The Write Practice Writing Contest

Attention Fellow Writers:

If you haven’t heard about the Fall Writing Contest starting soon over at the Write Practice, CLICK HERE to find out all about it. You start with a writing prompt, submit a draft, and get feedback from the writing community so you can polish your story before the final judges’ decision is made.

AND the folks over there are doing a special giveaway this time around. The entry fee is $50, but they are giving away three Premium Entries. If you share this info on social media, you get another “entry” for each friend who enters. (I’m not entering this year—other projects on the go — but I want to spread the word so you others can check it out.)

The giveaway will officially close on Tuesday, August 28, at midnight Pacific time, so if you’re interested in entering the fall writing contest, or other writing instructions and challenges, hop over to The Write Practice and read the details.

Sometimes…

Sometimes what should look like this…

Desk clean

Actually looks like this:

Cluttered desk

And I have to take some time out to get all my ducks in a row…
like so…

Ducks in a row.jpg

Next week I plan to take care of some of the scraps of ideas that have been piling up and probably will be posting a lot of small stuff. Like this senryu:

full moonlight
plays on the headstones
we take the long way

An Angelic-Looking Lad

My response to the Word of the Day prompt: BRAVADO

THE CHOIR BOY

by Edgar Guest

They put his spotless surplice on
and tied his flowing tie
And he was fair to look upon
As he went singing by.
He sang the hymns with gentle grace,
that little lad of nine,
for there was something in his face
which seemed almost divine.

His downcast eye was good to see,
his brow was smooth and fair,
and no one dreamed that there could be
a rascal plotting there.
Yet when all heads in prayer were bowed,
God’s gracious care to beg
the boy next to him cried aloud:
“Quit pinching on my leg!”

A pious little child he seemed
an angel born to sing;
beholding him none ever dreamed
he’d do a naughty thing;
yet many a sudden “Ouch!” proclaimed
that he had smuggled in
for mischief-making, unashamed,
a most disturbing pin.

And yet I think, from high above,
the Father looking down
knows everything he’s thinking of
and smiles when mortals frown.
For in the spotless surplice white
which is his mother’s joy,
He know he’s not an angel bright,
but just some healthy boy.

From his book, Collected Verse of Edgar A Guest
© 1934 by The Reilly & Lee Company