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The Bird in Hand

11 Oct

100 words for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below. Looking at the roster of names now contributing stories I see that the landscape has changed. Old friends have moved on, new voices call. Thought I’d write a story for this prompt since the picture is mine. It’s an obscure tale about halcyon days and will speak to but a few. Don’t feel compelled to comment. Easier that way, right? I wrote this one for me. Hope you all are well and prospering.

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She returned to the house in a dream to find a mynah had flown down the chimney. After a long time she was able to throw a towel over it and carry the squirming bundle outside.

The bird regarded her with black, baleful eyes as she gently freed it, taking special care with the strong feet that gripped the terry cloth.

“I never meant to hurt you,” she said gently, then opened her hand. The bird took flight, but before it disappeared over the ironwoods she thought she heard its answer carried on the windless air.

Then she woke.

Going Low

2 Feb

In disc golf ‘Going Low’ means to score exceptionally well in any given round or tournament. It means you’ve found the zone and the plastic is flying smooth, long and accurately. It means the approach shots are on target and the putts are dropping. Going low means long hours of practice are paying off and your name will likely move up the leaderboard. It means you may gain some strokes on the field and be in a better position to capitalize on your advantage the next day.

In the case of this post ‘Going Low’ also refers to the location of my next tournament, The New Zealand National Championships at Waitawa Park on North Island. In six days I’ll be teeing off on the first day of a two day, 54 hole event and having the time of my life.


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This quest will take me far afield and afterwards I’ll be on a walkabout of sorts so will not be able to post on Friday Fictioneers for a while.

Thanks for dropping by to see what Going Low is all about. It’s an amazing world we live in and I’m glad you’re in it.





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Dear Jane

11 Jan

Life is beautiful and amazing…and so is this post that Claire Fuller wrote. I asked her permission to re-blog it and she graciously assented. (Thank you, Claire.)

Linger for a while if you can and immerse yourself in love.



Claire Fuller


A letter to my husband’s dead first wife

Dear Jane,

There are two things I want to thank you for.

You and I never met, never got to know each other, never talked about books and writing, never shared confidences over a glass of wine, but we have shared the same husband. I know from him and your best friend that you were shy and quiet, that you took a long time to get to know someone well, but I like to think we might have been friends.

It’s obvious, but without you dying I would never have met Tim. He loved you, (still loves you) and would never have gone looking for someone new if you had lived. All that is true, but the first thing I want to thank you for is what you made him promise: that after you’d gone he wouldn’t stay on his own; he…

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Don’t be Evil

19 Nov

100 word story for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below. Enjoy, but not while you’re driving.

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(Copyright – Claire Fuller)

Google driverless cars were the law now. No humans at the wheel meant no wrecks, a detail that sounded a death knell for Middleham Motors, Gene and Gerry Roper’s once prosperous father and son auto body shop. While his dad kept a silent vigil for customers, Gerry used his newfound free time to study computer programming online.

Later that day, Gerry smiled and poised a finger above his laptop. ”Idle hands…” he thought, then pressed ‘Enter’. Tomorrow, courtesy of a virus he’d written, Google’s system and a lot of cars were going to crash.

Business was about to pick up.



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Yank Thou

29 Oct

100 words for Friday Fictioneers based on the photo prompt below.


Three Cheers

 (Copyright Melanie Greenwood)

Early Wednesday morning. The courtyard was empty. Queen Elise, in Tyrian purple, sat poised on her throne. Her kingdom spanned the known world and many imaginary ones but she had no staff save for some reprobate jesters and old Reverend Spooner, her herald. Another week was about to start.

The hour arrived. The courtyard filled. Reverend Spooner quieted the room and spoke to the assembled throng.

“On this, the second anniversary of her coronation, please join me in offering a heartfelt three chairs for our queer old Dean!”

Elise sighed, then smiled. At least Russell hadn’t called her that yet.



Queen Elise and Reverend SpoonerQueen Elise and the Reverend Spooner


10 Sep

100 words for Friday Fictioneers, all of whom can see their reflections in a mirror. Rochelle Wisoff-Fields frames the photo prompts and this week’s is from Janet Webb, mayor of Webb City, Missouri. Thank you, Janet.


Melete's Mirror



Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and had a cup, and looking up…

…I shake off Aoide’s insistent voice. Nothing in five weeks and now she’s all I hear. Figures from the past speak to me, an incoherent cacophony. Mneme making up for lost time? There is a note on the hall mirror.

Melete's Message


So, back on the horse.















Mrs. Mayor

Mayor of Webb City

Leaving the Scene of a Crime

7 May

One hundred words for Friday Fictioneers, a group of writers of all stripes and skill levels whose moderator is Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, based on a picture by Barbara W. Beacham. I love you all. Aloha, D.

Next prompt


The beleaguered heart of the sea still beats in time with the moon, but the estuary, once fecund beyond measure, is devoid of life. The harbor is home to weekend sailors whose vessels rarely leave their slips. Big box stores sell Orange Roughy and as long as the price is right, no one questions the cost.

 This tale had a hopeful beginning and a middle replete with halcyon days…. but it is headed for a bad ending.

Heinlein called stupidity the only universal capital crime. He was right.

 A reluctant witness, the moon moves farther away with each passing year.



Scene of a Crime

God Exits


If all of the world’s woes could be fixed by reducing the population by 99%, would you volunteer to leave the stage to the lucky 1%? No? Multiply that answer by 7 billion and you can see the real problem. But does our desire to keep living give us the right to destroy the cradle of 95% of the life on the planet? W.S. Merwin nailed it in his poem, For a Coming Extinction. I write about it here because I’ve decided not to be silent any longer. Tell the story, pass the word, raise hell, make waves, get off your ass, call your Congressmen, demand change, boycott, educate yourself, speak out and for the sake of the oceans, stop swallowing whatever it is the powers that be try to feed you.