I’ve done it before, but never kept it up. There are fits and starts of my efforts, but nothing cohesive.

A blogger friend of mine, a wonderful poet, wrote recently about his own journaling. Sometimes it’s just a note jotted down to remind him of something he had as a passing thought, or perhaps an idea for another poem. He challenged his readers to do it, and at first I thought, “Nah, been there done that never kept it up.”

So, in spite of the my aversion to New Year’s Resolutions, I bought myself a blank book today, and I’m going to set it up in a little bit. Not promising I’ll write in it every day, I don’t want to make a promise I don’t know that I’ll keep. But I’m going to start, and well see where it takes me.

Another blogging friend challenged us this morning to have some kind of phrase, statement, or motto for the coming year. It didn’t take long for me to pick one.

The “Get It Done” was my choice, but if I’m going to get it done, I do need to stay focused. Besides, I like the picture and I’m going to use it as my wallpaper for a while 🙂

So, I really don’t know how this is going to go. I’ll probably start, change it up. Change my mind, Start a different way. I don’t know. But that’s part of the adventure, right?

So what’s the main thing I want to do, to “get it done”?

The book. The one that’s been in my head for so long it probably wants to just stay up there in its nice little dark corner where it won’t have to take any risks, or be criticized, or rewritten, edited, turned inside out and upside down.

Fear is my biggest obstacle. What if no one wants to read it?

You know what? It doesn’t matter any more. I have over 60,000 words written. I need to keep writing.

I need to GET IT DONE!


War is Hell

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Grandpa held little David’s hand as they gazed at the worn memorial.

“Davie, war is a terrible thing. But even out of horror there can be some honor, and many honorable acts were performed in both the World Wars of the 20th century.”

“Were you in a war, Grandpa?” David gazed up at his beloved grandpa, hoping for a good story.


David’s little shoulders slumped. No story. But he could see the distance in his grandpa’s eyes. “Is war really like hell, Grandpa?”

Grandpa snapped back to the present. “Yes, Davie. And I hope you never have to go.”

The Gazebo

Image courtesy of Dale Rogerson

“Zing, this is so strange! A house with no doors, no windows. No furniture. No rooms. Who would build a house like this? Who would live there?”

“It truly is strange, Zang. No running water, no beds, no lights.”

They were disturbed by footsteps crunching down the path to the gazebo. A human man and woman, holding hands, came into the structure. They brushed snow off the benches and sat together. They started kissing.

“Ahhhh! What are they doing!” whispered Zang.

“It’s a strange custom among humans. They show affection by eating each other’s mouths. Unsanitary. Disgusting. Not like us. “

The House Broke!

PHOTO PROMPT © Mikhael Sublett

“Mommy! Mommeeeeee!” wailed the little boy, his voice full of tears.

Mommy rushed to her child’s room, only to find it in shambles. Her little boy peeked out of a hole in the wall, his eyes filling his whole face, the tears pouring down his reddened cheeks.

“Come out, Benjy. You could get hurt in there. Come to me, Baby.”

“Mommy,” sobbed Benjy, “There was a HUGE BANG, and the house broke! I’m scared!”

“So am I, my Sheifale, little lamb. Come now. We must find the shelter.”

“I don’t understand. Why do they hate us?”

Tour Guide

PHOTO PROMPT © Fatima Fakier Deria

The tourists were given headsets that would translate the tour guide’s spiel into their own language. They couldn’t see the guide. They were told that they were listening to a pre-taped session from another bus.

As the bus pulled away from the curb, all the riders heard a harsh voice commanding “SILENCE.” Startled, they began to question each other. A shot crashed through a window, and an elderly woman slumped into the aisle, dead.

“Better. No talking. Listen, Obey. You may live. Do as you are told. Do not question.”

That bus disappeared. So did tourism in that country.