Mary Rand Hess

Children's Writer

Composer

"Wannabe Dancer"

Story Prompter

 

Winter Entries 

 

 

Haiku

By Ev

a sliver of sky

lights too bright to see the stars

it's human progress

 

 

 

By Deb Marshall

Chloe's fingers tingled. Her toes didn't. They were numb. The cold winter walk was worth it. She was here. Radio City. And she was going to sing, no matter what. Even if she had to do it outside--all in one frosty breath.



 

 

By Julia

It had been three weeks since the ball dropped. All the crazy out-of-towners had gone home and the street was covered with grimy snow, not the rainbow confetti that flew around your boots at the swish of a pant leg.  I’d made resolutions every January first since I could remember. Get John to notice me, learn how to ride a horse, be nice to Marissa Connors, smudge my locker at school; the list went on and on, a lot like Mrs. MacGregor in World History.   So, John had noticed me, when I slipped and fell flat on my face in the cafeteria. I was taking riding lessons on Thursdays at the stable on the edge of town – in exchange for mucking out the stalls every day after school. Marissa Connors thinks I actually like her now. And, I almost got detention for smudging my locker. Fortunately, the school secretary is a firm believer in smudging and other alternative methods of clearing one’s private spaces. But, those were last year’s resolutions. This year, I made only one…and my whole future depended on it happening.

 

 

 

 

 

By Amy Kollar

Lisa stepped out of the taxicab and tied her waistcoat tight around her. The New York evening air was crisp, but that was not the reason for her chills. She hadn't seen her father in 9 years and now she felt so small stepping out into this great big city. The lights flashing all around her made Lisa's mind race.  What if he doesn't remember me? or What if he has a new family and doesn't care for this surprise visit?  Her Dad had been sick for years. Maybe he was no longer living in this apartment.  Maybe he was no longer living at all. The sound of Lisa's heals clicking against the cold cement suddenly stopped as she froze in front of a large neon red Radio City sign. She breathed in the winter air and felt it numb her chest.  She could see his high-rise apartment complex in the distance.  So many lights, so overwhelming.  She caught a glimpse of another taxicab heading in the opposite direction out of the corner of her eye.  Her feet felt glued to the street below.  She glanced down at he walkway one last time before looking forward again.  She was so cold her hands were now shaking and the warmth from the lights in front of her were drawing her closer to a hug from her estranged father.

 

 
 
By Krista Linza

"I dare you to say it now," Lexi said with her signature flash of mischief in her piercing blue eyes. 

 

"I won't," I replied, sounding somewhat hesitant although the voice inside me was much more adamant about the idea.  This wasn't the first time my thoughts and what I actually verbalized were at odds.  My voice and actions were frequently disconnected from what I yearned for in my heart-especially in the last year. 

 

"You can't say it!" Lexi stated gleefully.  "No New Yorker can- and you, my dear sister, are now a New Yorker!" 

 

Lexi practically shouted my new residential status on the busy street.  Of course, no one bothered a glance at her declaration among the beeping horns, cell phone chatter or hailing down cabs on this energetic Saturday night in NYC.  People always smiled at Lexi-even the occasional jaded New Yorker-her excitement is infectious.

 

"Flexi-Lexi" is the nickname my parents gave her from the time she was three years old.  No matter what the situation, she never complains.  She always makes the best of every situation and genuinely has fun doing everything.  Her adventurous spirit landed her in NYC, after a few stints in Seattle, South Korea, Sedona and Amsterdam. 

 

I inherited my parents' adversity to change.  After attending college 50 miles from home, I moved in with my college sweetheart into his mother's house, with her still living there.  Six years later, I was in the same situation.  The temporary living arrangement was too comfortable for my complacent boyfriend to want to change.  "Why pay rent or cook or clean when Mom does it for both of us?" he'd ask anytime I'd try to convince him we should move out.  "Let's discuss it during the next commercial break," he'd always say, and at that point, I'd give up.  Why exhaust myself with another pointless discussion?  He was never going to change.  If I was so miserable in this rut, I knew I'd have to do something about it.

 

In my last conversation with Lexi, while secretly resenting my little sister and feeling incredible guilt (she's my sister, why wouldn't I want her to be happy??) I countered her every tale of visiting cool clubs, parties and meeting people at happy hours with complaints of my miserable life.  She finally snapped, uncharacteristic for happy-go-lucky Lexi:  "SAM!"  She said with an intensity that scared me.  "Live here or die there." 

 

That was Thursday night.  After a fitful night of sleep on the couch (my boyfriend kicked me out of the bedroom for disturbing him) I called in to work "sick" on Friday, packed up some clothes, gave my boyfriend a lame excuse I was going to stay with Lexi, “to offer her some stability" and took a train to NYC.

 

When Lexi picked me up at the train station Friday night she was elated.  "I'm so happy you're staying with me.  You're going to love living in NY as much as I do.  I have so much to show you!"

 

"Don't get too excited, Lex, it's just for the weekend," I said.  Lexi smiled widely and said simultaneously with my internal voice:  "I don't think so, you're here to stay."

 

 

 

Autumn Entries

 

Haiku

By Christina Nienaber Shotwell

 

the gate's still fastened 

to the hollow just beyond

hidden by the pines
 

 

Lone Pine Grieving

By Roger Vaughan Carr
         It was on a night of storm that Ma said goodbye.  He’d asked 
her not to go for any sawbones or even preacher.  He said he could 
feel it in his bones that his time had passed, and asked if she'd just 
stay there by him - as it had been these past fifty years or more - and silently 
remember; or pretend.  She did not want him to go; but she knew it 
was time, too, so she sat beside him mostly, her fingers twining with 
his.  A little food; some broth; some caring.  And then the storm 
came, and when the lightning stuck down the old pine in the yard, 
and the house itself shuddered with the thunderous explosion of 
the air, he went...  The boys came out the day after the funeral and 
cleaned away the shattered top and branches; but she asked them to 
leave the trunk.  It stood there so tall and strong.  It helped her 
remember the way they were; her and Pa… when they were young…

 

 

By Wendy Attmore

 

         Apple picking's over, my dog licks up the peels and cinnamon

 

 

on the kitchen floor.  Grab the vanilla ice cream, the first pie of the

 

year is browned to a crisp.  Fall is here…

 

 

 

By Mussel Bound
         The image of the place where I grew up had never left my mind - 
or so I thought.  Rolling up to the old, battered shack though, my 
heart thudded in my chest, and that old  familiar knot returned to my 
stomach as if it had never left.  So much for outgrowing your past.  
The place looked so familiar yet so strange - was it always this small?  Even the burned out tree stump in front brought a flood of 
memories I’d thought long forgotten.  I sat behind the wheel for 
another 15 minutes, working up the strength to walk up and knock 
on the door.  How would they react? 
 
And here is my attempt at the photo.  
 
 
Haiku
By Mary Rand Hess
 
gone are my branches
still hidden under earth's dust
roots that won't let go
 
 
Thank you to all who entered.  Look for the next 
Story Prompter photo coming soon...

 

Other story prompter ideas...

The song whispers a story

Listen to a song; imagine that song is the theme to a story.  Write a short (or long) story based on what you hear and start creating.  

 

The story inspires a story

Take a favorite short story, and rewrite the story from the perspective of a secondary character (a classic exercise from Professor Cheuse's class).

 

Randomness is ingeniousness 

Cut out random pictures from magazines and newspapers.  Mix the pictures up in a hat, bowl, or whatever, and then start pickin'.  The picture you pluck is the inspiration for your next poem or story.

 

Dictionary hunt

Hunt for words that sound delicious to the ear.  Try to write one poem using all those words.  The trick is not to plan, just fetch, and write.  It may be nonsense; it may just be genius. 

 

 

Photo by Greg Hess

  Go for the dream!