and even loved. For a lost artist or writer, it is a sanctuary, as well as a playground for what was unseen, for the fog now cloaks the mundane. Within this fog, time warps. Minutes become eternities. My Lifetime passes in a blink. When this fog rolls in, my memories swim to surface, not as clear remembrances but impressions carrying hues of what might have been and what never will be. Then, my intuition enters the stage with a sudden knowing, which bypasses logic and addresses my soul. To be lost in such a fog is not a misfortune. Instead, it is an invitation to look beyond the known. It is that gentle reminder to me that truth is not often what I can see, but it's what I can feel, when I let myself enter into the secretive breath of this fog. |
| Prompt: Halloween Can you remember your earliest memory of the Halloween season? If not, write about what can make a Halloween trick or treating memorable? Or do you wish other nations could also enjoy Halloween and the month of October? ---------- It's been such a long time and I don't believe I recall anything about an earliest memory. According to my mother though, I must have asked if the Thanksgiving Turkey had become a ghost. Go figure a kid's mind! To me, what made trick-or-treating memorable was the trick or treaters ringing our door, much later, and my older son refusing to go trick or treating because it was embarrassing for him to beg for candy. Yet, the younger one couldn't wait for it and would be jumping up and down with excitement. To this day, my two sons are each other's opposites in just about everything. I am not sure what I wish for other nations in regard to Halloween, but I wish they would stop their fighting and their wars before establishing a Halloween or any other holiday. Still, some do celebrate Halloween, but by wearing different masks. I heard, in some places, it is a candlelight vigil and in another, a masked carnival. In other words, our Halloween friend the pumpkin is replaced by a turnip in Germany, a sugar skull in Mexico, a paper lantern in Japan, and a glowing LED mask in Nairobi. Their common thread is a fearful night when ordinary rules loosen, when the lines between the living and the imagined blur. This is when the small villages in the Irish countryside or megacities in Tokyo come together to confront the darkness with a smile, a snack, and a story. After all, what's more fun than treating a dark night with a good story! |
| Prompt: pets Write about the best things about being a cat (or any other pet) owner and what your animal friends have taught you. -------- Before I talk about the best things, let me talk about the worst thing, possibly the only worst thing. They die. As did my last cat. As did all the other dogs and cats I got so attached to throughout my life. And that broke me in so very many ways. Now that I've gotten the worst out of the way, let me talk about the "How do I love thee"s when it comes to an animal family member. For me, being a cat companion, especially of my last cat Noche, meant being immersed into her world of mysterious elegance, her gentle friendship, and her surprisingly profound lessons. She definitely had a certain magic about her. So what were those lessons and joy handed to me by my whiskered wonder? To begin with, her affection was unconditional. It was a privilege given only to me, I felt. It meant living with her head nuzzles, unrestrained joyful leaps, her purrs against my legs, her nosiness into anything I was doing such as making the bed, her long stares at me with slow blinks in between, and her talking in her sleep while she lay in bed with me at nights. Noche wasn't a lap cat, but she always found the closest spot to me and I always provided one for her. At times, she liked to be picked up and loved, and her purrs were my constant grounding, a simple happiness of the moment, but she preferred to be put in her seat afterwards. Plus, she knew the comfiest chair or seat or the top of something to snooze in or to watch the goings on in the house. For an old cat, Noche was truly acrobatic, too. She provided me with unforeseen entertainment very often, as well as lessons on how to live. Her sudden bursts of energy, dramatic pounces, her peculiar fascination with the TV reminded me not to take anything too seriously. She also knew almost instinctively my sorrows and joys, and offered me her healing presence or playfulness. Having Noche with me meant a journey filled with soft paws, mesmerizing stares, a soothing, quiet symphony of purrs, and our moments of special connection. She wove her magic into my life, giving it another very important meaning. A meaning that still stays with me after she's gone. |
| Prompt: Ghosts and the paranormal provide a bottomless source of inspiration for writers. Why do you think that is? ------------ Why are writers so taken with the paranormal? I believe it is because the ghost story and the paranormal in its varied forms stay around the longest in our culture. What is paranormal also lies between the known and the unknowable. What it is not, is not the cheap thrill of a sudden scare. This, I mistakenly had thought much earlier and I looked down at all "boo" producers; however, after reading the many works of WdC writers on the subject, I'm reformed now. In essence, when I think about it, a writer's main task is to explore emotion, trauma, and consequences. Truly, ghosts are consequences, when it comes down to it. They are the residue of injustice, grief, guilt and love, which refuse to die. Also, this enables a writer to bypass that internal thought, which is often shown in a live character. I don't ever recall a reading about a ghost's internal monologue. Instead, the ghost belongs, usually, with a setting. This setting is mostly a historical place, an old structure. Yet, a haunted house or place preserves time inside it. What we think are random details, like the scent of lilac, the creaky door to the attic, or that cold spot in the library, can be clues left from the past life of a ghost. This allows the writer to look deep into time, possibly the ghost's time, which should reveal itself somewhere in the plot. Still, the most inspiring quality of the paranormal is its use as a tool for psychological suspense. In short, it tests our perception as humans. It makes what we call reality an iffy idea. Then, for the writer who is versatile, (not yours truly), the paranormal is flexible and can be used in several genres. "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir" comes to mind, for example. Then, how about the comedic, "Beetlejuice"? At the end, the true power of the ghost is in its humanity and not in its ability to frighten. And this makes a good writer become interested in only what prevents the ghost or a similar spirit from leaving. This is the ultimate dare of the story writing. This is where the writer's muse always finds its own special voice. |
| Prompt: Eleanor Roosevelt: "At all times, day by day, we have to continue fighting for freedom of religion, freedom of speech, and freedom from want — for these are things that must be gained in peace as well as in war". Do you agree or disagree with Ms. Roosevelt about the value of freedom of religion, freedom of speech, and freedom from want? ------ I surely do. Especially the first two. The third one "freedom from want"--although I can sense her meaning here--I think "want" is an iffy word. Granted, "want" may have had an added meaning in Elenor Roosevelt's time and could be substituted for "need." I say this, because like the silly me, most of us want stuff that we don't really need or maybe only emotionally need. Anyway, most of such "want"s can die in minutes, sometimes. Now that I've substituted "need" for "want," I certainly agree with what she's saying. Also, there are many other values that may be close in importance to these values, but I guess I'll stick to the quote's three values for brevity's sake. Granted that these three values are very important, what makes "freedom of religion, freedom of speech, and freedom from want" especially to fight for as values? Yes, I would fight for them like Eleanor, but I would probably choose tact and peace over war. This is because I would worry that gross and aggressive action could have damaging results not only to people but to the value itself. Then, what if values clash? Come to think of it, most difficult decisions are choices about the relative weight of a value. I mean. how can you choose to fight for one value versus another! Case in point, how can you trade a value like “freedom” with “security”? Not tradeable, isn't it? And I agree, these two aren’t tradeable...mostly. The thing is, what happens when this choice involves your entire family's or town's or nation's security? Then, possibly your fight will have to go underground and you would fight underhandedly while still having some security. Is this also a choice? I really don't know the answer to this. I only hope and pray that none of us and nobody in the world will have to face such difficult choices. The nicest part of the quote, however, is its last section, "for these are things that must be gained in peace as well as in war." I certainly wish we could avoid all wars and fight for our values in peace, without screaming and scraping at one another. |
| Prompt: Write about your neighbors--- are they good neighbors or bad neighbors? ----- My neighbors? I guess they are all very nice people, but I don't really know them. Not like the time during the early nineties when we moved into this house. At the time, we were, maybe, the youngest couple on the street. Then, I got to know most of them. Nowadays, everyone is so much younger, as most of the older ones have passed away, and many moved in with family or went into retirement homes. At this time, I think I am the oldest one around. I know this from the fact that instead of calling repair people for the upkeep of their houses, my neighbors do those jobs themselves. As for me, for such jobs, I have several companies doing the work. As to my immediate neighbors, those to the left of the house just moved in and I haven't met them, although my son says he talked to them. People to my right are a very sweet couple with grown children. They moved in about six years ago. They are friendly and they gave me their cell numbers and asked me to call them if I ever needed anything, and during the holidays they always bring over goodies and stuff. Those across the street, we just wave at each other when outside. Part of the problem of being unneighborly lies with me, though. I don't take a walk on the street as I once used to, unless someone is accompanying me. And really, very few people nowadays take a walk on our street, anyway. Then, for me, even going to my mailbox feels like a trip, which means taking at least 100 steps over the concrete one way. Especially I am wary when it rains because slipping and falling on the wet ground would be not much fun in old age. During the 60s, 70s, and even 80s, when we lived up north, we knew everybody around, but it was then. Times have changed a lot over the years, due to the inventions of many other ways for us to meet and make friends with other people, near and far. Still, I feel good about the people in my neighborhood because we have a nice, quiet street with houses far apart and no one bothers anyone. |
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