February 24, 2015 – Prompt

This week we went back to a summer practice and did a Pick 6.

You are tending to your own business when a

Dice roll one- was 4, the Loch Ness monster

it stops you. This unproven being asks

Dice roll two – was 5, if you can help it find a lost glorg

You have no clue what the being wants, so you counter with:

Dice roll three – was 6, leading it to the nearest police officer

Now show the encounter


A thunderous roar pierced the

air. The earth opened up in a

yawning chasm. Shuddering into

my ear. the noise exploded:

           “DOM! GLORG! SOCORRO!”

A slimy, fur encrusted paw

grasped my arm. Terrified,

I tugged on the creature,

crawling toward the surprisingly

comforting blue light of a police cruiser

By Jeannie Browning


Here you go . . .
Who do you fear most?  Well, for me, it is all those monsters that people have actually met sometime in their lifetimes; such as, Big Foot, the Abdominal Snowman, the Loch less Monster of Scotland, and the “Glorg”.
The “Glorg” was probably one that I feared the most as it changed its appearance into anything that a person was frightened of; such, as the common Boogie Man to your mother-in-law.  The “Glorg” could change into other creatures, too, such as an IRS Rep, and if that wasn’t bad enough, it could change into your high school Algebra teacher from your past.
Recently, it turned into a crooked politician.  That is when I turned in the “Glorg” to the nearest Police Officer at our local police station.
By Pamela Drapala



  I thought it was a large fish’s tail slapping the water and waving towards me. To my amazement it was not. The thing revealed its long body, like an inch worm but with bigger loops as it worked its way over the rocks to where I stood. This must be the Lochness Monster.

It opened its huge jaws, out gushed garbled speech in a stench of fetid wind from deep inside it.  The triangular shaped eyes were covered in an opaque green film and a torrent of tears dumped.

I understood it to ask for its GLORG. Whatever is a GLORG?

“Come this way, come,” I motioned for the monster to follow. “We will seek help from the constable in the village just over the hill there,” I pointed. We reached the fire hall when the monster made a loopy jump and attacked the fire hose while the firemen were practicing maneuvers.

    Ahh! a GLORG, no doubt its mate!

Kirsten Marie Wohlgemuth

February 10,2015–Prompt–The Detective saw his opportunity he grabbed the waitress’s arm and said…

“Show me your green card!” Marie was stunned. Red began to fill the pores on her face. Her brown eyes filled with tears.

Patrons of the diner started getting restless and moving to their feet.  Rustling sound of boots on the linoleum gave way to a shotgun.

Gasps followed, as Marie slumped to the floor in a pool of blood.

A loud voice shouted, “CUT, THATS A WRAP.”

“See you tomorrow,” the set director cheered.

 by Carol Taylor


The detective saw his opportunity. He grabbed the waitress’s arm and said, “Do you have a minute?”

The waitress yanked her arm from his hand and stared at him with annoyed surprise. “Excuse me, sir. Keep your hands to yourself.” She paused for a moment, looking at his pleading eyes, then glanced at her watch.

“I’ll only take a few minutes. I can wait until you can take your break.”

She glanced around the pub. “Well it seems quiet right now” as she pulled out the chair across from him and sat on its edge. She looked up and asked “How may I help you?” The words fell out as if she were asking for his food order.

He pulled out a small coil-topped notebook and flipped to an empty page. “You’ve worked here for how many years?”

By Lorraine Wait


The detective saw his opportunity. He grabbed the waitress by the arm and said, “What’s your name honey?”


“It’s not Honey, and take your paws off my arm.” The waitress pulled away with such force that the detective almost fell over.

“Touchy, touchy,” he sneered. “Well Miss ‘It’s Not Honey’. My name is  Dick, Detective Dick.”

She cut him off before he finished. “I suppose your last name is Tracy, as in Dick Tracy, that old outdated comic strip character.”

Just then the cook called out from the kitchen. “Mary get your butt in here and serve this order.”

Dick scowled, “Oh, so your name is Mary. And you’re quite contrary.”

Mary matched his scowl with a sarcastic smile and stomped into the kitchen to talk with the cook. “Is this order for that fat detective who tried to manhandle me. If so, do you have any arsenic? I used up all my arsenic on the last creep who tried some funny stuff.”

The cook just laughed. “You got that right, Honey; but arsenic is not on the menu. Perhaps you’d like some humble pie for your desert .”

By Linda Scott




Prompt–Feb. 3, 2015

*In Keeping with trying to change up our prompts this week I chose one from the book 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts by Ryan Andrew Kinder. This was offered one day as a free e-book that Meleesa brought to my attention and I downloaded it. It’s prompts are different and I have gone through and highlighted some I thought would work well for us. So this weeks was: “A bird is buiding a nest. Write from the perspective of the bird and the different things (include some odd human materials) it uses to build the nest.”* The four we choose were fun or different.



Hummer landed with his beak full of curly grey hair.

“Oh, Hummer, this will make our nest ideal, decorated in tones of grey—so gorgeous against your bright green throat.”

“Thank you, Hummerina! I agree with our color scheme this year and there’s a lot more of this on the ground there, a short distance away, he bobbed his head.

Hummer had sat as patient as a rock, and observed how one human sliced off the lustrous, soft material from another human’s head.

Hummerina was proud of her mate and showed her love for him by fluffing up her feathers as she thought, our cozy home sheltered in the  leafy filled tree was indeed a mansion.

She took her turn at gathering the downy fluffs of grey.

After their busy day they flew off to the ‘Red Sweet Bar’ for sustenance.

Kirsten Marie Wohlgemuth, author


My name is Sam, the Osprey, and my partner is Jean.  High above the Columbia River we spend our days hunting and gathering.  Nest building consumes our spring and even though it is in my DNA, I hate it!  I love my partner but nesting just is not my thing.  She is off to the local thrift stores gathering a piece of string, special leaf, or some shiny object.  For me, I’d rather suck raw fish than be caught at Good-Will.  I still do not understand my lady.

pat stone



Another season, another nest. Size is always the same. Location, location. location. Where will I be safe with my babies?

There seem to be so many humans around spying with cameras to document my progress. I see one that has left his lens cap cover. That cap might be heavy for my size beak, but I’m going to give it a try!

Landing on the ridge of the old mine shaft, my beak grabs the edge of the shiny plastic. My foot slips in the sand and starts a stream of of sand around the cap that floats it down into the black hole.

OK, plan B.

By Carol Christel Taylor