The Purpose

I love this! Reblogging as it’s a good reminder why art – or creativity – call it what you will, is important to us all.

Meg Sorick, Author/Artist

“Only in the darkness can you see the stars.” Dr. Martin Luther King

“…then what are we fighting for?” Winton Churchill – when asked to cut funding for the arts in favour of the war effort.

“Art washes away from the soul, the dust of every day life.” Pablo Picasso

Times are bad. Really bad… Mass shootings, political unrest, natural disasters, sex abuse scandals, threat of nuclear war, poverty, illness… I could go on. How do we even get ourselves out of bed in the morning? I suppose everyone has a way to cope. After all, here we are, right? But as artists –and by artists I mean anyone involved in creative work– we may ask ourselves, what is the use? What practical purpose does my writing, painting, poetry, photography, music, dance, woodworking, quilting, sculpting, and so on, and so on, serve?

I began this piece with those quotes for…

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What Happens to Short Sighted People When the Apocalypse Comes?

I hit 'like' on this but it really deserves higher praise, so I'm reblogging. Jamie Dyson (go follow his blog, you won't regret it) absolutely nails it with this post about the existential fear that nags away at all us speccy-4-eyes folk when we grope for our gig lamps first thing in the morning.

Beautiful Souls Create Beautiful Worlds

I’ve been avoiding following the recent news from the US too closely – perhaps feeling that there’s enough similar stuff going on here in the UK. But this post absolutely sums it all up.

Tipsy Typer

She was 32 years old, her favorite color was purple. She was a waitress and a paralegal. She lived in an apartment with her chihuahua, Violet. She loved people and wanted the best for everyone she encountered. She felt the world so deeply that any story of hate or oppression could bring her to tears. She stood up for the things that she believed in. And because of this, she was killed- one week ago today the world lost a beautiful soul to the hands of hate. Her name was Heather Heyer; she was murdered when a car intentionally plunged into a crowd of counter-protestors who were ensuring that their own voices would drown out the hate spewing from the white supremacists who had charged into Charlottesville.

I didn’t know her, but I’ve known countless like her. Her death strikes a deep chord with me because she could have easily…

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The Intelligent American

I enjoyed this so much I thought it was worth a reblog. Great example of using dialogue to show not tell!

Flash-365

Q asked me to a drink.

“You can meet my American friends,” he told me.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said, excited, “they are from Portland.”

“Oh.”

Q is already there when I arrive, a place not far from my apartment that serves only alcoholic cider.

His American friends turn out to be one guy and his absent girlfriend.

“She got sick off some vegan shawarma,” he tells us from under a mustache.

The ciders come; two Russian, one from the south of France.

“So, what are you doing in Russia?” The American asks.

I shrug. “A few things here and there.”

He nods. “Yeah, I am a teacher too. It’s really great, you know–rewarding.”

“Mhm.”

“So, why’d you pick Russia?”

“Dunno,” I say.

“Rad. Yeah–I love it here man. The culture is fascinating and so beautiful. Rich–you know, like, rich-rich. It’s so old and just–” he takes a breath, “just amazing…

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Honey

This is lovely. I follow a lot of bloggers but Chris Nicholas is easily the most talented. Follow him. You won’t be disappointed.

The Renegade Press

A wise man once said that patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. I always believed that I understood what he meant. I thought that he spoke of suffering; that one must sacrifice so that he may eventually prosper. I told myself that I wanted to be a writer, and that the yearning in my chest was the pain I had to endure in order to succeed. Because of this, I spent years fighting against a loneliness so encompassing that I could feel it in my bones. Then I met you. And I realised that I was wrong. It took my twenty-eight years to understand that the hole in my chest was the bitterness of waiting to meet someone who could take my breath away; and that there is no fruit as sweet as falling for a woman as beautiful as you.

It started with a photograph. Until then…

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Glorified Mistrust

I like this. Powerful writing as ever from trE.

Sometimes Stellar Storyteller Six Word Story Challenge

Come on over to Nicola's blog and try your hand at writing a story in six words or less.

VOTE NOW for the winner of this week’s Six Word Story Challenge!

Forgot to enter this week, so the least I can do is share! Come on froggers, vote for your favourite!

Twittering Tales #26 – 18 April 2017

This is the weekly writing prompt challenge I’ve been taking part in lately, to write a story in 140 characters or less. I love seeing the huge variety in everyone’s different responses!

like mercury colliding...

About the challenge:  Each Tuesday I will provide a prompt, and your mission, if you choose to play along, is to tell a story based on that prompt in 140 characters or less.

If you accept the challenge, be sure to let me know in the comments with a link to your tale. A final note: if you need help tracking the number of characters in your story, there is a nifty online tool that will count for you at charactercountonline.com.

I will do a roundup each Tuesday, along with providing us a new prompt.

Have Fun!

Twittering Tales #25 – The Roundup

Door Sign from Pixabay.com

From Michael at Morpethroad:

My Songs
I was disappointed with no entry.
They had played my songs.
Their interpretations fascinated me.
I was flattered by their vocal renditions.
(137 characters)

From Lost in Translation79:

And so it begins…
I stood there…

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The Girls In My Backyard (alternate version)

My blogger friend Peter of Peter’s Ponderings recommended this blog to me – I clicked on the link and found this lovely poem, which made me cry so I’m sharing it!

No Talent For Certainty

The girls in my back yard
Are running to and fro:
They’re dashing through a sprinkler,
And laughing as they go

The grass is green and rich,
The fence is high and far;
There’s brewing tea out in the sun
Inside a big glass jar

My wife is at my side,
We’re watching the “stampede” –
We see the world, and it is good.
There’s nothing left to need

The girls in my back yard:
My God, I love them so,
Though they grew up and moved away
So many years ago

Yes, long ago they laughed,
Along with my late wife —
From this back door, I hear, and feel
What used to be

My life

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