Tag Archive | Blogging University

JUNE 27th, 2014 Writing 101, Day Twenty: The Things We Treasure

I found John Yeo’s blog about a treasure interesting. I like the fact that in England there’s land for citizens to request, an allotment, to garden.

johnandmargaret1607

Tell us the story of your most-prized possession.

It’s the final day of the challenge already?! Let’s make sure we end it with a bang — or, in our case, with some furious collective tapping on our keyboards. For this final assignment, lead us through the history of an object that bears a special meaning to you.

A family heirloom, a flea market find, a childhood memento — all are fair game. What matters is that, through your writing, you breathe life into that object, moving your readers enough to understand its value.

Today’s twist: We extolled the virtues of brevity back on day five, but now, let’s jump to the other side of the spectrum and turn to longform writing. Let’s celebrate the drawn-out, slowly cooked, wide-shot narrative.

How long is long? That’s entirely up to you to decide. You can go with a set number — 750…

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Day 19 Free Writing

I’m tapping into the flow of thoughts and putting it on the screen, one key at a time. Sometimes the topics popup so fast it’s difficult to keep up. the last 5 years have been unsettling to say the least. Discovery of fraud perpetrated on my son and me; loosing my home and selling everything; a move to California for 2 years; a move Tennessee. Enough! I’ve had enough stress to manage for the rest of my life. But still I get back up only with the help of my creator and the wonderful friends and family he sends in my support. I learned to ask when I needed help. I had too much pride. Pride is one of the character flaws that stand between me and God.

The boys, 2 nephew’s spent the night. I love these boys. The youngest has a game to night, baseball. They are in the playoffs. It’s overcast and threatening rain. I hope it stays away tonight, and I hope the rain is over by then. I think I’ll try to go.

The one thing stress has done is rob me of my physical stamina and balance. I had a stroke in December; son got me to the emergency room in under an hour and the shoot saved me from long lasting irreversible damage.

Tomorrow I’m invited to a sing at the Watertown Church of Christ. Churches form the surrounding area come together to sing and have supper. I Think I’ll drive over in the afternoon and spend the night. I don’t like to drive at night and especially by myself. I know they’ll say yes, so I’m planning on going. One day at a time, second by second.

I have a piece waiting to be finished for day 20 and one for http://coveyview.worldpress.com/. If you haven’t checked us out, visit and see what’s going on around the world. I gat a group of bloggers to join me in creating this page after the Blogging University 201. We are an international site and we write, well go see some of our categories. Please let me know if you are interested in becoming a member and a contributor. We welcome all. Some of our folks haven’t written yet. You know how that goes making a living, managing a family, writing two blogs is a tremendous activity. I don’t think we have any couch potatoes in the group. Many of us, maybe all of us have difficulties but we came together and created this great space for you to brag about your home, your town, city, state, country, your home. Woopsie, how did that happen – 428!?!

Happy life everyone!

Reblogging: The How and Why

Thanks Ronovan for tips on reblogging and your generous spirit.

ronovanwrites

Reblogging: The How and Why

by: Ronovan

If I Reblog someone then THEIR blog article will be looked at instead of mine.

I guess some look at blogging as a competitive thing. Personally, I just write and enjoy the company.

First you may want to know why I Reblog.

I really like an article. An article inspires me. The article is informative for my friends. A friend is on vacation and I want their blog and name to continue to be seen in the community.I want to help a new blogger by sharing their wonderful work with my friends. I always do an honest Reblog. If I don’t like it, it doesn’t happen.

If you’re a selfish blogger readers pick up on it, or at least I do, and will stop reading you. This doesn’t mean you have to Reblog, I’m just saying that you can pick up on personality…

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Crying Time

I baby sit my little brother in the summer while my momma works. I know I can’t leave Willis alone; I can’t leave our yard; I can’t call her at work; and I don’t talk to strangers. I’m 12 so I remember all the rules and do what momma tells me, ‘cause she works so hard.

Willis and I were playin’ in the front room with his Legos, when I heard a lot of noise outside. I took him to sit with me on the front stoop to see what was going on. Ms. Pearl is out in front of her house. She has her apron up on her face. I think she’s crying. It makes me sad ‘cause I love Ms. Pearl. Willis doesn’t know Ms. Pearl, but I do. She asks momma to let me come stay with her when it storms, ‘cause she’s afraid. I’m a big girl and I’m not afraid of nothing. Ms. Pearl lets me drink coffee. She fixes just how I like it with lots of milk and sugar. I don’t tell momma I drink coffee at Ms. Pearl’s ‘cause she won’t let me drink coffee.

There are a bunch of men moving Ms. Pearl’s couch and rocker and other stuff on the lawn. After a while I can’t stand it. I tell Willis to sit on the stoop and wait for me ‘cause I’m going to see why Ms. Pearl’s crying. I know I’m not supposed to but I got to know why she’s so sad. Willis shakes his head ok, he doesn’t talk much being he’s only 3. Ms. Pearl only lives across the street 2 houses down. I know to look both ways before crossing.

I ask Ms. Pearl what’s wrong. She tells me she can’t pay the rent anymore and Mr. Smyth is making her leave. I really cry then ‘cause I don’t want her to go. Why can’t her kids help her? She tells me they don’t come around anymore as they have families of their own to worry about. Ms. Pearl takes me in her arms and dries my tears with her apron and tells me everything will be alright. I know that isn’t so, that’s what momma told me when daddy left. Nothing is ever the same again. Then she takes me by the hand, calls me child, and walks me home. She knows I’ve been bad to leave Willis. But we can see him and he’s still on the stoop playing with his match box cars. He’s ok, but he’s not old enough to know better. I wish I were Willis right now so I wouldn’t know.

Dinner Out

Charles Robert Johnson pulled the rusty gray car into a parking place in front of the Family Style Restaurant. The family waited until the car shuddered to a full stop. Charles Robert emerged, stretching to his full 5’2″. He smoothed down his thinning hair, thick with Brylcreem. He opened his wife’s door. He turned and opened the rear door, out stepped two carbon copies of Charles Robert. The boys pushed at each other. One grim look from Charles Robert and the two boys silenced and righted themselves. Gertrude and the boys fell into step behind Charles and entered through the dirty, double glass doors. Charles Robert placed a firm hand on Trudy’s back and ushered the group to a booth. The Family Style offered a buffet of country fare, fried chicken, fried okra, mushy canned green beans, instant mashed potatoes, an assortment of sad salads, and a desert table, an all you can eat establishment at an affordable cost.

Charles Robert stood and smoothed down his hair with one hand and beckoned to the boys with the other. Skinny legs and arms pushed out of their seats and walked in front of their father to a stack of chipped white plates. Trudy made her way to a drink station and poured glasses of sweet tea from the hazed plastic pitchers. After they settled into their booth, Charles Robert bowed his head and uttered a blessing over the food. The family ate without a word to each other. The boys were encouraged to return to the buffet to eat their fill. They all had a desert or two. Trudy kept everyone’s glass filled with tea. It is notable that they did not speak during or after the meal.

The family lined up to watch their father count out the exact amount due for their dinner from a roll of bills held with a rubber band. Charles Robert led his family back to the dilapidated car, he and the boys escorted Trudy to the passenger side, and their father put them in the rear.

If we could open the trunk of Charles Robert Johnson’s rusty car, we would be surprised by the tools of his trade.
rusty
What do you think Charles Robert Johnson does for a living? Is he:
1. a garage mechanic,
2. a share cropper,
3. a burglar and killer?

Rediscovered Treasure

I have a peculiar bent; I don’t like to accumulate stuff. I discovered when loved one dies that going through their belongings is a sad, tedious and sometimes a happy time. It came to me how much happier I’d be if I could give things away instead of listing everything in a will. I wanted to see my loved ones enjoy my treasures.

Thus began my systematically tackling one room at a time to sort and distribute what I could find to give away. That is how I discovered my granny’s crocheted table-cloth that she made for my mother. 2011_1213grannycrocheting0161

My mother used it every day on her cherry dining room table; it was part of my inheritance and I used it for special occasions. It was packed away on a move and forgotten until I went on my spree to find things to give away.

My granny kept me when I was a baby. She and I formed a strong bond, and I loved her very much. She is the one who inspired me to learn to crochet a skill I still practice. I have her crochet hooks, though I don’t use them. They are for fine, delicate work like the table-cloth. I like making afghans for my family, and that requires larger needles.

After I re-discovered the table-cloth I couldn’t part with it. I started to use it again. Even today after a move to California and another one back to Tennessee I have her beautiful work of art, an heirloom and a prized possession I’m not ready to give away.

 

Wishin’ and Hopin’


Don’t believe it!

From the beginning of the relationship I have an internal dialogue, questions of stories told that border on the wrong side of feeling right. I even ask about them. There is something askew in his persona. His recollection of his childhood stirs feelings of empathy. As a young adult he misses out on an opportunity of scholarship in an élite school by 1 or 2 points. Instead of going to another college he enters the service, the Army, because his vision precludes his flying. It seems he misses the golden egg by miniscule measures throughout his life, and it’s never his fault.

I have a need to be needed. I want to be of service and help others to improve. The need is too much and becomes a hindrance in making credible decisions. I jump in too quickly, push aside pesky doubts. I have a warped sense of my abilities to improve someone else’s life. My own life becomes secondary. Marry hastily and repent in leisure.

Every disagreement is an opportunity to look at my flaws. All discussions should be about me and not him. If I bring something out about his part in the disagreement, I’m trying to blame him; circle, circle, circle, no solutions, no agreement, down the drain into the sewer of despair. How can someone be an abject failure and at the same time have an inflated ego? There’s something broken in me. I’ve spent too much time taking care of others without thinking about myself until the situation becomes unbearable, broken beyond repair, and I leave feeling I’ve somehow failed.

Too many years go by and my depression leads to isolation. I persevere in trying to build a marriage in sand, latching on to the one thing we have in common, spiritual matters and Bible doctrine. However, there comes a time when even that is held to ridicule by his actions. He withholds information and dodges inquiries. Am I in denial? It’s true, a cover up will be found out; missing funds will be noticed, and many will suffer because of the fraudulent activity of another. So it is that I lost my home and went to live with a son in California, and now make my home with my sister.

I’ve experienced personal growth during this time. A 12 step program gave me clues into my actions, and taught me skills to make decisions based on fact. I have an internal dialogue now that tells me think before I speak or take action; to say what I mean and mean what I say. I pay attention my intuition, question everything, believe nothing. I’m learning to apply the doctrinal principle of being kind without being a doormat.