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A new blog to contain answers to prompts |
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas "  became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one. Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.  |
| Prompt: Candy Do you like candy? Is there any difference between the candies that you like in hot weather and cold weather? Write about your favorite candies and any memories attached to them. ----------- Who doesn't like candy! That is unless, one is diabetic, and very luckily, I am not, and I love the taste. That instant burst of sweetness in my mouth lifts my mood to the nostalgic memories of me as a four-year old and my mother giving me a chocolate bar when I had a temper tantrum. I don't think a pedagogue would advise that to mothers, but it was a great success for my mother. Luckily, I never became obese. If anything, I was on the thin side as a kid. I am guessing the sweetness of candy taps into the innate preference of our ancestors, which must have helped them to identify calorie-rich foods when edibles were hard to come by, as sugary stuff offers quick energy boosts and happier outlooks. As to the seasons, I don't think I have a preference. For winter, possibly candy canes might be in favor for some of us because of Christmas and the cheerful appearance and nostalgia. Then come the truffles, gingerbread and cinnamon tastes, and anything chocolate, which is for all seasons anyway. I will have to add caramel apples to the mix, which was a favorite of mine when I was in my teens. For spring and summer, probably, light and fruity tasting gummies, jellybeans, and lemon drops could be some of the choices. As in everything else, each season may bring its own flavors with candy types. This may be because candy reflects more than flavor. The very idea of it has to do with the imagination of being young again, cultural traditions, and the moods we experience at any age. Now that I have written all about candy, I'm rushing to reach for some refreshment. I mean that big bag in the kitchen which still contains a few of the left-over Halloween candies, mostly dark chocolate, of course.  |
| Prompt: Let's try another Sweeney exercise together. Think about any movie that has stuck with you. In your mind, create an image from the movie. Resist all temptation to explain or tell us the movie's name instead let the image speak for itself in your writing. Mathew Sweeney says," using the image to suggest more than itself is metaphorical approach because a metaphor works by using one thing to refer to in terms of another." Have fun! ----------- He stares at her, almost unable to breathe, at the blonde woman he had once loved. Maybe he still does. He cannot believe her son has his name. He feels a strange cocktail of emotions welling up, swirling together so fiercely. Then, she tells him, apologizing, the truth. The boy has bright-eyes, wild hair and a familiar quirk in his grin. It is like looking at a mirror from years ago, his own face glancing back at him, unguarded and unaware. He panics. He is shaking inside. "Is he... smart?" he asks, meaning 'Is he stupid like me?' The boy rushes to the living room to watch 'Bert and Ernie' on the TV. Such a shock! Certainly. But also regret, thick and heavy, sinking into him for the years he'd lost with the boy: his first step, first words, the small joys and pains and all else that had slipped past by him, without him. Did the child call someone else, "Dad"? He imagines the boy calling him, "Dad!" Dad! A name he hadn't known himself. He wants to hear the boy say that to him. He wants it badly. He didn't know he'd want it this badly, this much...until now. Such an excitement...a nervous thrill at the idea of discovering a part of himself that had always been there, just hidden, waiting. Then, as if he has stumbled into a life he didn't know he was meant for...he feels unprepared, exposed. The woman says, "Go talk to him." And he does. There is hope now, fragile and sudden because he can change things. He could try. And he can. He knows he can. ----------- Note: here is the scene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITGEGE9v0d0 |
| Prompt: Take any cliche and subvert it to bring it alive again in a poem or a blog entry. ----------- Bag of Bones They said, "This baby, a bag of bones!" and rattled, "She may not even throw stones" a bag of bones, where my shadow lies World War II, macabre with gray skies. But dreams I've built and spells I've cast, I charted my course, battled the past. Alas, today, other lines are drawn, fears of war wail from dusk to dawn. Although people speak in whispers low, in death's embrace, demons can grow. So, this bag of bones sways and waits... as, just one click, next war dictates. Such a shame it is, to undo the seams! Or let's mend the world, guard our dreams? I hold my breath and hear the moans and warnings from all bags of bones. |
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