Five Minute Friday: Choose

Five Minute Fridays are back!  Today’s prompt is: Choose.  Go.

What does it mean to choose?  How much of who we are is a choice?  How much of what we are was determined before we were born?  I’ve been fascinated by those questions for as long as I can remember.  I am a daughter, a sister, a cousin.  But I am also an artist, a book lover.  I have a fondness for horses.  My grandmother was a librarian & my mother always has a book.  They have no idea where my interest in art came from, except that my birthmother painted.  My father grew up on a farm, though he doesn’t ride much.  My birthfather was in a rodeo.  I don’t know where my desire to write comes from, maybe from a love for books.  There’s something cathartic about choosing to share your thoughts & feelings with the world.



Five Minute Friday: Tree

It’s time for another Five Minute Friday! Today’s prompt is: Tree.


When I was young, my grandparents still lived on the farm where they raised my father & his brothers.  The farm was no longer a business, but my grandfather still maintained his gardens & my grandmother had her flowers.

There were pecan trees around the house, still within the fence, where I remember collecting pecans.  We would spend hours sitting in the kitchen, shelling pecans & talking.  The nuts would be bagged up & distributed among family & friends.  There was never a shortage of fresh pecans in our house.

There were three huge crepe myrtles near the old swing set.  We climbed them daily during the summer & looked for cicada shells in the branches.  We buried our animals underneath the dense magnolia behind the vegetable garden.


Five Minute Friday: Truth

It’s Friday again, which means it’s time for a Five Minute Friday with Lisa-Jo Baker.  Today’s prompt is: Truth.


The first question that comes to mind is – what is the truth?  So often we do not examine what is true in our own lives.  I know that my friendships are true, and rare, and precious.  I know that my relationship with an amazing, intelligent & talented man is true.  I know that the love of my family, despite all of my flaws, is true.

The second question becomes one of worth. Once you realize how much of what is good in your life is true – you must confront the question – am I worthy? Am I a true friend? Am I always true to my relationship? Do I provide the same selfless love to my family?


Five Minute Friday: She

20130823-155504.jpg  Five Minute Fridays were created by Lisa Jo Baker as a way for writers to get together every Friday & share their ideas on a single prompt.  Today’s prompt is: She.


It was cold in the living room when I awoke with a start.  I sat up and listened carefully to the sound of the wind howling and the crackling of the fire’s dying embers.  A tree branch scrapped across the window behind me and I paused.  After a few more moments of listening and a few deep breaths, I settled back into the couch.  There was nothing in my family home to be afraid of.

It had been years since I slept in this house.  As I stood up, I tried to recall the last time.  It must have been the Christmas holidays just after mother died, five years earlier.  I had rarely been home since her death, only for the occasional holiday to appease my sister.  I walked down the familiar hallway toward my mother’s study.

I enter the room slowly, careful not to disturb the sanctity I have always associated with the study.  This was her temple, her church, her sanctuary.  This was the only place she could truly escape to.  I can see my mother curled up in her leather club chair, blanket spread over her legs, so immersed in another world that you could stand in the doorway and go unnoticed for hours.

The musty scent of old paper permeates the air.  I circle the room, running my hands along the books stacked haphazardly on shelves.  A thin layer of dust over the mahogany desk is the only indication that the room is now vacant.

A worn volume rests on the table next to her chair.  I pick it up and run my hand over the frayed cover; Rebecca, her favorite.  I open the book to where the bookmark still notes her place.

A cream paper floats to the floor at my feet.  I stoop to pick it, unfolding it as a I straighten.  I immediately note the flowing curve of the letters, the perfect alignment of words.  I would know that handwriting anywhere.  Cora, it begins.  My hands begin to shake and I sink into her chair.


Five Minute Friday: Red

Every Friday Lisa-Jo Baker posts a writing prompt & invites anyone to spend 5 minutes writing on it. You can find full details here. Im late, but this week’s prompt was: Red.


Red is the color of blood. I am scared to death of needles & pass out at the first sign of pain. So I am the most surprised that a single drop blood should so fascinate me, excite me,
pleasure me.

When I started, it was like candy. Forbidden. I’m not even sure that it had to with pain, which is what is most associated with. Though I look back & if was about release. And release from pain is what it’s really about. Or that’s what the studies say.

Now, it’s more about punishment. I’ve done something wrong. Or if I haven’t, or don’t know about it, I will have done something. And I deserve it.


PS. I recently finished Gillian Flynn’s sharp objects. So please don’t worry or stage an intervention. I saw “Red” & followed the protagonist.

Five Minute Friday: Last


One of the greatest ways to hone writing skills is to write! Sounds so simple, but it’s hard for me to find (or make) the time. Five-Minute Fridays by Lisa-Jo Baker makes it a little easier. Every Friday she posts a writing prompt & invites anyone to spend 5 minutes writing on it. You can find full details here. This week’s prompt is: Last.


For many years I struggled with the idea of being last, the one not chosen, the one not good enough. But last also calls to mind endurance. Lasting friendships, lasting love, lasting dreams. I’ve been the one left behind because something didn’t last, but I’ve always been blessed by things that do endure. I have had a group of friends who have loved me unconditionally for 20 years. I have found a man who supports me in everything I do & makes me confident that his love will last.

Now that I have become to overcome those fears of being last, of being not chosen, I have begun to wonder – what will I leave behind? What of me will last? Maybe that is why I’ve felt a calling to write again after many years of not. I want my words, my thoughts, my feelings, my experiences to endure.