Posted in A.P. Roberts, Challenges, Writing 101

Writing 101: Written Treasures

This post was written in response to Writing 101: The Things We Treasure.


Shiny baubles may catch my eye and I may be easily mesmerized by twinkling lights but neither constitute a treasure. I love my family and adore my friends but they are not my deepest treasure.

If you were to cut me open and peer at my heart, you would find in it a treasure more desirable to me than gold or diamonds. Piled high in my heart, flowing through my veins, live stories.

I hoard books filled with stories so that they line my walls without a space between them. I wait, impatiently, for stories not yet written. I long for ideas that will capture the minds of readers far into the future. I crave new stories that I can read and explore their worlds. I anticipate the next story as I’m closing the book I’ve just finished.

As far back as I can remember I have loved stories. I can still remember the words of the “Lost Little Kitten” being read in my mother’s voice. There are story books that have been passed on to the newest generation which were read to me as a child. Some of the stories I remember from my youth were created by parents and babysitters who wanted us to settle for the night. Other stories from my youth were written in scribbles on the notebooks my parents left lying on the kitchen table.

My mother encouraged my love of stories by buying me treasures to hoard like a dragon in its cave. When one book was finished another was waiting to be read. From a modest stack, the treasures grew into a massive pile.

I’ve cut down on my treasure since becoming a woman. I’ve shared them with those less fortunate by donating to libraries and local foundations. Unfortunately for my floorboards, the pile still keeps growing.


Whisper2Scream pointed out the disconnect between the previous beginning and the rest of this piece. I’ve edited out the old beginning and replaced it with something I like a bit better.

Posted in A.P. Roberts, Writing 101

Writing 101: Some People Cry, Some People Clean

Written for Writing 101: Don’t Stop the Rockin’.

I had planned to use this prompt to talk about the writing process however, in light of recent events, I have decided write about my father-in-law and our grieving instead. I’m hoping that this post will be cathartic and allow me to let out some more of my grief.

I realize that some people cannot deal with death and for this reason I am putting the main post behind a cut. Consider this a trigger warning if you are triggered by death or talk of the grieving process.

Continue reading “Writing 101: Some People Cry, Some People Clean”

Posted in Writing, Writing 101, Writing Exercises

Writing 101: The Witch of North End Road

This post was written in response to Writing 101: Hone Your Point of View.

All the kids call Mrs. Pauley the witch of North End Road. I don’t know if she is a witch. She’s old enough to be one. She’s been here since before Mom was a kid.

Some of the kids say that she cursed her husband and turned him into a frog. I don’t believe in curses like that. Those things are for kids. But he has been gone for a while.

Sara said that the witch killed Mr. Pauley and that’s why he’s not around. She thinks that the witch had to drink his blood to stay young. I don’t think she drank his blood. That’s vampires not witches. Besides if she drank his blood to stay young why does she have all those wrinkles?

I wouldn’t blame her if she did kill him. He was always yelling at me to be quiet. He popped my pool when I was a kid. Said it was on his yard so it was his.

Mom always took his side. Told me to stop bothering them because they were nice.

Yeah right. If they were nice then I’d be able to have my pool under their tree. It’s the only tree near our building. And if they were nice they’d give out good candy on Halloween instead of those nasty molasses vomit things.

I wasn’t surprised when the cops came. Someone probably narked on her or something. It was crazy. There were police and Mr Scott, the landlord, he was there too.

I seen them when I was sitting on the steps. I was waiting for Jazz to get there so we could go do something. She’s always late.

I don’t know if the cops arrested her because they were quiet. I think if they’re arresting someone they have to have the sirens on. It’s a law or something.

I wanted to ask the cops what was going on but Mom said I had to stay by our steps. She told me not to get in the way.

I heard from Charlie, whose Dad is a cop, that she was being kicked out. He said that Mr Scott found out that she was a witch and didn’t want her there no more. I don’t blame him witches are scary evil.

Mom says we should feel sorry for the witch. She says the witch is just a poor widow whose family abandoned her.

I think I even heard Mom and Dad talking about letting her stay here. They said something about talking to the witch’s kids but I know that’s not true. Everyone knows that witches can’t have kids.

I don’t know what’s going to happen but if the witch stays here I’m moving in with Jazz.


Posted in A.P. Roberts, Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Anxiety and Me

This was written in response to Writing 101: Your Personality on the Page. The prompt was to right about one of your worst fears in a different style than you normally use.

Trigger Warning: This post deals with anxiety. If you are easily triggered by talk of anxious thoughts please stop reading. If you are reading this for the sole purpose to help your own anxiety, please seek help from a mental health professional.

Continue reading “Writing 101: Anxiety and Me”

Posted in Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Serially Lost 5

This was written in response to Writing 101: Third Time’s the Charm. This part is linked to Serially Lost, Serially Lost 2, Serially Lost 3 and Serially Lost 4.

**Hopefully the underlining works but if not, all of the post titles above are links. I occasionally forget that my theme doesn’t highlight links. Thank you Priceless Joy for pointing that out to me. 🙂


The oven lay cold as Wolf lost himself to thoughts of the past. Normally he would be getting the ingredients ready to make fresh bread for the boys’ suppers. Today he was remembering their last conversation.

He lied when he told Mouse that they fell apart due to her marrying another. In truth they fell apart because of his own naïve actions.

Wolf could still remember his surprise when the baker asked him for a private conversation.


The baker seemed like a giant in comparison to the table he sat at. “Michael, I don’t like you. I don’t pretend to like you.”

Michael shifted in his seat. “Sir?”

The baker narrowed his eyes. “I’ll get to the point as I don’t think you’ll understand otherwise. I don’t want you around my daughter.”

Michael swallowed back the anger. “Sir, I know you don’t want me around Aislinn. Why are you telling me this?”

“Aislinn believes that you will marry her. She always was fanciful but I cannot allow these ideas of hers to continue.” The baker shuddered. “I am prepared to offer you an apprenticeship if you stop your friendship with Aislinn.”

Michael opened his mouth to say no. He wanted to say no. He wanted to tell the baker that Aislinn was worth so much more to him. But the promise of a roof over his head and warm food to eat every day was too tempting. “I’ll do it.”

Posted in Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Your Voice Will Find You

Written in response to Writing 101: Your Voice Will Find You.

I found this difficult, not because of the twist but because I found little inspiration from the prompt. The twist was easy as I routinely read my posts aloud to my SO. I am still posting what I wrote but be warned that it is far from my best work. Read at your own peril.

Continue reading “Writing 101: Your Voice Will Find You”

Posted in Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Elevated

This post was written in response to Writing 101: To Whom It May Concern. My prompt, elevation, came from the book Westmark by Lloyd Alexander

Trigger Warning: This deals with several issues including depression and allusion to suicide. If you are triggered by any of these please do yourself a favour and don’t read this post.

If you do find yourself thinking about suicide please visit the International Suicide Prevention Wiki and find someone you can talk to. Suicide is a permanent reaction to a temporary situation. There is always hope and I urge you to find yours.

Continue reading “Writing 101: Elevated”

Posted in Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Serially Lost 4

This was written in response to Writing 101: Serially Found. This part is linked to Serially Lost, Serially Lost 2 and Serially Lost 3.


The cloak reminded him of of his childhood. He remembered the day she had given it to him. She made him promise to get off the streets.

Wolf shook his head to clear out to memories. The boys would be down soon to start their day. It wouldn’t do to have him lost in thoughts of the past.

He placed the cloak back onto Mouse’s hook. Besides, the cloak only looked like the one he had, it was not the same cloak.

The pounding of feet on the stairs pulled Wolf out of his thoughts. He had to get the boys their breakfast. They had a long day on the streets ahead of them and he didn’t want them to be hungry.

He placed fresh bread on the table and filled the empty jugs with milk. It wasn’t much but it would get the boys through until they came home.

Some of the older boys left for their apprenticeships without eating; preferring to leave the food for the younger ones. The other boys made sure the younger ones ate.

It warmed Wolf’s heart to be able to provide food and shelter for the little ones of the city. Not only was he giving them what he didn’t have but he was keeping the promise he made years ago.

“Wolf?” Mouse tugged at the bottom of Wolf’s shirt. “Can you help me find a lady?”

The older boys left in the kitchen laughed. “Looking for a date Mousey?” They asked him in jest.

Mouse frowned and shook his head. “No, I wants to give back the cloak. She said it was a gift but I don’t wants no charity.”

“Did she tell you her name?” Wolf asked, leaning down to look Mouse in the eyes.

“Nuh uh. She ain’t never said her name.”

“Do you remember what she looked like little one?”

Mouse scrunched up his face. “She was pretty. Made me think about your baker girl. But she was old like you.” Mouse thought for a moment. “And she said it was a return. Said the cloak was lost and coming home.”

“I’m not certain I can help you find her. But I will try.” Wolf stood up and walked over to the cloak. Picking it up, he looked over the fabric.

He stopped when he saw a small patch of fabric stitched with the name Michael. He hadn’t used that name in years. She was the only one who called him that and the only one who ever would.

“You need not worry about finding her, Mouse,” Wolf eventually said. “She was just returning the cloak I lost years ago.”

Wolf fitted the cloak around Mouse’s shoulders.

“It seems to fit you well, little one.” Wolf blinked back the tears threatening to form in his eyes. “It should keep you nice and warm in the winter weather.”

Standing up, Wolf looked around at the boys still in the kitchen. Some were giving him quizzical looks but he ignored them as he cleared the table.

Posted in Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: Clouds on the Horizon

This post was written in response to Writing 101: Dark Clouds on the (Virtual) Horizon.

Trigger Warning: This deals with several issues including eating, illness and allusion to death. If you are triggered by any of these please do yourself a favour and don’t read this post.

Continue reading “Writing 101: Clouds on the Horizon”

Posted in Character Development, Writing, Writing 101

Writing 101: A Childhood Greenhouse

This was written in response to Writing 101: Size Matters. I managed to vary my sentence length between 8 and 20 words. Hopefully this range is enough to get me the twist for this prompt. 🙂

As a child, I spent more time in Mom’s plant nursery than at the apartment where we slept.

Mom taught me about each of the plants she grew. She would quiz me on the properties of each plant. When I turned twelve, she finally allowed me to help plant the seeds.

Plants were the only thing Mom shared about her childhood. Mom never talked about her parents unless she was also talking about her beloved plants.

While I learned that a love of plants runs in the family, I was never taught my grandparents’ names. I can’t even say if they are still alive or where they might live.

I use to imagine who they were. Sometimes I would pretend that my grandparents were scientists who developed new plants in the middle of the Amazon rainforest. At other times, my grandparents made medicines from the rare and exotic plants in their greenhouses.

Most times, I imagined that my grandparents grew the same plants Mom and I did. As I would water the tender shoots, I would pretend my grandparents were watering their plants alongside me.

I may not have known Mom’s childhood home, but in my imagination it was the same as mine; a warm, wonderful greenhouse.