The Artist

Uh, I added another 99 words to the original response to the Carrot Ranch graffiti prompt.

ShiftnShake

At Carrot Ranch a post about winter lake snow storms and artistic collaboration led to a prompt about graffiti. “In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about graffiti. It can be an artist, art or the medium itself. Get out your can of spray paint and go where the prompt leads you.”  You might recognize the school secretary in this double 99 word story. Hint: after school she’s going to have a beer or two in  a two bay garage with her friends Ernest and Marge. 

“Ms. Higginbottom, you do recall that I’m the principal?”

“Bob, I’m not calling.”

“Graffiti can’t be tolerated. And you know this boy has problems.”

“And suspension’s a solution, Bob?”

“What can be done, Ms. Higginbottom?”

“Pull him from Health and Geography. Put him in Art, Theatre Workshop.”

“Health and Geography are required courses!”

“I see more of him than…

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The Artist

At Carrot Ranch a post about winter lake snow storms and artistic collaboration led to a prompt about graffiti. “In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about graffiti. It can be an artist, art or the medium itself. Get out your can of spray paint and go where the prompt leads you.”  You might recognize the school secretary in this double 99 word story. Hint: after school she’s going to have a beer or two in  a two bay garage with her friends Ernest and Marge. 

 

“Ms. Higginbottom, you do recall that I’m the principal?”

“Bob, I’m not calling.”

“Graffiti can’t be tolerated. And you know this boy has problems.”

“And suspension’s a solution, Bob?”

“What can be done, Ms. Higginbottom?”

“Pull him from Health and Geography. Put him in Art, Theatre Workshop.”

“Health and Geography are required courses!”

“I see more of him than those teachers do, they send him to the office so often. He’s going to have to repeat them anyway, so let him learn to like school first. Channel his artistic ability.”

“You’ve already made the schedule changes, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

****

“Administrative Assistants should not be making these sorts of decisions. I’ll remind you again that you work for me.”

“When you hired me you said everyone here worked for the students. Everyone. I figured I’d assist you in assisting this kid to stay in school where he belongs.”

“Ms. Higginbottom… You are neither an educator nor a guidance counselor.”

“You said that everyone in your school is a teacher and a learner.”

“Yes, but…”

“We can put a brush in his hand and a canvas in front of him or send him away with his spray can.”

“Oy. Okay.”

Waking

A second attempt for the Carrot Ranch November 29, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story using the phrase “into the dark.” What must a character face? Write about an encounter, journey, relationship, or quest. Follow the ship’s lights on gloomy seas. Go where the prompt leads you” by December 4, 2018.

What could be darker than a funeral? Marge’s mother has passed. 

 

Waking, D. Avery

“Regret is darkest dark, long and lonely night; dawn must crack within your heart, forgiveness be your light.”

“Lloyd’s a poet.”

“Look, Ilene, Marge is hugging the air right outta your boy toy.”

“I’m his muse.”

“You’re his cougar, Ilene. Least his poetrics stopped Marge’s blubbering.”

“Shut up, Nard. Besides, you were as upset as any of us. Billy.”

“I’m a poet. You just don’t know it. Into the dark, six feet of dirt, no more worry, no more hurt.”

“Nard…”

“Lloyd’s right though. Poor Marge needed closure. She’s more upset over Betty’s life than her death.”

“Billy lives!”

One Good Turn

One Good Turn

He paced the porch before coming back inside and bolting the door. He tensed at the window when a truck went by.

“You’re nervous as a cat tonight.”

“I never made the meeting.”

“Good! I wish you never went to those hateful gatherings. If your business here depends on the Klan I’d rather move away! But you’ve missed meetings before. What’s wrong?”

“I took Angela and that girl Celia to the vet’s. Celia’s cat got hit… Her parents met us there. Buzz drove by and saw us together.”

Pulling the curtain aside, he peered anxiously into the dark night.

***

Chelsea’s right.  

He leaned on the doorjamb looking in on his sleeping daughter. His wife slipped under his arm. “She is so beautiful,” she whispered.

“She’s my light.” They walked back to the living room.

“You’re nervous as a cat tonight. What’s wrong? You’ve missed those awful ‘meetings’ before.” She twisted her blonde bangs, showing her own anxiety. “I wish you never went. No job is worth it.”

“I took Angela and that girl Celia to the vet’s. Celia’s cat got hit… Her parents met us there. Buzz saw us.”

Pulling the curtain aside again, he peered into the dark night.

 

   At Carrot Ranch the November 29, 2018, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story using the phrase “into the dark.” What must a character face? Write about an encounter, journey, relationship, or quest. Follow the ship’s lights on gloomy seas. Go where the prompt leads you.” Respond by December 4, 2018.

This story follows a  response for a Carrot Ranch prompt back in August 2017, The Meeting .

Here is my interview with D. Avery

All you were afraid to ask…

authorsinterviews

Hello and welcome to my blog, Author Interviews. My name is Fiona Mcvie.

 

Let’s get you introduced to everyone, shall we? Tell us your name. What is your age?

I seem to have many names depending on where I am and whom I am surrounded by. Two of my favourites are Auntie, for obvious reasons, and D. Avery, because that is the one I have been using as a writer.

Fiona: Where are you from?

I was mostly raised in a wonderful little nation called Vermont, though I lived in Alaska for three years. I have spent adulthood in southeastern Massachusetts. Now that I am becoming childish again at the age of 53 (see, I didn’t skip the age question) I am becoming repatriated to my birthplace.

Fiona: A little about your self (ie,  your education, family life, etc.).

The youngest of three children, I am the first in…

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Infernal Verse

 

It wasn’t much of a plan        

I just wanted out of the pan

So unbearable the heat

Dancing on blistering feet

Desperate for a cool place to stand.

 

The situation becoming quite dire

Escape my dearest desire

When the going gets hot

You’ll give all you’ve got

So I leapt from the pan to the fire.

 

When, oh, when will I learn?

I could have simmered, not burned

My actions so rash

I’m now just an ash

So this limerick’s adjourned.

 

 

Victoria at d’Verse Pub ignited this evening’s Poetics with the prompt of “fire”. 

 

Waiting

 

It is Haibun Monday at d’Verse Poet’s Pub. Imelda is the publican that waits on us this evening and her prompt is…. waiting.

 

In another place it might be impassive but here its round face is cruel, returning its captives’ furtive glances with a cold unblinking stare. The constant television, flickering noise and light, cannot compete with the steady heartbeat of this clock on the wall. It is this  metronomic ticking that gives it authority even over their phones, clutched tight like talismans in each worried pair of fidgeting hands while its steady hands mark time. They wait, uncertain, alone in a waiting room full of people. They each await their prognosis, wishing to turn the clock ahead, wishing to turn it back.

Autumned grass tufts sweep

Circular tracks in the snow

Roots remember spring

Hog Blop?

Open House at ShiftnShake

I plan very little. It usually works out for me. For example, I never planned on getting married; I’ve been married for 34 years and it only gets better with age. I never planned on having children- and didn’t. I never planned on a career in education either and it has overall been a gratifying and satisfying 21 years of teaching. It may or may not be apparent that I am not much of a planner when it comes to writing either, though I will admit to giving an idea or character some free range in my headspace. Because I don’t plan on jeopardizing that headspace I wear a helmet when it makes sense to do so.

Though it wasn’t plotted or planned, I realize I may have just been through an unplanned blog tour. If you unwittingly were a part of that, no harm, no foul. If you were wittingly a part of that- well, I’ll just say thank you very much. You’re very kind.

Sometimes the best unmade plans turn out better than hoped for. Here’s where I have trod if not toured: on November 24^th I was a guest blogger at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo; then the next day Sally Cronin featured After Ever as a new book on the shelves of her Café and Bookstore; and the ever generous Marcia Meara allowed a reblog of that at The Write Stuff. Presently I am featured at Fiona Mcvie’s fun site, authorsinterviews, where you can find out more about me than I myself care to know. Meanwhile, back at the Ranch, they’re likely gathering up a posse to enforce a restraining order against all my unrestrained comments and responses.

Unplanned as it may be, let’s call my good fortune at having been allowed at these generous bloggers’ sites a Blog Tour. Let’s pretend this is another planned stop on the tour, an open house with plenty of tabs and links and archives. Welcome, and please, look around.

And be sure to see the interview at Fiona’s authors interviews .

This is my latest book!

 

Maybe it is good to move away from chickens? I have learned that any character can pester you. At least this one stays ashore when I take to the water in my kayak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Had I seen this cartoon before writing Chicken Shift I would have realized I didn’t need to write Chicken Shift. But you should still buy it and read it for less definitive theories..

After Ever is a collection of little stories for grown children. Does this child realize that Chicken Shift is serious philosophical poetry?

 

 

 

 

After six weeks of traveling for radiation, the girls came over to celebrate. Here I am in my book cover with my prima primary care giver, former school nurse and now full time artist, Bonnie of crescentsandcoils.

 

This second volume of poetry is personal. I wish I never had the inspiration for some of the poems in it. And I learned so much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the book launch, my debut reading of After Ever at a local establishment. The good news is there are two librarians in the mix. This event was planned though I did not check to see if it was dart night or not. It wasn’t. The sharpest thing was the prose.

Okay, I know it says Little Stories for Grown Children, but I’ll take any readers, even pre-readers. And I’ll tell you what, if you start a story with “Once upon a time..”, you have an audience. These two did enjoy “The Quill’s Magic”.

Did I mention I have a book of flash and short fiction out?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some people are writers and don’t even know it

Say shucks I’m just a sometimes some sorta poet

Deny writing like hiding addiction

Despite airing weekly flash fiction

With a third book, maybe someone’s finally ready to show it.

Guest Author: D. Avery ~ Story Stitching

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

Fiction or non-fiction, we write into the truth. We feel the story and layer the details onto the page. We rework the scraps until they bloom — the quilter, the painter, the metal worker, the writer — we all work in scraps until we have captured the story that speaks our truth.  – Charli Mills

Mountain Cove. Art Quilt by Barbara Williamson

When I was a kid most homes had a sewing machine with a pile of old clothes nearby. Any buttons were removed and saved as a precaution against future losses, the cloth cut and used as patches on our torn jeans. The rags might also be turned into braided rugs or become pieces of a quilt. My quilt was a memory keeper, with prints and material still recognizable and recalled from their former incarnations. Surely the quilter was an artist.

Where I come from most people have in…

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Hidden #writephoto

Hidden                    

Endless flow

A brook in its course

Flowing down

From its higher source

 

You could follow it down

See where it runs

Or follow it up

To where it’s begun

 

Or just be Here

With the cool ancient stone

All by yourself

But not all alone

 

Just be Here

As the brook sparkles and sings

Not all alone

Accept the blessings it brings

 

Be like the rock

Or be like the water

The one worn smooth

By the one that is softer

 

Here consider the brook

That seems always the same

Drink deep of the flow

Here be the change.

***

 

Thank you Sue Vincent for the photo prompt.