Should Have Called Ahead

“I’m telling you Emma, it doesn’t look as if anyone works here. It probably went out of business when my grandfather died.” Carrianne went behind the desk and started looking through some papers. “There doesn’t seem to be any guests booked in at all for the last year.”

“That’s because you’re looking at the wrong books. Everything is on computer now.” A brown-haired girl pulled out the top drawer of the desk, revealing a laptop. “And why are you going through the paperwork? Normally people call ahead if they want to stay here.”

“Well, this wasn’t really planned and I didn’t have the number. Mum just told me to come here and speak with the council.” Carrianne said with a shrug. “Besides, I was told that I inherited the Flowering Rose from my grandfather. I thought that it had gone out of business since I had no idea it existed until now.”

“It didn’t go out of business. We took care of it since you were too busy.” The brunette shook her head. “Goddess, you think you are so much better than us don’t you? Why are you even here? We don’t need you. The Rose got on fine without you.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t even know about this place until Mom got sick. She told me that my grandfather gave me the Flowering Rose in his will. I thought that I should at least come and check the place out.”

“Oh please, you and your mom think you’re too good for Winterwood. You come here to get what you want and leave as soon as it gets tough. You own the Rose but you’ve never done anything for it. You never even come to visit. So why are you here now?”

“I told you. I didn’t know about the Flowering Rose until Mom got sick.” Carrianne enunciated each word to a painful degree. “If it was up to me, I would sell it to someone who would take care of it. But I have no control over who owns it right now.”

The girl shook her head. “Yeah right, tell me another tale while you’re at it. You own the place. You have all the control.”

“The deed is in trust with the council. I need to meet with them before I get control. And Mom warned me that I may need to complete some other things as well before they will give me the deed.” Carrianne folded her arms and leaned against the desk. “I wish I had control but I don’t. So, do you mind telling me who you are and if there is a free room my friend and I can stay in while we get this sorted?”

“I’m Marny and I don’t think there are any rooms. You should have called ahead like everyone else.”

 

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Blogging 101 asked us to make a prompt our own. The prompt I chose was today’s writing prompt from The Daily Post: “Shoulda Woulda Coulda.”

Dear A.P.

A.P. Roberts,

You are a wonder to behold. You may not get told that as often as you would like, or need, but you are amazing. This is why your name is Awesome Person Roberts.

Of course, we also know that A.P. doesn’t actually stand for Awesome Person. The A does stand for amazingly awesome but the P is what you tend to forget about.

You know the P stands for perseverance in the face of writers’ block and procrastination in the face of deadlines. But you don’t realize that it also stands for “potential magic”.

You have the power to release magic into the world with a stroke of your purple pen. You have the power to create people and the worlds they live in. You have the power to entangle readers into any story that you weave.

But you’ve only begun to accept this power for what it is. Until you began Writing 101 you allowed your inner perfectionist to run rampant through you creativity. You would edit and rewrite pieces meant to be free-writes because you felt unworthy.

This is why I’m writing this letter. I see you allowing yourself to fall back into those habits you worked so hard to get past.

I don’t want that potential magic to be permanently forgotten.

There are many people who will tell you that you need to “get over yourself” and others that will say you “don’t want it hard enough”. But all those doubters and naysayers are wrong.

Don’t get over yourself, work with yourself. Free the insecurities and anxiety by letting them out on paper. Regardless of who reads your work, you will feel better by letting out the negative emotions.

Your problem is that you want it too much. You want perfection in yourself and your work but you don’t expect perfection from others. You are aware that perfection doesn’t exist outside the realms of personal preference yet you constantly chase it. You spend so much time staring at the goal of perfection that you are missing the steps that lead to accomplishment.

Do you remember how accomplished you felt as you finished each assignment of Writing 101? Do you remember how proud you were that you were posting on a consistent schedule?

Keep it up! I dare you to post at least once a week. Then you can play WoW and Minecraft with your SO. Then you can allow yourself to watch Dr Phil and Doctor Who.

Then you can feel accomplished because you deserve that feeling. You deserve to feel proud of your work and proud of what you have done. And you, Ms Amazing Pixie, have all the tools necessary to accomplish this goal.

Sincerely,

A.P. Roberts, writer extraordinaire

 

The Writer’s Hub challenged you to write a letter to yourself. Your topic, should you choose to accept it, is “who you are as a writer”.

 

Thank you Kaygy for pointing out some of the typos I missed. 🙂

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.

 

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

Writing 101: Serially Lost 3

This was written in response to Writing 101: Happy (Insert Special Occasion Here)! This part is linked to Serially Lost and Serially Lost 2.

 

“The smell of bread brings me back to my childhood. Every morning the baker’s daughter would sneak me into their kitchen and feed me fresh bread.

She would cut into bread while I brought out the honey. While we ate she would tell me faery stories of faraway lands.

For a child on the streets a slice of fresh bread was my version of the Summerland. Some days it was my only meal and my only chance to pretend I was wanted.

The baker’s daughter was the only one who cared for me. She would fret over each bruise on my face but I know her father punished her for helping me.

I didn’t care. She was the closest I had to a home. I returned every day to sit with her and share a meal of warm bread and butter.

Eventually we both grew older and the baker’s daughter married a man of her parent’s choosing. She moved away with her husband and went on with her life.

I don’t know if she remembers me but I think of her every time I smell bread.”

Wolf sighed as he sawed the knife into the warm loaf of bread.

“Is that why you always making bread? So as you don’t forget her?” Mouse peered over the table at Wolf.

A smile creeped onto Wolf’s face. “I make bread because it gives us something to eat little one. There is no need for you to go hungry like I did as a child.”

Mouse grabbed the bread Wolf passed him. Smothering the slice with honey, Mouse shoved it in his mouth. After chewing, Mouse scrunched up his face.”Is this her bread?”

Wolf’s body shook with laughter. “It is the bread her father taught me to how to make.”

Writing 101: Serially Lost 2

This post was written in response to Writing 101: Death to Adverbs. To avoid the use of adverbs I used Edit Minion (which was made by the people who brought us Write or Die). This part is linked to Serially Lost.

 

 

The Cailleach Bheur was active in the square today. People pulled and tugged on their cloaks.

Mouse shivered as he waited. He held his breath. His glance darting from person to person. It wouldn’t be long.

“Are you alright?” The woman’s eyes pierced his soul. “Where are your parents?”

“Off.” Mouse shrugged. He knew how to get rid of her. “Bartering.”

“Well, you’re shivering.” The woman slipped the cloak from her shoulders. “Take this.”

Mouse shook his head. “I don’t need no charity miss. I’m good as is.”

“It’s not charity. It’s a gift.”

Mouse didn’t see her move until the cloak wrapped him in its embrace.

“But how is it I can give it back? I don’t know you?”

“It’s a gift. Think of it as the return of something lost.”

Mouse shook his head. He opened his mouth but realized the woman was gone.

At least the cloak held back the winter wind.