“It was a glorious day.”
Here’s what the sentence gives the readers …

and makes us …

An opening line must make our readers feel …

How are we doing with our opening lines?
Daily Word Prompt: Glorious
Here’s what the sentence gives the readers …

and makes us …

An opening line must make our readers feel …

Daily Word Prompt: Glorious
I just want to take a moment to thank you, all my blogging buds, for the time you have spent looking at my posts and for following me. For a writer, there is no greater compliment. (I know I ramble about all kinds of things)
I also thank you for your postings. They make me laugh, cry, think, learn, and fill me with inspiration. Looking forward to more!
—Carolyn D-W
—also known as Me-Maw 
Flavorful is not the chip in front of me.

It is seeing the knowledge in my great-grandmother’s eyes as she looks down

It is the power of her fingers holding up my whole arm

It is knowing that, in touching her hand, I feel a lifetime of experiences

It is the insightfulness I discover when she speaks to me

It is the feel of a tongue that speaks words of wisdom

Flavorful is the kiss from her lips that says, “I love you.”

Daily word prompt: Flavorful
I’m glad. Who knows? I might need them when the time comes. I also happened to notice a lot of cigarette butts on the steps. Guess some folks listening to Led Zeppelin wanted a last smoke before entering through the pearly gates.
As you can guess, I didn’t climb the stairs. I still have a lot of blogging to do. 🙂


There she was, the unbuttoned girl who didn’t know right from wrong, who always took the path over thorny ground. Demented in heart and void of conscious. Squeezing the life out of my bordello one person at a time until she did it to herself.
And I never saw it coming. Never saw her falling into the depths of insanity. I did what needed doing. I protected my business. I had her transported to Southwestern Insane Asylum and never told a soul except Reba. And not once did I visit her.
I made a pact with myself. No regrets for what I was about to do.
Excerpt from The Last Bordello
Daily word prompt: Thorny
photo credit

Trap me! (Yes, I dare you)
in deceptive woven lace
woo me with your splendor
inside that dark, confining space
Sing me love songs, buy me jewels
rubies, silver, gold
make your smile seem bona fide
and all the truth? Withhold!
Just when you thought you’ve caught me
in luring ropes, beware!
look closer in your tangled web
You’ll find it’s empty there
(Photo and poetry by C. Dennis-Willingham)

Will you row beside me on a lake layered blue
To glide past the mountains in calm solitude
Through ripples of water, a quiet bouquet
just thoughts, without words in a silent buffet
Where worry dissolves with each stroke of the oar
And Nature brings peace, and the soul it restores
— by C. Dennis-Willingham

photo credit
Dear writers,
Our written stories are supposed to come to a conclusion, to an end, to be Finite.
At least, that’s the goal.
But what if we find ourselves stuck somewhere in the middle of the story and there’s nowhere to go? Or, heaven forbid, what if we’re still struggling with the beginning?
Now you’re wondering. Is this the point where Carolyn starts talking about writer’s block, what to do about it, blah-la-la?
Nope. Not going to.
I could also encourage you. You know, I could tell you to keep going, to not give up, that your ideas are good ones.
But you already know all that.
I think many of our stories are not meant for completion. Maybe those unfinished pages still sitting on a dusty shelf (or buried in the depths of your computer) have already served a purpose.
Perhaps:
Whatever the reason, I have plenty of stories that have never seen their ending.
Does this happen to you?
Do your characters keep you awake a night by flicking your ears trying to discover how they ended up?
I say, let them flick all they want. Let’s just remind them that if it weren’t for us, they wouldn’t have been “born” in the first place.
Sincerely,
C D-W
They stood inside an ancient oak tree, steady on limbs thick, strong, and unbreakable.
“What are we doing? Is this the right thing?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never done this either.” He showed her the ring. Simple, unique, creative just like she was.
She read him the poem she had written. The last line – “So, I promise you the sun.”
“And I promise you the moon,” he said to her.
“What if we break our promises? Even if we don’t mean to?”
“Then,” he said, “together, we will hold up our world.”

painting by C. Dennis-Willingham