tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58183900581790250262024-03-28T10:16:21.640+01:00Chiara De GiorgiChiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.comBlogger358125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-84859695341218332532024-03-28T10:15:00.002+01:002024-03-28T10:15:20.240+01:00More Winter than Spring<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to the Spot
Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a story that features a springtime
ritual. Phil Yeats wrote this week’s story.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In September, 2021, he
published <em><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Souring Seas,</span></b></em> the first
volume in a precautionary tale about the hazards of ignoring human-induced
climate change. The second volume, <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Building Houses of Cards</span></em>,
appeared in May 2022. He’s now published <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">They All Come Tumbling Down</span></em>,
the third volume in his The Road to Environmental Armageddon trilogy. For
information about these books, or his older soft-boiled mysteries, visit his
website: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">More
Winter than Spring</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><i><span style="color: #674ea7;">by
Phil Yeats</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On the first Saturday in
March, I put on my winter boots, my winter coat, my toque, and worn winter
gloves that had been delegated to snow shovelling activities. I grabbed my snow
shovel and my lawn rake from our mudroom and turned toward the outside door. A
blast of cold winter air greeted me when I opened it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Seems a bit early for
springtime activities,” Susan, my long-suffering wife, said as she retreated to
the warmth of the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Could be, but I began
removing the piles of ice and snow that accumulated against the foundation on
the north side of our house on the first weekend in March decades ago, when I
was a working stiff. I’d been retired for years, but I’d maintained the
tradition. More an end of winter than a beginning of spring ritual, but a
longstanding one, nevertheless.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It was my time for
liberating our row of hostas from their wintertime hibernation. The
accumulation of snow always disappeared from everywhere else by the beginning
of March, but in this one area against our foundation in the narrow canyon
between our house and the neighbours, it could persist until April.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I was about halfway along
the wall when I discovered the purse buried in the snow. It was a woman’s brown
leather purse with a long leather strap for over-the-shoulder deployment. I
freed it from its ice-bound resting place, carried it inside, dumped it in the
kitchen sink, and returned to my task. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When I finished shovelling
the snow and clearing the other debris on and around the dormant crowns of the
hostas, I returned to the mudroom and shed my winter attire.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Inside the kitchen, I
found the purse and its contents laid out on towels spread on the counter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I’ve solved the mystery,”
Susan said from the table where she was sipping a cup of tea. She loved reading
mysteries, and obviously gained some enjoyment from solving our little one. “A
game the girls next door were playing. They forgot the purse, and it became
covered with snow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“But it’s obviously a
woman’s purse, not a child’s toy, and it looks to like quite an expensive one.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Perhaps, but it’s old and
been repaired several times. Check out my other evidence. You’ll agree, the
purse is a forgotten prop from a child’s game.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I glanced at the three
forlorn-looking artifacts beside the purse. “That’s it? Nothing else?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Susan nodded. “The purse
contained nothing but that child’s wallet and the paper map. And the wallet had
nothing but the ownership sticker for a kid’s book.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“A ten-by-ten-centimetre
square of paper with ‘This book belongs to:’ inside a border of flowers. And in
the empty space ‘Mary Sutherland’ in childish printing. Do we know who she is?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Susan shook her head, and I
shifted my gaze to the map. It was hand drawn on a piece of paper that was only
slightly damaged by exposure to the elements. It had three rectangular shapes
that presumably indicated houses, several lines that were probably paths, seven
crudely drawn trees, and in one corner, a large X.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I have one additional
piece of evidence. I found the purse near the bottom of the snowbank. That
means they lost it in early winter, but I don’t think that alters your
assessment. Looks like you solved our mystery. Do you think the treasure was
hidden in the corner of our lot, or one of the neighbours?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“That,” Susan said,
beaming, “would depend on where Mary Sutherland lives.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><strong><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span></span></strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Val
Muller: </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://valmuller.com/blog/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Catherine
A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</a>/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Chiara
De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-87241418999965791702024-03-27T15:22:00.002+01:002024-03-27T15:22:10.589+01:00Chiara e il gatto di Schrödinger<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Di che colore è la vernice chiusa dentro a una latta?</span></span><img alt="🎨" class="xz74otr" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t82/1/16/1f3a8.png" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: large; object-fit: fill; white-space-collapse: preserve;" width="16" /></p><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a" style="background-color: white; color: #050505; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: left; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div dir="auto"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> E cosa fa un gatto chiuso dentro a una scatola?</span><img alt="📦" class="xz74otr" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t3d/1/16/1f4e6.png" style="border: 0px; font-family: verdana; font-size: large; object-fit: fill;" width="16" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></div></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">La piccola Chiara è molto curiosa e si fa un sacco di domande. </span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Trovare le risposte giuste, però, non è sempre facile… </span></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a" style="background-color: white; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; text-align: left;"><div dir="auto"><div style="color: #050505; text-align: center; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Torna la prima avventura di ‘Chiara nel tempo’ in italiano </span><img alt="🇮🇹" class="xz74otr" height="16" referrerpolicy="origin-when-cross-origin" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/tb9/1/16/1f1ee_1f1f9.png" style="border: 0px; font-family: verdana; font-size: large; object-fit: fill;" width="16" /></div><div style="color: #050505; text-align: center; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> “Chiara e il gatto di Schrödinger” </span></div><div style="color: #050505; text-align: center; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">sarà disponibile in formato cartaceo e in eBook </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; white-space-collapse: preserve;">dal 4 aprile</span><span style="text-align: left; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">✨</span></span></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/S80Le_MIPCs?si=QsLczdrdeNmF3BNZ" width="480"></iframe></div>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-35659878545483641022024-03-22T09:59:00.001+01:002024-03-22T09:59:03.275+01:00All Spring Things<p><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Welcome to
The Spot Writers. The prompt for this <span style="background: white;">cycle is </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="background: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">"a writing that features a springtime
ritual."</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Along with
several short story collections, books of poetry, and two novels, Cathy has
published three anthologies under her imprint, MacKenzie Publishing. The latest
one is titled NO ONE SHOULD KISS A FROG, available on Amazon and other
retailers—300 pages of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry by 75 authors around
the world. She also has a call out for submissions for another anthology to be
published this year to be titled SUCH A LOSS. Check out <a href="http://www.writingwicket.wordpress.com/">www.writingwicket.wordpress.com</a>
for further information.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="color: #e06666;">***<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="color: #e06666;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">All Spring Things</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><i><span style="color: #e06666;">by Catherine A. MacKenzie</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">All spring things<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Glow brightly,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Precious like diamond rings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Fit for queens and kings,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Regular folk too,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">All spring things.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">A lonely bird sings<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">On leaves glistening,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Precious like diamond rings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Birds spread wings,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Flying home to be part of<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">All spring things.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Fibers of gold strings<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Woven in nests,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Precious like diamond rings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Winter clings,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Wanting to share in<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">All spring things,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Precious like diamond rings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm;"><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #ea9999;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm;"><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #ea9999;">The
Spot Writers—Our Members:</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/" target="_blank"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/" target="_blank"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm;"><span lang="IT" style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Chiara De Giorgi: <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</a></span></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-21769254212043780072024-03-15T08:52:00.010+01:002024-03-15T08:52:50.718+01:00Mom’s Weekend Off<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to
the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a story that features a
springtime ritual.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Today’s
tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers kidlit mystery
series. Stay tuned for an illustrated re-release of the first three titles and
the release of book 4! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Mom’s Weekend Off</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><i><span style="color: #a64d79;">by Val Muller</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">It was the
day that woke the soul. That’s how Patty thought about it, anyway. You know the
one: the first spring day after winter when the sun is so warm that it’s
dangerously close to feeling <i>too hot</i>, but it isn’t because the cold of
winter is still stuck into the inside of your bones, which are saturated with
winter’s chill. It’s that time of year where you will feel you will never say <i>too
hot </i>again. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Dan and the
kids were away til the morning, and Dan told Patty to enjoy herself, a once in
a blue moon free weekend day alone, a full 24 hours. She promised she had only
one task, and then she might go to the movies or take a bath or just hang out
in the hammock and read. She would only eat cereal and would not lift a finger
in the kitchen other than that. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Just the
one task, then it would be time to relax. It was time for the birdhouse
clean-out, her annual harbinger of spring. The last two weekends it had rained,
so Patty had done the typical <i>indoor </i>spring cleaning, but it didn’t feel
like spring until the birdhouse cleanout, the emptying of last year’s nests to
make room for this year. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Of course
it required the ladder, so she went to the garage to retrieve it. Several
cardboard boxes had piled up since Christmas, too big to fold up into the
recycling bin, and now they blocked the ladder. She’d been meaning to take them
to the recycling center. She guessed now was just as nice a day as any. So she
went to the van to lower the seats, making room for the cardboard. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Of course,
that’s when she saw the detritus left by the kids all winter. It was their
chore to clean the car weekly, but it had been so cold that everyone had let it
slide for weeks, and now the floor of the van was a graveyard of dead French
fries, candy wrappers, and Cheerios. She couldn’t just leave that mess until
Monday, so she swept out the floor and then took a vacuum to it. Finally, the
van was ready, and she stacked the cardboard and left, nodding to the birdhouse
as she left the driveway. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">“Be right
back,” she told it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">On the way
back from the recycling center, a group of Boy Scouts were selling mulch at the
edge of a parking lot. It had been three years since Patty re-mulched the
flower beds, and they were having a “buy three, get one free” deal. They even
loaded the mulch into the van for her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Back home,
she unloaded the mulch and scowled at the mess it left in the freshly-vacuumed
van, so back into the house, get the vacuum, clean the van, put the seats back
up. But then the four bags of mulch were in the middle of the driveway. Dan
would not be able to pull through when he returned with the kids. So, into the
garage to get the hoe, break open the mulch, and head to the gardens. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Which
needed to be weeded.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">By the time
that was finished, it was nearly dinnertime. Patty stood in the kitchen, trying
to decide which cereal to pour, but the warm weather called to her—no, it <i>demanded
</i>a barbeque. So into the freezer to look for something to grill. Digging
through the shelves, she caused an avalanche of several opened-and-frozen bags
of shredded cheese, which of course she insisted on consolidating while the
steak thawed long enough for her to grill. She dug through even further to find
the oldest of the frozen bagged vegetables to make with the steak. Then she
organized the veggies in order of expiration date. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">As she
heated the grill, she realized the patio furniture was still covered for
winter, so she removed the covers, but then there was the half-built wasp’s
nest under the table, which she had to clear, and then of course she took a
sponge and soap to the table and chairs.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The sun was
nearly setting after dinner, and she hurried to store the furniture covers in
the garage until next winter. In the garage, she saw the ladder leaning against
a wall, now visible since the cardboard had been cleared. The wind kicked up
and reminded her of the loose piece of siding on the front of the house, so she
moved the ladder, got out the rubber mallet, and hammered the siding back in.
While up there, she saw the gutters had pulled loose from melting ice, so she
hammered in the nails, moving carefully along the front of the house until it
was too dark to see. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">She put the
ladder back in the garage and scratched her head. It was hard to shake the
feeling that she was forgetting something. But the kids were with Dan, she
reminded herself. She had no responsibilities for a few more hours. Her muscles
were more achy than normal, so she went upstairs to take a bath. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The next
morning, no one woke her, and she slept until the pitter-patter of feet
traveled through the hall. “Mom! We missed you!” her son was screaming. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">“Will you
read me the mouse-cookie book?” screamed her daughter. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Patty sat
up in bed, discombobulated by the strange feeling of having had a good night’s
sleep. She took a moment to process the situation while Dan stood over her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">“Wow,” he
said. “Still asleep at ten, and the nest from the bird house still sticking
out. You really did take it easy. Good for you—I didn’t think you’d be able to
just relax. You always did work too hard. Let me know when you’re awake,” he
said. “I’ll get out the ladder for you.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: #a64d79;">The Spot Writers—Our Members: </span></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><a href="http://valmuller.com/blog/"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #21759b; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">http://valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #21759b; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Phil Yeats: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #21759b; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Chiara De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #21759b; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-1912958307881208762024-03-07T09:15:00.001+01:002024-03-07T09:21:39.976+01:00Relocation<p><span style="text-align: justify;">Welcome to The
Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is “when the snow melts”.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">This week’s
contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is an Italian author and
currently lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes fiction, with a focus on children’s
literature and science fiction.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Relocation</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #3d85c6;">by
Chiara De Giorgi</span></i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixeVY8DOQNEBkPiodqvnxSTkM84uJ1TjKbmMQ409NtREfqHx-9vNv8sBqvmCu2h96AAYmc31ZYCkVz4M0lV6EpJsi3cFiqNzBy2jFPTz9j65c1YeexU6aNTXlKKn5pU7IrSQ5ArIE24IfIRUi_ar_oqxskMsya7rZrMWWRV0T9Im3JSL5hkhVBVIokFLg/s1280/ice-1997289_1280.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixeVY8DOQNEBkPiodqvnxSTkM84uJ1TjKbmMQ409NtREfqHx-9vNv8sBqvmCu2h96AAYmc31ZYCkVz4M0lV6EpJsi3cFiqNzBy2jFPTz9j65c1YeexU6aNTXlKKn5pU7IrSQ5ArIE24IfIRUi_ar_oqxskMsya7rZrMWWRV0T9Im3JSL5hkhVBVIokFLg/w640-h426/ice-1997289_1280.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span face=""Open Sans", system-ui" style="background-color: white; color: #191b26; text-align: left;">Image by </span><a href="https://pixabay.com/users/pezibear-526143/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1997289" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #191b26; font-family: "Open Sans", system-ui; text-align: left;">Petra</a><span face=""Open Sans", system-ui" style="background-color: white; color: #191b26; text-align: left;"> from </span><a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1997289" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #191b26; font-family: "Open Sans", system-ui; text-align: left;">Pixabay</a></span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuri stared
absent-mindedly out the window. Spring was coming.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“I don’t think
we should stay here anymore,” he said. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“I know,” Yuki
replied. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while myself.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“But where can
we go? It’s not so easy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“I don’t know.
Let’s watch some documentaries on Discovery Channel. Maybe we’ll have an idea.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Ah, Yuki.
Always the optimist. Documentaries are where we are dubbed ‘abominable’…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuki made a
ferocious face and roared. She made her white fur stand and appeared twice as
big.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“What do you
mean?” she growled. “Am I not abominable?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuri laughed.
“Terribly so, absolutely.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Then trust me.
The snow is melting at an alarming pace, there’s never been so little. And when
there is no snow left, we’ll stand out. Abominable or not, it’s going to be too
dangerous; we need to find a solution.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuri and Yuki
sat on the sofa in the middle of their cave with a bowl of popcorn between them
and turned on their TV. Since they used to be stuck in their cave for weeks at
end during winter blizzards, they had invested in a giant screen and a popcorn
maker. They proceeded to watch all the documentary programmes they found on the
North Pole and Antarctica. Those seemed to be the only real alternatives–and
only for a limited time anyway, apparently, if humans didn’t take action
quickly. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Who put humans
in charge of the world, by the way?” Yuri asked, pressing the <i>off</i> button
on the remote control.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“The matter is
not settled yet. Ms. Alpaca next door says it was mammoths.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuri snorted.
“Yeah, sure. Mammoths. Which are extinct, so they can’t deny nor corroborate.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuki popped a
handful of popcorn into her mouth. Munching noisily, she replied, “But who
cares, anyway! Knowing who put humans in charge won’t change a thing. Let’s
talk about where we can move, what we can do.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuri sighed.
“Alright. I think we should go to Antarctica. Penguins look soft and funny, and
I don’t feel like fighting white bears for territory.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“That’s a good
point. I agree. Let’s go to Antarctica, then. Although…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“There are no
caves, as far as I know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuri shrugged.
“We’ll dig one. The rest, we can buy. We’re lucky that yetis have riches
stashed away, other creatures may not be able to afford a new place or to make
investments like we are. Anyway, the important thing is, in Antarctica it’s
cold and white. The perfect habitat for us abominable.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuri and Yuki
packed their bags and left for Antarctica. They travelled swiftly and at night,
careful to stay away from busy routes, until they reached the ocean. Yetis are
exceptional swimmers, and they crossed the ocean without any problems, except
Yuki lost her toiletry kit and could no longer brush her teeth. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“The penguins
will think I am an unkempt yeti,” she complained.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Nah, they
won’t. They’ll think you are abominable, ha ha!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Despite their
swimming prowess, they were a bit tired when they reached Antarctica. The sky
was dark, and they plopped down on the ice, enjoying the freshness and the
breeze in their fur: at 60 miles per hour and a temperature of -100°F, it was
just what they needed after their long swim.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">When they woke
up, they found themselves surrounded by curious penguins, who started shrieking
and fled clumsily when the yetis got up and moved a couple of steps, making the
ice shake.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">For a few weeks,
Yuri and Yuki were busy digging their new cave and furnishing it. They placed a
huge order and had a few essentials delivered. Finally, Yuki was able to brush
her teeth again. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">When they were
settled, they went looking for penguins. They realized they had not seen any
since that first day. Stomping, sliding, and skating, they travelled for miles
in every direction, but could not spot any penguins at all.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“I think we
scared them too much. Now they’re hiding.” Yuki was disconsolate. “I so wanted
to adopt one. You know, like humans do with kittens.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Yes, I’m
disappointed too. At home, we had at least a few neighbours. Here, we’re all
alone. How can one be abominable, if there’s no one around?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Maybe we should
pick another destination,” suggested Yuki. “What do you say, shall we try
somewhere warmer?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuri was surprised.
“Why would we go somewhere warm?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yuki shrugged.
“To try something new. And if the world is going to get warmer anyway, we might
as well get used to it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Hmmm. Well, I
suppose we could try. Let’s check Discovery Channel.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">The Grand
Opening of “The Adorable Yeti Amusement Park” in Florida was an unparalleled
success. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">The sets
replicated the mountains and plateaus of Tibet, but also included something
unexpected: fully furnished caves where the “adorables” allegedly lived. People
dressed as yetis gave autographs and posed for photos with tourists. The two
owners, Yuki and Yuri, had their pictures taken wearing gorgeous white fur coats
and had never been seen without them–or so the well-informed claimed. It was also
rumoured that they used the proceeds to finance solutions to restore the
climate, but they never openly confirmed that. They were just heard mumbling
something about “fixing mammoths’ mistake” or something.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><b>***<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><b>The Spot
Writers—Our Members:<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT">Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT">Catherine A. MacKenzie:
https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Phil Yeats:
https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT">Chiara De Giorgi:
https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-9720148873166382442024-02-29T14:07:00.009+01:002024-02-29T14:07:53.112+01:00First Encounter<p> Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is “when the snow melts.” Phil Yeats wrote this week’s story.</p><p>In September, 2021, he published The Souring Seas, the first volume in a precautionary tale about the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate change. The second volume, Building Houses of Cards, appeared in May 2022. He’s now published They All Come Tumbling Down, the third volume in his The Road to Environmental Armageddon trilogy. For information about these books, or his older soft-boiled mysteries, visit his website: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #a64d79;">***</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">First Encounter</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><i>by Phil Yeats</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Amir Fadel was a four-year-old Syrian
from a Jordanian refuge camp. Two days earlier, he’d arrived in Halifax with
his mother. Her great aunt Hamila and uncle Abdul greeted them on a winter
afternoon at the Stanfield International Airport. There was no snow on the
ground</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Halifax had recently
experienced one of its periodic snow-melting warm and rainy spells</span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—but the wind was howling and the temperature
a frigid -10.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Amir skipped along the broad airport walkway
and stopped by a strange stairway, when his mother yelled. She held his hand as
he gingerly stepped onto the moving floor that immediately turned into moving
stairs. At the top, he broke free and ran onto the enclosed pedway across the
departure area’s access road. He stopped in the middle to stare down at the
roofs of the cars slowly moving past. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">On the other side, his old aunt knelt beside
him and pulled two padded garments from her large carrier bag. The first was a
pair of padded black pants with white shapes, and the second, a padded green
jacket with a fur-trimmed hood. She pushed his legs into the pants, and his
arms into the jacket. She then replaced his ragged sandals with fur-lined boots
and pushed knitted mittens onto his hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When she pulled the hood over the head and
snugged it with a string tied under his chin, he felt trapped like a baby
wrapped in brightly coloured cloths. And he was far too hot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Don’t panic,” Aunt Hamila said. “In a few
seconds, we’re going outside, and it is much colder than you’ve ever felt.
You’ll like being snug as a bug in your new snowsuit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">He watched as his mother wrapped an old coat he’d
never seen around herself, and Uncle Abdul opened the door. The gust of wind
that hit Amir’s face was unbelievably cold.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Early on his third morning in
Halifax, Amir rushed to the kitchen. He knew Aunt Hamila would be there
preparing some new treat for their morning meal. On the first morning, he’d had
bran flakes with raisins in milk, and after that a piece of toast with
raspberry jam. On day two, a whole boiled egg. He could only once remember
eating an egg, and he shared that one with his mother. Today, Aunt Hamila
promised another wonderful new breakfast treat. Nothing like the meager
helpings of tasteless porridge he’d eaten every day for as long as he could
remember. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He stopped when he reached the
kitchen. Outside, everything was white. White stuff covered the ground and the
deck, and all the tree branches were coated in white. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Aunt Hamila knelt beside him. “Today,
I’m making pancakes for breakfast, but I’m not making them until everyone is
up. If you put on your boots and snowsuit and mittens, you could go out and
play in the snow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She always talked to him in a
language he understood, but the last word, snow, was in the strange language
his mother and his aunt and uncle spoke to each other. He was learning a few
words. Snow, the white stuff in the yard, was the newest one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He ran to get his boots, mittens, and
snowsuit. When Aunt Hamila had him suitably bundled up, he charged into the
snow on the back deck. Sometime later, when she called him in for breakfast, he
said, “I’m bringing some in to play with later.” He gathered up an armload of
sticky snow and dumped it on the kitchen floor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">After devouring a glass of milk and
two pancakes with sweet syrup on them, he returned to his pile of snow. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“It’s all turned into water,” he
wailed.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #741b47;"> ***</span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div><b><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="color: #741b47;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</div><div><br /></div><div>Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</div><div><br /></div><div>Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</div><div><br /></div><div>Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</div></div>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-29450309438151670162024-02-23T09:27:00.007+01:002024-02-23T09:27:25.490+01:00The Rain<p> </p><p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this <span style="background: white;">cycle is “when the snow melts.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Along with several short story collections, books of poetry, and
two novels, Cathy has published three anthologies under her imprint, MacKenzie
Publishing. The latest one is titled NO ONE SHOULD KISS A FROG, available on
Amazon and other retailers—300 pages of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry by 75
authors around the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also has a
call out for submissions for another anthology to be published in 2024, to be
titled SUCH A LOSS. Check out <a href="http://www.writingwicket.wordpress.com/">www.writingwicket.wordpress.com</a>
for further information.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Soon, Cathy will lay Melvin to rest—didn’t happen in the last
post, but it might now!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>***<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>The Rain</b></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><i><span style="color: #cc0000;">by Cathy MacKenzie</span><o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p><i> </i></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Can’t believe the rain today, Marie. And tomorrow we’re getting
more.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I know. What’s up with that? It’s still March.” She glanced at
her phone. “March twenty-second, to be exact. When in the world do we get rain
in March?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I know. Unreal.” He giggled. “Want to go for a walk in the rain,
Marie?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Not now, Melvin. I’m busy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Melvin smiled, secretly happy she said no. Not that she’d ever
want to walk in the rain. The scenario reminded him of a couple of weeks ago
when he’d asked if she wanted to go for a trek in the snow. And, man, the snow
was unbelievable. Today, he had no intention of going out. Not in the rain. He
wasn’t Fred Astaire (at least, not today) and Marie would never be Ginger. No
dancing in the rain today!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He plopped back into his LazyBoy. Marie traipsed off to wherever
it was she traipsed to. He was glad of the quiet. Jimmy was at Adam’s. Seemed
he lived at that kid’s house. But Melvin would never complain about that. Was
nice to have his son out of the house, even for a few hours.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He didn’t know he dozed until he awoke. And the dream wafted over
him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">What the heck?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He closed his eyes. Let the dream waft over him again. How he’d
gone down to the lake and found Penny—or was it Sophie?—whatever, whichever,
whoever it had been: it was the one who liked pink. He’d found the pink
snowsuit. Penny! It was his daughter Penny who favoured pink; Sophie preferred
purple. Had they been gone <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tha</i>t long
that he couldn’t remember their favourite colours? What the hell was wrong with
him?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">A sudden urgent urge to view the lake came over him. Had to be
Kailani, right? She was calling him. Yearning for him...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He lowered the footrest and jumped from the recliner. Duty called!
The lake called.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Must not let on to Marie,</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> he thought. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No, just go.
Don your raincoat and galoshes and go!</i> Perhaps an umbrella? No, he hated
umbrellas. They always reminded him of Mary Poppins thrust high into the sky.
Dratted umbrellas...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He looked out the window. The rain had lessened. A mere drizzle.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He trudged down the path, slogging through the mush, reached the
clearing, and carefully went down the slippery rough-hewn steps. The lake
stretched before him. Appeared frozen but, as he was quite aware, the lake’s
looks were deceiving, and he had no intention of walking that far out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He was here in the hopes of finding Kailani.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He might look for Penny in her pink snowsuit, too. She wouldn’t be
wearing a pink bikini this soon, that’s for sure. Had he really—REALLY?—found
his daughter? At least two feet of snow still remained on the shore. Did he
want to tromp through that?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost entered his head, just as it
had a couple of weeks earlier when he’d gone to the lake. When Marie declined
the invite. She should’ve been with him then. Even now. He shouldn’t be here
alone. He’d never shared that he’d found Penny. Should he look for her, haul
her back to the house as if he were a cat with a mouse, and drop her at Marie’s
feet?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He wanted to bash his head in with a hammer. What the heck was he
thinking? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Kailani would help his disposition. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Kailani, where are you?” He shouldn’t be marring the pristine
stillness. But where was she?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Only two paths: one toward the lake, one back to the house.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He took the path most travelled...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And then he woke. Again. He rubbed his eyes and massaged his head.
His entire body ached as if he’d been in a car crash. What the heck? He felt
his clothing. His jeans: wet. Drenched! And he wasn’t in his recliner any longer
either; he was prone on the floor. On the cold tile. In the foyer. Had he
fallen? Bumped his head and passed out? But he was soaked...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I give up</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">, he thought. “Goodbye, Kailani,” he mumbled. “Goodbye. For the
last time, goodbye!” He was sick of dreaming and hoping for the what-ifs. Sick
of Kailani and the hold she had on him. He was confident when he woke—truly
awoke—he’d be clean and dry and he’d hear his daughters’ laughter. And the
world would be a better place.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: black;"> </span><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">***<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span></span></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/" target="_blank"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/" target="_blank"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Chiara De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/"><span lang="IT" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-37435303148312940702024-02-15T10:37:00.001+01:002024-02-15T10:37:02.824+01:00Thaw<p><span style="color: #252525; text-align: justify;">Welcome
to the Spot Writers. This month's prompt is to write about a favorite topic of
Val's: melting snow.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Today's
tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery series Corgi
Capers. Keep a lookout for an illustrated re-release of the first three books,
followed by the fourth! </span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><b style="color: #0b5394; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Thaw</span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i>by
Val Muller</i></span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="color: #252525;">Mara
stared up at the clouds. The air smelled like snow. She knew that in her cold
New England heart. Soon the nasty white flakes would blanket the ground and
cover the tiny shoots of crocuses and all other signs of life.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Signs
of death, too, she thought as she glanced toward the grave. It was nearly a
year since she lost Jasper, and she'd promised in the spring to plant a
memorial garden over his burial site, complete with a bird bath holding his
collar and tags. Looks like that would be delayed. So much for that groundhog
predicting an early Spring.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Mara's
phone beeped. It was the breeder, one of those friend of a friend deals:</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">ARE
YOU STILL COMING?</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The
lady had a liter of pups ready to go soon, four of them. A friend had hooked
Mara up with the breeder like a matchmaker for the grieving pet parent. </span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Mara
had said no, it was too soon. She only agreed because the puppies' ready-to-go
date just happened to coincide with the anniversary of Jasper's death. She
promised she would just take a look at the puppies, if for no other reason than
to remind herself how annoying puppies were and tell herself for certain that
her heart was not ready to be ripped apart once again by unconditional love.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">But
Mara knew how that would go. Best not to allow temptation. The snow was the
universe's way of telling her that. A two-hour drive to the breeder, with snow
expected. Best not to go. </span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">IT'S
SUPPOSED TO SNOW, Mara typed. </span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">THINK
CAREFULLY, the woman typed back, ABOUT WHAT YOU SAY NEXT.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">What
was that supposed to mean? What was she, some prophet? Some fortune teller,
some peddler of witchcraft? What on earth did she mean?</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">SNOW
IS EXPECTED, Mara typed. IF I HAVE TO LIFT A SHOVEL, I WON'T MAKE IT OUT THERE.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">She
knew what that meant. There was already a list of people to see the puppies,
the breeder had said so herself. She was giving Mara first dibs as a favor to
their mutual friend, but puppies this cute really sold themselves. If Mara
didn't go in the morning, the puppies would be gone.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">I
WILL HOLD YOU TO IT, the breeder responded.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Mara
looked at the sky again and sighed relief. Jasper would remain unique in her
heart, and she would push the mistress idea of puppies for a different day.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">In
the morning, Mara woke with a start, a twinge of excitement knowing it was
puppy day. But then like a child living through the first disappointing
Christmas, she saw the blue tinge of snow reflected through the window. There
had been no miracle from the universe. She would not visit the puppies. </span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Mara
trudged downstairs and donned her boots. She eyed the shovel on the front porch
but put it off, opting for cold cereal instead. The last time she held a
shovel--poor Jasper. She didn't need to relive that memory this early in the
morning. </span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">And
in such a way, she flitted about the house wearing her waterproof boots, always
meaning to go out and shovel, always finding one chore or the next to occupy
her time. All to avoid shoveling that awful snow.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">WHAT'S
THE FINAL VERDICT? the breeder wanted to know. DID YOU LIFT A SHOVEL?</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">The
text broke Mara out of her cleaning trance. The house looked spotless and warm,
not dull and blue like it did on snowy days. Before she responded, she couldn't
help but glance out the window. The light was golden and rosy, a warm mix, not
a cold one.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Outside,
spring had returned as Mara cleaned. The last of the snow was dripping from the
roof, and the driveway sparkled in the sun, the last of its watery covering
evaporating in the rays. She had been so focused, she hadn't glanced outside.
With Jasper gone, what need did she have to ever go outside again? But now, the
snow was gone, and she did not, indeed, have to shovel.</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">As
Mara drove off to start her two-hour journey, she only briefly glanced at the
winter boots she left strewn next to the snowshovel on the front porch, both
unused and out of place in the warm spring air. </span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">The Spot Writers—Our Members: </span></b><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Val
Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Catherine
A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Phil
Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #252525; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Chiara
De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-11326319885816504032024-02-08T09:14:00.008+01:002024-02-08T09:14:54.949+01:00Beneath the Deep<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">cycle is “excessive amounts of snow.”</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 115.5pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Along with several short story collections, books of poetry, and
two novels, Cathy has published three anthologies under her imprint, MacKenzie
Publishing. The latest one is titled NO ONE SHOULD KISS A FROG, available on
Amazon and other retailers—300 pages of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry by 75
authors around the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also has a
call out for submissions for another anthology to be published in 2024, to be
titled SUCH A LOSS. Check out <a href="http://www.writingwicket.wordpress.com/">www.writingwicket.wordpress.com</a>
for further information.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Soon, Cathy will lay Melvin to rest... In fact, this might be the
last tale...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #990000;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #990000; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Beneath the Deep</span></b></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #990000;"><i>by Cathy MacKenzie</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Want to go for a walk in the snow, Marie?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Not now, Melvin. I’m busy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Melvin smiled, secretly happy she said no. They’d been coupled in
the house for the past two days. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Coupled?
</i>He wasn’t sure <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that </i>was an
appropriate word. Reminded him of Gwyneth Paltrow’s quote “conscious
uncoupling.” Had that been what he and Marie had been doing? Or was it more
like “unconscious uncoupling.” No, more like caged in a chicken pen—chained to
the metal fencing. Thankfully, William had been—still was!—at Adam’s, one of
his few friends. Melvin wasn’t certain he could’ve remained sane with his son
underfoot; bad enough putting up with Marie. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Twenty-five-plus centimetres of snow the previous day; ten the day
prior to that. And more in the coming days. He was happy to wake to the sun
streaming through the window after the last several bleakish days. He had to
escape from the house, no matter if a storm still brewed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But the afternoon was clear! The sky was blue, the sun still
shone. The local meteorologist could be wrong. No one was perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He wasn’t wasting a moment. Marie might change her mind. He
hurriedly donned his knee-high rubber boots, jacket, touque, and leather-palmed
mittens, slamming the door behind him. He breathed deeply, relishing freedom,
and gulped the fresh cool air.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">While trudging down the path to the lake, he closed his mind to
Kailani—or tried to. Had no interest in her any longer. Plain and simple: she
was a flirt. It had taken him long enough to figure that out. He detested fake
people, real or imagined, and he still wasn’t certain if she was real or
imaginary.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It was hard going. The snow was over three feet deep. His feet
were already wet. Or were they just cold? No insulation in rubber boots. He
sighed, continued.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The snow-covered lake stretched ahead of him, resembling a
white-sand desert without the wind whipping the sand all over Hell’s creation.
Not that Porters Lake was hell—well, it was after he took his daughters, he
reconsidered. But today? No, today the gods are happy. Hallelujah,” he mumbled.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Despite the snow, he knew approximately where sand met water. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Can’t outfox me</i>, he thought. Mr. or Mrs.
Porter would never take him as it had his daughters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shook his head. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Can’t go there. Cannot.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But he couldn’t help it. Somewhere out there, somewhere in the
depths of the great big sea, lay his dearly beloved kin. He pictured Sophie and
Penny, together for all eternity. Clutching each other’s hand as if trying to
thwart death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’d been close in life;
they’d be close in death. That last thought gave him comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He turned to head back to the house. And fell. Flat on top of the
snow. Face-first. His first thought, despite no pain, was that he’d broken his
legs as his feet seemed firmly planted in the snow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">No, he was fine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He hauled himself up and shrugged the snow from his clothing. But—what
was that? Something there. Something beneath the snow. A log? The occasional
log washed ashore, so that wouldn’t be surprising.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He dug at the snow, thankful he’d worn his heavy mittens. Before
long, he glimpsed colour. Pink. He kept at it, digging as if a dog desperate
for a buried bone. And then, there it was: a swatch of pink. The fabric
appeared to be that of a snowsuit. His youngest daughter’s favourite colour was
pink. It was Penny, his deceased daughter. Had to be! Bile rose to his throat.
He gripped his stomach, praying not to barf over her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But then—reality hit him...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Penny had disappeared in the summer. She’d worn her pink bikini (one
much too risqué for his liking), not her pink snowsuit. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">What the hell...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He stood, albeit clumsily. Swatted at snow clinging to his jacket.
Rubbed his mittened hands together to get rid of snow clumps. He wanted to drop
to his knees, bow his head, and pray; wanted to stand stall, stretch his arms, scream.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Where was that elusive God or god?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He faced his demon: the hole he’d dug. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Nothing untoward there except white stuff that had surrounded him
since he’d left the house.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He wasn’t cold. But his body quivered. Shivered and shook as if a
scary Halloween prank. He must get home. To Marie. To William (whenever he
returned from Adam’s). <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He must walk away from the imagined Penny. Away from the pink.
Away from his other deceased daughter, Sophie, and her favourite colour of
purple; he was sure she’d appear next—or the colour purple. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Away from his nightmares... Away from the snow that threatened to
smother him as if a bed of fluffy feathers...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He turned and headed home. Carefully trudged through the snow. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He stopped. Turned. Faced the lake.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">What the hell— <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The sandy beach stretched to the lake, which disappeared into the
horizon. No pink. No purple. No bikinis or snowsuits.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“God, where are you? Are you there?” he screeched. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">No, there’s no god</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">, he thought. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No god. No
Sophie or Penny. Just me, Marie, and William.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">No Kailani either. “How off my rocker could I have been?” he
mumbled. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Did his Blue Origin exist? Oh, it must! Those summers of delight
and disaster on the lake couldn’t all be imagined. If so, Sophie and Penny
would be in the house waiting for him, along with his wife and son. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He turned and faced the Y in the trail. If he went right, he’d end
up at the cabin, where his kayak (if real) was stored (could Kailani be there
waiting?). Or he could veer left, up the hill to the house, where his
ever-loving Marie and sweet son William (once he returned from Adam’s) waited.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost entered his head. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How apropos,</i> he thought, remembering
back to his youth when the poem had been thrust upon the class.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #990000;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #990000;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/" target="_blank"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/" target="_blank"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Chiara De Giorgi: <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</a></span></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-82609038999281974532024-02-01T09:14:00.000+01:002024-02-01T09:14:23.470+01:00Sun and the snow<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to the Spot Writers. This current
prompt is a story about excessive amounts of snow.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">This week’s contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara
is an Italian author and currently lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes
fiction, with a focus on children’s literature and science fiction.</span><span style="background: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Sun and the snow</span></b></span><span style="background: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="background: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><i>by Chiara De Giorgi</i></span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUluyFOlhcGGiJUnnO6KlhOuYYVb6npOpeeMyIOZ1RfT_Ho8j6LRtunM8hVyqjcszDzHaehuo2yDU9sUEqCXVDTarzmgzXW8NtZ3BsYpTNBTx3IyCth38Wj5Ww_OMb1xCUDxHgrvbCgoA1J_UJy1fFiwrYXOXodSRS7aJjuS3dZm_Vkwvv45IEPtHCh48/s1280/ai-generated-8362701_1280.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUluyFOlhcGGiJUnnO6KlhOuYYVb6npOpeeMyIOZ1RfT_Ho8j6LRtunM8hVyqjcszDzHaehuo2yDU9sUEqCXVDTarzmgzXW8NtZ3BsYpTNBTx3IyCth38Wj5Ww_OMb1xCUDxHgrvbCgoA1J_UJy1fFiwrYXOXodSRS7aJjuS3dZm_Vkwvv45IEPtHCh48/w400-h400/ai-generated-8362701_1280.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="text-align: left;">Image by </span><a href="https://pixabay.com/users/divdesigns-20934844/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=8362701" style="text-align: left;">Brandy Umfleet</a><span style="text-align: left;"> from </span><a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=8362701" style="text-align: left;">Pixabay</a></span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Sun was a lucky little boy. </span><span style="background: white; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">He lived with his extended family in a big one-storey wooden
house surrounded by a large garden, where he spent many happy hours playing
with his cousins. There they had all kinds of adventures, playing make-believe
all the time. They were pirates, plundering and fighting, then they were
dragons, flying and breathing fire, then they were trains racing madly across
the country… The fun never ended! The only thing that bothered Sun was his own
name. Not that he didn’t like the sun, mind you. It’s just that he really, <i>really</i>,
loved snow. Those who knew of his passion always gave him a snow globe for his
birthday, although he was born in the hottest August known to history. He now
owned a collection of snow globes: small ones with just a tiny figurine inside,
like a penguin or a kid on a sleigh, and big ones with entire villages inside. Some
of them were music boxes as well, so he could listen to a nice little tune as
he watched the snowflakes descend and settle on the roof of the houses and the treetops.</span><span style="background: white; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">One morning – it was winter, his favourite
season – he woke up to the sound of his aunt clearing the snow from the path
that led to their house. Crunch, swish! Crunch, swish!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Excited, he quickly got out of bed and ran to
the window. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Aunt Jasmine! I’m awake! I’m coming out to
help you!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Aunt Jasmine smiled at him and kept shovelling
the snow. Crunch, swish!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sun’s loud voice awakened his sister and his
cousins, and soon all five of them were outside, hopping in the snow, throwing snowballs
to one another, and making Aunt Jasmine’s work more complicated, especially
because snowflakes were still falling down. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">She stopped for a moment, thinking, then she
called out. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Hey kids, come over here!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">She set the shovel aside and stepped up to the
big snow heap she had just made. Then she threw herself onto it backwards and waved
her arms and legs leaving shapes in the snow that made her look like an angel.
The children promptly imitated her, screaming with delight. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“This is the most fun I’ve ever had!” Sun was
beside himself with joy. The snow got down his neck, his sleeves, into his shoes…
snow was in his hair, in his ears, in his eyes and even under his nails. “I am
the happiest boy in the world!” he cried, his cheeks red from the cold and his
eyes sparkling with happiness.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The snow started falling heavier and his daddy
came out, scooped him up, and carried him inside. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I want to stay out in the snow!” he
protested, not happy about it </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">at all</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. His sister and cousins were also brought
in, and all of them kept grumbling the whole time while the grown-ups dried
them off with towels and hair dryers.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Later, the kids wanted to go outside and play
angels in the snow again, but the grown-ups said no. “There’s a snowstorm,
nobody can go outside right now. We need to wait it out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sun thought that it was very unfair that he
had to stay in while there was so much snow outside. <i>We were having so much
fun</i>, he thought. <i>We were so happy doing snow angels. Then we came inside,
and the sadness came, and now look what happened: there’s a storm!</i> <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bored, he sat in his room watching out the
window the snow bieng being blown in all directions by the harsh wind. Then
turned to the shelves and admired his collection of snow globes.<span style="color: red;"> </span>He picked the biggest one and looked inside, shaking
it slightly. Snowflakes began to fall on the houses in the village, on the
bridge crossing the frozen stream, on the lampposts and… Sun frowned. Had there
always been kids ice-skating on the pond and playing in the park? He sighed.
“Oh, how I wish I could get inside this snow globe and play with them in the
snow!” he said. Then he lay down on the bed holding the globe tightly and
closed his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When he opened them again, he was lying on a
snow-covered field. He could hear voices not far away. High-pitched, excited,
laughing, calling… He took a look around. His eyes widened in amazement. “I’m
inside my snow globe!” he cried excitedly. He didn’t even pause to wonder how
it could be. He ran up to the group of kids near the pond and played happily
with them for a very long time – probably hours, he thought – and no grown-ups ever
called them home! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Suddenly, something changed. The sky darkened
and snow started to fall. The children welcomed it with joy and started a
snowball fight. After a while, however, Sun noticed that the others had worried
looks on their faces. Some grown-ups arrived and they looked worried too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It’s the heaviest snowfall I’ve ever seen!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What if it doesn’t stop?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Where does all this snow come from anyway?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“It’s impossible to clear the roads!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What will we do?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The fear in the voices of the people around
him also infected Sun a little. Had he escaped the snowstorm in his world, only
to end up trapped by a snowstorm in the snow globe? There must be something he
could do…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Hey! I know what we should do!” he shouted
suddenly. Everyone looked at him. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Do you know how to stop the storm?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sun shook his head. “No. But I know how to
make us happy again! We must do snow angels!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“How will that help?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I don’t know, but Aunt Jasmine made us do
snow angels and we were all so happy, and then we had to go inside and we were
sad and then the storm came…”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Hey, this idea is not half bad!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We may chase the storm away by being happy!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yes! Let’s give it a try!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">They all threw themselves onto the snow and began
to wave their arms and legs, drawing angels in the snow. Soon, everyone was
feeling incredibly happy, despite the wind and the big snowflakes that were
blowing everywhere. And, lo and behold, the storm ran out. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“That was fun”, said an older kid, holding out
her hand to Sun to help him up. “Are you coming back to the pond with us? We
are going to build a snowman!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sun felt a sudden pang of homesickness. He
wanted to go home and do snow angels and build snowmen with his sister and his
cousins. But how could he do that?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I suppose you have to wake up”, said the kid.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What did you say?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Wake up!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sun opened his eyes. He was on his bed, the
snow globe still in his hands. His sister was shaking him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Are you awake now?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yes…”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Great! Come out with us, then. The storm is
over, Auntie Jasmine says she needs us to do snow angels again!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sun smiled. That was the best day of his life!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span></span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Val Muller:
http://www.valmuller.com/blog/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Catherine A. MacKenzie:
https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Phil Yeats:
https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Chiara De Giorgi:
https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/<o:p></o:p></span></p><br />Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-30545626977805730182024-01-25T17:24:00.007+01:002024-01-25T17:24:40.704+01:00A Mountain of Snow<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Welcome to the Spot Writers. This current prompt is a story about excessive
amounts of snow. Phil Yeats wrote this week’s story.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In September, 2021, he published <strong><i><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Souring Seas,</span></i></strong>
the first volume in a precautionary tale about the hazards of ignoring
human-induced climate change. The second volume, <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Building Houses of Cards</span></em>,
appeared in May 2022. He’s now published <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">They All Come Tumbling Down</span></em>, the third volume in his
The Road to Environmental Armageddon trilogy. For information about these
books, or his older soft-boiled mysteries, visit his website:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</span></a></span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="color: #134f5c; font-size: large;">A Mountain of Snow</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i><span style="color: #134f5c;">by Phil Yeats</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Pull in our gear,” John Jenkins, the
captain of the lobster boat, Marjorie Jane, yelled to his crew as he emerged
from the wheelhouse. “Coast Guard received a distress signal from a nearby vessel.
Our duty to respond.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">An hour later, they approached a
fifteen-metre-long ketch with bare spars sitting dead in the water. They pulled
alongside in a calm sea. His oldest deckhand hailed, but they got no response.
Their youngest crewman, a college student named Nigel, working with them for
the summer, jumped aboard. He disappeared below before Captain John emerged
from the wheelhouse, annoyed that the young college boy would take this
possibly dangerous action before they had time to prepare.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">College boy poked his head from the
companionway. “Thirty centimetres of water on the cabin floor, but no sign of
water coming in.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Anyone in distress?” Captain John
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Nope. Deserted, and something else.
No sign of any sails.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Bloody hell,” John said, thinking it
sounded like some tortured soul took his yacht to sea and killed himself by
jumping overboard attached to his anchor. “Let’s get a line on her, transfer
our spare bilge pump over, and see if we can pump her out. I’ll contact the
Coast Guard and describe the situation.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">They soon had water gushing from the
yacht, but they weren’t making progress lowering the water level inside. They
began towing the yacht toward shore, but the quantity of water made for slow
progress.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Once again, Nigel popped from the yacht’s
cabin. He was obviously treating this as an adventure. “I’ve found the source
of the water. Corroded pipe. Someone attempted to patch it, but it’s still
leaking rather badly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">John turned to Mike, the most seasoned
member of his four-man crew. “Take tools and our gear for repairing
through-hull leaks and do your best. And send college boy back. I don’t like
the idea of him messing about and making things worse.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Mike stood on the yacht’s foredeck
twenty minutes later. “Situation is under control. Corroded pipe as Nigel said,
but it’s inside the shutoff. Tap was frozen, but our pipe wrench and a little
elbow grease solved that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“So, the pump should start making
progress,” said John.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Should do, but there’s something
else,” Mike replied. He held up a plastic bag containing white powder. “I
suspect this is cocaine, and there are lots of them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">John sighed. This meant a call to the
RCMP and a cousin who wasn’t his best buddy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Shortly after nightfall, they slide
against the dock in their home port. Numerous police cruisers with red lights
flashing had the town pier cordoned off. They quickly took charge of the yacht.
Half an hour later, Jerome Jenkins, the head of the local police detachment,
climbed aboard the Marjorie Jane. “We’ll need to search your boat and record
statements from each of you.” He locked eyes with his cousin. “I suppose you’ll
want to get back to sea.” When John nodded, Jerome added, “check in with us
tomorrow at 0800. We should be able to give you the all clear.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">John arrived at the police station at
precisely 0800 the next day. Jerome led him to a room with dozens of bags
containing white powder stacked on a large table. “The haul from your yacht
plus many more we bagged from three reprobates who were bringing them ashore in
a launch.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">John stared at the table. “My god. A
veritable mountain of snow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.4pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #134f5c;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #134f5c;">The Spot
Writers—Our Members:</span></span></strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/m">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Chiara De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-4218479251303290572024-01-19T09:51:00.008+01:002024-01-19T09:51:34.800+01:00Keyless in Winter<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to the
Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write about an excessive amount of
snow. Today’s story comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery
series Corgi Capers.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: 1pt none windowtext; line-height: 150%; padding: 0cm;"><b><span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">Keyless in Winter</span></b><span style="color: #242424; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: 1pt none windowtext; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; padding: 0cm;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">by Val Muller</span></i><span style="color: #242424;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">It must have
fallen when I went to get the mail. It must have fallen right there on the
driveway. It might have even made a sound, but I was too busy with my teeth
chattering and moaning about how much I hate the cold. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">My palm tree
keychain. Plink, on the frozen drive. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Yes, I see the
irony. Palm tree swallowed by the cold death of winter. This certainly won't
help me to love winter any more or hate it any less. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">So there I
was, hurrying inside with the mail, in through the garage, past the car that
still sits there in the garage, pointlessly sitting without a key. Ignorant to
my impending problem, I went inside to my nice warm home. That's when the
heavens opened up and dumped several feet of snow on everything we are and
everything we own. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Of course, it
didn't matter for the first three days. I didn’t even know I didn’t have my
keys. But the office will be opening up again on Monday. And I still can't find
my keys. Old man Frank came over and plowed the driveway for me, made it so I
didn’t ever have to leave the house. And I'm sure that's where the problem is. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">I checked my
coat pocket, my car, I retraced my steps. The only possible place the keys
could be is the driveway. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">Was</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;"> the driveway,
rather. I'm sure Old Man Frank, in an attempt to help me, scraped up my key
along with feet and feet of snow. But it’s not his fault. If I had been
shoveling by hand, it may still have been lost. But there’s no way he would
have seen it with the plow. And now it's hidden among the mounds of snow lining
my driveway. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">People joke
about a needle in a haystack, but at least you could set fire to the haystack
and the needle will be there in the charred ashes. But you don’t need to find a
needle to be able to start your car. How am I supposed to find my car key? What
am I going to do? Wait until April to drive my car? Even if you could set fire
to the snow, even if I could find a fire torch, it would melt those keys. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">How will I
tell my boss? This is the adult version of the pathetic “dog ate my homework”
excuse. People with those types of excuses are not going places. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">I called the
dealership. That key is—get this, four hundred dollars. And as an added slap in
the face: you have to be there, at the dealership, to pick it up. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">This is the
kind of thing they don't teach you in school. They don’t tell you what to do if
your car is parked uselessly in the garage and your keys are stuck in several
feet of snow somewhere, maybe, hopefully, along the driveway, and you have to
get into the office on Monday. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">So for now I’m
sitting by the fire, enjoying not the fallen snow or a cheesy holiday film.
Instead, I’m researching how to hotwire my car so I can start it and get it to
the dealership on Monday. When I fail that, I guess I’ll just call for a tow. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #242424; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">I don’t hate
winter any less, and if this had happened in the summer—which it wouldn’t,
because I would see the keys right away—I could just ride my bike to work. Only
154 days til summer. But who’s counting?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></p><p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #990000;">**** </span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="border: 1pt none windowtext; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; padding: 0cm;"><span style="color: #990000;">The Spot Writers—Our Members: </span></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; padding: 0cm;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #21759b; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; padding: 0cm;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #21759b; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; padding: 0cm;">Phil Yeats: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #21759b; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; vertical-align: baseline;"><span lang="EN-US" style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; padding: 0cm;">Chiara De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #21759b; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-12041097051274779502024-01-11T09:28:00.000+01:002024-01-11T09:28:05.820+01:00End of an era<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to the
Spot Writers. The prompt for this month is to write about new neighbours moving
in. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This week’s
contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is an Italian author and
currently lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes fiction, with a focus on
children’s literature and science fiction.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="background: white; color: #0b5394; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">End of an era</span></b><o:p style="font-size: 12pt; font-size: 12pt;"></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="background: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i><span style="color: #0b5394;">by Chiara De
Giorgi</span></i><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbN7WMhUVyTOVojouT6brHwL-2CsPMXDP3AvcuhQO5hDkXTw4RrufY5AMd2Iud_6Fx6UyPMA79Hzc0GMjdr20uOVH-N17BFKORFCd1ZAabnCUTplfZ7kMWQxe19Ssq1EaCSzXkdZ0Yyb2yANqglAFk73_ILWtTAVy_b8t6wqlGh3P_flj0s-u4K4AuS0s/s1280/lost-places-2957931_1280.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="893" data-original-width="1280" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbN7WMhUVyTOVojouT6brHwL-2CsPMXDP3AvcuhQO5hDkXTw4RrufY5AMd2Iud_6Fx6UyPMA79Hzc0GMjdr20uOVH-N17BFKORFCd1ZAabnCUTplfZ7kMWQxe19Ssq1EaCSzXkdZ0Yyb2yANqglAFk73_ILWtTAVy_b8t6wqlGh3P_flj0s-u4K4AuS0s/w640-h446/lost-places-2957931_1280.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="text-align: left;">Image by </span><a href="https://pixabay.com/users/652234-652234/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=2957931" style="text-align: left;">652234</a><span style="text-align: left;"> from </span><a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=2957931" style="text-align: left;">Pixabay</a></span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">Every year, for
Christmas, I go home to visit my family. My brothers and I live scattered
around the world and Christmas is a big deal, because it is the only time in
the year when we all gather under one roof, in the house where we grew up.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Last year we
learned that new neighbours would soon be arriving in the house next door,
which had been empty for as long as I remember. This filled everyone with
melancholy, because we spent many a day (and night!) in that house when we were
younger. An old and rather dilapidated house, it was our favourite destination
for organising secret meetings, founding secret societies, telling ghost
stories on Halloween night… but mostly it was our secret, just mine and my
brothers’. To my knowledge, no one else ever snuck in. At least, we never found
any evidence of it. Maybe the fact that it’s the last house on the street and is
next to the cemetery isn’t very attractive to normal people. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The old house was
surrounded by a wall over two metres high, then there was a locked rusty iron
gate with pointed bars. There used to be a gap in the wall, and we would pass
through it to enter our own personal secret world.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A couple of
nights after Christmas, having sent our parents to bed with unusual solicitude,
my brothers and I went to the breach, just before midnight. Like when we were
kids, we jumped out the window of Baby’s room, (he is the youngest of us, we still
call him Baby, to his immense displeasure). There is a tree right in front of
it and we used to hang on to the branches like little monkeys and then lower
ourselves down with ease. I will gloss over our agility twenty years later, let’s
just say that the operation was a rude awakening for all of us, but everyone
would rather be tortured by pirates than admit it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A bad surprise
awaited us at the breach. Someone (I imagine the future new neighbours) had blocked
it with rocks. In hindsight, I would say <i>luckily</i>, because I remembered
it being wider. Twenty years later, surely some of us would have got stuck.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“And now what?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We cannot give
up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Of course not,
it’s our last chance.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“We have to
climb over the wall.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I mean… It’s a
bit high.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well, climbing
over the gate is really impractical. I want to get into this house, but not to
the point of risking getting skewered on a sharp, rusty iron bar.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“No, I would
say not.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Maybe it’s so
rusty that it’ll crumble if we hit it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“You think so?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well, it’s
worth a try. If we can wipe out a couple of bars, we should be able to sneak
in.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Um… With my
girth… we should wipe out at least three.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Two, three… It’s
all the same, let’s go see.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Long story
short: no, the gate did not crumble.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“OK, the only
way in is over the wall.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Um, I don’t
know…” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Come on, let’s
at least try it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Alright, let’s
go around, see if we can find something to stand on.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We found some
unmarked gravestones leaning against the fence that bordered the cemetery. We
thought it would be cool to use them, but they were far too heavy to carry and
probably wouldn’t have been much use even if we stacked them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Someone
suggested going to the tool shed at our house and taking the ladder. We all felt
a bit ashamed of this idea, it was not stylish nor adventurous. Nevertheless,
we went to the shed. The ladder, however, was not there. God knows where it
was. It could have been somewhere in the garden, but it was too dark to see
anything. And it could also be that Dad had lent it to someone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“New plan. In
the shed I saw a rope. We’ll make a lasso and tie it to a tree branch, then
pull ourselves up with it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Of course, none of us managed to lasso the
branch. These things only work in the movies. So, my brothers decided that they
would throw me on top of the wall so I could secure the rope to the tree, and
they would use it to climb up. That’s what being the only girl means. No, not necessarily
that you get thrown by your brothers on the top of a wall surrounding an old,
abandoned house in the middle of the night, but that your brothers team up
against you.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">One of them intertwined his fingers, I put my
foot on his hands, and he lifted me up. I managed to grab onto the wall and
pulled myself up to sit astride it. At that point they threw me the rope. I
could not fasten it to the tree while sitting on top of the wall, because the
tree was too far away (or my arms were too short, as the three of them
implied). So I grabbed onto the nearest branch with my legs and arms, like a
real monkey, and moved to tie the rope around its base, tightening the knot as
much as I could. Then I threw the rope over the wall and finally, with my
trademark gracefulness, let myself slide to the ground. This operation proved
tricky, as the tree was very close to the house and, on the way down, I banged
my leg against the stone sill of one of the windows. Ouch. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Once we were all inside, we suddenly felt
excited again. The house was just as we had left it, only twenty years older
itself. There were lots of spiders, a musty smell, rubble and rotten furniture
(more rotten than we remembered, in fact). <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We walked about the rooms, debated briefly
whether to trust the wooden stairs and decided against it (for once, common
sense came to our rescue). Eventually, we sat on the floor in the middle of the
salon</span> <span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">in the dim light of our phones’
torches, the bottoms of our trousers getting damp, but we didn’t care. And we
spent the night telling stories to one other. One of the best nights of my
life, despite the fact that, by morning, the leg I had bumped against the stone
windowsill showed the biggest blue bruise I had ever seen on myself or anyone
else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well, I guess it’s time to go home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yeah, Mama’s gonna wake up soon. Even though
there’s no point in hiding our mischief anymore, I’d like to keep this a secret
just between us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Agreed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We got up reluctantly, said goodbye to the
house, and headed for the tree.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As we dropped down beyond the wall of that
house for the last time, we were aware that an era was ending, but it was not
very clear <i>which</i> era was ending. The one of dreams, of stories, of
adventures? Or that of youthful recklessness, of doing shenanigans for the sake
of challenging one another and oneself?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">***<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A couple of hours later, we were helping Mom
make Christmas pancakes for breakfast. Baby poured himself a cup of coffee and
stood by the window, looking out. Suddenly, he dropped the cup, that crashed on
the floor splashing coffee everywhere. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“The house…” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What about it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Mum grumbled as she went to get rags and
dustpan, while we went to Baby and looked out the window. The house was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Why are you still standing there?” Mom said,
irritated, when she returned and saw that no one had done anything yet to pick
up the shards or wipe up the spilled coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What… what happened to the house?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I told you the new neighbours are coming. Of
course they had that crumbling old house demolished. Soon the construction
company will arrive to build a new cottage. They just left the wall to mark off
the property, but they will tear that down too. Would you guys move over now,
please? And maybe give me a hand cleaning up this mess.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Val Muller:
http://www.valmuller.com/blog/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Phil Yeats:
https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Chiara De Giorgi:
https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-31821390535816856942024-01-04T09:52:00.000+01:002024-01-04T09:52:53.819+01:00The Beautiful Game<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Welcome to the Spot Writers. This current prompt is a story about new
neighbours, just arrived. Phil Yeats wrote this week’s story.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In September, 2021, he published <strong><i><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Souring Seas,</span></i></strong>
the first volume in a precautionary tale about the hazards of ignoring
human-induced climate change. The second volume, <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Building Houses of Cards</span></em>,
appeared in May 2022. He’s now published <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">They All Come Tumbling Down</span></em>, the third volume in his
The Road to Environmental Armageddon trilogy. For information about these
books, or his older soft-boiled mysteries, visit his website: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</span></a></span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #990000;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Beautiful Game</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #990000;"><i>by Phil Yeats</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Oh, poo!” a small voice exclaimed from beyond
the fence. The sound of small feet scuffing the ground accompanied her words.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I stood from pulling dandelions from my back
lawn. It was late June, but the bloody yellow weeds were blooming as fiercely
as ever. I blamed the abundance on the complete lack of dandelion control in
the adjacent yard.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A blond head with pigtails protruded above the
fence in the offending hayfield. I guessed she was a few inches taller than the
four-foot-high fence. That, presumably, made her between six and eight, and
part of the family moving in next door?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“What’s the matter?” I asked as I walked
toward her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Mummy promised.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Oh. What did she promise?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“A present I’d really like if I was good and
didn’t complain about leaving my friends.” She gave the ball at her feet a
mighty kick and it trickled away at a forty-five-degree angle. “I wanted a Barbie,
not this stupid ball.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Looks like a big kid’s soccer ball. She must
think you’re a big girl now. One who’d want to play outside in this nice big
yard. And I’m guessing you already have a Barbie.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Two, and a Barbie house. Uncle James made it for
me. But I have no friends here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“My name’s Ben. What’s yours?” I said to
change the subject.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Ella,” she replied, before giving the ball
another mighty kick. She caught it more squarely this time, and it bounced to
the centre of their yard. She rushed after it, picked it up, and returned,
smiling, to the fence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Does your mum know you’re here?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Yeah. Emie’s waiting for Uncle James and all
our stuff. I wanted to ride in the truck, but she made me go in our car holding
the fish bowl and making sure it didn’t spill. Said Hannah had to ride with
Uncle James because they still had stuff to load.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My seventy-five-year-old strawberry box house
had an unfinished basement, living room, bath, and kitchen on the main floor,
and two tiny under-the-eaves bedrooms on the second. The one they were moving
into was identical.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I wondered about the family unit moving in
next door and how Emie, Hannah, and Uncle James could fit together in that tiny
house. Emie was presumably Ella’s mother, but would a six-year-old use her name
rather than calling her Mummy? Was Hannah an older sister or an adult? Not
Uncle James’s wife, because Ella would then call her Aunt Hannah, or something
similar. Was Uncle a courtesy title for Emie’s partner, or a friend helping
Emie, Hannah, and Ella move into their new home?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When Ella disappeared around the side of her
house after several successful kicks, each going farther than the previous one,
I decided speculation about the makeup of the new family next door was foolish
and unwarranted. I parked my weeder on a bench and wandered around my house. An
ideal time to welcome Ella’s mother to our neighbourhood and offer a hand
unloading their truck. After I introduced myself to Emily Scott, a woman in her
late twenties or early thirties, James and Hannah pulled up in one of the smaller
U-Haul moving trucks. He was in his sixties or older, and Hannah, at most
forty. The nature of their relationships became obvious when Ella proudly
insisted on showing Hannah how good she was at kicking a soccer ball. It flew
across the narrow street and took one bounce before landing in a flower bed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><b><span style="color: #990000;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #990000;">The Spot
Writers—Our Members:</span></span></strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/m">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Chiara De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-83540249909458099662023-12-21T19:58:00.000+01:002023-12-21T19:58:36.203+01:00Return of the Light<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to the Spot Writers. The
prompt for this month is to write about new neighbors moving in. Today’s tale
comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers kidlit series.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="color: #45818e;"> ***</span></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Return of the
Light</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i><span style="color: #45818e;">by Val Muller</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The fire crackled, and Samantha tossed
another log on it. She half turned, was almost about to shush the dog—Bella
always startled when Sam threw a log on the fire. But then Sam remembered.
Bella was gone. It hadn’t been a year, not quite. It seemed like forever. Then
again, it seemed just yesterday that Bella had been there, at her feet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">But last year, at the winter solstice,
Bella <i>had</i> been there at the campfire, keeping watch in the night, the
darkest night of the year. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">What’s supposed to be the darkest
night of the year, anyway. There was a darker one. A night without Bella. The
first night, then the next one, and many, many more. It was getting easier, but
some habits were hard to break, like searching for a dog at her feet, looking
for a begging pup at mealtime, that sort of thing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The fire at winter solstice was a
tradition, but doing it alone was not. This celebration was about the return of
the light—the return of the sun. It was supposed to be happy, but—<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sam stared into the fire and imagined
the next year stretched out before her, stretched out the way a dog would
stretch, head down, rump in the air, just like—<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">No, the fire dancing along the trees
was playing tricks on her. Sam could swear she saw a dog stretching by the
tree, but surely it was just a log or a—<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Simba!” a voice called. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Hello?” Sam called back. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The “log” turned to her and scurried
over, tail wagging. It was no log, but a golden doodle, and a happy one at
that, showering her in kisses. She’d almost forgotten that ineffable feeling,
the one that transcended the senses, the unconditional joy and Zen of the
present brought when a dog—<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Simba!” the voice called again, and
the dog reluctantly backed away and hurried to the voice at the edge of the
fire. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“I’m sorry,” the voice said. “Simba’s
a little excited to be at his new house. Isn’t he, you good boy, you.” The
man’s voice degenerated into dog cooing. Then the man, realizing his neglect of
fellow human, turned to Sam. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Mike,” he said. “My wife and I moved
in just this morning.” He motioned to the darkness, toward the recently-sold
house. “Poor guy’s been crated much of the day. You a dog person? He seems to
take quite a liking to you. I’ll have to have my wife come over in the morning.
The two of you seem like you’d get along. You don’t have dogs, do you?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sam took a breath, allowing the shock
of it all to dissipate. She turned to the fire, watching the crackling flames
make patterns on the logs—now a dog, then a cloud, then a person jumping, now a
bird in flight—the solstice flames embracing the ephemeral nature of life. She
looked up as the circle of light embraced her new neighbor and his companion.
Then she took a deep breath and spoke, for only just a second imagining Bella
still at her feet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #45818e;">The Spot Writers—Our Members: </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Chiara De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-68867253199973635472023-12-14T09:36:00.000+01:002023-12-14T09:36:31.152+01:00Of Storytellers and Christmas Night <p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is a story about a significant arrival.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: justify;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white;">This week’s contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is an Italian author and currently lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes fiction, with a focus on children’s literature and science fiction.</span><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394; font-size: x-large;"><b>***</b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: helvetica;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Of Storytellers and Christmas Night </span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><span style="font-family: helvetica;">by Chiara De Giorgi</span></i><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 11pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQwSiozos3yfrEfBRNy8pjfrCLFk3qaJ28OtWaSjFNy_k0Mp4mptQXE1bWlQRYK19yIC6JDJhYn26WhOjIamUBYXIBtee0qgrvkXu-Vz0bAsVqFU4zHeJOzTzGReaeZGA7_gDmz7Zlzt9eGy0EJzYfskMHvPJW5IqI86c0I7ayRus-scvGwS8O28YiOA/s2560/886022-top-shooting-stars-wallpaper-2560x1600-for-windows.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2560" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQwSiozos3yfrEfBRNy8pjfrCLFk3qaJ28OtWaSjFNy_k0Mp4mptQXE1bWlQRYK19yIC6JDJhYn26WhOjIamUBYXIBtee0qgrvkXu-Vz0bAsVqFU4zHeJOzTzGReaeZGA7_gDmz7Zlzt9eGy0EJzYfskMHvPJW5IqI86c0I7ayRus-scvGwS8O28YiOA/w640-h400/886022-top-shooting-stars-wallpaper-2560x1600-for-windows.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">https://getwallpapers.com/collection/shooting-stars-wallpaper</span></i></div></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt;"></span><p></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">“Gemma, what are you still doing there in front of the computer… Come to bed!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">“Just give me a moment, I’m re-reading this story, I’m almost done.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">“Again? You must have re-read it a hundred times, aren’t you fed up?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Gemma got up from her chair and came face to face with Scott. She smiled at him and planted a kiss on his mouth. “I wrote it, so: no, I’m not fed up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Scott stretched and yawned noisily. “Well, I, on the other hand, am dead tired. I mean, I was happy to help your great-grandmother make tortellini for tomorrow, but we must have wrapped like, twenty kilos, I can’t feel my hands anymore!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">“Then go to bed, I’ll join you in a little while. It’s only ten minutes to midnight…”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Scott looked at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. “Are you waiting for midnight? Want to see if Santa comes?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Gemma laughed and opened the window. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">“What are you doing, are you out of your mind? It’s freezing outside!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">“Scott, what a beautiful sky! Look!” Gemma leaned out and turned her gaze upwards. “It’s like a dark blue blanket with a billion stars… And the crescent moon, this smell of snow… It’s really wonderful. If there’s one night that’s meant to be magical, it’s this one!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Despite himself, Scott let out a half laugh and approached her. “As a matter of fact”, he said thoughtfully, “I can hear bells jingling…” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">“Really? Where?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">He grabbed her head and shook it gently. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">“Right in here! Listen! Oh, how they jingle!” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">“Oh, you’re impossible!” Gemma laughed and pushed him away.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Scott left her alone. She let her eyes wander for a few more minutes across the sky. The dark night made her feel safe, but there was also a sense of anticipation in the air. This was probably always the case on Christmas night. She shivered, closed the window, and went back to sit in front of the computer to resume reading her story. She never wrote love stories, but this one had suddenly popped into her head, and she knew she had to put it down in writing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">It was about two storytellers who travelled the world, each on their own, carrying a thousand tales and a musical instrument: she a harp, he a guitar. On and off a plane, on a train, on a ship… They both travelled and travelled, never taking the time to stop and make a home for themselves. But neither of them really cared: they lived on dreams, music, and the love they felt existed somewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">So it happened that, when they bumped into each other in Stockholm, they recognised each other immediately. They spent an unforgettable weekend sailing up and down the Swedish beautiful fjords, then they had to part again: he would take his stories and music further north; she, further south. From then on, they always kept in touch, catching up with each other whenever they had a few days off. Their bizarre, intermittent romance went on for a long time, until they both felt they were too old to keep travelling so much.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">The time had come to make a home for themselves! They retreated to a log cabin in the Swedish woods, not far from the sea. After all, that was where it all had started. They spent the last years of their lives together, loving each other, exchanging tales and songs, writing new stories and new music. And then, on a very cold winter night, the stove broke and the two storytellers froze to death. An acquaintance, who passed by every morning to visit the two old dreamers, found them. On the table was a stack of papers: it was their story, written half by her and half by him. Each chapter began and ended with a musical score: they had composed songs whenever they had been together. And on the last page, written in pencil by a trembling hand, were the words: <i>And now we go on together</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Gemma sighed, saved the file, and turned off the computer. She looked at the clock: one minute to midnight. She got up and went back to the window, opened it again, and leaned out to look outside. At that moment the wind blew and pushed her hair in front of her eyes. She shook her head to straighten it and she thought she could actually hear bells jingling. She was overcome with curiosity and turned her head this way and that to scan every corner of the sky. There was nothing out of the ordinary and after a while she laughed to herself: what had she expected? To actually see Santa’s sleigh, pulled by a dozen reindeer, silhouetted against the moon like on Christmas cards?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Rather, she pondered, in the last few days there had been much talk of shooting stars: a meteor shower was expected, and anyone watching the sky might be rewarded by the sight of a bright trail. Ah, if only she could see one! She would wish… Gemma closed her eyes to think: what would she wish for? She thought back to the story she had just written: of a love so deep it existed even without knowing each other, of old age spent together with someone who was never tired of hearing or telling new stories… And she realised she knew what she would ask the shooting star. Scott was a great guy, but she felt - no: suddenly<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">she knew<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">there was a soul in the world she could share her deepest self with, and it was not him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">A warm feeling spread in the pit of her stomach: this always happened to her before some major event. Laughing softly to herself, she looked up at the sky again, and suddenly: there it was! Her shooting star! Quickly, instinctively Gemma reached out her hand, as if to grasp it. The star vanished. Puzzled, she stared up at the sky, blinking several times, disappointed: she had not had time to formulate her wish.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">She lowered her arm and unclenched her fist: the star was there! Impossible! Yet there it was: a bright, white spark. Gemma laughed louder and louder, she could not stop: Christmas night was truly the most magical night ever, anything could happen, you just had to believe. She closed her eyes and focused on the twinkling star in the palm of her hand. And the star grew larger and larger, until it was as big as she was. It enveloped her completely. Gemma took a leap out of the window and soared upwards, flying and laughing, breathing in the air that was so unlike anything usual. And she dreamed new dreams, new stories, new songs, and a new love.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><u><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Note:<o:p></o:p></span></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">This Tale is included in ‘Life of Gemma & Antoine, Storytellers’. The manuscript was indeed found in a cabin in a Swedish forest and ended with the exact words: “And now we go on together”. Accounts from the time report that two Storytellers named Gemma and Antoine really existed, and that their relationship went through the stages described in the Tale. A brief investigation was carried out to establish whether the couple’s death was intentional: it was intended to prove that it was a staged exit, planned in advance. All clues, however, led to the conclusion that the death of the couple was accidental. <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Of course, the power of Real Storytellers had not yet been discovered at the time.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: helvetica;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="color: #0b5394;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span></span></b><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: helvetica;">Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Chiara De Giorgi: <a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/" style="color: purple;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</a></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-67244746682306597702023-12-07T15:55:00.011+01:002023-12-07T15:55:51.890+01:00More than I Bargained for<p><span style="text-align: justify;">Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is a story about ‘a
significant arrival.’ This week’s story is an expansion of a flash fiction
story Phil Yeats originally published on Voice.club.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">In September, 2021, he published <em><b><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The
Souring Seas,</span></b></em> the first volume in a precautionary tale about
the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate change. The second volume, <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Building Houses of Cards</span></em>, appeared
in May 2022. He’s now published <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">They All Come Tumbling Down</span></em>,
the third volume in his The Road to Environmental Armageddon trilogy. For
information about these books, or his older soft-boiled mysteries, visit his
website: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</a>/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">More than I Bargained for</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><i>by Phil Yeats</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Many decades ago, a university friend I hadn’t seen for five years
appeared while I sat outside my neighbourhood pub enjoying a solitary
after-work beer. Those were different times, with different laws and different
attitudes. Today, I’m sure, this story would unfold very differently.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“I always admired the way you ignored everyone and followed your
muse,” Susan said after a brief greeting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">I stared, bewildered. Since high school, I’d lived in fear of
bullies insisting everyone should adhere to their narrow definition of proper behaviour.
“Nothing admirable about my conduct. I was a misfit who avoided interaction
with others.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">She shook her head. “You stuck to your principles, but I didn’t. For
years I lived a lie, pretending to be someone I wasn’t. But don’t let us argue.
I found you because I need your help.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">She sipped the glass of white wine she brought to the table while I
nursed my beer. I’d applauded her bravery when she acknowledged a lesbian
relationship during our senior year. Hiding her orientation earlier when it was
illegal was sensible, not cowardly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“What sort of help?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">A smile brightened her face. “You remember Patricia?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">I’d met her partner in 1969 at our university graduation ceremony.
After the diploma presentations, we bypassed the formal reception because I
wasn’t comfortable in crowds, and they wanted to avoid bringing attention to
their relationship. We repaired to the campus pub for a quiet celebration
before I flew away to graduate school.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“You’re still together, living happily ever after?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“And we need your help with baby-making.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">I damn near dropped my glass. “You mean sperm donation?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Not on. The clinics only accept married couples.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“At-home do-it-yourself insemination using a turkey baster?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Well, sort of. Come for supper tomorrow. We can discuss the
details.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">A few minutes later, she strolled away, and I ordered a second beer.
I had twenty-four hours to contemplate my first serious commitment to anyone.
Have courage, I said to myself; this may complicate your simple, well-ordered existence,
but it’s something you should do. And how tough could it be? Visit them on days
chosen to accommodate Susan’s ovulation cycle, produce a cupful of sperm in the
privacy of their bathroom, present the magic elixir to Patricia, and leave the
rest to them. Presumably, we’d have to repeat the process, perhaps several
times, but when the deed was done, I could walk away and return to my uncomplicated
life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">The next evening at six thirty, I rang the doorbell at Susan and
Patricia’s house in a nice suburban neighbourhood. Patricia opened the door
almost immediately. Susan stood behind her, wiping her hands on a towel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Come in, come in. Welcome, Jeremy, to our humble abode. Long time
no see, eh?” Patricia said. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Eh was a none-too-subtle mocking of my hoser roots in small town
Ontario. In my early years at UBC, I used it a lot, but I’d virtually
eliminated it from my vocabulary. Patricia, when I got to know her, always called
me out on it. Was she expressing annoyance with my visit and Susan’s
suggestion, or was she making a rather ill-conceived effort at being
light-hearted?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">I held up the bottle of wine I’d brought as a hostess gift.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">She checked the label. “Oh lovely, but you really shouldn’t, because
this visit is at our request. We’re asking you for a gigantic favour.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Well, maybe, but you’re making dinner. I thought I should show my
appreciation.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Susan pushed forward, took the bottle from Patricia’s hand and led
me into their living room, where she’d set out a tray with wine and appetizers.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">I glanced around, half expecting to see another guest, someone with
medical training, who might guide us on the task we were contemplating. In
truth, I was worried about Susan’s response the previous afternoon when I
suggested artificial insemination with a turkey baster. She smiled and replied,
‘sort of.’ I’d wondered what she meant by those two simple words.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">We sat, Susan and I on their couch, and Patricia across the coffee
table on a matching armchair. I never mastered small talk, so after a few
minutes of pleasantries, I addressed my need for details.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Before we get into the nitty gritty,” Patricia responded, “we should
deal with the formalities.” She reached into a pocket on the side of her chair
and pulled out several sheets of paper. “This is an agreement, prepared by my
lawyer in as unlawyerly a manner as she could manage that absolves you of any
financial responsibility for the child, but also relinquishes any parental
claims you may have.” She placed it on the coffee table beside the tray of
appetizers. When I picked it up and scowled as I scanned the pages, she
continued. “Sorry for the wordiness, but you must know lawyers. Nothing’s ever
simple in their minds.” She charged on. “Several more considerations. We should
all get tested for sexually transmitted diseases. And for you, we need an
assurance you can father a child.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">I stared at the first page of the agreement as I organized my
thoughts. I had no problem with Patricia’s businesslike approach. “Third thing
first. Twice, once when I was an undergrad, and the second time, after I
returned from my master’s studies, I’ve had those fertility tests done.
Testosterone levels and sperm count are both normal. I’ll produce the results. Second,
I’ll read your agreement more carefully, and consult a lawyer if I really think
I must, but I see no reason to object. Finally, no sexual relationships for
years, but I understand your need for reassurance. I’ll get the tests done.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">I glanced at Susan, wondering how she was responding to Patricia’s approach.
She looked sheepish and lowered her gaze. It was time to address my nagging
question, and I refused to back off. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">“So,” I said, “what did you mean by ‘sort of’ when I mentioned the
turkey baster approach?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Susan mumbled without looking up. “Like, you know, you guys have
built-in turkey basters.” A timer in the kitchen started dinging. She jumped
up. Was that serendipity, or did she somehow trigger it? “Dinner in five. Bring
your wine glasses to the table.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Built-in turkey baster, eh? This commitment wouldn’t be as simple
and emotion free as I hoped.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="color: #b45f06;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span><strong><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span></strong></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-CA"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-CA"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/m">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">Chiara De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-CA"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-31247966451219107772023-12-01T09:49:00.002+01:002023-12-01T09:49:06.131+01:00The Sighting<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">cycle is a significant arrival.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Along with several short story collections, books of poetry, and
two novels, Cathy has published three anthologies under her imprint, MacKenzie
Publishing. The latest one is titled NO ONE SHOULD KISS A FROG, available on
Amazon and other retailers—300 pages of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry by 75
authors around the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also has a
call out for submissions for another anthology to be published in 2024, to be
titled SUCH A LOSS. Contact <a href="mailto:SuchALossAnthology@gmail.com"><span style="color: black;">SuchALossAnthology@gmail.com</span></a> for submission
guidelines. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Cathy continues with Melvin, a character she’s soon going to put
to rest...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p><span style="color: #cc0000;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Sighting</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><i>by Catherine A. MacKenzie</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p><span style="color: #cc0000;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Wow, there she is...”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Who, Mel?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Melvin turned from the window. “What? Uh...nothing. Just a cloud
in the sky.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Don’t do that to me again. You scare the crap out of me when you
blurt weird things out of the blue.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Melvin glanced at his wife. “Really? Did I blurt?” He thought he’d
whispered. How in the world could Marie have heard?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yes, really. And who did you see?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Just a cloud, I said. A cloud that reminded me of someone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Who, I said? Who did the cloud remind you of?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Oh, no one in particular. Just a woman.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“A woman?” Marie peered at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Melvin faced the window. “No one, Marie.” What had he gotten into?
Why had he mentioned a woman? He sighed. “Looked a bit like Cindy Day if you
must know. You know, the woman who used to do the weather on our news. The meteorologist.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Oh, okay. Well, I’m going to start dinner. You think about Day.
And night. And clouds.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He watched her go. In one of her huffy moods, he thought. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Women! Can’t live with them; can’t live
without them.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Should he go down to the lake? It was cold out. Minus two Celsius.
With the wind off the lake, it would be even colder. But it would be worth it
if Kailani was there. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I’m going to check on the cabin, Marie.” He donned his coat,
hoping she wouldn’t pry any further.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">As his luck would have it, he heard her footsteps coming toward
him. “Why are you going down there now? It’s freezing out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He remained as he was, facing the door. His escape. “Just wanna
make sure the cabin is okay. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know
how the door sometimes doesn’t latch properly.” He slipped on his boots and was
out of the house before Marie could add another word.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He shoved his gloved hands into his pockets. The wind whipped
across his face. Was that a raindrop on his cheek? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nah, can’t be. Too cold for rain. Wasn’t hard enough for hail. No
flakes of snow. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The bitter wind rustled through the trees. The odd sounds coming
from the trees to his left as he trekked down the path were more than
disconcerting. Almost like voices: blathering, whispering. Reminded him of
Marie and her incessant nattering. He half expected several trees to uproot
themselves and walk alongside him—or nosey Marie to appear...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“This better be worth it,” he mumbled, glancing at the sky. Where
was the “cloud”? It hadn’t been a cloud—that was the thing. It truly looked
like Kailani flying high in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">his</i>
kayak. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">His </i>Blue Origin. Even as far
away as she was, he saw the blue. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">His</i>
blue! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Where was she now? He didn’t see anything in the clouds that
remotely resembled a mermaid or a fairy or a kayak. She must’ve landed, he
thought. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She’s down at the shore, waiting
impatiently for me</i>. He smiled and quickened his pace.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The shoreline was deserted. The lake was deserted. Every sane
person warm in their abodes, he thought<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.
Just stupid me here, hoping—praying—for my love.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Wait—what was that? A flash of blue appeared above him with a
great whoosh! A magic poof...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">And then: he couldn’t see. A smoke-like substance surrounded him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He spread his arms, reaching for something. Anything...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Kailani? You there?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“It’s me, Melvin. I’m coming down!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When the haze cleared, he almost pissed his pants.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">His kayak—yep, his!—landed on the sand several feet from where he
stood.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He could feel his heart rate increase. The pummelling against his
chest. “Where have you been all this time, Kailani? I think of you all the
time. You’re never here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Melvin, I’m always here. I’m the whisper in the trees. The sand
between your toes. The rain upon your cheek.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He remained rooted, unable to move. “Really?” He thought of his
trek down to the lake. The sounds from the trees. The sensation of something on
his cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She flitted about, more like a fairy at that moment than a
mermaid. Kailani of many talents: flying through the air, swimming in the water.
Stealing his kayak!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">At that thought, despite his feelings for her, his blood boiled.
“Who said you could steal my kayak, Kailani?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“What? Me!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yes, you.” He pointed. “It’s right there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“It’s your imagination, Mel.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“It is not! There it is.” He pointed again. “Right beside you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Calm down, Mel. I—”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Don’t call me ‘Mel.’ Only Marie can call me that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Kailani stepped back. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He enjoyed the distressed look on her face. The shock. Then the anger.
The bulge of her eyes. All of which lasted mere seconds until her expression
changed to one of neutrality.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She had no right! No one takes his Blue Origin without his
permission.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Melvin, I’m done with you. Done!” She twirled in the air,
resembling a ballerina on land, and then ascended, up and up, twisting like a
cyclone gone mad.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He watched in fascination.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">But he was done, too. Time to move on. “Bye, Kailani.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He turned to head home. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No!
My kayak. I need to rescue my kayak!</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He whipped around. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">No blue kayak. No kayak at all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">No Kailani, either.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">What! Had a drop hit his cheek? He touched his face, but his
gloved fingers couldn’t tell if there was anything there. He glanced at his
feet. Wearing his heavy boots, there’d be no sand between his toes. He listened
intently. Did he hear a whisper in the trees behind him? His hearing wasn’t the
best—not that he’d ever admit that to Marie—so, no, that wasn’t a good test.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He sighed. “I think I’ve done it now,” he mumbled. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He trudged up the path to the house. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Always tomorrow, he thought. “Yep,” he muttered, “always
tomorrow.” Despite losing his cool, he wasn’t done with Kailani yet. And he was
certain she wasn’t done with him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">***<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/" target="_blank"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/" target="_blank"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Chiara De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/"><span lang="IT" style="background: white; border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-47967691947077470502023-11-23T10:02:00.003+01:002023-11-23T10:02:14.814+01:00Misdelivered<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Welcome to the Spot Writers. This
month’s topic is to write about “a significant arrival.” </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Today’s story comes to
us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit Corgi Capers mystery series.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: helvetica;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Misdelivered</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #b45f06;"><i>by Val Muller</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He heard the squeaking brakes before
he saw the headlights. That stupid delivery truck again—and he hadn’t ordered a
thing. This would make the fourth time this month the delivery people got it
wrong. Christmas was coming, and Kevin knew things would only get worse. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Kevin checked his watch. 5:00. Would
anyone answer the phone? The other deliveries were always earlier. He got up
from his recliner. Was it too much to ask to be allowed to stay in his warm
bubble and flannel blanket on a cold winter night and enjoy his G-damned
retirement? If it wasn’t the delivery trucks making mistakes, it was the
neighborhood kids with the shouting and the screaming, or the school buses
clogging up traffic and making the roads unpassable at certain times of day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Kevin pulled his robe tighter around
him to brave the winter cold. The rubber soles of his plush slippers gripped
the front porch. Kevin shivered in the cold. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">This was a big box. What the heck was
in it, a garden shed? Yes, same company as last time. Those stupid drivers. He
looked at the address on the label. It wasn’t anyone on his street. It wasn’t
even his city. Where did they find these drivers? He pulled the phone out of
his robe’s pocket. He didn’t even have to look up the number. Already had it on
his phone from last time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It was 5:00 on the dot, and that’s
when those lazy bastards closed. Would they answer? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">A hurried voice answered. Shirley,
same woman as last time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Hello, Mr. Silvan,” she said as soon
as he spoke. Was his voice that recognizable? Sure, this was his fifth call
this month, but certainly they received dozens of calls each day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Listen, your drivers left another one
of these packages out here, and this time it’s not even for someone in my town.
No way am I driving it to—” He glanced at the label. “Springfield, wherever
that is. You need to send your driver back to get it. They just left a minute
ago. Can you radio them or something?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Shirley typed something on the other
end of the line. “No can do, Mr. Silvan. All our drivers are overbooked. It’s
our busy season, you know. Just keep the box. You can donate it or keep it or
trash it or whatever.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Listen, ma’am.” He tried to keep
calm, like his therapist told him, but it was hard to do with so much
incompetence in the world. “Someone is waiting for this box. It’s too big to
fit in my sedan, and I’m not driving to Springfield. You want me to keep the
box. What’s gonna happen to the person waiting for their delivery?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“When it doesn’t arrive, they’ll file
a claim, and our insurance will reimburse the company, and they’ll order
another one, and it’ll get shipped.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Yeah, just like he had to do with his
prescription that was delivered to who-knows-where. Several hours of his
retirement were wasted fixing that little mistake. Was that really easier than
recalling a driver? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“It could be after the holidays by the
time that happens. What if this is a gift for someone?” Kevin hated the
holidays, but fair is fair. Someone else was going to spend hours on the phone
because of this. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“I’m sorry, sir, we just don’t have
the manpower to send someone back out, resort the package, and re-deliver it.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Kevin hung up. Rubbish. He might as
well burn the package in the morning. No, who was he kidding? He would leave it
out for the trash on Tuesday. He went inside and sat in his recliner. Now his
peace was disturbed. The news was over, he was cold, and something stupid was
on TV. His schedule was thrown off. He went upstairs to shower. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">But he couldn’t enjoy his shower. The
box was in his head. He wouldn’t bring it in the house, he decided, but he
would open it to at least see what it was. Outside in the cold, he sliced open
the box. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Son of a…” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">All this fuss for a twelve-foot-tall
inflatable Christmas elf riding a dragon across a rainbow. This wasn’t
Christmas, this was—well, Kevin didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t worth
his time, that was for sure. In the morning, he would push the box to the curb
and slap a “free” sign on it. Let someone else put this atrocity in their yard,
let the person who ordered it suffer for their decision to create demand for
such a thing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He left the thing on the porch and
went up to bed, but he couldn’t fall asleep. Maybe there was more traffic than
usual. Maybe it was the disruption to his routine. But he couldn’t help it. He
needed to set the dang thing up to see how ridiculous it was. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It was surprisingly easy, the stakes
going right into the ground and the thing self-inflating with the flick of a
switch. He watched it inflate and was greeted by several honking horns of
approval.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“Alright,” he muttered to himself.
“I’ll leave the thing up for the night. Let these morons have their bread and
circuses. I’ll tear it down in the morning.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">In the morning, Kevin dressed for his
morning walk and was greeted by several dog-walkers letting their dogs
socialize just beyond his yard while they took turns taking pictures and
selfies with the Atrocity. When they saw him emerge, they called him over,
insisting he pose next to what they called the most fantastic Christmas décor
the neighborhood had known since the great skeleton Santa of 2020. He managed
to hurry away for his morning walk, wondering why no one seemed to have
anything else to do but gawk anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He took an extra loop today to try to
work out the angst caused by the events of the last twelve hours, and when he
returned, there seemed to be even more people. More gawking. More selfies. A
car pulled off to the side, and a woman stepped out to get a selfie. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">“This is amazing!” she said. “It just
puts you in the holiday spirit, doesn’t it?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Kevin raised an eyebrow. “It’s a
dragon. With candy cane wings. Being ridden by an elf. And it’s on a rainbow.
What does this have to do with Christmas?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The woman laughed. “You’re almost as
grumpy as this customer I’ve been dealing with—” As she spoke, her face paled.
She glanced at his house and must have made note of the street number. “Mr.
Silvan?” she asked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Now he recognized her voice. It was
Shirley from the incompetent shipping company. A brief and hideous idea flashed
in his brain—asking her to grab a coffee with him. But she had hurried to her
car, embarrassed, and was driving away before he could decide whether his idea
had any merit. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He went inside and followed a
blissfully boring routine, ending the day in his robe and slippers while
watching the news. Every time headlights flooded his window, he peeked out just
a bit. He hoped maybe, just maybe, the shipping company would make another
mistake or two before the year was up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><b><span style="color: #b45f06;">The Spot Writers—our members: </span></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span lang="IT">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span lang="IT">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span lang="IT">Chiara De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/"><span lang="IT">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span></span><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-30566704545863415872023-11-16T09:55:00.000+01:002023-11-16T09:55:45.654+01:00Dental Daydream<p><span style="text-align: justify;">Welcome to The
Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is to use these words: stain, wax, teeth,
spirit, quiet.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">This week’s
contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is an Italian author and
currently lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes fiction, with a focus on
children’s literature and science fiction.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: x-large;">Dental
Daydream </span></b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i>by
Chiara De Giorgi</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpqjvUxL_keD4bpIRN61kUO0gA0YOyxWeRRdQALsmV0lwVrSyt1YzPRNZK5pYYY_xTyuYl4aS0gYl34b3zMI2COlEA_fPnXfklW22MCJ2Q1QPMUWbdiDM2jLpn2q-clvsGi52KrG9wNkCW7IesF8hx3FyyEQTDbU0bC498_r8zdLr1idVzxyvYcae-oo/s1920/Untitled%20design.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1114" data-original-width="1920" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpqjvUxL_keD4bpIRN61kUO0gA0YOyxWeRRdQALsmV0lwVrSyt1YzPRNZK5pYYY_xTyuYl4aS0gYl34b3zMI2COlEA_fPnXfklW22MCJ2Q1QPMUWbdiDM2jLpn2q-clvsGi52KrG9wNkCW7IesF8hx3FyyEQTDbU0bC498_r8zdLr1idVzxyvYcae-oo/w400-h233/Untitled%20design.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Created with Canva</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Elsa Mon,
beloved author of paranormal romances, was eating a macadamia nut croissant for
breakfast when she felt something crack inside her mouth. She spat noisily into
her napkin and realised it was a piece of tooth, not a piece of macadamia nut.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Oh no”, she
groaned. Now she’d have to go to the dentist. She hated going to the dentist, she
hated getting her teeth fixed… probably even more than she hated her editor, when
she made her cut stuff from the manuscripts she submitted. And she was afraid of
her dentist! He always looked angry, as if his patients’ dental problems were an
insult to him and his profession. Nevertheless, she called the dentist’s office
to make an appointment. Afterwards, she went to the shops downtown to get some
insecticide, as she had found cockroaches in the pantry again. Eww! After
throwing away all the unsealed food packages, she sprinkled the floor and
shelves in the pantry with insecticide powder (it stank so bad that her nose
itched all the time, and she touched her face with her hands before washing
them, so she got a rash on her cheek that looked like a wine stain), then
closed the door and sealed the crack with kitchen towels. Finally, she set
about writing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Her protagonist,
Inés, had just been dumped by her fiancé and had vowed to never again allow the
seductive charms of magical creatures to enchant her. Her ex was a leprechaun
who broke up with her after consulting the family astrologer, who predicted his
death if he married Inés.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><i>Inés had
cried her last tears over her ex-fiancé, Cal O’Whiskey. He was not worth it. If
a magical creature wasn’t willing to die for the sake of her love, then she was
certainly better off without him. She looked in the mirror and thought she
needed a change to enter this new phase of her life. Not a haircut, as they all
did. No, she would do something more original: she wanted a diamond set in a
tooth. Yes. She would make an appointment with her dentist right away. Inés
adored her dentist! He was an ancient spirit and had learned everything he knew
directly from the tooth fairy. There was no one better than him to take care of
her teeth. Confidently, she made the appointment. Before going to work at the
candy factory founded by her great-great-grandfather, Inés indulged in a bath
in her antique bathtub with gilded lion feet. She used rose-scented bath salts
and threw fairy rose petals - a gift from an old lover - into the tub. The
petals twirled delicately and rested on the surface of the water. Around her, a
soft musical symphony blended with the quiet of the morning. Water sprites
loved her and never failed to delight her with their songs when she took a
bath.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Elsa closed her
laptop and brushed her teeth before going to the dentist. At least he would not
complain that she neglected her dental hygiene.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Welcome, Ms
Mon!” Dr Thorn’s assistant, a young punk with a ton of freckles and green hair,
let her in. Elsa always found the place a bit creepy, with all those dentures
on display and the giant posters of dramatically crooked teeth. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">She sat in the dental
chair and closed her eyes as Dr Thorn injected anaesthesia into her gums. When
she opened her eyes again, Dr Thorn’s face was only a few centimetres from
hers. It looked strange, slightly warped. And it wasn’t still, it was swaying,
widening and narrowing all the time. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“How funny”, she
slurred. Saliva dripped down her chin. Anaesthesia was kicking in.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Be silent”,
ordered Dr Thorn.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">The green-haired
boy emerged from behind the lamp above her head. His face was also deformed. He
looked like a frog! Elsa laughed and accidentally spat on Dr Thorn, who was not
amused. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“Rinse your
mouth”, he told her sharply while wiping his face. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Elsa took the
plastic cup Frog-boy was offering and tried to rinse her mouth, but she had no
control of her muscles and the blue liquid trickled down her clothes and onto
the chair.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Dr Thorn groaned,
but stayed calm and simply told her: “We are done. Don’t eat for two hours. If
you are thirsty, drink water.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Soon, Elsa was
home and threw herself on the couch for a nap. When she awoke three hours
later, she felt a bit disoriented, but the anaesthesia had worn off and she
made tea before sitting down to go on writing Inés’ story. She lit a candle to
create the right atmosphere. She placed it on the table but some wax dripped
onto the laptop keyboard. Precisely, on the ‘x’ key. She tried it a couple of
times, it didn’t work. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">“I’ll just skip
‘x’ words for tonight”, she mumbled. “This is a problem for tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><i>Inés entered
Dr Scrubs’ studio and was welcomed by his assistant, a young frog-boy named
Joey Jumpey. In the showcases, resting on red velvet cushions, stylish vampire
teeth with canines of varying lengths were on display. <o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><i>“Dr Scrubs
had an emergency and had to leave”, Joey Jumpey croaked. “Dr Toothpick is going
to replace him.”<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><i>Inés frowned
and was about to reply that she would wait for Dr Scrubs to return, thank you
very much, when Dr Toothpick appeared in the doorway.</i> <i>He was the most
handsome goblin she had ever seen. His skin presented a variety of green hues
that made him look spontaneously elegant, and his flapping ears swayed as if
following a music that only he could hear. Inés followed him, mesmerised, and sat
in the dental chair. As the charming goblin set a tiny diamond in one of Inés’
upper incisors, he held his orange eyes in her chestnut brown ones and chatted
amiably with her. She quickly forgot the vow she had made that morning, not to
fall for another magical creature. But deep inside she felt that the dentist
goblin was her destiny. Yes, she thought, he really is the one! Why else would
we be meeting right now, by sheer coincidence? I have been manufacturing
candies all my life and he is a dentist… I will send him a lot of patients, and
we will live a life full of love, sweetness, and wealth. If this is not destiny…
then what is it?</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Elsa sighed. It
was so beautiful, so easy to imagine Inés’ life in a supernatural world. It always
seemed a mere step away from her own. Wasn’t she using her own life as
inspiration to tell Ines’ adventures, after all? Elsa would meet her goblin
prince, too, sooner or later. Didn’t they say that you attract into your life
what you focus on the most?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">The candle was
almost completely used up. She closed her laptop. Time to go get rid of the
corpses of the cockroaches. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">During the
night, a postcard was slipped into the mail slot on the front door of Elsa’s
house. It lay on the carpet waiting for her to find it in the morning. It was
an invitation. It said: <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">‘My dearest
Elsa, <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">wouldn’t it be
nice to meet under different circumstances from when I handle syringes, pliers,
or a dental drill and you drool and spit? I am convinced that a dinner for two
would be a good opportunity to get to know each other. What do you say? I hope
you’ll like the idea. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Yours, Victor
Thorn’<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Elsa picked up
the postcard before her morning coffee, read it, and was sure that she was
still dreaming. But when the coffee cup was empty, the postcard was still
there. A smile appeared on Elsa’s lips.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><b>*****<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><b>The Spot
Writers—Our Members:<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Phil Yeats:
https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">Chiara De Giorgi:
https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-52050041715331323762023-11-09T15:03:00.013+01:002023-11-09T15:04:16.690+01:00Forest Nymphs<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to The Spot
Writers. This month’s prompt is a story that uses the words stain, wax, teeth,
spirit, and quiet.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">This week’s offering was
written by Phil Yeats. In September, 2021, he published <strong><i><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Souring Seas,</span></i></strong> the first
volume in a precautionary tale about the hazards of ignoring human-induced
climate change. The second volume, <em><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Building Houses of Cards</span></em>,
appeared in May 2022. He’s now published <em><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">They All Come Tumbling Down</span></em>,
the third volume in his The Road to Environmental Armageddon trilogy. For
information about these books, or his older soft-boiled mysteries, visit his
website: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</a>/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;">Forest Nymphs</span></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #990000;"><i>by Phil Yeats </i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p><span style="color: #990000;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He lived alone in a land
of forest nymphs and other kindred spirits. Deep in those quiet woods, he
enjoyed the peace and serenity he needed to get his teeth into his one big
project. It would make his mark in the esoteric world of paranormal research.
Ghost hunters and cryptozoologists dominated the press coverage, but his search
for evidence of nymphs and elves and other delicate winged creatures who cavort
through the forest playing stringed instruments was much more appealing.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">They’re terribly shy and
magically disappear whenever anyone comes near. That means no one’s ever seen
one. Some say they’ve caught a glimpse. But without solid evidence, everyone
ignores their claims.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The idea of capturing or
harming one of the delicate creatures was abhorrent, so he sought
non-intrusive, non-harmful evidence for their existence. He started with
cameras hidden amongst the trees. They had motion sensors that triggered silent
shutters. When he checked them, they’d usually been triggered, some many times.
None captured mages of fairies, elves, or nymphs. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Next, he’d experimented with
wax, trying to develop the perfect formulation. It must harden at just the
right rate to preserve footprints without harming the delicate creatures. He tried
so many waxes smeared on so many forest surfaces without once capturing a
footprint.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Then one day, he noticed faint
stains on the surface of the wax. What could they be? More careful observation revealed
little trails of stain meandering through the wax. No indentations or footprint-like
shapes, just faint stains on the smooth surface.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Elves in Tolkien’s Middle-Earth
were quite tall, one and a half to almost two metres, but older legends made
them shorter. He inspected the stains on several surfaces. They weren’t
continuous, but small patches about ten centimetres long, and many were about
forty centimetres apart. Reasonable, he thought for footprints of a bipedal
creature about one metre tall.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">He tried using a scalpel
to scrape up samples of the stains, but they disappeared when his blade touched
them. A chemistry lab would have detectors that could identify mysterious
chemicals, but he didn’t have access to such esoteric gear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">He did, however, have a
black light. He could shine his light on the stains and see if they responded
to ultraviolet light. Hardly definitive, but better than nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">He made his measurements during
the next new moon. Glowing patches appeared when he scanned the forest floor
with his black light. The nearby tree branches highlighted more areas. If he
had a big enough light, or enough smaller lights, he could illuminate the
entire forest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Amazing, and an important
discovery. He hurried home to search the net for similar observations. Then
he’d plan the next steps in his quest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #990000;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><strong><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #990000;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span></span></strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Val
Muller: </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Catherine
A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/m">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Chiara
De Giorgi: </span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/"><span lang="IT" style="mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-2452964933134470712023-11-02T09:43:00.004+01:002023-11-02T09:43:13.836+01:00Stains and Spirits<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">Welcome to The Spot Writers. The prompt for this </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">cycle is to use these words: stain, wax, teeth,
spirit, quiet.</span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Along with several short story collections, books of poetry, and
two novels, Cathy has published three anthologies under her imprint, MacKenzie
Publishing. The latest one is titled NO ONE SHOULD KISS A FROG, available on
Amazon and other retailers—300 pages of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry by 75
authors around the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also has a
call out for submissions for another anthology to be published in 2024, to be
titled SUCH A LOSS. Contact <a href="mailto:SuchALossAnthology@gmail.com"><span style="color: black;">SuchALossAnthology@gmail.com</span></a> for submission
guidelines. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Cathy continues with Melvin, a character she hopes to be soon done
with...<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="color: #38761d;">***<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Stains and Spirits</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p align="center" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">by Cathy MacKenzie</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Marie!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Within seconds, his wife was within his view. Almost bowing before
him as if he were a king. Well, he was, wasn’t he?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Melvin, what is it? Are you okay?” Her head rotated left to
right, right to left, as if she were a robot. She wasn’t, of course, but he
sometimes wished she was so he didn’t have to listen to her incessant
nattering. Robots could be turned off with a flick of the switch.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“I just had a revelation, Marie.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“A revelation?” She peered at him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Yes. I think we need to get our teeth cleaned. Bleached, maybe.
Wouldn’t you like to have white teeth?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She stared. “What the hell, Melvin. What’s brought this on?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Ha, wouldn’t you like to know.</span></i><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> “We have stained teeth, Marie. Don’t you think our teeth are
stained?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She glared at him. “What? My teeth are fine, Melvin. I was just at
the dentist last week. The hygienist told me she’d never seen such clean
teeth.” She paused, examined his face. “Yours aren’t exactly white. Not with
your implants. Your teeth are all over the colour map.” She smiled, revealing
perfect, pristine teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">It was his turn to be stymied. He couldn’t help he’d had a few
rotten teeth. But his gums were healthy. He’d had four implants. Couldn’t help
the colouring was off.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“You have stains, Melvin. And you leave toothpaste all over the
counter.” She sighed. “You’re helpless. Soooooooooooooooo helpless.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Marie, what you talking about?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Oh, Mel. I truly, truly give up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Marie, don’t do this to me.” He was quiet for far too long. It
took every ounce of his energy to not open his mouth and spout non-niceties.
Had his idea backfired? He’d thought if he (and Marie) went to the dentist and
got their teeth whitened that the next time he went down to the lake that
Kailani might appear. Perhaps she was turned on by white teeth. Or was she just
a spirit? Maybe not even that: maybe a figment of his imagination.
Still...wouldn’t he—anyone—like pristine white teeth? Until this moment, he
hadn’t realized his wife’s teeth were that perfect. Thought it might be a bit
of a husband/wife bonding, too. Wasn’t all about Kailani.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He opened his mouth. Shut it just as fast. Where the heck had Kailani
been? It’d been forever since he’d seen her. He’d almost forgotten she ever
existed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Marie stomped out of the kitchen as if she’d read his mind, that
she knew about Kailani. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">No, she couldn’t. Marie couldn’t read minds. She’d never even had
her fortune told. “I’m safe,” he mumbled. But he’d sure like to see Kailani one
more time. It was November. He’d been slack. The kayaks were safely put away in
the cabin. If he didn’t see her soon, he wouldn’t see her until the spring or
summer of 2024—if then. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He raced after Marie. Found her in the bathroom, where she always
disappeared to when upset. “I’m sorry, Marie. I lost my cool.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Mel, it’s fine. I’m just in a horrid mood today.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He pondered. “How about if I light some candles? We can sit
around. Maybe neck a bit. William’s not going to be home for another hour or
so, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He heard her sigh from behind the closed door. “Not tonight, Mel.
The candles you bought are cheap. There’s always too much wax on the counter. I
don’t feel like cleaning tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Really? He was trying to play nice and all she cared about was a
bit of wax on the counter? He combed his fingers through his hair, wishing, as
always, that he had more and that it wasn’t so grey. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled,
walking away. Perhaps he’d try again tomorrow. If, of course, Marie got a good night’s
sleep. If not, who knows how she’d react.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He peered out the window. Wasn’t dark yet. Was there a chance
Kailani might be down on the beach despite the cold weather? It wasn’t quite
six o’clock. Still light enough to see her if she appeared. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">To heck with Marie! He grabbed his coat out of the closet and a
flashlight from the cupboard and headed outside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The beach was deserted as he knew it would be. Decks & Docks
had removed their docks from the water a couple of weeks ago. He stood on the
dilapidated floating dock that had been on land for several summers. Next
season, he’d have to tear it apart and replace it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Kailani, where are you?” he mumbled. He scanned the lake. Looked
at the sky. Nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Kailani!” he couldn’t help but shriek. He looked around, hoping
neighbours, if out and about, were out of earshot. They’d think he was crazy if
they heard him. He hated to admit it, but perhaps he was. He was beginning to
think Kailani had never been real. That he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">might
</i>be crazy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He sighed and jumped off the dock. There was always next year,
albeit an eternity until kayak weather.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">To heck with Kailani! To heck with Marie! Tomorrow he was calling Portside
Dental. “White teeth here I come!” If nothing else, at least he’d smile more
while dreaming of Kailani during the upcoming winter months. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Halfway up the path to the house, he stopped. What was that? Positive
he’d heard something, he turned. The shoreline was obscured by trees; he was
too far away. But he could see part of the lake that disappeared into the
horizon. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">What? It looked like a witch. On a broom. Isn’t that how witches
travelled? But...Halloween had been on the thirty-first. Today was November
second. He looked again. No, not a witch. Wasn’t it Kailani? Yes, it was. And
the blue! What? Yes, she was flying high in the sky in a blue kayak.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Not my kayak!” He flailed his arms. Clenched his fists. “You
better not be in my Blue Origin!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">He raced to the cabin. Opened the door. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">No blue kayak. Only the two green ones. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #38761d;">***<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #38761d;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Val Muller: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/" target="_blank"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Catherine A. MacKenzie: </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/" target="_blank"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: IT;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</span></a></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;">Chiara De Giorgi: <span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0cm; padding: 0cm;"><a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</a></span></span><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT" style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: IT;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-25279960899370691012023-10-26T10:28:00.001+02:002023-10-26T10:28:01.734+02:00All Hallows Magic<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">Welcome to the Spot
Writers. This month’s prompt is to use these five words in a tale: wax, teeth,
stain, spirit, quiet. This week’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of
the Corgi Capers kidlit mystery series.</span></strong></p>
<p align="center" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">All Hallows Magic</span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></strong></p>
<p align="center" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">by Val Muller</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">“Wax candies,” Grandma
was saying. “They were wax and filled with juice. You bit into them and then
drank the juice.” <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">Rick and Ashley eyed
each other. That sounded disgusting, and they wondered if Grandma really had
such candies. Sometimes, the world she described seemed too strange to be real.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">“Now my favorite
Halloween memory was when I actually scared my mom. I mean really, truly scared
her.” Grandma’s eyes turned hazy and far away, like she was seeing back in
time. She shifted the large bowl of candy on her lap, and then she peeked out
the window.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">“No one’s coming,
Grandma.” Rick shrugged. “No one trick or treats anymore.” His phone dinged,
and he checked it, typing. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">Grandma seemed not to
have heard—like Rick’s words passed right through her. Like she was a ghost. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">“The Halloween I scared
my mom,” she continued, “I saved all my babysitting money for these vampire
teeth, stage quality. Not those cheap plastic ones. These looked like real
teeth, and you stuck them onto your incisors with adhesive. You could even eat with
them on. I put them on, came downstairs in my street clothes, smiled at mom,
and her face went white.” <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">Ashely looked up from
her phone. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">“I looked just like a
vampire.” Grandma chuckled. “That was the true spirit of Halloween. A little
bit of fright, a little discomfort. Reminds us we’re alive. That’s the whole
point.” <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">Rick sighed and turned
on his Xbox. “No one’s coming, Grandma,” he repeated. “There aren’t any trick
or treaters anymore.” He picked up the controller and started his game. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">Aside from the drone of
Xbox racing, the room grew quiet. The light from Grandma’s half dozen
jack-o-lanterns on the front porch danced against the front windows, making
them look like stained glass. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">There was a lull in
Rick’s game. Footsteps echoed on the front porch. Ashley exchanged a look with
Grandma, who smiled. Ashely put down her phone. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;">The doorbell rang. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></p><p><strong><span lang="EN-US" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span lang="EN-US"><span style="color: #990000;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span></span></strong><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span lang="EN-US">Val Muller: <a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span lang="EN-US">Catherine A. MacKenzie: <a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span lang="EN-US">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span lang="EN-US">Chiara De Giorgi: <a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-8075629037963664412023-10-19T10:47:00.001+02:002023-10-22T19:23:00.197+02:00Godot, waiting<p><span style="text-align: justify;">Welcome to The
Spot Writers. The prompt for this cycle is to write a story that involves
waiting for something.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">This week’s
contribution comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara is an Italian author and
currently lives in Berlin, Germany. She writes fiction, with a focus on
children’s literature and science fiction.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #e69138; font-size: x-large;">Godot,
waiting</span><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e69138;">(Inspired
by ‘Waiting for Godot’ by Samuel Beckett)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #e69138;">by
Chiara De Giorgi</span></i><o:p></o:p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw2ngy1w-ds2NhytvHjWgcGjAPCl7j74hiY4re1IHTH1lqsyZsfc6z9Cb1JYAkwXxwVGqUUzxo90ubQne0DIo5PG7eLApfT0sqpIJnerwzyRihIF3BBYH5CgsrW6eoeP8H9xZmFvCJq8xR8vq-9gO9avzytIdOERqGrM34zQn8z_XXQ4hhwXFOWCUb8zE/s1400/WAITING%20FOR%20GODOT.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1400" data-original-width="1400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw2ngy1w-ds2NhytvHjWgcGjAPCl7j74hiY4re1IHTH1lqsyZsfc6z9Cb1JYAkwXxwVGqUUzxo90ubQne0DIo5PG7eLApfT0sqpIJnerwzyRihIF3BBYH5CgsrW6eoeP8H9xZmFvCJq8xR8vq-9gO9avzytIdOERqGrM34zQn8z_XXQ4hhwXFOWCUb8zE/s320/WAITING%20FOR%20GODOT.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Created with Canva</span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">A
misunderstanding, dumb friends, and their excessive flair for drama. That’s how
I became a celebrity.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">First of all,
let’s be clear: I did not stand my friends up. I told them I would meet them by
the old pine tree in the middle of Main Square in the city where we used to
live at the time. And where did they go? They went and waited (reportedly for
hours) under the big oak tree at the entrance to Central Park.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Combined, those
two have as much brains as a hen. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">With nothing
better to do while they waited for me at the wrong coordinates, they talked and
talked and talked. If the stories are to be believed, they exchanged profound,
albeit confused, thoughts. And they somehow convinced themselves that I would
soon come and shed light on their doubts and existential questions. I would
dispense upon them a sort of superior wisdom - unclear where I was supposed to
get it from, by the way. But I guess that, to their brains the size of half a
walnut each, common sense and logic are extraordinary notions. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">I just promised
them a beer after work, for Chrissake! We exchanged a few messages during the
course of the day, and I sensed that they were a bit stressed. It felt like the
nice thing to do, to buy them a beer and chill out together for a couple of
hours on a Friday night. Did they try to call or message me, when they didn’t
see me by the oak tree? Of course they didn’t, and they didn’t even reply to <i>my</i>
messages or pick up the phone when <i>I</i> called, for that matter. Too
engrossed in their philosophical talks for that, I surmise.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">I finally
managed to reach them and clear up the misunderstanding about the meeting point
the next morning. I suggested that we make up for the lost night out, the beer,
and the chilling that same evening, and arranged for us to meet by the oak tree
in Central Park. I figured that, since they had been there the night before,
they might as well go back, to reduce the risk of them getting lost looking for
the big pine tree in Main Square. (It’s the only pine tree and it’s right in
the middle of the square, but at that point I wasn’t relying much on their
psychomotor skills). So where do you think they went, those two knuckleheads? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Exactly. To the
pine tree in Main Square - at least, they found it. While, of course, I was
waiting for them by the oak tree in Central Park. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Once again busy
exposing existential issues to each other, they ignored my calls and messages.
Now, I must confess: I suspected that they were in Main Square, but by then I’d
had enough of their dumbness. I went for a beer by myself and wasted some time
on social media until I was bored and went home. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">This was on Saturday
night. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">By Monday, the
story had blown way out of proportion. They had turned me into some sort of
elusive entity endowed with cognitive abilities and enlightened, mysterious
insights - which, I am sorry to say, I do not possess in reality - besides
being someone who stands their friends up, of course.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Godot this, Godot
that… Between those who wanted to insult me for snubbing my friends two nights
in a row, and those who wanted to question me about the meaning of life and the
purpose of waiting, I couldn’t take two steps without being stopped.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">I changed my
name, moved to a different city, but it was all in vain. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">The two
dunderheads were interviewed, the story ended up in the newspaper, a book was
written, it was turned into a theatre script, and I lost count of the money I
could have made if I had secured the rights to their absurd story. I decided to
release my own version of the events but, since it was way less intriguing than
what those two dummies had concocted, it was a complete flop. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Things changed
when I started my rock band: the <i>Waiting for Godot</i>. We write lyrics that
are filled with existential questions and abstruse phrases. The more obscure
and intricate they are, the more people like them. You have no idea! Dissertations
have been written on the refrain of one of our singles: <i>‘Ambiguity is to
dare to wonder’</i>*. The higher meaning that people are ready to attach to
sentences that make no sense at all should be the subject for an in-depth study.
<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Our cover
designer prepared an enigmatic cover for our new album: a black, random, and
symmetrical splotch on a white background. This attracted the attention of a Mr
Rorschach, renowned psychoanalyst, who developed a personality test around it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">This has clearly
gotten out of hand. I just don't know how to fix it. I no longer know how to
anticipate the consequences of my actions: no matter how insignificant it seems
in the moment, every little decision has unforeseen repercussions of an
unjustified magnitude. It is as if the butterfly whose fluttering wings cause a
hurricane on the other side of the world has wings the size of a hippopotamus
each. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Think I’m over-reacting?
Messages started popping up on my phone last week. The source has been
identified as alien. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><i>‘Don’t feel
sorry about being dead’<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><i>‘You can
choose to stop using demons’<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><i>‘Don’t be
healthy, insist that you are a gnome’<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><i>‘You don’t
have to imagine the air you breathe’<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><i>‘Dare to
remind yourself that you are painful’<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">The agents at
Area 51 have been alerted and they are monitoring my phone. All the world’s top
psychiatrists are at work to interpret the hidden meanings of these alien
messages. Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring. Or, to say it with the lyrics
of one of my songs, <i>‘Surrender. Or don’t’</i>.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">_________________<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">* all the unlikely
quotes were generated by InspiroBot, “an artificial intelligence dedicated to
generating unlimited amounts of unique inspirational quotes for endless
enrichment of pointless human existence” (<a href="https://inspirobot.me/">https://inspirobot.me/</a>)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #e69138;">***<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: #e69138;">The Spot
Writers—Our Members:</span><o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT">Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT">Catherine A. MacKenzie:
https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">Phil Yeats:
https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT">Chiara De Giorgi:
https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;"><span lang="IT"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5818390058179025026.post-33657562988565366482023-10-12T11:53:00.001+02:002023-10-12T11:53:42.517+02:00Questions<p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a story involving waiting.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">This week’s story was written by Phil Yeats. In September, 2021, he published <em><b>The Souring Seas,</b></em> the first volume in a precautionary tale about the hazards of ignoring human-induced climate change. The second volume, <em>Building Houses of Cards</em>, appeared in May 2022. He’s now published <em>They All Come Tumbling Down</em>, the final volume in his The Road to Environmental Armageddon trilogy. For information about these books, or his older soft-boiled mysteries, visit his website <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/" style="color: #954f72;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com</a>/<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Questions</span></b><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i>by Phil Yeats</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">The white-haired scientist with a scraggly beard waited in the laboratory for the results of his experiment. Every time he ran it, the answer was different. He’d repeat it until he generated the same result twice in a row. Then he’d know. He didn’t know what he’d learn, but at least he’d learn something.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">On day 728, the answer was identical to the one he produced a day earlier. Was 728 days significant? Or was it 728 repetitions of his experiment? Or was 728 irrelevant? If he repeated his experiment, would he achieve his result in a different number of days or repetitions?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">He glanced at his watch and rushed from his lab. Only five minutes to reach the venue for his weekly lecture on the philosophy of science.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">After describing his experiment, he gazed at the faces crowding the large lecture hall. “You see, my young friends, the dangers of undertaking such a quest. The experiment will inevitably lead to more questions and more experiments. The process will repeat until…” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">He paused, watching for their reaction. No one showed any animation. “That brings me to the real question. Where will we stand when our investigations generate no new questions?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="color: #134f5c;">*****<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><strong><span lang="EN-CA"><span style="color: #134f5c;">The Spot Writers—Our Members:</span></span></strong><b><span lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Val Muller: <a href="http://www.valmuller.com/blog/" style="color: #954f72;">http://www.valmuller.com/blog/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Catherine A. MacKenzie: <a href="https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/" style="color: #954f72;">https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Phil Yeats: <a href="https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/m" style="color: #954f72;">https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA">Chiara De Giorgi: <a href="https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/" style="color: #954f72;">https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 22px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-CA"> </span></p>Chiarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596583649235272018noreply@blogger.com0