I dug my fingers and sneaker toe tips into the rock face and hoped that no wind would kick up to threaten my grip on this wet rocky wall. I paused just long enough to wonder what I was thinking when I slipped over the edge and began a free climb down this cliff.
With the theme of hot summer nights, what could be better than a poem entitled “Sizzle.” Her use of imagery makes her poem come alive. Please take a moment to read this poem by KTC. Sizzle
For those hot summer nights, some may want to curl up with a good book in front of the cooler. According to KTC, you will not be disappointed in the book The Dry Grass of August by Anna Jean Mayhew. It chronicles the life of Jubie Watts, her family, and their black housekeeper Mary Luther, a woman that Jubie loves and admires. Read the stirring book review by KTC on The Dry Grass of August.
Where did June go? This summer has flown by all too quickly, and I never put up the June writing prompts. I apologize to my bloggers that share their stories on this site.
This time I am not placing dates or deadlines, just the writing prompts, so share when you can.
Since July is all about hot summer nights and friends, I decided to use these as suggestions for our stories. Have fun, and do not forget to share your tales.
When my youngest brother, Danny, was in school, he had to research our family names. When my grandfather discovered the meaning for the surname of Allen, he agreed with the description, for he maintained the Allen men were as strong as a rock and extremely handsome!
“My daughter, Jeanne, also sailed to New France almost two years ago. Although she sent word through the nuns in Ville-Maria that she was fine, I do not hear from her. She does not know how to write.”
I tried wracking my brain, trying to recall if he slept on the couch that night. If not, he should have.
The rain had just stopped pouring on the twins as they arrived home. Anthony and Marcia were alike in almost every way and today, they were both miserable. Their first day back to school after winter break had not gone well and now they were both wet, cold and despondent.
Words hold power.
She turned back to the rock face and simultaneously let go of the rope with both hands, just like she had lost consciousness, flung herself backwards and (my favorite part) screamed like she was falling to her death.