Wednesday 28 December 2016


I hope every one had a wonderful few days celebrating and enjoying the Christmas period.  We had a busy time spending precious hours with family for three days and I have managed to find time to join in with 


Writing Prompt for Wednesday Stories 12/28/16

for this week's prompt.  we were given several pictures to choose from, we could use all or some of them as the prompt for our story.  I used just two pictures and went slightly over the word count. 


There I was just minding my own business, happily gnawing away on one of my precious acorns when something caught my eye.  I pretended not to look and become inconspicuous but I wasn’t blending in very well with the white, cold snow. 

Those humans began stomping all over the snow making deep holes in the snow making it difficult for me to get home trying to dodge those snow drifts they made with their heavy booted feet.

I tried not to get involved but the female of the pair squatted down and looked me straight in the eyes.  I managed to stop gnawing for a few seconds as I tried to out stare her but it wasn’t going to work.  She was obviously one of those do-gooder humans who thought that us squirrels and other wildlife needed their help in these wintry conditions.

I tried to tell her that we’d been surviving these wintry conditions for many seasons without the help of human intervention and sometimes they came too close to us for comfort.  We weren’t doing anyone any harm and we’d organised ourselves well in advance and had a lovely cache of nuts stored and secreted away for times like these when the food was hard to find naturally.

I heard the couple talking some gibberish about taking photographs for posterity.  Well they probably thought I wouldn’t even know that word.  Little did they know that squirrels were very well informed about the modern age and technology; we are quite clever little creatures. 

I did really want my five minutes of fame and struck a pose with what I thought was quite a beguiling look, a sideways glance while bringing the nut up to my mouth and having a sneaky taste.  I fluffed out my tail so that it looked tall and proud and waited for them to capture the moment.  

There it was.  I will now be famous worldwide, such a shame they don’t actually know my name and I will just be one of many ‘cute animals in the snow’ pictures that will abound through the airwaves, reaching far and wide in to people’s homes and maybe even make it in to print on to Christmas cards.  Oh, the commercialisation of our species is a great debate for another time perhaps.

I was waiting for them to turn round and go back the way they had come or even carry on past me and forget all about me when, to my astonishment, the male called to his female.  As she turned round to look at him, her face lit up with such a beautiful smile that I was actually dumbstruck for a moment or two.  

The joy and love on her face is something that I, as a mere squirrel, will take back to my dray to my own beloved and try to make her look at me with such love instead of the harried look she often gives me as she struggles to keep our brood of youngsters warm.  I’ll bring her a handful of nuts that she can chomp on as she looks after our young kittens.

Word count:  524

Wednesday 21 December 2016


Prompt for Wednesday Stories 12/21/16
·       December 15, 2016

Today, there were will be two photos to use in your story.  Here are the seven words you will need:

seesaw * flashbulb * caffeine * jug * graffiti * seaweed * hand


Carrie put the bunch of carrots on the counter top.   Yes, she nodded to herself, there would be enough there, she’d make a jug of coffee before scraping and topping and tailing them.  She certainly felt the need for some caffeine today.

Nobody else remembered, nobody else realised what today meant.  The tenth anniversary of her best friend’s death.  People thought life should go on and so it should. She looked down at the ring on her hand and remembered Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth was so full of life, everything was fun to her, even in the playground when they were six years old she would bounce on the seesaw making it go so high up, bumping violently on the ground, shrieking with laughter as she gripped the handlebars tightly.  

That day at the beach when they were ten years old and their parents had taken them all to the coast.  The boys had gone off splashing in the sea ,Elizabeth and I collected seashells and then she draped a handful of smelly, brown, glutinous strands of seaweed around her neck and then round mine, chortling with laughter as I nearly choked on the foul smelling algae.

Then came the teenage years.  I would follow her anywhere and do anything she wanted.  She had such ideas, such notions that usually got us into trouble and we would end up being grounded for days or weeks and sometimes a month at a time. 

One Saturday afternoon I couldn’t join her and our friends as I was sick with the summer flu.  How I wished at the time I could have gone with the crowd but it wasn’t to be.  Elizabeth and a few others decided they would practice their art under the railway arches.  It would be cool they said to spray graffiti on the brick work and make it stand out.  Elizabeth was the artist amongst them, she was also the daredevil. 

Carrie brushed away a tear as the memory of that fateful afternoon crowded in, perhaps if she had been there she would have dissuaded Elizabeth from climbing on to the abutment then perhaps she wouldn’t have fallen.

The carrots were now chopped ready for the stew, everything else was in the dish so Carried popped the dish in the oven for a few hours while she got on with the rest of her day.

Picking up her camera she proceeded to her living, casting her eye around the surroundings she picked up a soft reindeer toy strategically placing it on the armchair.  She framed the shot and clicked as the automatic flash went off lighting up the area semi-blinding her eyes.   She was so glad things had moved on to automatic rather than the old fashioned flashbulb they used to use.  The noise as it popped and the smell of magnesium would sometimes overpower the user. 

Taking a few more shots Carrie then moved to her computer, uploaded her photographs and proceeded to write her Christmas blog.   

Word count: 497

Thursday 8 December 2016


rib, ice-cream, offer, hook, consonant, teddy bear and file

This week the lovely Debb at Inner Sunshine ( has provided the above picture to use as the prompt for the 500 word story incorporating seven random words.

Here is my story:


Daphne heard the key turn in the front door.  She waited, holding her breath, as she listened for the next sound.  Then it came.

‘Hello Beautiful.’

Her grandson, Josh, entered her flat, he bent down and kissed her.  His whiskery lips brushed her paper thin cheek, he smoothed down her grey hair in a loving gesture.  She put down her work making sure the crochet hook was safe folded inside the woollen garment. 

‘Oh Gran, that’s lovely, such soft wool.  Are you making a teddy bear for Nicole?’

Daphne smiled at her grandson, the thought of her young great-granddaughter enjoying the stuffed toy filled her with delight.  Who would have thought she would see the day when she would have great-grandchildren to enjoy, although to be honest, they were rather tiring these days.  Her energy wasn’t what it once was.

Josh started chatting to her as he normally did.  She was so grateful he called in every day after work making sure she was safe and well in her tiny little council flat. 

‘Did you hear me offer to pick you up on Christmas morning, Gran?’

Josh was a bit worried that his gran had seemed to wander off in to a dreamlike trance.

‘Oh, yes my dear.  That would be so lovely.  Thank you.’

Josh continued to talk about the plans for the big day.  His wife, Anna, was planning on roasting a crown of turkey and a joint of rib-eye beef for dinner and then at supper time they would have cold cuts with a slice of Christmas cake.  Anna was also going to make some rum and raisin ice-cream for dessert.

Daphne started to believe that she might enjoy this second Christmas without her beloved Harry by her side.  There had been so many changes in the last couple of years to her life but as the saying goes, life goes in cycles and this was her twilight cycle.  She must enjoy every moment that she was given.

Josh came back from the kitchen with two cups of tea on her pretty floral tray, he’d even remembered to put some biscuits on a plate rather than leave them in the packet.  He was such a thoughtful chap.
Contentedly, sipping tea, dunking biscuits while they watched Daphne’s favourite programme, *Countdown, they started calling out the numbers and the next round was choosing vowels and consonants needed for the game to make up words in the minute allowed.

As Josh was leaving Daphne reached down by her side and picked up the file beside her armchair. 

‘This is my last Will and Testament that I want you to look at, my dear,’ she said quietly, a steely determination in her eyes.  Josh shook his head, she held his hand, ‘you have to help me with this.  You are the only person I trust to look after my estate.’  

Tears came unbidden to two pairs of identical eyes that communicated silently with all the love there was in the world. 

Word count:  500

*This is an English game show shown at teatime and very popular.

Monday 5 December 2016


The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide. Please try to keep it as close to the 200 words as possible. It doesn’t have to be centre stage in the story, I have seen some where the placement is so subtle, the writer states where it is.
New section. Please read:
Careful editing is the key to keeping the story within the constrains of the limit. 200 words may seem like a lot, but it disappears quickly. The challenge makes you look at replacing two words with one, and a little jiggery pokery. A few words over is sometimes necessary when there is no way of shrinking it without losing an integral part of the story. Using a program like Microsoft Word or Open Office have a word counter so you can see how many you have used.
Once you have written and posted your story, please add the link to the inlinkz froggy icon below and add it to the collection so we can all have a read.
Any links that are not related to Sunday Photo Fiction
will be deleted so please don’t add them.


Patsy pushed her cat, Holly, off the end of the bed.  She quickly donned her dressing gown and slipped her feet into her fluffy slippers.  She made her way to the window, drew open the curtains she peeked out at the wintery landscape.

What a difference from this time last year. Two weeks in the warmer climate of the Maldives on their honeymoon.  That was a wonderful time, well for the first few days anyway and then everything changed.

Day three in to their honeymoon she couldn’t do anything right in Tom’s eyes.  The first evening they’d had great fun at the casino, gambling away, winning big that first night, on a high they retired to their room, the euphoria of winning giving them both such a rush that neither had experienced before.

Patsy wanted to stop while they were on a lucky streak but Tom knew better.  By the end of the fortnight they managed to scrape together enough to pay the hotel bill. They’d flown home in silence, the love gone and now here she was on her own in this cold, rented flat.  

Christmas is coming – the goose is getting fat.  

Bah humbug.   

Anger was better than tears.

Word count: 200

Monday 28 November 2016


The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide. Please try to keep it as close to the 200 words as possible. It doesn’t have to be centre stage in the story, I have seen some where the placement is so subtle, the writer states where it is.
Once you have written and posted your story,
Click on the link above to find the inlinkz froggy icon and add it to the collection so we can all have a read.
Any links that are not related to Sunday Photo Fiction
will be deleted so please don’t add them.


The day is drawing to a close
The last of the sunlight softly flows
Through the clouds gently fading
Daylight hours finally disappearing

She’s spent another long day alone
Nobody to talk to, she will not moan
she waits wistfully at the window
Wondering if he will be a no-show

She is ready and willing for his caress
Dressed in her lacy, gossamer thin dress
A draught plucks at her alluring beauty
Drawing her heart strings tightly

She reads a text message just received
‘Five minutes, darling,’ her breast heaves
As she waits to see the glare of headlights
Through the one-way street like two penlights

Waiting with bated breath, pulses throbbing
Every fibre of her being is aching
She hears his key turn in the front door
Not long until he satisfies her amour

She knows it is wrong in her head
Sometimes her mind fills with dread
Then he weaves his tale of lies
So she smiles with dry eyes

She can’t stop it
She can’t end it
She knows it is wrong
But she still waits all day long

She will always cherish their love affair
Hoping tonight they conceive an heir.

Word count: 195

Wednesday 23 November 2016


Wednesday Stories-Treasure Chest 23 


She stood with her elbows leaning on the window sill

Wishing she could go outside but she felt so ill

Resting her forehead on the cool window pane

When they came in they would all complain

That they couldn’t feel their fingers and toes

They’d grab the tissues and give their noses a good blow

In the meanwhile she watched the sparks from the bonfire

Dance and flicker, orange flames spurting up in spires

She saw her brother and cousins arching their sparklers

Writing words in the air like famous conjurers

Heads in bobble hats leaning back as the noise of the rockets

Whooshed high in to the sky and burst into little pockets

Of brilliant hues and showered down in glittery streams

Delighting the observers as they squealed and screamed

She looked forward to hot dogs and bowls of tomato soup

When the party rushed in from the cold in a headlong group

Wellies and boots, hats and scarves, coats and gloves

Discarded with abandon and good natured pushing and shoves

Next year she wouldn’t be alone indoors and down in the dumps

‘Cos her mum said you can’t catch them twice these horrible, painful mumps.

Wednesday 9 November 2016


Writing Prompt for Wednesday Stories 11/9/16
·       November 3, 2016

Debb our host from Inner Sunshine has given us a one word prompt this week -  she says: 

Hello!  This prompt is the first of its kind on my blog.  I am asking us to write a piece on ORANGE, ANYTHING ORANGE! This could be about the colour or fruit; use whatever form you’d prefer, like a story, poem, composition, fable, dissertation (just kidding on the last one)…

I won’t even have a word count limit.  Here is your chance to use your wings and fly (write) with freedom!  Any questions go to:  

to see the other contributions. 

Here is my take on the word ORANGE

Photo credit:  Sally Stackhouse

The whispering started late that night.  A mumbling, a slight hissing sound always to the left of her head.  Daphne shook her head and made her way up the stairs.  She shouldn’t have watched that late night horror film all by herself. 

She’d begged Alf not to go to the pub that night but he’d just laughed at her silly ways.  He was captain of the darts team and they had a big match on that night.  A deep rivalry existed between their local pub, The Royal Oak, and The Orange Tree pub from the neighbouring village.  This was the final for the darts league and very important to both teams as they were neck and neck in the league table.

Alf gave Daphne a kiss, patted her ample behind with love taps and told her not to wait up.  He’d get a lift home with a mate.

Helping her grandson carve an orange Jack O’ Lantern that afternoon they’d made up ghoulish tales, his 12 year old imagination becoming more and more macabre with heads and limbs being chopped off by monstrous demons.

Now Daphne’s imagination became overactive not helped by hearing every creak that their old tied-cottage made as the heat dissipated from the rafters and the wooden beams contracted. 

She heard the sibilant hissing again as she turned out the bathroom light and made her way down the landing to their bedroom.  A loud bang frightened her out of her skin as she quickly covered herself with her duvet and snuggled down in the bed.

Daphne.  Daphne. Daaphneee….

She woke with a start, the green luminesce figures on the clock radio denoted 3.00 a.m.  She reached out for Alf but his side of the bed was cold.  She sat up with a start, something was wrong, terribly wrong. He should have been home hours ago.

Daphne.  Daphne.  Daaphnee – help me please……

The voice was calling her again.  Her heart hammering in her chest Daphne slipped her furry slippers on, wrapped herself in her candlewick dressing gown, switching on lights as she crept downstairs, gathering her courage she checked every room.

They were cold and empty, the heating was on a timer and not due to come on until 6.00 a.m.   She shivered and then froze to the spot in the kitchen.  Along with her name being called she heard a scratching sound at the back door.

Gingerly Daphne unlocked the door, pulling the handle she slowly opened the door. 

‘About time, girl.  Goodness you took your time waking up!’

Alf was shivering with the cold, his teeth chattering as the warmth of the alcohol he had imbued earlier on in the evening had left his bloodstream. Waving his mate off he then realised he’d forgotten his house keys.

Daphne was tempted to leave him out there in the cold for giving her such a fright. Then she remembered the old adage, revenge is a dish best served cold.

She’d bide her time and get Alf back for this, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but one day soon, when he was least expecting it, she’d pay him back.

 Word count: 514

Wednesday 2 November 2016

DREAMS - Wednesday Writers

Writing Prompt for Wednesday Stories 11/2/16
·       October 27, 2016

This week we will focus on weaving a story to include photos.
Please write a story using two to four of these photos, limiting your word count to 500
If you would like to join in the fun please go to:
Inner Sunshine's blog to find out more
The four photos are below;



Practice, practice, practice.  That was the mantra that kept going round in Rachelle’s head.  Her dance teacher would emphasize those words banging her silver topped cane on the floor as she pronounced them in her thick accent.

Practice, practice, practice, Rachelle heard her mother’s voice, its lilting tone musical, a smile at the end of the third word.  The litany would go on encouragingly as Rachelle spun round and round the living room floor.

Practice, practice, practice, her father’s deep toned voice reached far into her heart as the words echoed around the chambers of her pulsing organ.  She danced on the freshly mown lawn that was smooth and weed free, no stones would dare to breach the earth to trip her up when her dad was around.

Practice, practice, practice, her grandmother’s voice gently whispered to her.  I’m watching you from heaven my beautiful girl.  That whispery, wavering voice lifted Rachelle to new heights of trying.

Practice, practice, practice, sneered her brother, his lip curling up in distaste.  That’s all you do.  Why can’t you play with me instead?  At six years old Tommy thought dancing was for sissies.  He refused to watch her, he refused to dance with her.

Rachelle packed in every spare minute of her day to make her steps the best she could. She sat ramrod straight in the classroom, her feet and toes pointed elegantly towards the front of the class.  Her arms poised over her exercise book, her fingers holding the pen lightly, her hands making classic dance shapes.
Outside in the street, wearing her tutu and ballet shoes she would practice and twirl, the sun on her upturned face, the gentle breeze trying to stir her stiff hair, held in place by cans of hairspray. 

All her hard work and practice was going to pay off one day.  Rachelle was determined she would see her name up in lights.  That strip of advertising neon lights on the corner of the busiest street in London would proclaim her to be the best dancer in the world.  Her concerts would be sold out, her retinue would pamper to her every wish.

But then in the cold light of day her dreams, daydreams or night dreams, came crashing down.  Now she had to be responsible.  Now she had to help her family.  Tommy had grown up into a graffiti artist.  Not something she was proud.  Not something her parents could cope with.  Many times she bailed him out of jail as he was arrested for defacing a brick wall.

Tommy had a dream as well.  He also heard a voice saying, practice, practice, practice.  So he practised his art wherever he could.  No art school for him, the fees were too high, so wherever he saw a blank space he practiced his art.

Tommy’s inner voice drew him to open spaces to practice, much as Rachelle practiced in open spaces, hers was benign but his was malignant according to some people. 

Dreams found or lost.

Word count: 500

Wednesday 26 October 2016


Writing Prompt for Wednesday Stories 10/26/16

Hello, writers out there and those who like stories!     It is up to YOU to determine your prompt for this week.  You can use any photos you like, as long as you give the original owner credit for their photo(s).  You can choose the words you want to include in your story as your prompts – or none at all.  You can determine your own word count — 50? 1,000? Anything you desire.  It’s free-for-all-time!
Our writing prompt this week was a photo of our own choosing and our own word count:
Photo credit: Dawn Prebble


Those days when it’s a struggle to get out of bed
To get those bad thoughts out of your head
To those days I want to say ‘get lost’
I want to let go of the negative posts
Let go of the angst and worry and pain
Let go of the heartache and explain
To those that care and those that don’t
Why I can’t find love with those that won’t
Love me back with all they have

I opened up and gave and gave
My barriers came down, my wall demolished
All to no avail as nothing was accomplished
I’m back to square one
Alone, alone and always alone
Never thought this would be my life
I just wanted to be someone’s wife
Someone’s mother, someone’s whole being
Their reason for living

Now it may be too late
I’m shutting the gate
But despite you all
Somehow I’ll find the wherewithal
I’ll climb back up, dust myself down
Plaster that smile on my face, play the clown
You don’t know what you are missing
I’ll pretend not to care although my heart is aching
You weren’t the one for me

Now I can see
The wood for the trees
There is a light
Burning bright
As I look up and see
A rainbow just for me
Strengthening my resolve
I let my pain dissolve
As I take in the beauty above
And feel the love
Of nature in all its power
The droplets of rain in a shower
Proving there is hope
As I watch the kaleidoscope
Of colours above my home
Anticipating things to come
I leave the maelstrom of fear
Ready to love again without tears

 Word count: 281