Defunct Daily Prompt

No Daily Prompt.  Hmm. Feels like a friend just dropped off the face of the Earth.

A friend I neglected most days, but always expected to be there if I made an effort.

I’m nursing a pouty feel just about now.

It always boils down to economic practicalities and blah, blah, blah.

I doubt any of the DP crowd appreciates the dismissal.  Not really.  Boo, WordPress.

We liked the community.  We came to recognize and look for familiar “faces”.

There was a rhythm to DP.  Now a silence has settled.

Hat’s off to Sue and Gerry!  They are making lemonade out of lemons.  I look forward to sharing a tall, icy glass!

Photo by PhotoMIX Ltd. on Pexels.com

 

 

Damn you, Stephen King! You killed the adverb!

On Writing is written and read aloud by Stephen King. He fascinates me and I don’t want the audiobook to end.  No re-read/re-listen will have the same effect.  Not even close.  What he throws at me has one chance to stick.

King recalls his storyteller roots from A to Z without putting me to sleep.  You’ve got to be good to do that because my mind wanders with the best of them.  Bad sometimes.

Thanks to King, I now see the adverbs in storytelling.  They are everywhere. He challenges me to be judicious with adverbs, eliminating them at best.  King admits even he can’t kill all of them.

The concept is firmly planted. I heartily accept this challenge.  It will be hard to describe my way around those little these sweeties.  Writing just got a little more complicated.

Oh, and King writes for the sake of writing.  Aaahhh, just as I’d suspected.  Money and fame be damned, you couldn’t stop King from writing if you tried.  He writes because he must.  Period.  Exactly what I want from a writer! He is no lazy writer and puts in the time.  Lesson given.  Lesson received.

Thank you, Stephen King.

Press Photo Credit: Shane Leonard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daily Prompt:  Complication

Like: FB Turtleneck

I want more than a LIKE button and its more exuberant neighbors LOVE, ANGRY, SAD.

I’m choking over here.

LIKE that house fire?

LIKE that report on poverty figures?

Hey, can I get a simple checkmark?

Check mark says, “Hey, there.  I saw your post.  I read you.  We’re good here.”

LIKE would be a real choice then.

“Yeah.”  “Way to go.”  “Thumbs up!”

LIKE would mean something.

Acknowledgement wouldn’t necessitate alignment.

The slight difference would sit well with me.

I would LIKE it.

 

Clean Slate…

Emails.  Messy mental mudpies. Virtual dust bunnies.

Sweep!

broom

Inbox fresh and clean.  What a feeling!

Do they really matter much?

Most days, no.  That’s why they grow so.

Better that the emails go.

Out out, damned spots!

 

via DP:  Messy

photo “End” 

 

 

Ahtanum Smoke Shack and Fried Bread

Yakima, Washington sits just outside the Yakama (Native American) Reservation.  I grew up in Yakima.

I began smoking cigarettes in Yakima. One of the great buys could be had just a couple of miles from my home on Ahtanum Road, conveniently on my way to work at Miner’s Drive In.

The Smoke Shack was a little bigger than today’s coffee huts, and every bit as convenient.  Drive up.  Order your smokes.  Pick up a lighter.  Drive away.

The price?  Well, back then I think I paid about 35¢ to 50¢ a pack.  A $5.00 carton.  Eeegads! Can you imagine???

As a child I marveled on day excursions to the Yakima Valley.  Wapato.  Toppenish.  Sunnyside.  There were Pow-Wows where the tribe would dress, sing, share.  Jewelry and beadwork drew my eye, but the presence of soft leather and woven baskets were my favorite. Conjuring the drums, soft dance, beautiful skin and facial features so different from my own brings me to childhood. I can still taste the fried bread slathered with butter and fruit jam.

I no longer buy cigarettes or eat fried bread slathered with butter and jam.  The Yakamas? Well, they are firmly rooted in my heart.

 

Daily Prompt:  Reservation

Photo Ahtanum Ridge from 5414 by Pat Strosahl