Fume-#writephoto Dragons Do Breath Fire


Peering out from behind the boulder, I could see the plume of it’s breath. The fume, a cloud; glowing.  It mixed with the mist off the lake until the entire night air was lit.  Soon they’d see.  Maybe throwing rocks to wake him wasn’t a good idea.  But now, now they would believe me.  Dragons do breath fire.

Copyright (C) 2019 Penny Wilson

*This is in response to Sue’s Thursday #writephoto prompt.  If you would like to join in on the fun, you can find out more about it HERE. 

The Threshold


Doorway-to-my-soul-500x375

I saw it just on the other side of the meadow.

There has been a time when The Threshold was within me, barely restrained, bursting at the seams to get out and into the light of day.

Was this it?  It had been so long since I’d seen it, I wasn’t sure.  Sometimes it would appear just on the edge of my peripheral vision, vanishing when I looked directly at it.  Other times it was like a warm hug, enveloping my entire being.

Carefully, I made my way across the dew laden grass.  I didn’t dare blink, lest it disappear.  Ignoring the chill of my bare feet, I approached as quietly as I could.

Standing before it, I reached out a tentative, trembling hand.  What would it hold this time?  What magic lay on the other side?

I took a deep breath and stepped across The Threshold.

(C) 2019 Penny Wilson

*The original version of this was written in 2016.  I liked it quite a lot back then but have reworked it a little.  I hope you enjoyed.  

 

My Muse. Who Is She?


What does my muse look like?  A lot like me, but much younger; late twenties, perhaps early thirties.  She’s tall and lean with long flowing dark hair that is crazy-wild.  Her eyes are full of fire and attitude.  You wouldn’t mess with this girl.  But who IS she exactly?  

Sometimes, she’s right there on my shoulder, whispering delightfully witty prose into my ear.  Other times, she’s stomping around the room, steam coming from her ears as she rants and raves about the injustices in her life.  She can weep like a little girl with her first crush or spew sensual lines of love.

My muse also has an “I don’t give a sh*t” attitude sometimes.  At these times, what ends up on the screen is not worth the effort it took to type it.

There are times when my muse is exhausting.  Tap, tap, tapping at the keys, furiously trying to record the thoughts in her (my) head.  I can barely keep up with the flow of her need to express herself.

Sometimes my muse disappears.  She gives me no notice, doesn’t leave a note letting me know when or if she’ll be back.  She’s terribly selfish at times like this.

But eventually, she comes back, perky and smiling, ready to provide me with more inspiration, ideas and the gift of expressing my inner thoughts.

I know my muse better than anyone else.  Ever.  But there are times when she surprises me.  She can be very dark, ugly even.  The things that she’s forced me to write make me shudder and shake my head with revulsion.  I’m shocked at the brutality that comes forth. We somehow manage to reconcile and join forces again.

My muse is a shape-shifter.  She’s an ever-changing kaleidoscope of colors, moods, and light.  I love her and despise her.  But I wouldn’t want to ever be without her.

Do you have a muse?  What is your muse like?  

Copyright (C) 2019 Penny wilson

Image by 139904 from Pixabay

Hunger… #Poetry — anita dawes and jaye marie


REBLOG: Please don’t miss this amazing piece!

Watching the orange moon sail between tall trees my hunger increased. My back against the mighty oak, soothing my bones I wait for orange to turn white, the full moon For my true self to emerge. Feed the hunger to remain hidden deep in my forest home, the last of my […]

via Hunger… #Poetry — anita dawes and jaye marie

Nominations are Now Open!


The Annual Bloggers Bash

Now in its fifth year, the Annual Bloggers Bash returns bigger and better than ever. The venue is booked, the date is set for Saturday 15th June 2019 and the committee is busy working behind the scenes to ensure the day is full of fun, learning opportunities, networking, and, of course, the Blogtastic award ceremony. For more information about events on the day AND TO BUY A TICKET FOR THE EVENT, click here!

The Awards

The Annual Bloggers Bash Awards are open to bloggers from all over the world, and are nominated and voted for by the blogging community and general public.

This year, we have changed a number of the categories and the process in which the nominations happen, so please read the information below carefully.

View original post 902 more words

Not Guilty…ish! — Mitch Teemley


Please enjoy Mitch’s hilarious true story!  Be sure to visit his blog, it’s a real treat! 🙂

I’d reached the sagely age of 20, and had finally scratched together the down payment for a groovy avocado green Chevy Vega with harvest gold vinyl seats. Then, just two weeks later, a very un-groovy cop pulled me over. “But my speedometer said 65!” “I clocked you at 72, son.” I courteously explained that he […]

via Not Guilty…ish! — Mitch Teemley

Mental Illness-A Family Affair-Beta Readers Needed


I’ve talked about Mental Illness several times on my blog.  It has a terrible stigma attached to it that is still very strong.  I have suffered from severe depression, in the past so I have first-hand knowledge of it.  There are of course all kinds of mental illness.  Depression is just a drop in the bucket.

The reason I bring this up is that I’ve had family members that had Mental illnesses.  This is something that I’ve toyed with writing about for years.  I hesitate for several reasons.  Some personal, some not.

They say that when it comes to writing, write what scares you.  This scares me.

Continue reading “Mental Illness-A Family Affair-Beta Readers Needed”

The Trials and Tribulations of Having Curly Hair.


MEMEMEMEMEME!! Omg, this is SO me!! I wonder if Joann is secretly a twin that I never met! A talented writer and extremely funny gal! Enjoy! ❤

Some Words That Say What I Think

I have thick, unruly, frizz-ridden, curly hair.

As a result, pretty much every day of my life has been a bad hair day.

img_0112

Deep down, I know that my hair has massive potential and I have spent my entire life trying to figure out how to style it in a way that expresses its true beauty.

Unfortunately, I still have absolutely no idea how to control it.

My hair is at its most tame directly after I step out of the shower.

img_0125-e1523371412817.jpg

However, as my hair begins to dry, it starts to rebel.

HairIt has visions of a new better future for itself – a future in which it will rise up into a set of full, luscious, voluminous curls.

HairUnfortunately, by the time my hair has fully dried, this rebellion has deteriorated into something that it never intended or planned for.

HairIn my teenage years, I had a brief…

View original post 200 more words

Companion


It was true.  She was still here.

There was a small woman seated on the ground.  Her shoulders slumped, and her head was bowed.  Her hair hung limply in her face.  She rocked slowly back and forth.  She was a thin shadow of the robust beauty she once was.  The grass where she sat was wet from the early morning dew.  If she noticed, she gave no indication.  She hummed softly as she rocked.  She had one outstretched hand placed gently on the mound of bare earth in front of her.  I tried to place the tune she hummed but couldn’t.  A lullaby perhaps.

Her rocking stopped as I came closer, so did her humming.

The air was still and heavy around me and a chill ran through me as she turned.  This was a face almost unrecognizable.  Her once sparkling blue eyes had turned a dull grey.  They were the color of today’s gloomy sky.  Replacing the vibrant woman of my childhood was now something else.

Continue reading “Companion”

The Threshold


*A favorite Blast From the Past for you. I hope you enjoy! 🙂

Penny Wilson Writes

Doorway-to-my-soul-500x375

I saw it just on the other side of the meadow.  The sun was in the east, yet it did not shine here.

Carefully, I made my way across the dew laden grass.  I didn’t dare blink, lest it disappear.  Ignoring the chill of my bare feet, I approached as quietly as I could.

Was this it?  It had been so long since I’d seen it, I wasn’t sure.  Sometimes it would appear just on the edge of my peripheral vision, vanishing when I looked directly at it.  Other times it was like a warm hug, enveloping my entire being.

There has been a time when The Threshold was within me, barely restrained, bursting at the seams to get out and into the light of day.

Standing before it, I reached out a tentative, trembling hand.  What would it hold this time?  What magic lay on the other side?

I…

View original post 9 more words