Writer’s Quote Wednesday Challenge

Silver Threading and RonovanWrites have this lovely new writing quote challenge for us. Basically, choose a writing quote and then use that as inspiration for a piece of flash fiction, with quote as the title or used within the piece.

Ok, I like a challenge. I can do this (maybe-ish). For my first week of the challenge I’m going to almost stick to the “Romance” theme suggested by Silver.



My Heart is almost a breathing, sentient being. It makes it own choices, decisions I wouldn’t ever agree to if I had a say. It ties a string around things it loves and causes me to stumble and pull if I walk away from them. To top it all off,  I think my heart and my stomach are in cahoots.

They drop at the same rate, my stomach often enjoys cradling my heart like they’re best friends just trying to make my logical head spin.

Logical, pah! They’ve ruined that. My heart and my stomach, they breath into everything that magical mayhem of belief, desire, magic.

They send my mind reeling and I must write, write until my hands cramp, until my fingers numb, until pen after pen has expired. Write until I cannot help but sleep, and in sleeping my dream self begins to write. Every place, person, and idea my heart has stored tumbles out of me like the fully formed Greek myths, but with more editing needed later. A novel, a short story, a prose poem that makes no sense…they all leap and bound, in love with ink and the sound, oh the sound of pen scratches and liquid words.

The Shelf

Deep in a secret room, high on the back wall, there is a shelf.

Far from mocking eyes and sticky hands,

this shelf is home to my memories.

Not pictures,

for they are displayed proudly throughout the house.

Not priceless Heirlooms…

no one trusts me with those.

No, these memories are mostly small

and made of plastic.

A Jem and the Holograms barbie,

A Lumiere smiling his cocky smile,

A flaming red haired Chucky.

his happy grin and terrible green shorts making me smile.

A Doug pen, A Spritelet,

Ninja Turtle Action Figures,

3 copies of the Labyrinth,

The list goes on and on.

Wonderful, Amazing, so bad they’re good, so good they’re perfect,

80s and 90s shows, the soundtrack of my childhood,

on a dark and dusty back shelf,

hidden from all,

Waiting for me to turn on the light

and Come Play.

I Fall

You are my late night weakness,

my secret desires.

Lighting my inner thoughts,

a burning fire.

I turn to you

in the deafening roar of my mind,

and turn to you in the silence,

when deaf and blind.


A whiff of things so close to real,

but not even close at all.

In the daylight I stand strong.

But with moonrise,


The Mystery of the Missing Moon

This week’s short story jumped around my brain but wouldn’t sit still long enough to turn into anything other than this poem…my first attempt at poetry in a very long time! I hope you enjoy and have a Blessed Day!


The Mystery of the Missing Moon

“Mommy, where’s the moon?” was whispered with quiet fear

If the moon is gone, what else might be here?

“The moon is never gone,” she assured,

Deep down she was worried.

The moon never ran away,

The moon never even hurried.

Where might the silver disc have gone,

When would it return?

No silver light meant they were dark until dawn.

Suddenly they heard the big woman’s voice,

“Little girl, why are all the spoons in your toy box?’

A laugh, a squeal, a forced choice,

A scrape, a pull, a soft clang,

The light suddenly reflected once more,

The ‘moon’ was home again,

And little Marty Mouse was tucked in safe under the counter.