09.29.20

Prompt: “Write about the number 13”
Link to Prompt Source
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How I know the term, “A Baker’s Dozen” was coined by a MOM! 

I wondered quietly where the phrase “a baker’s dozen” originated. Like, was the extra donut for the baker? Did the baker have twelve co-bakers, or baker minions, or whatever a baker’s helper might be called?

Or maybe it’s like this – you have this old fashioned donut recipe, right? And the donut recipe is supposed to yield 12 donuts. But then after you make them, there’s all these scraps left over, and you mush them altogether, and that’s the one you get to eat.

Daily writing 9.28.20

Today’s prompt is a challenge from a facebook group I am in: Write a 100 word story (a “drabble”) on the topic of: “Neighbors.”
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“It’s simply impossible to learn these words.” Millicent flopped dramatically backward on the bed.

“I understand,” David nodded sagely from Millicent’s desk. “I can’t even remember when to put the “i” before the “e”,  even though Mom tried to teach me that poem.”

“Just wait until you’re MY age. The words only get harder, you know.”
“You could always, well, take some notes along with you.”

“David Eugine Westerhall! Are you encouraging me to cheat!?”

“Did I say cheat?” David stood, rubbing his hands on his back pockets. “I think I hear Mom calling me. Good luck on your test.”

9.24.20

“After hundreds of years, the egg finally hatched.”

Link to Prompt Source
Due to technical difficulties, this sprint was not recorded/broadcasted.

PROMPT: “After hundreds of years, the egg finally hatched.”

Junior shifted in his seat. This was the moment he’d been waiting for – he was three books in to the “Jurassic Ages” series and the egg that had been hauled around with the tribe of Triceretops (??!?!?!!) for the past several chapters was finally going to hatch – solving once and for all the mystery of whether the egg belonged to Felicity – the good queen who’d met an untimely end at the beginning of the entire ordeal – or to her evil sister, Melody. 

Junior held his breath as he turned the page. 

“Class, attention please!” Junior’s head snapped up. It was not like Mrs. Kim to interrupt silent reading time.

“I have something important to tell you,” his teacher said, making what Junior had always silently called her “i smell something bad” face. He sighed and closed his book, keeping his finger in the place between the pages of his long-held anticipation and the long  awaited resolution.

“Our school is closing,” Mrs. Kim said. “Your parents are being called and will be picking you up from the auxiliary building. I need you to form a single file line and follow me.

Junior’s classmates rose but he could not. He had been paying attention to the papers – he knew what this must be about. 

As he slid from his seat, he glanced down and saw the cover of his Jurassic Era novel, and marveled that it already seemed like a relic of his childhood.

Daily Writing Sprint

Link to prompt source
Prompt: Write about the letter M
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“The letter M is a very fun letter to create in sign language.” Misty curled three fingers around her thumb. “You can do it, too, Jackson.”

Jackson, who was only eighteen months old, did not seem particularly interested in the letter M or sign language. He had found one of Misty’s babydolls and was chewing on its hand.

“Jackson, don’t do that!” Misty’s voice was not harsh – she was never mean to a baby – but it was firm. She removed baby Serefina from her brother’s grip. Not to be deterred, Jackson turned and scooted on his bottom – a fancy alternative to crawling he had invented all on his own; he still wasn’t one to get up and walk if not necessary – over to Misty’s toybox. 

Misty ignored him. “So far in sign language I can spell my name. M-I-S-T-Y.” She spoke slowly, only pronouncing the next letter when her hand had finally come under obedience enough to form the shape she could see so clearly in her mind’s eye – each letter of the alphabet had been demonstrated on a leaflet she had brought home from school.

“I’ll learn to spell your name next, okay Jackson?” Misty looked up from her hand. “Jackson?”

Jackson popped up from inside the toybox, the hand of a different babydoll in his mouth.

“Oh, Jackson!” Misty balled her hands into fists and placed them on her hips. “What am I going to do with you!”