The Clear Stream of Reason

What can you do with a writing prompt? Almost anything. Consider this short passage from Rabindranath Tagore, “Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into dreary desert sand of dead habit” You could go somewhere with “reason,” “dreary desert,” “dead habit,” or more–especially if you examine the entire poem. Here’s a…

Kafka on the Shore

I’ve never read any of Murakami’s work–which this short piece will demonstrate. It comes just from the title, an excerpt from which was a writing prompt. I am breaking my rule, just a bit, throwing in a little politics here. I hope you won’t mind too much. It is still a fictional fancy. We’ve never…

The Light Breather

A tiny bit of speculative fiction. This from a writing prompt that no one in Gila Writers Group could understand, myself included. But the title of the poem served. I think the two sentences will go well with a previous post, The Music Catchers. Tell me if you agree. The light breather inhaled the life-giving photons, filling its spirit in the…

The Old Salt

The old salt came through the tunnel into darkening skies of a setting sun. He had spent a night and a day fasting in the ancient cave. Once, hundreds of years before, the ocean filled the passage. He offered a prophecy that augured its return and more. “The sea will rise and swallow this village. No…

The Music Catchers

A very short piece today but with good future story prospects I think. Please let me know if you agree. A writing prompt as long as this piece follows. Let me know if you find the prompts helpful or if you post something that comes from them. The music catchers silence singers, human and avian alike,…

The Dog Star’s Bark

I gazed in rapt wonder at the dark night sky, nearly asleep in the deck’s recliner. Then came the sound. I swear, I did hear the Dogstar barking at me. She wouldn’t believe me of course, when I told her. Any more than when I told her of the squirrel who returned my wave with an uplifted…

High Beams, Cold Beer and Church

High beams flashed like lightning in the night, blinding aging eyes. Into the ditch he drove and out again, sliding over leaves piled deep by the wind. “Whew, that was close!” He said. “Yes dear, but thrilling wasn’t it?” Said Hilda. “Perhaps you could call it that. Easy enough for you to say, you weren’t…

Running with Rumi

This time, let’s put the writing prompt first–because inspired the short piece below. It’s from Where Everything is Music, by Rumi and translated by Coleman Barks. My local writing group had much to offer this week! 🙂 Stop the words now. Open the window in the center of your chest, and let the spirits fly…

Denizens of Dogue Creek

Some non-fiction for a change. From our time in suburbia not far from wetlands. The thing lay flat on its belly, centered under the car. Hard not to notice it well before she neared the Corolla parked at the curb, 50 feet from the house. She called me to come see it. I suggested she…

The Dirty Souls

It can’t be all sci-fi or fantasy. Here’s an opener for a little darker fiction. As a bonus, try out the writing prompt at the end. Something new–look for them on Views from Eagle Peak each week at the end of posts.  He hated the dirt. Dirt that clung to shoes, clothes—even his skin after…