October mornings are so beautiful once the sun has roused and shined her light upon us. I’m feeling at ease, basking in the sun’s warmth, tapping on my keyboard and sipping my second cup of tea. I love this morning ritual. A friend had introduced me to blogging in 2010. I started out at Blogger, posting photos and a few blurbs. It was a struggle as I was a late comer to the computer and the digital world. I was still lugging a camera with film when school kids had cell phones with cameras. It was frustrating but fun learning. I abandoned Blogger and my blog for a couple of years. Then I found WordPress, an easier fit for me.

I’ve created this writing space at the end of May 2012 – 10 years and 4 months ago when blogging was a rage. I’ve been writing, writing and still writing since, falling off now and again. I wrote flash fiction for Friday Fictioneers for a couple of years. It was a great supportive community for learning. I wrote fiction of 100 words. It suited me well. And checking back this morning, I’ve been doing the Ultimate Blog Challenge as early as April, 2014. I can remember missing just one challlenge – this past July. I guess I do have discipline and staying power.

In the beginning I had a lofty goal of writing a thousand words a day, hence the name of my blog. I dream of writing that great Chinese Canadian novel. I joined NaNoWriMo a couple of times. I soon discovered that it was all beyond me. I haven’t ever made the 1000 words at a single write yet. I am not crushed. I’ve come to my senses and just write – a sentence, a paragraph, whatever I am capable at the time. I’ve come back to my first goal – to write for the joy of it. I am not competitive but I can get hooked into it sometimes. I am paying attention, focusing on my first goal, not getting distracted, write, share and read at least the 2 must posts.


January 27, day 27 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. I thought I would get on today’s post early rather than late. It might give my voice a different tone. I’m not always tired and bluesy. If I was a singer, it would be an asset. It would be an honour to be called the Empress of the Blues. But that title belonged to Bessie Smith. She was a renowned blues singer during the Jazz Age. She rose from poverty with a mighty and strong voice. She was killed in an automobile accident at the age of 43 in 1937. Her grave was unmarked until a tombstone was erected on August 7, 1970, paid for by the singer Janis Joplin and Juanita Green, who as a child had done housework for Smith.

Her life is such an interesting story. We each have our own story to tell. They’re equally interesting. It’s in the way of telling and how we feel about our stories. I see stories in pictures. I see pictures in stories. In the same way, I tell my stories – one evokes the other. When I see the photo of our house in China, I remember playing up on the rooftop. I saw my first ghosts there. It wasn’t that I ‘saw’ but rather felt their presence. I remember my mother telling me they’re our ancestors and not to be afraid. I also ‘saw’ someone standing by our bed one evening. It was more of a shadow than anything. At the time I was still sleeping in the same bed as my mother. It was made of boards, covered with quilts. Our pillows were wooden blocks. I don’t remember them being uncomfortable though. Aren’t childhood memories/stories wonderful?

I used to write flash fiction for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Rochelle is a published author of several books and a watercolour artist. For Friday Fictioneers we write a story of 100 words to a photo prompt. It was a good fit and practice for me. I’ve learned to make every word count and to hone out needless, excessive words. We interact with each other much like on the Ultimate Blog Challenge. You read me, I read me. Then we critique each other – in a positive constructive way. The Dentist is one of my flash fictions that still has the photo prompt in the post. I’ve removed the photo prompt in most of the posts to free up room in my media library.

This is the long and short of my post. Not my best but not my worse. It has a beginning, a middle and an ending. Now I’m off to work on my watercolours. What is your story?


I used to write flash fiction on Friday Fictioneers. It’s a writing challenge presented by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. It’s a story of a 100 words to a photo prompt. My purpose in doing it was to hone my writing skill, to say what I need to without excessive words. Each story had a beginning, a middle and an ending. Each part has equal importance and equal difficulty. Now that I’ve made a beginning, let me see if I can sustain the middle. Maybe by the end, I will haved honed my living skills to a T.

Online challenges are easy to start for me because I choose the ones I like. For the most part, I have completed most of them. Right now I am a little behind with the100dayproject of sewing a quilt block a day. I made up a bit with 2 blocks this morning. Since I’m trying to divorce myself from my iPhone, I left it upstairs. I got over an hour of uninterrupted sewing. That’s one way of freeing myself from that appendage for awhile. It is not an easy task. I get phantom pains. It doesn’t help that I’ve joined a greenhouse and garden online group. It’s a double edged sword. On one hand it is nice to connect, learn and share experiences with other greenhouse gardeners. On the other, it’s distracting and time consuming.

Well, it is almost lunch time. Another beautiful though not as warm day. It’s crazy that it got up to 25℃ yesterday and today’s high is only 11℃. The lows Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday are all in the minuses. I’m become very observant of our temperatures since we got the greenhouse. I wonder if it was so erratic other years. I’m feeling more concern about the future of our planet. However, I shall try not to feel hopeless and despondent about the future. I know I am doing my best to lighten my carbon footprint on this earth.


It’s Wednesday and snowing big times here in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. It’s a good day for storytelling.  What better venue than the Friday Fictioneers. We like to tell stories of 100 words to a photo prompt.  We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  Here is my story.


I sat at the base of the tree, cradled by two roots. I gazed across the pond. Right out there in the middle was where my brother and I got stuck. We were chasing the water buffalo with sticks. We didn’t get very far before we couldn’t go at all. We had to be rescued. Boy, did mother give it to us after! We were soaked and caked in mud.

Those were the good memories. What haunted me still was the memory of my grandmother being publicly humiliated and persecuted by the village under this very tree many years ago.



It’s another Wednesday and another photo prompt for Friday Fictioneers to tell their stories of approximately 100 words.  We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  Here’s my story of 100 words this week – inspired by this photo, the heat and Leonard Cohen.

HOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

There was tension in the air.  You can almost feel it crackling like tinder under a match. Her heart raced and thudded.  It felt like a stallion was  galloping through her chest.  Any minute now.  It was coming.  She was sure.

The sky was grey and ominous. Enormous clouds hung over the rooftops.  The telephone wires drooped heavy with crows, gathered and waiting as if for a funeral.

Where could she hide?  Just then a bolt flashed across the sky.  She clapped her hands over her ears as thunder rumbled and shook the walls.  The rain came.  She was alright.


It’s almost Friday, close enough for Friday Fictioneers.  We are a group of writers who like to tell stories of 100 words according to a photo prompt.  We are led by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  Anyone can join in if so inclined.  Here are my 100 words this week.

PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods

Sarah felt the sting of the woman’s words.  Every hiss and barb.  They tore into her soul. She didn’t matter.

“You don’t talk, Sarah.  You don’t get to talk until I am done!”

She could not get in a word.  Tears clouded her eyes.  She screamed into the telephone.

“You stupid woman!  You stupid cow!  Who do you think you are?  Why can’t I talk?”  It was all in futility.  The woman kept up her barrage.  Sarah slammed the phone down.

Ashamed, she caught her breath and dialed the number on display.


“I’m sorry I yelled at you”.




It is Friday night, a good time for Friday Fictioneers.  We like to tell stories of 100 or so words according to a photo prompt.  We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple, author of Say Kaddish for Me, From Silt and Ashes and other books.  Congrats, Rochelle on your book launch.  Here’s my 100 humble words for this week.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll
PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Dusk had fallen. Night coming fast.  The urge stirred in his belly.  He sucked in his breath. Clenching his abdominal muscles, he willed all to be still inside.  He did not want to give in and lose himself.  A growl rumbled in the back of his throat.  He clawed at his neck.  Hair was growing on the back of his hands.

He glanced upward.  A sliver of moon slid out between the clouds.  Can he hide from it? Can he hang on?  He ducked into the darkness within the walls.  Damn, too late!  He raised his head and howled.


Well, hello there.  It is Thursday and I have a story for Friday Fictioneers. We gather each week to tell stories of 100 words or so according to a photo prompt. We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  Anyone can join in if so inclined.  Here’s my 100 words.

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

It was a long ways down.  Her hair fluttered across her face. The moving traffic below made her dizzy.  She pulled back from the edge, stumbling.  Her heart caught in her throat and she had to bend over to catch her breath.

Tears streamed down her face.  She was not good for anything.  No brains.  No looks.  No money.  No courage.  How was she going to face everyone, anyone? She was such a failure.  Now what?

She stood and wiped her eyes and blew her nose.  An anger rose in her.  She had, still has something after all.  Her stubbornness.


So here it is, another Friday, time for Friday Fictioneers.  I’m slow to show this week. Such a busy schedule being retired and all!  But here I am with my 100 words.  We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  We like to tell tales according to a photo prompt.

PHOTO PROMPT © Luther Siler
PHOTO PROMPT © Luther Siler

Two pairs of arms lifted her up, one at her shoulders, the other at her feet.  She was light as a feather. What was happening?  She felt limp.  Her head was all fuzzy.

She felt the arms lowering her.  It wasn’t soft, that’s for sure.  It wasn’t wide either.  She felt her arms dangling down both sides.  Oh, yes, she was in the OR for her surgery.

“I feel like a slab of meat!”  She giggled.

Blurry faces in green masks loomed above her.  “It’ll be over soon”  She recognized her doctor’s voice.  “Start counting to ten.” Said another.  One…



It’s Thursday.  I had a day of rest yesterday from writing but I’m back today with Friday Fictioneers.  We make up stories of 100 words or so to a photo prompt.  As you must know by now, we are hosted by the gracious Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.  Here’s my 100 words.  I hope they are worthy of your attention.  

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

She was at crossroads.  She surveyed the situation.  She had tried.  Even read Brene Brown’s Daring Greatly.  It was a steep climb and a slippery slope.  If she fell….

Oh, the pain!  She shuddered and shook her head.  Not going there, she muttered under her breath.  She paced.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  Yes!  No!  Yes again.

Did she have what it takes?  Was she a coward, hiding behind her nonchalence?  Why take risks?  She could hurt herself.  She could be humiliated.

Exhausted, she sat down.  She had to do it.  She had to write even if she fails.


from Brene Brown.com
from brenebrown.com