Write your own story.

YOu are the main character in the story you wish you were living. Write it. And name a piece of music that is to be playing in the background as we read it, music helps set the tone.

Background music, Old Man, by Neil Young.


She steps onto the wooden floor boards outside the front door. A fine coating of blown dust has settled on everything. THe pale yellow prairie grass bends in the friendly, warm morning breeze. THe air smells hot, like hay, the buzz of bugs a background hum. THe low overhead roof provides shade and shelter but a few steps forward and the vista opens up like the pages of a bible, the work of God writ large. Miles of layered land, plateaus and coulees with the thin trickle of precious water. Red orange rock polished smooth by blowing sand. A tumbleweed bounces on its way to nowhere and an eagle screes overhead.

The shuffle and call of cattle raises a little dust that moves off into the valley and she wanders over to the peeled pole corral that keeps the few dogies. Their long lashes look up at her.
"I know, I know, breakfast is coming soon," she says to their bawling and pushing.

The old brown dog has worked his way out from under the dust covered Chevy parked beside the barn and hobbled over on his crookedy legs to stand at her side and wag his tail. She leans down to give him a scratch. They wander to the hen house where a few lazy hens peck with slow disinterest at the dry ground. She slips a few warm eggs in her pocket. A call from the house reaches her ears.
"Got coffee and biscuits, come on while they're hot."

She stops by the faded blue pump handle and careful of the eggs in her pocket, gives it a few strong swings. Water flows out the spout into a gutter and then to the trough in the horse pen. The horses look but do not move. Flies are starting to hover as the temperature picks up, the breeze still smelling of heat and hay. With hand raised to brow she takes a long look around. Earth, air and God as far as the eye can see.
"Let's go get a biscuit," she says to the old dog who wags his agreement.

THe screen door snaps shut behind them, an eagle screes overhead, coffee is poured. Let the day begin.

I like your story Uno.
Sounds like you have moved to my part of the country in your story!
(In about a couple months time, right now it is duck country as the great snow piles melt)
This bit especially I like:
"Flies are starting to hover as the temperature picks up, the breeze still smelling of heat and hay. With hand raised to brow she takes a long look around. Earth, air and God as far as the eye can see."
The flies and heat picking up thing really reminds me of how summer mornings feel to me.
That is the great thing about writing isn't it, when you can capture those "feelings" so other people go Ah! I know just what she means!

The air is crisp this morning, like the perfect snap of a home-cooked potato chip. A parade of elephants that look a lot like puppies take long strides on oversized feet, racing to the water dish to coat the floor with disaster and wet their faces.

Twilight comes early, dimming the stars as she walks, hair tight up in a soaked bun, cooling her head. The roosters are already wide awake and crowing; as she walks past the shop, the rabbits stomp their cages impatiently for water. One doe is expecting in there... when is she due, again?

Galvanized waterer in hand, she climbs the snowbank she calls 'the Matterhorn' in her own head and opens the door to the coop. The old wood and hinges creak and rattle, the door handle almost seems as though it would fall off at any moment, the key for its broken lock long gone. That damnable rooster is out with the girls again, "Enjoy it while you can, buddy," she says flatly. He stops and looks at her with a low, alerting growl, "Just you wait." She opens the window, checks the pullets for weakness, mutters about the damp air and proceeds back to the rabbits.

As she closes the door to the shop, she can hear "PUPPIES!" coming from the house in a sing-song fashion as they are coaxed down the stairs into their basement hollow with food they can't seem to get enough of. She takes the high road, up the Matterhorn, down along the crests and valleys of the maze of tightly packed snow hills on the homestead. Stepping through the uppermost branches of the 8 foot caraganas, she steps over the 3 inches of exposed fence into the goat's pen and squeezes herself into the door.

"Good Morning, ladies," she says, Estelle impatiently greeting her and stomping the floor for ration. "What? The Alfalfa outside not good enough, or are you too lazy, fat Momma?" She pats her on her side and rubs her back gently, "How many you got in there Momma?" Reaching down she checks Estelle's teets quickly before being kicked and bawled at. "Getting bigger! When are you due, Momma." Estelle looks at her and gnashes on some fictional ingredient in her mouth, the other goats looking on from out of arms reach.

She fills the bowl for the girls and sets it down, taking the brief opportunity to pet the other 2 girls before they realize they're being touched and back away. "Baby steps still, huh girls? Well, off to work."

Her Love greets her stepping out the door as the walk the line of the shelter belt down to the car, parked precariously close to the melting drift that blocks the driveway. "I love you," she says.

"I love you too," he replies.

Ooohh..Sweetened, more.

THanks Miry...for some reason I'm a rancher in the arrid American West. Don't know what that's about.

uno wrote:Ooohh..Sweetened, more.

THanks Miry...for some reason I'm a rancher in the arrid American West. Don't know what that's about.

You more

Very well written ladies ......although I don't recall seeing a song for you Sweetened ? Have to watch this one ....tempted to submit as well ........but .......

prairie dog wrote:Very well written ladies ......although I don't recall seeing a song for you Sweetened ? Have to watch this one ....tempted to submit as well ........but .......

Balls.. forgot a song! Miranda Lambert - House that built me.

Praire Dog, don't be shy. Toss your hat into the ring. I'll help you out....

"A wad of chew firmly planted in his cheek, his eye squinted against the sight of the long gun, Prairie Dawg drew a bead on his life long enemy, Ground Hawg. Ground Hawg was squatting by his camp fire, a pot of camp coffee boiling away and he didn't hear the stealthy approach of Prairie Dawg until the cold steel bit him in the back of the neck.
"Nice and slow you sap sucking, lily livered, hound scented, lousy dresser of an outlaw, or I'll blow your brains out for the lizards to eat."

Slowly with his hands in the air Ground Hawg rose to his feet and turned to find the barrel aiming him right betwixt his beady, little eyes. A bead of sweat trickled down his forhead as Prairie Dawg spit a glob into the fire. "There," said Prairie Dawg, "THat'll make your coffee taste better."

"Why you!" and gun or no gun, Ground Hawg drew back his fist


There...now start your own...as long as it's better than this!

Almost forgot, background music, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Every Clint Eastwood movie ever made had this music.

Sweetened wrote:

prairie dog wrote:Very well written ladies ......although I don't recall seeing a song for you Sweetened ? Have to watch this one ....tempted to submit as well ........but .......

Balls.. forgot a song! Miranda Lambert - House that built me.

Dang! I thought it would be Who Let the Dogs Out.

Song ....A New Day Has Come ,by Celine Dion


The sunrise woke me, announcing it was time to awake .Slowly the day started ,smells that were familiar came again ,coffee freshly brewed ,the smell of perfume filled the air as did the subtle noises coming from downstairs .Slowly I began to desend the stairs ,listening to the soft voices as mother and son talked about the oncoming day .I paused ,listening to the excitement in the small voice as he talked about the day to come .......how he has grown !. Downstairs it's a regular routine ,get coffee ,sit and talk with the child ,listen to the wife repeat what had been talked about yesterday , and staring out the windows looking at the world coming alive ,roosters crowing ,the old tom strutting already trying to impress the singular hen who doesn't seem that interested in him . Birds come and go as the Cats stretch as they come alive after a blissful nights sleep I can only assume .The dog, still fast asleep ,deaf to what is going on around him, doesn't notice the door slowly opening as I step outside .The grass is soft and the morning dew falls off my bare feet like tears as I walk in the cool morning breeze towards my regular morning spot. The sunlight warms my face as it comes to full glory ,.....what a sight !.Once the coffee is gone I walk back inside ,soon they will be off to school and to work and my day will begin as well ,time seems to pass more quickly then I can recall ? I remember words from my father ,how true they were ! .Then the familiar parting ,hugs ,kiss's ....love you Dad ,see you later .Then silence again ,another cup of coffee and strangely the missing starts ? Only one child ,the whole world rests on that !, what if ? Need to focus on what needs to be done ,fear only builds if allowed to take control .Sitting back, I remember the day ,stormy ,black ,flash's of light from the switch that flicked on every few seconds to light up the sky ,.....blinding ! .The first cry heard over everything ,seeing for the first time ,the pride swells till it hurts ....but it's a good hurt .The wife ,...tired ...,that glow .........haven't seen that again since ,but remember it so clearly . Emotions come easily ,hurts fade and days pass no matter how we cling onto them , memories are all that are left .Slowly I make my way to the door .stop ,look back and continue out side to start my day ,soon we will be together again , some days are just to long ..................................

Ah...thank you. I see it clearly.

Nah ....not good at writeing stories me thinks ?

prairie dog wrote:Nah ....not good at writeing stories me thinks ?

You're wonderful at writing stories!

Song: Hem - Half an Acre

Sports takes a back burner in the early hours of the night and an unexpected trip to town brings two hearts to racing trepidation. Her fingers are tucked into the pockets of her sweatshirt as she listens to the crunch of his boots in the snow before him. The car starts on its own, lights casting long shadows and streaks of daybreak over the remains of winter.

Bull's out and the wind is a little cold, "Car ride?" His ears perk and tail wags as if to say hell yes, car ride!

The grid seems like the longest driveway in the world as they comment on the tire tracks swerving here and there. They laugh and chuckle about their own gossip and speak slowly of the destination, "It'll be nice to go back to just friends, without this haunting everything."

"Yeah, yeah it will," he says.

The clouds had not yet closed in on their prairie home and the occasional star still peaked through a misty vale; a Prairie chicken bursts from the side of the road, caught briefly in the headlights before succeeding its daring escape. The town is quiet and slushy, but the store's lights are burning brightly, as though its owner had inexplicably extended his hours. She knocks on the door and he stands watch.

Coming from the back of the store, the men wave at eachother, and she peers in with her hands cupped around her eyes, mouthing as though she's yelling "Are you open?" The shopkeeper stares blankly before looking at the lights, his store hours and back at her. He nods and mouths 'yes'. "You're open!?" 'No,' he responds. They all share laughter.

A paper note exchanges hands, pledging invisible funds and solidarity, symbolizing their chance at something new. Thank you is not enough. Banter, a promise to see each other soon and an awkward departing out of the icy parking lot.

2 very long sighs and an odd feeling in the stomach. He looks at her, smiles, squints his eyes and looks back at the road. "I know," he says and she smiles.

Song ......Kansas....Carry On Wayward Son

The setting sun marks the days end and the journey begins again .Endless miles of black give way to the end of the journey .He slowly turns down the long path that leads to what consumes his thoughts .Lights mark that life is within and slowly he winds down the path till he is there .home once again .The song on the radio beckons to be heard so he sit's and listens ,the words have such meaning and they draw him into another world where his thought's can wander the great beyond .Sight's that have long been put to rest jump out and are clear as they were then ,voices come alive ,calling ........waiting for a answer .He closes his eyes and remembers ,and the song plays on .Yesterday is gone yet still remains clear as if it was still ,voices call ,faces so familiar yet long gone .Sights and even smells come ,listen ,it will become clear ......and the song plays on .Memories flood till they fade , a moment in time ,a second of play and then the end of the day .Slowly he opens his eyes ,what was is no longer ,yet it is as it should be .He gathers what he need to take ,listens once more .......and the song ends .....yet another day

Come On ! someone else show me how it should be written ,tell your stories

I'm enjoying the reading! And Prairie, you win the most interesting avatar contest, not there is a contest, but if there was a contest, you'd get my vote.

Very much enjoying your writing too, now have that song in my head!

And here I thought that you were going to write something !......someone ?

Theme from Raiders of the Lost Ark.


He went about his normal routine. It had worked well for him in the past. Feed the birds and find the eggs. That was the goal. Simple. Last week he had tracking a fox to it's den and killed it there (no easy task). It had been risky but he now had a +3 feed bucket and with his Hybrid of Never Ending Eggs he was well set. He opened the door and found himself facing an angry rooster. The dice went his way and he won initiative. The bird was shoved into an empty pen and the door slammed shut. Safe! That bird had done a number on him last week. Even with his +2 Rubber Boots it had done damage and he was glad to avoid it a second time. Feeding and watering the birds went quickly. He checked the nests and rolled a 20. Oh yes, the eggs were there. There was no better game than Coops and Capons.

Fowler wrote:Theme from Raiders of the Lost Ark.


He went about his normal routine. It had worked well for him in the past. Feed the birds and find the eggs. That was the goal. Simple. Last week he had tracking a fox to it's den and killed it there (no easy task). It had been risky but he now had a +3 feed bucket and with his Hybrid of Never Ending Eggs he was well set. He opened the door and found himself facing an angry rooster. The dice went his way and he won initiative. The bird was shoved into an empty pen and the door slammed shut. Safe! That bird had done a number on him last week. Even with his +2 Rubber Boots it had done damage and he was glad to avoid it a second time. Feeding and watering the birds went quickly. He checked the nests and rolled a 20. Oh yes, the eggs were there. There was no better game than Coops and Capons.

500 dkp!

She sat the steeping cup of bilberry tea beside her and watched as steam released the soft, fruity scent into the air, accented with the tender aroma of vanilla and coconut. Her fingers idly tapped the home row of her keyboard; what would she write?

Her mind wandered to all the possibilities that lay before her. She could start with a perfectly beautiful woman, flawless and wonderful, practically perfect in the Mary Poppins way... The woman could be everything she had ever briefly envied about someone. No, however... Tapping the backspace keys to stare once more at a blank screen, she checked the tea, lifting the metal strainer up before dropping it back in. Not quite.

What about a more realistic woman? One in sweatpants on the couch, watching shows her hubby watches even though he's not home. One who's hair is up in a too-lazy-to-bother-this-morning bun, without makeup, needing her nails cleaned. Nope; if 50 shades of grey starred that lazy lady, it would have never gotten famous.

To change things up, she thought, why not write about a man? One with a big truck, a big truck with testicular fortitude. It would be the ultimate truck of trucks, one so amazingly awesome it would stop traffic and annoy old people. This seemed like an excellent direction to go, but after a gentle sip of tea and the removal of the strainer, she was sure something like that had already been done. Backspace.

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, that had worked for Bulwer-Lytton and snoopy, but it was doubtful it would get her anywhere. Carefully wrapping her fingers around the cup she held it just below her nose, staring at the black screen and flashing text indicator as it blinked at her, taunted her very core.

As she sips the tea, she inexplicably pictures lavender flowers growing amongst some basil plants and wonders where she could find some established lavender for her garden. The planting of her imaginary herb garden is interrupted by the sound of a peeping, protesting chick still working its way out of an egg in the kitchen; she can see Devil Cat atop the kennel (turned protected seed starting hutch) tilt her head and flick her tail as she eyes the sound from her perch on high.

The smell of sausage cooked all day in beer still radiates through the house; it no longer smells like yeasted barley, but more like well seasoned pork that had been freshly served only moments ago. She wonders what's for snack tonight? Blueberries, she supposed, without a spoon, frozen and with nothing on top. There's nothing like the taste of frozen blueberries and the sight of purple stained fingers.

Another sip of tea and she looks up at that still blinking cursor. A moment of hesitation is abruptly halted as she smashes on the 'X' button and closes out the word document. Maybe tomorrow, she thinks, the same thought she has thought for months now.

The baby cries, jerking her into consciousness. She groans and looks at her phone; 30 minutes before the alarm clock AGAIN. She sits up and the world begins to revolve around her, she is the center and her family spins around her.

Let the dog out, get husband out the door, large child on the bus, the tiny one changed and fed and entertained and then back down for a nap. Answer e-mails, drink coffee to compensate for lost half hour of sleep, make calls, start a load of laundry, maybe fit in a shower. Put out metaphorical fires, send out some quotes, complete a client order.

The tiny one wakes and the cycle of feed/change/play begins again; the world shifts and revolves around the tiny one until the rest of the family gets home. She buries her face in the softness of baby cheeks and gobbles the tiny neck until she hears giggles; the world is right and good when there are baby giggles in it.

Do the dishes, pull out some beef for supper, put the laundry in the dryer, let the dog out and back in, run the vacuum.

Naptime again! Respond to more emails, update social media, make plans and sketch ideas. Make lists and budgets. Text with co-event-organizer. Put laundry in dryer. Tiny one awakes, the world shifts again. Large child returns on the bus; run out and wave to the driver so she knows she is home.

The world slides sideways and she is at the center again, her mini-mes revolving around her and bouncing off each other with giggles and screams and shrieks. Turn off the computer. Start supper, feed the orbiting family members. Play, homework, baths, bedtime cuddles. Pack a lunch for large child. Sink into couch, stare at television, exchange news with husband when he comes in from doing chores.

Yawning, she seeks her bed and the world slows its spinning. Sleep comes when she can no longer feel the weight of the world on her.

Silence .........

The echo of today still lingers ,but only in my thoughts .The day had been long ,much to do yet not enough was done ,hours disappear to where they no longer matter .The sun had shone ,water ,ice ,and snow all seemed to rejoice in there own way ,maybe spring was on it's way ? .Winds from the south brought comfort and warmth mixed in with the sun ,birds flew ,gathering as if they knew ?.Tree branch's trimble ,there buds longing for that first chance at life and a new beginning ,rebirth .Long steps it seems ,age is a denying concept ,youth still lingers as a small flame .....but the will is fadeing as well .What once was easy seems drawn out and aches find that what has been neglected .Chores were done ,plans were thought out ,drawn out on paper .Guilt ........Not enough done ,time is slipping away ,tomorrow ! yes tomorrow will be a new start .............a small voice calls ,( the flame grows brighter ) , wanting to be heard ,stories to tell ,things that need to be heard .Youth has it all ,never knew untill i watched and saw a reflection of myself so clear and large . Joy .....it flows from within the voice of youth ,so much to see ,smell ,touch and do , if only I could catch a minute of it ,relive precious moments .But this day is ending as have others ,reflecting ........the plans have been made ,the time is now ,tomorrow will be better I tell myself .........it's easy to convince myself .Days end stays longer as I linger , lost for words,wanting to say so much yet here I am ..........wasting time ,friends who I have never meet ,yet real as if I had ,strange world we live in . Words without faces ,who would have ever thought this which is now ,a feeling of knowing yet with out touch ?.Silence hangs all around ,a world beyond keeps time as once again I am lost for words ...................


Cat Stevens ........O Very Young

Okay ....keep this post going !There is a lot of talent out there and I for one want to read it ...........

I remember the thin, sparse poplar trees on the road frontage of the property. Then, years later, when we subdivided, they were tall trees that required chainsaws and bulldozert to stump them out. How things change.

Charlie and Jean lived next door and we trotted over the property line to knock on his door to say hi, we're you're new neihgbours, its' nice to meet you. Chralie did not really care that he had new neighours, was not too happy that we had traversed the property line, did not think it was nice to meet us and advised us that the best place to build our house was as far away from him as we could get.

When we were doing loud bulldozer work we trotted over to say, hope we don't bother you too much with our loud bulldozer work. When we were about to drill a well we trotted over to say if your well suddenly goes dry, we had nothing to do with it! When the blaster came in to start blowing up bedrock we trotted over and said, you might want to take your decorative plates off the walls. An unsmiling Charlie met us at the door every time, nodded, and closed the door.

One day we trotted over to announce that perhaps, inadvertently, without meaning to, we might have started a forest fire and Charlie asked, do you play cards? No. No we do not play cards. Well it's time you learned.

I admit this isn't exactly how it happened, the exactitude of it has been lost somewhere in the past 21 years. But at some point Charlie and Jean came over with their decks of cards and Nanaimo Rummy and Knock Knock and Ride the Bus. After dinner I'd quickly wash the dishes, pop a baked goodie in the oven, run the vacuum over the kitchen, because Charlie always wore slippers so his feet would not have to touch my dirty floors, and put the baby to bed. THey'd arrive, the coffee pot would be turned on, the baked goodie would come out to cool and we'd settle in for an evening of cards. And that's how it went for the next 18 years. Our standing Saturday night date was Charlie and Jean from next door. Kid in bed, later kid out driving around, goodies in the oven, coffee for me and Jean, Drambuie and scotch for Hub and Charlie.

My cookbooks, taken out of the shelves at Christmas and Thanksgiving, record that over the past 21 years, Charlie and Jean became family. Above a recipe for steamed pudding is an entry about Thanksgiving dinner and who all ate with us, what the weather was like, dated. Another entry in a dessert book, near a cheesecake recipe, notes that Christmas dinner we had 14, weather mild, Charlie and Jean are listed, date noted. Every holiday Charlie gets place of honour at the head of the table. It isn't so much an honour as he's bossy and he decided to sit there and Heaven help us if we change it! But he's Charlie, and we love him, so he sits there and no one minds.

There has only been one bone of contention. Otis. The 100 pound dog who would not stay home. Otis, who visited Charlie every morning to stick his nose into whatever Charlie was doing, and poop on his lawn. Our card games were often opened with the sentence, your damn dog keeps crapping on my lawn and I have a big bucket of dog muck I'm going to bring you! We always said yes, bring us your scooped poop and we'll get rid of it, sorry, sorry, sorry. If we promised to tie Otis up, oh well, it's a shame to tie up such a large dog, large dogs need to wander, he doesn't get into the garbage or dig holes or chase cats. He should just quit pooping on the lawn. Charlie would liberate Otis from the chain.

As the years went by Charlie and Jean started saving meat leftovers for Otis, and then complained that he kept showing up on their porch. Well quit feeding him for Pete's sake! Well, Charlie felt he was a big dog and probably near death from that dry dog food I fed him, he needed meat scraps! Otis was obviously kept by an incompetent owner bent on starving him.

Or a card game was started with the words, your bloody dog damn near gave me a heart attack! I was changing tires when all of a sudden there was a tongue in my ear! I thought it was a bear! I just about died!

As the years went by Charlie adopted Otis, it was an arm's length relationship, but they were buds. And then the horrible day came when the old man Otis lost the use of his hind legs. Hub had to go searching for him, he'd be gone all night. Found him down the front of the mountain with the ground dug up all around where he'd struggled to drag himself home with his front legs. Exhaustion and the immense size of him and the steep grade made it impossible to get home and all night Otis laid out there wet, exhausted and crippled. Hub struggled to carry him home, and we laid him on his blanket in the basement. He was exhausted and we called the vet. It was time to die.

Knowing Charlie is not big on emotional issues, I wondered if I should call him. Wondered what he would think when his next door friend just failed to show up, without explanation. So I called. I said, the vet is on his way to put Otis down, I just wanted you to know that if you wanted to say goodbye, come over now. I did not expect him to come over, the call was a courtesy more than an expectation. But he stopped what he was doing and came over.

Across property lines, across the years that divided us by age, past a gruff exterior that wants to live a life with 'no damn neighbours bothering him' Charlie knelt with me in the basement, placed his old hand on the still dog, stroked him a few times and said, goodbye friend, goodbye good Otis. Otis lifted his head to lick his hand. And we cried.