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 |  Here I go down a rabbit hole. What will I encounter? What will I write? Viva l'imagination |
| Challenges await... |
PROMPT: Write a final blog entry to commemorate this event including all you've learned (or not) with this process. Whew! Let me catch my breath. Pounding the keys takes concentration and for some unknown, annoying reason the caps lock ignores my request for a capital letter. I know my mind is thinking capital, but perhaps my left finger is too exhausted to emphasize that desire to the correct key. These digits have been tippy-tapping at a furious pace attempting to keep pace with my sprinting imagination. This Wonderland Challenge has sparked an entire crate of fireworks responses. Boom, boom! Sizzle, crack! I swear I'm smelling gunpowder. There's nowhere for ideas to hide in the flare of illumination. I feel as if I've just completed a marathon. I'm not sure if I'm running across the finish line in a burst of adrenalin, or crawling. I finished it! I crossed home base and sunk one in the net. I did mention sports were not my thing, right? I don't seem to be gasping and gulping for air with my mouth wide open, at least not any more. My muscles are not spasming, but I feel as if they are about to rebel. My butt is numb from this computer chair / saddle. When I set out on this challenge, I felt ready, confident, and curious. The finish line shimmered just out of reach in the distance, but I persevered. Each prompt completed represented one more step towards that goal. I remembered to breathe and trust my imagination as I created. A few of those prompts flexed and vexed me. They demanded more effort from me. Initially, I confess to being stumped. The 'Rule 42' and 'Rebellion' sections had me scrabbling for an in, an idea, an angle. The ol' thinking cap is a bit worse for wear, there are bare patches worn in it. My initial reaction to 'The Jabberwocky', 'Mock Turtle Song', and 'All the king's horses' had me cursing like Winnie the Pooh. "Oh bother!" Again, I struggled with a topic, a base to build a poem on. Then I needed a rhyme and rhythm that carried the story. I floundered. I've never composed a song before. Perhaps I caught myself on the semantics of that particular word. As long as I'm not tasked with setting my words to music and I'm not called upon to sing it, off key and in a croaking voice, we're all safe.It proved not to be insurmountable. In my first blog for this challenge I mentioned time management. I determined to devote as much time as I needed to this project. Once inspiration ignites, time and its restraints disappear. I jotted down snippets of dialogue and background for all the prompts regardless of their order. Many nights I tossed and turned. I could not hope to sleep until I rose and scribbled a few notes. I sacrificed reading time. I ignored anything I deemed unnecessary except for eating. This effort required fuel. Cookies and tea supported my creative endeavours. Have I earned a crown? I anticipate it's heavy. I'm not really a hat person. Wait, this would be head gear, or head jewellery, right? Where does one store a crown? Could I hang it on a hook next to hubby's baseball caps? Does it need to be polished? Is there a detail shop, a cleaning service that does this? Is a crown considered casual wear? Thank you for this fantastic, fun challenge! I appreciate the thought and effort that went into creating this jaunt through genres and styles. I salute you with a well-earned cup of tea and a platter of scrumptious cupcakes iKïyå§ama   ( 610 words ) |
PROMPT:We could always use something beneficial once in a while. Invent something useful to mankind. Share in a blog. A new invention for mankind? Have you not seen the power tools and gadgets most men hoard? What about womankind, specifically mothers? I propose a coping mechanism for mothers, mothers of teenagers. Teenagers possess a most irksome characteristic or ability. They have selective hearing. Somehow they are able to tune out their mothers' voices at any decibel, whispering, pleading, and especially shouting. As a group they are resistant to nagging as well. I dallied with appropriate names for my innovation. I shook my head with The Prodder. I did not like its association with a cattle prod plus it's too drastic and more than likely painful. How about The Stimulator? It is closer to the expectations of mothers, but still not quite right. I hit upon a name based on the friendly, non-threatening acronym, Tim. The Teenager Insolence Manager seems to hit the ol' stubborn, cheeky teenager on the head, so to speak. Like the mothers who want, no, need this invention, it will be a multi-tasker. Now, I've considered the average teen's preoccupation with their appearance in my design. My gadget does not hamper or hinder their personal style. No one will ever perceive they are carrying it much less know it came from a mother. I'd describe it as discreet. After vigorous testing, I recommend that the installation age be thirteen. This is the cusp of the dreaded teen years. This gizmo is impervious to water, cologne / perfume, and perspiration. If I may say so, it's a stickler, guaranteed to adhere. I considered the impact my creation would cause. It will grab a teen's attention totally. There will be no dilly dallying. It is a shock, a swat to the backside, a motivator. It simply cannot be ignored. The teenager will become alert ,ready to receive and process a managerial request from its mother. Of course, mothers will be issued an uncomplicated remote control, one they will understand and operate without the expertise / input from said teens. It's vast range eliminates the need for close proximity. This is intended to minimize the moms' exertions. No real life application of a well-placed, attention-grabbing, motivating kick to the posterior. After all, did mothers not expel copious energy and effort during birth, also known aptly as labour? Did they not also shed blood, sweat, and tears to wean, to potty train, to teach, to feed, to clean, to clothe, and to referee? This life-changer is exertion-free. Oh, what exactly is my ingenious invention? It's a tiny chip injected into the base of the skull, no fuss, no muss. It receives a message from the remote and it reads this as a request to administer a wee electrical zap, or jab. Is your teen out gallivanting and ignoring his or her curfew? Remind them with a zing. Is your offspring lounging refusing to vacate his or her bed? One quick zap will bring them to their feet.Has a chore been avoided? You've got it, utilize Tim. Perhaps the marketing campaign will consist of catchy phrases like "spark your teen's response" or "invite Tim into your home." Never fear, ladies! I am developing a prototype for exasperated wives to use on their husbands. The male spouse, alas, also possesses the selective hearing gene, and they have a predisposition to procrastination. Again, this product's name is key to both marketing purposes and customer expectation. This is certainly not my final choice, but it's a working invention moniker. What about The Whip? No, no, not the applier of pain, but Wrangle Husbands Into Production. Sigh, this is a process. I anticipate a plethora of orders.( 619 words ) |
| PROMPT: Favourite sports team? If 'yes', give reasons why you're a die-hard fan. Take us through the highs and lows. Also, what team can you not stand? Create a blog or story. Maybe I'm odd, but I must confess I do not have a favourite sport, or team. Nope, I do not choose to follow sports. Perhaps I'm not competitive, or emotionally vested? Now, if I currently reclined on a therapist's couch, I'd blurt out that I suffer still from horrendous flashbacks. Of course, this is a mother memory, and bless her soul, her actions scarred me for life. I hear her screaming and throwing objects, usually something conveniently at hand such as a pillow. She'd argue with the referees, or umpires, or whatever the officials were called. It did not matter that her opinion carried no weight and could not possibly be heard, let alone considered. She jumped to her feet in response to a bad call. With a replay, she'd march up to the television screen in search of a better vantage point. Her arms would wave and swing. My Mother became a mad woman, a rabid fan. Her two favourite sports were hockey and baseball. As far as I know, Mom never played either of these sports. No relative could claim to be a professional participant either. Hockey Night in Canada meant vacate the house to me. As soon as I heard the opening strains of that program's signature music, I bolted. Mom ensconced herself in the basement recreation room and nothing else mattered while a game unfurled. With two sets of doors firmly closed, I'm sure the neighbours could hear her. "What noise? Oh that scream? Oh, no, no one is being attacked. That's our neighbour, Carol. Yes, the one with four kids. She's a bit of a sports fan, easily excitable. Oh, she's fine. Nothing to get worked up about. We pray there isn't any overtime. Most of the time, the game ends before we retire for the night. Well, yes, we agree. Her screams are indeed frightful." I also have a history as a klutz. Everyday activities prove challenging and often times harrowing enough without my considering actual attempts at sports. Walking and sitting test my balance and endurance. After a few accidents with sneaky chairs, I'm still leery of them. I always approach with caution, striving to gauge the mood of the furniture. Years ago, I opted to read and write, much safer pursuits for me. Sigh. Hubby is a diehard Nascar fan. Oh, there really is nothing to compare to the rumble and screeching of a race car. The entire house shakes with the reverberations. For some unknown reason, my partner-for-life does not wish to carry on a conversation during a race. To say his attention is elsewhere is an understatement. Those zooming, spewing, belching vehicles mesmerize him. He's under a spell of some sort, incapable of noticing anything else. The room could be filled with dense toxic smoke and his armchair could be spitting flames, and he'd be waving them away to see the screen. Like my mother, he too whoops and hollers. So, as I wrote a few lines ago, nope, I'm not a sports fan. I am just doomed to live with one.( 544 words ) |
| PROMPT: Fragility is a delicate word. Based on that compose a song or lyrics that deal with fragility. Wild thoughts flutter and flit through twilight, shadows split metamorphose, shapes shift scatter, swirl, inky sift. Whisper, cajole, plead, seek clamor, bellow, screech, shriek sibilant scratches bleak murmur, moan, mumble, meek. Pain in a web battered and bruised no flow, no ebb shattered, confused. Slither, slink in black mire scrabble, claw, squelch desire writhe, flail, consuming fire. wrestle reason, stoop, tire. Pain in a web battered and bruised no flow, no ebb shattered, confused. |
| PROMPT: Our dear Humpty seems to be a connoisseur of this, so research Portmanteau. Create 10 words of your own design. Wow us! A portmanteau is a linguistic blend of words. How fun! Okay, imagination I give you free rein. 1. scrout:scream plus shout 2. snorggle: snort plus giggle 3. wheezle: wheeze plus whistle 4.screlp: scream plus yelp 5. sprizzle: sprinkle plus drizzle 6.frowkle or frinkle: frown plus wrinkle 7.squickle: squeeze plus tickle 8.hicasp: hiccup plus gasp 9.cavay: cavort plus play 10.sneert: sneeze plus snort |
| PROMPT: Celebrate your un-birthday in a wonderful blog entry. Happy Un-birthday to me! This means I have not aged, not one bit. Hooray! I'd whistle, but I have yet to master that skill. With a few dazzling dance moves, a shimmy, a shake, and a twirl I slide across the floor. I just realized I missed my calling. I could've been a grippy sock tester. Wait, this is not a time for regrets. Into the air, I raise a cup of tea in a toast. This is a most auspicious occasion. In the oven, is a celebratory chocolate cake complete with walnuts 'cause this treat's for me and not the I-don't-like-nuts naysayers. I plan on enjoying not one, but two slices before I save the remainder in the freezer. Hey, I'll only live once. The condemning conniving calories have not been invited either. Actually, no one has received an invitation. This is a quarantine party. That persistent COVID-19 can knock all it wants at my door, it's not coming in. The gifts I choose to bestow upon myself are solitude and self-reflection. I thought they'd pair well with self-isolation. These three plus me, myself, and I keep the loneliness at bay. We have so much in common, it's uncanny. We finish each other's sentences and fill in the memory gaps. To our chortling glee, we understand and appreciate the same types of humour. Unlike our family members, we do not admonish each other as being too loud. What volume? No shushing permitted. Yes, we talk and carry on . Our taste in music, movies, and books is eerily similar. I've discovered that we all like to dabble in doodling, too. Mom believed in un-birthdays. They never had a pre-planned arrival, or itinerary. They just appeared whenever they felt like it. No one stood upon formality. Pyjamas were perfectly acceptable attire.Spontaneous sums them up. Their laughter and shenanigans delighted me. Oh, how they gobbled cake and slurped ice cream. Sometimes, they created a picnic on the floor complete with a table cloth and Mom's "good china", mismatched paper plates. The newest member of the menagerie that is me grumbles a bit less now. At one-year old, this knee replacement has struggled to fit in. The rest of my body has had a considerable lifetime to arrange a truce and a begrudging respect. It still hesitates to run and dance, but I understand it's an infant. It's still only capable of baby steps. It may be my un-birthday, but this knee is celebrating it's first birthday. I believe it is learning to like this joint. We strive to be all-inclusive.( 439 words ) |
PROMPT: Choose your fighter: pirate?, captain?, mere sailor? Give us a day in your life as part of the crew.  Dear Diary, er, excuse me, Ship's Log, Day 15 at sea. I'm not sure I'll ever get the hang of this constant motion. Up and down, up and down, all the time! I'm sure I heard the recruiter mention bracing sea air. All I do is brace myself in a vain attempt to prevent more battering and bruises. And why is it batten down the hatches? They aren't covered in painful marks. I think I'm developing a proper swagger though, or is it a stagger? It's impossible to traverse this ship in a straight line. I might just regret my impulsive decision to sign up for this cruise. The wiley recruiter caught me off guard after a raucous night of drinking and carousing at the pub. He lured me with promises of unlimited rum and stories of adventures experienced sailing the seven seas. He mentioned seeing the world and opportunities to pillage. I'm still not sure what that is. I haven't left this accursed boat since we left port. Did I mention that this ship bucks like a crazed wooden beast? It writhes and twists. It moans, groans, and creaks nonstop. Oh, and the noise! All day, I hear squawking from the hundreds of seagulls and my fellow sailors. The sails flap and flutter. I swear I hear chains rattling. There's nothing to see except endless ocean and the distant horizon. No one warned me about the salt and the dampness. I might have earned a nickname, Squinty Stan. Ya, I'm not a Redbeard or a Black Jack. Stanley the Sailor sounds lame. I've come to learn that I'm basically a maid. The bosses expect me to pick up after them and clean. They are such slobs. Would it kill them to pick up their own swords? No, they leave them scattered across the deck willy-nilly. Talk about a tripping hazard. Why don't they coil the ropes? Didn't their mothers teach them not to spit tobacco everywhere? Why am I the only one swilling out rum tankards? I feel unappreciated. Isn't there a pirate motto, one for all and all for one? No? Forgive me the drudgery weighs heavy upon me. My poor hands are red, raw, and chapped. I wish I could say I've swabbed my last deck. It's painful to straighten up. I believe I just may have housemaid's knee. The others laugh when they hear my cries of "ow, ow, ow." Squinty Ow Stan, that's me. This is definitely no pleasure cruise! (435 words ) |
PROMPT: Visit Noticing Newbies and assist a newbie , or two. Post links! "Noticing Newbies"  "Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: New Here, but just a casual writer." "Re: Re: Re: Hello everyone! New writter here." |
| PROMPT: Can you tell the future? Create a blog giving us events that would transpire on Dec. 21, 2020. I'll be limping and whimpering as I struggle to bake the final few batches of delicious Christmas goodies. Those cookie calories come at a price. Surely, I'm not the only baker to fracture a couple of toes in the relative safety of their home? I can't be the sole klutz who insists upon made-from-scratch treats even if they risk life and limb? Sigh, I do tend to be distracted by my desire to multi-task. When the oven timer shrieks, I hasten to answer. I do not seem to possess a great sense of where I am in relation to heavy furniture and sneaky corners. My poor vulnerable toes connect too often at their detriment. I'll soothe myself with the thought that I will not have to pull on a pair of winter boots until the 24th. Until then my battered digits will putter about inside. The raging blizzard screaming and howling outside, battering the walls, will not need my company. I'll press my nose to the frosted glass of my living room window and lament the growing snow drifts. Perhaps I'll imagine rolling that snow and creating a snowman, a bonhomme de neige, with my almost two-year old grand giggle, Alexandra. Sydney, my eldest grand giggle will be home from her first semester at college. She'll have mastered driving her own car in winter conditions. She jokes that an accident would just be a make-work project for her father and the local body shop. Her Dad, Chris, will shake his head and remind her it's his job to worry about her. She's heard about his driving exploits. Never will her record compare to his. As I said, Syd now has the confidence and in her mind she's invincible. Facebook will be buzzing with news of an accident that shut down the highway North of here. Three transports jack knifed in the whiteout conditions. Hubby phones to say he's stranded just beyond the closure and all he can do is wait it out. This is the life of a long-haul trucker, hurry up and wait. The restrictions implemented for the COVID-19 outbreak are officially lifted. This is fantastic timing! We can all celebrate Christmas at traditional gatherings. The local schools quickly arrange their annual pageants with music and skits. The village's Christmas festivities are restored to our delight. There will be hay rides through the streets to see the sparkling lights. No hurrying at all. I enjoy the gentle swaying and the steady pace of the grand horses.I'll hear sweet, joyous carolling. No more masks for my neighbours, but they still have their mouths and noses covered. The freezing temperatures encourage mufflers. This article of warmth is aptly named. I strain to recognize voices. Yep, I limped outside to greet them. The tumble into the fresh snow is worth it. We celebrate with a round of bear hugs. Happy no-more-social-distancing.( 500 words ) |
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Fabulous. Great imagination and so practical.