I’m pretty judge-y when it comes to Christmas carols. I’ve always found “The Little Drummer Boy” well– annoying. It strikes me as repetitive and a little whiny. And the stop motion, 1968, film version is way too sad to describe … Continue reading
Before we bang a couple prompts together in the hope of generating a flash of light, it is one week until Christmas!! (Are you panicking? I have so many keto cookies to make!)
And I wanted to remind you lovely folks that I wrote a Christmas song with my brilliant and talented friend Laura Joy called The Light Shineth On (iTunes has it listed as The Darkness Knew it Not, but whatever). If you are looking to add a Christ-centered tune to your Christmas collection you can find it under Laura’s name in most of the music-y places.
PROMPTS: golfer, memory of a kiss
The PGA schedule doesn’t care about your life.
It doesn’t care about the weather or your aching back.
It doesn’t care that two thousand miles away a woman is lying in state and will be buried tomorrow.
The PGA cares about grass textures and sponsors and how many strokes for bogey. So I’m walking up to the tee. I’m taking whichever club the caddy hands me. I’m taking a deep, deep breath, the kind that makes you remember your forgotten diaphragm.
Is the crowd hushed? I don’t know.
Is the wind favorable? Why should I care?
I’m looking down at the ball. The ball that took me away too many times. The ball that earned our livelihood and made my name known among the right sorts of people. My jaw clenches. I was the one who thought they were the right sort. She was always begging off early, cancelling this dinner or that party.
I’m still staring at the ball. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here. So I square up.
Some coaches voice echos from years back, “Get your head on the green.”
But then a softer voice, “It’s fine, baby. Go snag that title.”
And then her lips had hushed any argument, warm and tender. I had thought how lucky I was. How lucky I was.
Everything’s wrong. My heart, my posture, my grip. But I swing anyway. I barely connect with the ball. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because I saw the tears in her eyes. I heard the difference in her goodbye. I told myself I’d figure it out when I got back.
Lies.
Like telling myself this morning over my orange juice that I’d win this one for her. But she wouldn’t care about that. She never cared about any of this. And now I hate this game, like I hate myself.
But still I tee up again.
Sorry it’s not a happy tale. That’s the risk of letting things just flow as they are. That’s the nature of flash fiction. I’d love to see you take these prompts and give them a solid fifteen minutes. Put your responses in the comments, even if it’s just a paragraph or a really tight sentence or two.
Merry Christmas and keep writing!!
As an antidote to the post publication doldrums I have decided to do a daily flash fiction to get the writer brain going and keep the sentence construction chops sharp. On Fridays I think I will do it here, live, … Continue reading
I have a thing with lampposts… Continue reading
One of our favorite Christmas traditions growing up was turning off all the lights in the house except those on the Christmas Tree. Then we would lay on the floor around the tree and listen to classic Christmas music while watching the designs the tree lights made on the ceiling from between the branches. We always had a live Christmas tree.
This was often something we did on Christmas Eve. It was very relaxing and I think Dad and Mom did it to calm us all down so we would sleep. But we loved it every year. Then we would have all the kids sleep in the family room down stairs on Christmas Eve. We used to watch Christmas movies or old Hogan’s Heroes reruns until we fell asleep. To this day Hogan’s Heroes always reminds me of Christmas.
On Christmas morning we would get up and we had to get fully dressed before going to get our presents. We also had to eat breakfast. My mom would always make home-made granola for Christmas morning and Eggnog. After everyone was fed and dressed, would line up on the stairs in order of age – youngest to oldest with the youngest leading the line. Then we all went up into the front room where we would get our stockings and sit around the tree. Dad always handed out the gifts one at a time and we had to watch each person open their gift before the next person got his gift. Once the gifts were open we spent time making and enjoying Russian Tea and whatever was in our stockings. It was usually an apple, orange, lots of peanuts, and a few chocolates.
My Grandma and Grandpa would come over on Christmas too, usually in time to open gifts but sometimes only for dinner. Our Christmas dinner was usually more of Christmas lunch and then we’d leave it out to pick at it the rest of the day. It was rare that we ever left the house on Christmas day. We simply stayed home and enjoyed each other’s company. That was what Christmas was all about for us – simply putting everything else to the side and being together without other things demanding our time. I do miss that but I’m excited for my husband and I to make our own traditions too.
Rebecca Lamoreaux grew up reading every book she could get her hands on. Besides reading and writing, she enjoys dancing, singing, playing her viola, and riding her bike. After earning her BA in English – emphasis in Creative Writing, she traveled to and lived in several different countries, obtained many ideas for her writing, and studied literature in different cultures. She splits her time between a dental office, her book marketing business – Loving The Book, and writing when she can. Rebecca currently lives in Arizona with her husband.
You can find her at:
http://rebeccalamoreaux-anauthorinprogress.blogspot.com/
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