Tag: creative

Multi-Purpose Tool

by Penny Wilson Writes, posted in Life

A favorite.  Sturdy, with a heavy handle. 

Since the purchase of my house, I’ve amassed more tools than I ever thought I would want or need.  I’ve got a good cordless drill, a decent set of drill bits, a socket set, screwdrivers of all sizes, pliers, hammers, channel locks, needle nose pliers, etc, etc.  The list goes on… and on.  

BUT when faced with a situation where the toolbox is not conveniently close at hand, the first thing I reach for is a table knife.  

This is the perfect Multi-Use Tool.  

I thought about this fact just this morning while using a knife to pry open a cardboard box.  The knife worked great and my fingernails are all still intact.  🙂

Think about it.  The table knife can be used in SO many instances!  

I’ve used the knife for a digging implement.  I’ve used one as a pry bar to pry open a door.  A heavy handled one is great for hammering a small nail into the wall or spreading spackle to cover up a nail hole.  The knife can often be used as a screwdriver.  

This little miracle invention can scrape, cut, dig, pry, spread, screw, and even help feed you dinner!  What a marvel!  

*Do you have an unconventional tool that you use?  

Copyright (C) 2018 Penny Wilson

Play it Again

by Penny Wilson Writes, posted in Prose, Writing

door_to_nowhere_by_grdcityboy

**I came across this in my archives from 2014 while I was digging around for something and thought, “Damn! I LIKE that!”  🙂 I thought you might like to have a look at it today, just in case you missed it way back then.  I hope you enjoy this piece.  

Look at you, sitting there.  Blinking.  You’re daring me to defile your crisp, white page, aren’t you?

Look at your one straight line, mocking me.  You look back at me in defiance.  I hear you!  Your taunts.

Continue reading “Play it Again” →

My Drug of Choice

by Penny Wilson Writes, posted in Prose, Writing

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Words spilling out.   My fingers can’t keep up with the thoughts in my head.

The scenes unfold behind my eyes.  The screen disappears.  The keyboard, gone.

I’m immersed in this world, self-created.

In my world, anything can happen and sometime does.

In this imaginary world my fantasies bleed, cry, kill and give life.  They lust, love and hate.

All this is done with a key stroke, at my whim.

This is my drug of choice.

Photo courtesy of Getty Images via Huffington Post 

The Cursor

by Penny Wilson Writes, posted in Prose, Writing

door_to_nowhere_by_grdcityboy

Look at you, sitting there.  Blinking.  You’re daring me to defile your crisp, white page, aren’t you?

Look at your one straight line, mocking me.  You look back at me in defiance.  I hear you!  Your taunts.

You don’t think I’ve got it in me, do you?

Some days, your constant, unwavering blinking is enough to drive me mad.

On these days, you bar the door, unyielding, to the bliss that waits for me beyond.

Then there are those enchanted days that I fall, head first, right past you.  I enter through the door that you hold the key to so tightly.  I pass the blinding white of your page, where the release of the written word is all…

Time stands still for me in these moments.  I am transported to the corners of my imagination.  Or I wander through the fields of my past; where nothing and no one exists unless I want them to.

This power is what I thirst for, beg for, need.

You bar my way.