From the Prompt: The Beautiful Voice

THE PREMISEREAD HERE  Thanks WritersDigest and Brian A. Klems for the weekly inspiration.

My Take on the Prompt:


If those digits were people, she’d have poked out several eyes with the fury of her index finger.

“Seriously, you don’t have to press that hard,” her sister said, peering over her shoulder.

“It’s the principle, Bianca. I didn’t create this bill. Besides, why would I order two cases of Moroccan oil from an infomercial?”

Soft rock from an era long before all night television and identity theft floated across the line as Connie’s blood pressure rose. “As soon as they answer this phone, I’m going to—“

“Manes Incorporated.” A deep voice cut through her rant.

For the second time in a week she stated her complaint; however, there was something about this guy’s voice Continue reading “From the Prompt: The Beautiful Voice”


From the Prompt: It’s You–But It Isn’t



Finally! The kids are asleep and it’s time to wind down and see what’s going on in the  ScrapBooking for Dummies forum. I never sign out, because it’s easier that way. Plus, I’m forever losing passwords.

As the page loads and images take shape, I notice something that makes me uneasy. Either my eyes are playing tricks on me or, right there in a pop up, right in the middle of the screen, is my username in bold, red letters and a caption that reads:  You people couldn’t cut a perfect circle if your lives depended on it.

I glance at the date, 4/3/2015. The date is correct. And April Fool’s is long gone. So who would do this?  Everyone in the house is clonked out, including my husband. His loud, steady snoring permeates throughout the house. I can even hear my son’s light breathing in the adjacent bedroom. Did my son, Timmy, do this? Did he accidentally mash something? The idea is plausible. Although six years old, he’s more than capable of destroying everything he touches. If he weren’t sleeping so soundly, I’d interrogate him.

However, right-clicking and pressing delete seems like a viable option; so that’s what I do.  In less than two seconds I wish I hadn’t.  GlitterMama, you’re nothing but an over-privileged stay-at-home with nothing better to do than play with glue guns and fancy duct tape.

Oh. My. God.  Now someone is making fun of GlitterMama, aka Miss Nelly from Sunday school! Okay. I have to fix this, quickly.

Would you like to log out? Yes.

I unplug the computer and then reboot. The whole time I’m holding my breath, praying the webpage returns to normal.

There aren’t any pop-ups when the site reloads, and I let out a sigh of relief as I join a thread entitled: All You Need to Know about Digital Design.  Things are going fine–for a while. And then it starts again, this time in the comment section. WhateverTheFelt, I find your crafts mediocre and aesthetically challenged. Give it up, girl.

Surely there’s a contact page or moderator. Someone needs to know what is going on. As I search, I notice an About Us section. I hover over the link and nearly break my finger pressing enter. At this point, if I were that type, I’d show whoever was pranking around a different finger.

Sure enough, another pop-up: HAPPY LATE APRIL FOOL’S DAY. 

A gazillion smiley faces attack the screen as the monitor blinks off and on uncontrollably.  In no way do I find this funny. In fact, if this is the website’s idea of “fun”, I’ll show them who the fool is. This scrapbooker doesn’t need a stupid site to tell her how to digitally design an album, or anything else for that matter.

Would you like to deactivate your account?


From the Archive: Mail Order Man

*From the prompt: Write About Mail Order



Customer Service:  Make-A-Man. How may I help you?

Disgruntled Customer:  Uh, yes, I’m calling in reference to my order. I asked for Mr. Perfect, number 117, page 36 and, well, he ain’t so perfect.”

Customer Service: All of our men are 100% guaranteed. We don’t make mistakes here at Make-A-Man.

Disgruntled Customer:  Obviously you do because this guy is no different from any other. He leaves the toilet seat up, loses the cap to the toothpaste, and walks all over my freshly

mopped floor with his muddy boots!  If I wanted that type man I’d keep the one I have.


Customer Service: Misses…Gruntled, is it?  If you want Perfect Man you’ll have to talk to God. That line and species was discontinued after Adam.

Disgruntled Customer: Then why is it in the catalog!

Customer Service: If I recall correctly, page 36 says “Mr. Perfect,” which means near perfect; and Allen, the gentlemen you ordered, is as near perfection as it gets in 2013.

Disgruntled Customer:  Yeah, but that isn’t–

Customer Service:  He’s working in every other sense, right?

Disgruntled Customer: Yes. But…


Customer Service: As long as he is working and doesn’t run off without notice, or harm you physically, there is nothing we can do.

Disgruntled Customer: No refund?

Customer Service: I’m afraid not. If you had read the fine print you would have seen our no return policy.




Snippets & Prompts

We are lost.  Very lost.  Because dad doesn’t believe in GPS devices or road maps.  It has been this way since my childhood. In fact, I recall one summer afternoon in which we circled around a Holiday Inn for hours because daddy couldn’t figure out the exit and refused to pull over and ask for directions.

So, anyway, we’re in the middle of god-knows-where, and all I can think of is that movie; you know, the one with the crazy, flesh-eating family. What is it called? Chainsaw Massacre?

I bite my nails as the sun goes down over an open field and wonder how in the world Dad plans to get us out of this one.



Just playing around.  The prompt called for a voyage and deserted island.  However, I’ve used my creative license to come up with something else.  Now that I think about it, we should do A ROUND ROBIN!

Come on Ritx, Ike, Miss Elizabeth and fellow scribes. Let’s crank this baby up and come up with a short story.  

Ready? Set? Let’s do it!

Round Robin

I set the scene with the first sentence and three brilliant writers took it from there.  I want to give props to Vejukka, Jamz, and Monte R for their creative input, and a story that flows seamlessly even though four very different people lend their words.

If you would like to continue this round robin, then add a sentence or two…or a paragraph in the comments section.  Or see the link below.


The sky was  a blanket of gray, not an ideal day for a wedding, especially an outdoor one.  In retrospect, this was  a sign.  

Before 10am the lilac and pink roses were nodding their heads in the drizzle and the lawn was too soggy for stilettos. Plan B was therefore set upon and the guests crammed into the anteroom of the small chapel on folding chairs ordered in wavering lines.

This was not ideal. It was hot, and crowded. The bride was rumored to be distraught, the groom tippling. In-laws of both sexes had nearly come to blows. The best man and the maid of honor – who had arrived separately on time with their respective signficant others – had not been seen since shortly after 9:30.

Perhaps it was not so very surprising then, shouts and screams notwithstanding, that at 11:17 two very loud noises shook the chapel. Around the time that the bride and groom should have been concluding their nuptials before fleeing to the plane that was to carry them to a sunnier, less moist climate, the police arrived.

“No!” A familiar, female voice shrieked from the adjoining room. Janice, the previously, inconveniently, absent maid of honor burst into the room with a look of horror on her face and spatters of blood on her gown. “He’s trying to kill me! He’s trying to kill me!”

Two more shots came whizzing through the crowded room. The first shot barely missing the first officer’s face only because he turned his head to look at Janice as she raced past him. His sudden turn spared his children from being fatherless; however, it laid the foundation for a lifetime of nightmares as he helplessly watched the second shot pierce his partners forehead and violently explode from the back of his head.

“Everybody down!” He had to bellow to be heard over the frenzied screams and shouts. “On the floor, now!”

His stomach churned at the sight of his partner’s body, broken and bleeding on the ground. Plum Grange was a small town. There hadn’t been a violent crime in those parts for over five years, and hardly anyone could remember a murder. But here they were, in a church filled with out-of-towners, all hell breaking loose, and an officer was dead.

His walkie-talkie crackled. “Status, Roberts?”

“Officer down.” His voice quavered as he spoke. “I repeat, officer down. Shots have been fired. I’m gonna need some back-up.” He was moving warily through the crowded church, past the frightened guests huddled on the ground, their fancy clothes rumpled and stained with sweat.

“Copy that. Reinforcements are on their way.”


{Vejukka, Jamz, Monte/2-9-2011}


 If you would like to continue this in the form of a  round robin add your two cents below or visit me at

**let’s keep it going, calling all writers…