For my response, I have tried to show that the waiting can feel different from different perspectives. I’m not sure if I achieved that, but I hope my story doesn’t gross some of you lovely readers out like last week’s ‘flakes’ story. 😂😉
I’m Bored
“For Christmas,” said Mum.
“But it’s a looooong time,” said Jamie.
“Not long enough,” said Dad. “Only three more pay days.”
“Wait till you’re my age,” said Grandpa. “It’ll be gone in a blink.”
“But there’s nothing to do,” said Jamie.
“When I was your age,” said Grandpa. “we’d be out all day, playing until dark.”
“Mum won’t let me go anywhere. Dad says no screens until after dinner. It’s boring.”
“Tell you what, kiddo. How’s about you and me take a walk and do some exploring. What d’you say?”
“Can I, Mum?”
“Sure. It’ll do us all good.”
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share you thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Flakes, including my gross one, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
And just to let you know that life is pretty hectic for me at the moment so I may not get to visit you as often as usual, but I’ll still be thinking of you and will visit as often as I can. Thanks for your understanding.
Charli wrote about a new shaggy duvet she had purchased. I couldn’t imagine having a shaggy duvet. It just wouldn’t be necessary where I live, and certainly not at this time of year. I can understand how delightful it would be in colder climes though and trust it will keep Charli warm.
At first, all I could think of was the shaggy hairstyles of yesteryear. Then I thought of those shaggy dog stories, those long rambling unfunny jokes, also from the past. I wasn’t feeling the inspiration until Charli replied to my comment on her post. She said that her new duvet was ‘lovely warmth, not too heavy and oh-so-soft!’ It seemed like the Goldilocks complex and I thought I’d apply that principle to my Shaggy Dog story. I hope you enjoy it.
Shaggy Dog
“I want a dog,” said Jason.
“You’re in the right place,” said the attendant at Rescue Kennels. “We’ve all sorts of dogs. What sort are you after?”
“A shaggy dog, please.”
The attendant showed Jason the shaggy dogs.
“They need a lot grooming,” he warned.
“Oh. Not shaggy then. Curly perhaps?”
Jason shook his own curly head at the curly dogs. They’d need grooming too.
“How about short?” said the attendant.
“They’re awfully noisy,” said Jason, as they walked the aisles.
“They are dogs,” said the attendant.
“Right,” said Jason. “Do you have any cats? Maybe a shaggy cat?”
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Confidence, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that depicts the painting, “Southwest Pumpkins” by TOJ. Feel free to explore the nuances — do you focus on the art or seek a story? What vibes do you get? Who shows up to enter the image? What happens? Go where the prompt leads!
I thought of the painting as a scene from a doorway. I wondered what the doorway led to or from, and who was standing in it and why. My story relates to those ponderings. I hope you enjoy it.
The Next Leg
The distant mountains did a thumbs up as if measuring how far the moon had still to travel before they’d reach their destination. While this taverna was welcoming, not all were so obliging, and the desert could never be thought of as a friend. They thanked their host and gathered their belongings, including replenished canteens and knapsacks. Grasping their hands firmly, the host wished them a safe journey. He advised on signs to seek and others to avoid. They bade farewell, but then, before they left, they finger framed the scene, a memory to guide them on their way.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt It’s Festa Time, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about something impossibly blue. You can go with sky or any other object. What impact does the color have on the setting or characters? Does it lead to action or create a pause? Go where the prompt leads!
Well I love blue sky days, and what better place to be on a blue sky day than at the zoo. So that’s where I went, with the grandchildren. I hope you enjoy it.
Zoo Wonders
The children studied the map while Granny sipped the compulsory cup of tea.
“Okay,” she said. Finally.
Granny squinted in the sunlight. “Wait.” She rummaged in her bag. “Drat. I’ve forgotten my sunnies. I’ll just pop back to the shop.”
The children groaned.
“To the lions,” they said, when Granny reappeared.
Two steps later, Granny cried, “Stop! Children stop! Look at the sky!”
“Why?”
“It’s soooo blue.”
“It’s always blue.”
“But this blue, it’s – impossible!”
“It’s just your glasses, Granny.” They read the label: With Impossible Sunglasses, every day’s a blue sky day.
“Now can we see the lions.”
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Shots Fired, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
My story is a BOTS (based on a true story). My cousin, who was about my age, was the commanding officer in the passing out parade, and my four-year-old brother was the curious child. My cousin went on to train as an army officer and achieved quite a high rank. I wish I could remember more about that. Sadly, he passed away a few years ago. I’m grateful to Charli for this prompt and an opportunity to honour him. He was a very special person and I adored him as a cousin and a friend.
Who Shot Him?
The cadets were in formation as they marched around the oval, looking every bit the soldier with guns and uniforms, and not the pimply partly-whiskered teenage boys they’d return to after graduation. Proud relatives had travelled far to view this passing out parade. Spectators and graduates sweltered under the unforgiving summer sun. Some women armed with fans and umbrellas were the envy of those less prepared. One small cousin pushed through the crowd for a better view. At that instant, a front row cadet fainted. The distressed spectator scampered back to safety. “Who shot him, Mum? Who shot him?”
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Where Children Once Played, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
In her post, Charli used the analogy of a golden onion for writers as peeling back the layers to find the essence of who we really are as writers, what we write and who reads our work.
I write under a few different hats and I’m not sure any fits quite as well as I’d like. I’m a freelance educational writer, a blogger, an aspiring children’s author and a would-be dreamer of other things too. Too many possibilities. Not enough time.
I generally, but not always, use Charli’s prompts to write about children or to explore situations that may spark an idea for a story for children. I’m always pleased that Charli says, as she reiterated in the current post, that the ‘Carrot Ranch is a place to play, practice, and grow (or peel) your onion’. While Carrot Ranch readers may not be children, they once were (or maybe still are at heart, like me) and some are teachers and parents. I hope my stories speak the child that was or about a child that is.
Thank you for your patience in reading my stories. Here is my response to this week’s prompt ‘Golden Onions’.
No Trust
Jamie was an explorer. He had to find out for himself. ‘No’ was an answer he couldn’t trust. Did it mean, ‘You really shouldn’t” or ‘Of course, go ahead’?
Sometimes he discovered forbidden delights. Like the tiny brown squares Mum hid, saying, ‘No, Jamie. You won’t like it.’ He found he really did. A lot!
Sometimes he discovered the hard way. Like when Dad was cooking and said, ‘Don’t touch. It’s hot.” He found that hot hurts.
When Mum peeled a golden shell off a white ball, she said, ‘No. You won’t like it.’ Should he trust her?
No!
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt A Smear of Jam, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
In her mind she was a literary artist, painting exquisite word pictures and enthralling plots, her titles on everyone’s lips. When it didn’t eventuate, she blamed busyness and writer’s block. She could have, if only.
He dreamed of being a musical artist, composing melodies to make hearts sing, first choice of orchestras everywhere. When it didn’t emerge, he cited family responsibilities. He could have, if only.
They pictured themself as a visual artist, creating magnificent sculptures commissioned by international celebrities. When it didn’t evolve, they howled discrimination and poor upbringing. They could have, if only.
Might have, if only.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt A Smear of Jam, including mine, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
I immediately thought of the rabbit holes that many find themselves in when conducting an internet search. I wondered how the rabbits might feel with all those unwelcome intruders, so that’s where I went with my story. I’m not sure if it works or not.
In the Rabbit Hole
Edward completed every form, followed all protocols, even smiled sweetly at bully boss bunny; but his request for leave was denied.
“When numbers ease,” his supervisor promised.
“If ever,” muttered Edward. The monotony was as overwhelming as the numbers that increased exponentially. Who said rabbits multiplied quickly? If only they’d find another burrow to tumble into.
“Next!”
Edward recorded the unremarkably similar responses without enthusiasm.
“What brought you here? Where did you begin? Did you find what you wanted? What do you want now?”
“Out of this rabbit hole.”
“No more than I. Close all tabs. Start over. Next!”
And while on the subject of rabbits, I was pleased to see the prompt’s relevance to Chinese New Year celebrations which begin on January 22nd. In the Chinese Zodiac, this year is the Year of the Rabbit. My daughter and my granddaughter (son’s daughter) are Rabbits, having been born in previous Years of the Rabbit.
The Chinese Zodiac repeats in a cycle of twelve animal years. Unrelated to her Chinese animal year, when she was little, my daughter loved rabbits and had quite a collection of rabbit ornaments and toys. She would have loved a pet bunny, but they are not permitted in Queensland as rabbits are an imported species that has been quite destructive to native wildlife and agriculture.
When the suggestion was made to replace the Easter Bunny with the Easter Bilby (to raise awareness of the bilby’s vulnerability), my daughter was adamant that it should remain the Bunny. She refused to acknowledge the bilby at all. Fortunately, her heart softened towards bilbies as she got older and became more concerned about the conservation of the species rather than its role at Easter.
Another interesting connection is that, in Chinese culture, rabbits represent the moon and stories are told about the rabbit in the moon rather than the man in the moon as Westerners often tell. Having heard the story, I am always fascinated to see the rabbit in the moon and consider it more recognisable than the man. Have a look next time you’re out on a bright night and let me know what you think.
If you wish to know more about Chinese New Year, please check out a wonderful resource that fellow blogger Mabel Kwong wrote with me a few years ago. It’s on the readilearn website and is free to access. It’s called Let’s read about Chinese New Year.
If you haven’t already met Mabel, then I suggest you pop over to her eponymous blog Mabel Kwong and have a read. Mabel explores her experience of being Asian and living in multicultural Australia. I learn so much from her about how to treat others with respect. Her posts are always a delight to read and incredibly thought-provoking.
Now that’s a little rabbit hole I’ve drawn you into.
As you know, I’ve been having a bit of a break, a sabbatical, from blogging, as I try to get my head into gear for 2023. Last week, Charli’s prompt was to write about a sabbatical. I didn’t join in, but many others did. You can read their stories at the Carrot Ranch here.
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
This week at the Carrot Ranch, Charli Mills was talking about family histories not always telling the truth. There are parts of my family’s history that may not be totally accurate too. There are different versions of some tales, and not just of events from different perspectives.
Last year when I wrote a brief book about her female ancestors for my granddaughter on her tenth birthday, I included a version of a story that my father related. When his only remaining sister read the account, she informed me that it was wrong. Somehow, she said, all the males of the family told my father’s version, but my aunt was sure she had the correct version.
My father said that my great grandmother Hannah was born in England and met her future husband George in England before emigrating to Australia. He said that George came to Australia as a paying passenger and that Hannah masqueraded as a cabin boy and worked her passage out. He said that George called her Jim so as to not give her secret away. They arrived in Brisbane in1891 and married on 11th June that year. Hannah gave birth to six children, two of whom died in infancy. Fortunately for me, one of the survivors was my grandmother.
According to my aunt, it was Hannah who paid her way out and George who worked as a cabin boy. I think. Perhaps I’d better check while I can and before I spread too many other lies.
As well as untruths, many families have skeletons that they like to keep locked in the cupboard. My family has a few of those too. When my mother’s brother was researching the family history, he discovered that one of our ancestors had been transported to Australia for a minor misdemeanour, as many were, such as stealing a loaf of bread. I can’t be sure. Both my mother and uncle were horrified and didn’t want to tell anyone, but somehow the word got out. It’s not so bad really. We found out that there’s a similar ancestor on my father’s side. Nowadays, it’s more acceptable to have a convict way back in the family tree than it was for previous generations. Most are no longer fazed by it.
Lucy was opening and closing every cupboard in the house.
“What’re you doing?” Amy asked.
“Mum lied,” said Lucy.
“About what?”
“The skeleton.”
“What skeleton?”
“The skeleton. Mum said Dad has a skeleton in the cupboard. I can’t find it.”
“You won’t find it.”
“Why not?”
“Cause it’s not a real skeleton.”
“Skeletons are so real. I’ve got one and you’ve got one. Everybody’s got one.”
“Not those sorts of skeletons.”
“Then what?”
“Secrets.”
“Secrets?”
“Things they don’t want nobody else to know.”
“So, Mum did lie.”
Amy sighed. “Mum didn’t lie, but there’s no skeleton in the cupboard.”
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.
Note: The collection of stories made in response to the previous prompt Something Squeaky, excluding mine because I didn’t get it done in time, can be read at the Carrot Ranch.
Norah Colvin 