A Writer’s Ten Commandments
writing
I wish this wasn’t fiction.
Marjorie sat on her sofa in the room with blue walls and stared at them. She loved this room, and she loved her house, but on this particular day, she was at loose ends and restless. She picked up things from the coffee table one by one. The teal candle holder with the tea candle. The pottery bowl her stepdaughter had made. Her meditation beads.
She thought about meditating. Her brain was so noisy today that she knew it would be futile. All the more reason to try, but she set them down too. She spied the small antique globe and picked it up. Spinning it, she daydreamed about taking a trip.
“Why not? She asked the cat. “Why the hell not? I have vacation days and I have a hefty tax return on the way. I like traveling alone. I can do this.” The cat didn’t reply.
She gave the globe a mighty spin, closed her eyes, and touched her finger. . .
To Hungary.
“Hot damn, I’ll go to Budapest. I have always wanted to go. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site.” She danced around the living room and imagined the adventure she would have. Maybe she could fly into another city and take the train or river cruise into Budapest. That seemed in keeping with the ancient city.
Continue readingThe Girl on the Train
Traveling with Elise was a trip. People stared. And then they pointed. And then they chuckled. The more you watched, the more you saw that was just a little bit off center. Or a lot.
For instance, who travels with potted plants and decorates their train seat with twinkle lights? Feeds their cat cake with a bowl of cream, of course?
Now many people wear their slippers on the train, I know I do. But their jammies and comfy sweater four sizes too big?
Elise was born eccentric. It wasn’t something she became, and it wasn’t something she grew out of. It was her core personality. Part of it was based on her desire to be comfortable and part of it was based on her personal ideology that home was wherever she was.
Continue readingThe Little Blue House
Somewhere there is a little blue house nestled amongst irises and mature trees. The little blue house has seen the trees grow from saplings to the giants they are now. They’ve grown up together.
The little blue house is not so little now. Over the years, Pete and Martha have added on — first to accommodate their children and then their grandchildren. Soon it will be time to leave the little blue house to someone who will love it and move to small, more convenient digs somewhere in town close to doctors and pharmacies. Pete and Martha are at that age.
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W. Va. Fur and Root 