A Wheel Windfall

 

PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast

Update on Mishap at Diameter Park:

The installer insists fault lies with the manufacturer. The thickness of the wheel must be greater on one side and they weren’t alerted to this flaw.

The manufacturer blames the mishap on installation. Their spokesman is adamant the steel was uniform in thickness and the wheel totally balanced when shipped.

The parents are suing the plaintiffs for $3 million compensation for trauma and minor abrasions suffered when the wheel toppled as their child leaned against it. Says the father, “Our lawyer suggested a million each for us and our son, and a million for him. We’re going with that.”

Judge’s decision is pending.

I wrote this one Thursday, but my husband’s minor surgery Friday and my minor throat infection waylaid my good intentions to post it on time. However, seeing others are still posting their stories, I’ll take courage and offer my bit of fiction, too.

With profuse thanks to  Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers and special thanks to Jennifer Pendergast who offered, and holds the copyright for, this image. I’m sure she never intended this pleasant scene to result in a law suit — but I took one look at it and just couldn’t resist. 🙂

 

Jack Miner’s Discovery

rail-yard-ceayr3
Photo courtesy C E Ayr

Friday Fictioneers — for details about this group, see Rochelle’s blog.

My response to this photo may be WAY off from the general scene. However, I did see a Canadian grain hopper car in this picture, which reminded me of an incident Jack Miner related in his book, Jack Miner and the Birds, copyright 1923. Read this book years ago, so am retelling the episode as I remember it.

Solomon says, “Go to the ant, thou sluggard…” One could also take a tip from these ambitious field mice.

In the northern Ontario woods Jack and his fellow hunters made camp one autumn afternoon. Needing firewood, they felled a towering dead pine. Halfway up the trunk they discovered a field mouse nest with a quart of wheat cached inside.

Puzzled, Jack set down his axe and looked around. Where on earth… Ah!

Several miles north they’d seen rails. Grain cars from the prairies, carrying wheat bound for Thunder Bay terminals, bumped over rough spots. Kernels sifted through cracks, falling onto the tracks. These industrious mice were making that trip day after day, stocking their larder for the winter ahead.

Back in the Saddle Again

Hi Everyone!

As you will know if you visit my main site, Christine’s Collection, I started chemo-therapy in April to treat my leukemia. I had my last treatment Sept 9th, almost two months ago. My oncologist is quite pleased at how I responded to the treatment; they feel there are almost no cancerous lymphocytes left and I should have about five years before they build up and become a serious problem again.

So many things fall behind when you aren’t feeling well. then when life starts to return to normal you tray to catch up on the house-cleaning and other pressing stuff. So I’ve left this blog inactive, but it’s time to get back to writing and posting here. Actually I have done a few fiction tales on my main blog and will re-post them here in case you don’t follow Christine’s Collection.

Another thing that’s stimulated my urge to write fiction is sitting in on Jerry Jenkins’ writing classes. Last month my husband joined the Jerry Jenkins Writing Guild and we’ve both been watching the webinars on how to produce quality writing. I’ve learned a lot from his “How to Become A Ferocious Self-Editor” sessions. “Ferocious” is the perfect description as he puts some writer’s first page through his Manuscript Repair and Revision.

Anyway, a few days ago I did an exercise for The Write Practice, then posted it on Christine Composes. You can read it here: Metaphors — Prose & Haiku

Wishing everyone a lovely week. For those of us who live in free countries, let’s not forget on Nov 11th to pause a moment and give thanks for the peace we enjoy and the personal freedoms we have. No, life isn’t perfect, but folks of past generations have sacrificed so much — even their lives — so we can have it this good.

Back Again

Hello Everyone,

I was shocked when I opened this blog and saw that it’s actually been a month since I posted here. I thought, “Maybe two weeks…” As you know, I have been dealing with health issues — and especially so this past month — but I’ve been blessed with a bit more inspiration lately to work on this again. A bit of spring cleaning and sorting is in order, maybe add a page or two.

As to my battle with leukemia, the decision has been made that next month we’ll start firing the big guns. At my Cancer Clinic appointment in February Dr Hart told me she felt it’s time to start chemotherapy, beginning in April. On March 8th, as a preliminary, I had a CAT scan and Dr Hart took a bone marrow sample. Not your nicest experience, but it’s par for the course. 😦

I have written a couple of stories lately in response to the Word Press Daily Prompt, like this humorous letter, RE: Missing Ferrari, using the given word “incomplete.” Read it here.

This week I’m inspired by Jeff Goins’ 7-day Blog Like a Pro challenge. Although I’m not at this time following each step, I’ve been watching with interest and checking out a dozen new blogs and articles.

Here’s the link to one of them, for anyone who’s interested in using Google.com for research: Five Google Tricks that will make you a better writer. This blogger has posted several other thought-provoking articles recently as well.

Another thing I’ve been doing lately is reading, and right now am enjoying P G Wodehouse. Read more about my impressions of this prolific English writer here.

Of Daily Prompts and A Wedding Gown

Some thoughts on the repetitious Word Press Daily Prompts

This morning I read Linda’s post and decided to mull the matter over on my own writing blog. I do agree with Linda: the promise of “A new prompt every day” isn’t being fulfilled. I wonder if they made this commitment before they started the project and the “carrying out” has proved unworkable? Or they feel blogger participation doesn’t warrant continuing? When so many million people blog, the daily prompts only attracted 50 or so.

Mrs AngloSwiss says she asked Ben H about why are there no new prompts. “He answered me and said there are no intentions of putting up new prompts. It seems that the veteran posters, like me, are now few and far between.”

Now, Word Press does give us the option of another prompt — in fact you can keep on clicking to see half a dozen options. I’ve checked them out and they’re all ones I’ve seen before, too. But if I choose one of these alternatives, then I’m doing a different prompt from everyone else that day. Then why not write about a different topic altogether, one that means something to me?

Perhaps the folks at WP see prompts as a kind of training wheels: once you’ve done them all you should know how to blog and can do your own thing. And actually, when I go back and try to click on the responses posted a couple of years ago, I find a lot of sites have been deleted. Easy to start; hard to stay the course.

Whatever the reason, like yourself, I’m a bit disappointed even if I haven’t been able to do the prompt every day. Just for the fun of it, I’ve started writing my own inspirations: “Writing prompts for Readers and Writers.” Maybe someday when I get enough I’ll post them. 🙂

Meanwhile, I’ve gotten enthused about doing short stories — as have other bloggers. Here’s a 100-word story I wrote yesterday. Please critique!

I have a happy ending in mind for this sad scene — but that’s another 100 words.

THE WEDDING DRESS

With a heavy heart Jasmin pulled open the bridal salon door and stepped inside.

The salesgirl hurried over to her. “Miss Turanich! Glad you’ve come in. We were wondering if, in all the rush, you were forgetting your dress still needs to be fitted. We don’t want to leave the alterations too long.”

Jasmin sighed. “Hardly. But there’s been another alteration…” She dabbed the corner of one eye with a soggy tissue as she watched the clerk’s face fill with dismay.

“I was hoping, since my wedding gown hasn’t been altered yet… if I could still…um… get a refund?”

Heigh Ho, Silver!

NEW ISLAND DISCOVERED

This was yesterday’s daily prompt, but I didn’t have the time to write it yesterday. So now I’m going to incorporate today’s prompt —with no apologies — and post the tale I dreamed up which includes the number 110,815.

This amazing headline splashes across the front page of today’s Saskatoon Star & Planet:

New island discovered in the South Pacific Ocean
News item by Sask-Info reporter Mickey Wasylkowski

The world is agog this week following the discovery of a completely unknown inhabited island approximately 3000 km SE of New Zealand. Known to local inhabitants simply as Ork, the island has been named Schoenfeldeslandia after the Austrian adventurer, Matt Schoenfeld, whose hot air balloon ran out of oomph and came down there two weeks ago.

In the following article Sask-Info roving news reporter Mickey Wasylkowski will give us an update on his visit to the newly discovered island, along with details of his interview with one of the inhabitants.

Reporter: One of the first things I learned upon arriving on the island: amazingly enough, a few of the natives have learned enough English to communicate with me. An elderly gentleman by the by the name of Glum has agreed to an interview. My first question, of course, was how he’d learned English.

Glum: One time many summers ago we go fishing far, far away in boat. Storm come; wind blow us. We land in strange place. Other boat, men from some far tribe, they land too. They have radio. They listen all the time. They say they learn that language, go to America, get big time rich. We stay there twenty full moons. Listen to radio. Learn how you speak, your words.

Reporter: That’s amazing! So you stayed with those other fishermen on that island and learned English. Did you find English words difficult?

Glum: I young then. My tongue twisted better than now. English not so hard.

Reporter: Good thing you never had to try spelling it. Can you tell me Glum, how many words are there in your language?

Glum: We have 110815 words. You see, Orksam very easy language.

Reporter: Wow. Just over 110 thousand words. And did you know English has over 500,000 words —plus another 500,000 technical terms. What do you think of that, Glum?

Glum: You English talk too much.

Reporter: So you spent a enough time with those other men to learn English from the radio. And then what? Obviously you made it home again.

Glum: Build new boat. Come home to our island. I remember English all these years.

Reporter: I’m curious about the men with the radio. I suppose they built a boat and returned to their own tribe, too? It’s a wonder they didn’t let the world know of your existence here.

Glum: We bash them. No want them find our island. They come here, maybe they take our women away. Bad habit men have. We bash anyone who come here. We no like tourists. They bring big time noise; leave junk behind.

Reporter: Err… I see. So that’s how you remained an undiscovered island all this time. I guess Matt Schoenfeld can be thankful he had a crew along, keeping track of his whereabouts at all times.

Glum: Too bad. Too many for us to bash. Now you come, too. Did you bring Silver?

Reporter: Silver? Are we expecting we would bring silver?

Glum: You know Silver? ‘Heigh ho, Silver, away.’

Reporter: Oh! That Silver. The Lone Ranger’s horse.

Glum: Yes. Lone Ranger. Him smart man. Silver smart horse. I want see smart horse. You no bring Silver horse?

Reporter: No, I’m afraid not. Wow! You must have been listening to radio back in the 50s.

Glum: Lone Ranger good. But then come too much noise. Rock & Roll. We throw radio in ocean. Bash men, throw them in ocean. Go home. Now you come. We bash you, too. That the way cookie crumbles.

Reporter: I can assure you, Glum, that my news team is here only in the interest of information. We have no intention of taking your women away or bringing tourists to overrun your lovely island. We will go away tomorrow and leave you in peace.

Glum: Peace good thing. But no Silver?

Reporter: Well, maybe we could arrange to ship a few silver horses to your island. Would that make you happy?

Glum: You bring Silvers, no steal women or seashells, no bring tourists or radios, we no bash you.

Reporter: It’s a deal.

End of interview. By SaskInfo roving reporter Mickey Wasylkowski reporting directly from Schoenfeldeslandia.

Instant Addiction

Blame Emily Wenstrom. She started this.

Two days ago I clicked on and was reading the latest post at one of my favorite writing blogs, The Write Practice. This particular post gave us five different sources for writing prompts, all of them loaded with potential for whatever we want to write.

I need more writing time — less procrastination — and more stick-to-it (aka perseverance) but I really do not need more bright ideas. Nevertheless I followed the link to an innocent looking site called diymfa.com. And there I found a type of writer’s slot machine called Writer Igniter. Four wheels to whirl around, generating writing prompts.

Different characters, events, props, and scenes tumble around until they finally settle on (i.e.):
— Runner-up…finds a baby on the doorstep…basketball…a lane through the woods
— Mime…receives the wrong direction…tickets to a sold-out event…downtown tourist spot near a castle
— Garbage truck driver…inherits something bizarre…something new…cobblestone streets, old stone buildings, a lake in the background.

Or whatever. There are oodles of main characters, situations, prompts and scenes that may turn up. Ignited — or just plain hooked — I sat here clicking spinning the wheels, amazed at the endless possibilities. My creative mind started throwing together stories around all these prompts. And I realized:

I’m weak. I’d better never step up to a real slot machine!

Yes, my current micro-addiction is harmless and temporary, but it does give me a tiny glimpse of the enticement people succumb to — sometimes intelligent, highly educated people — when they mess with slot machines. One lady, a bank manager, confessed that the very first time she stepped into a casino, she was hooked. She almost lost everything, including her marriage, before she went into addiction counseling.

Being weak myself, I can feel some compassion here.

Actually, the writing prompts here are pretty good and I’m including the link in case you really are stuck for writing ideas. But if you’re already bursting with stories and/or articles you need to get started on/finish, best don’t go there. Like me, you may lose half an hour just spinning those wheels to see what turns up.

But, hey! I gained a bit more compassion — and a blog post.☺

Closed For Now

Hello, dear Readers.

I appreciate all the LIKES and all my followers and apologize for not posting on this site as I originally intended. Alas, for the time being my story fountain has run dry.

At this point, considering my current struggle with leukemia and the slow downhill slide my health seems to be taking, I’ve decided to go back to one blog for my poetry and fiction. I don’t want to shut this site down completely — who knows what the future may hold? But until further notice this blog and my poetry blog, http://swallowinthewind.wordpress.com, will be inactive.

All my prose and poems — except for haiku — will be posted on my main blog, http://christinegoodnough.com.

For the time being I plan to continue posting haiku occasionally on http://treetophaiku as well.

The Wizard of Sherwood Forest?

It seemed to Dorothy that the tornado was losing some of its strength — she and the various things caught up with her seemed to be spinning more slowly. She felt a sensation of descent, like being in an elevator going down. Yes, the twister that carried her away from Kansas was finally dropping her back to earth again.

The tips of her toes brushed some tree tops. Green leaves fluttered around her now. She held tight to her dog, fearful of losing him among the branches that reached for them as they tumbled down in a clearing right next to a brooklet.

Dorothy let go of her small fellow traveler, who shook himself vigorously and let out a few yips. Gingerly she got to her feet and dusted herself off. “Oh, Toto! Are you all right? I don’t think I have any broken bones, but look at my dress! It’s a mess — and so many rips. Whatever will Mother say when I get home?”

She surveyed the clearing. “And which way is home? I’m so glad to be out of that horrible wind — but this can’t be Kansas. We never had such huge trees as this. Which way should we go?” Dorothy climbed onto the trunk of a toppled tree trunk and looked around. “I see a path over there. Let’s go, Toto.”

Half a mile away two men peered out from under a group of sheltering trees. “What a gale! I haven’t seen a wind like that for many a year,” said the taller man. He stood up and grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows off the ground.

“I was certainly glad to be in the shelter of these strong oaks, Little John,” his companion said as he surveyed the litter of small branches around them. “Though I wondered if the wind might have brought them down on our heads before it passed. Then he laughed heartily. “Whatever would the Sheriff of Nottingham say if, when he’s tried so hard to capture Robin Hood all these years, he found me done in by an oak limb?”

Suddenly the two men froze. “Is that a dog I hear?” Robin muttered. “Whatever would a dog be doing wandering here in Sherwood Forest?”

“Where there’s a dog, there’s undoubtedly a master,” Little John replied. “And who is he, I wonder?” He grabbed an arrow and fitted it to his bowstring, ready to take aim.

Robin pointed toward the far end of the road where a young girl was coming into view. “The dog seems to be with that young waif. Look at her dress, will you. Such garments as I’ve never seen on an English child. She’s a real ragamuffin! Must have been fearfully tumbled about in that storm.”

Little John slipped the arrow back into his quiver. “No need to fear a mistress that small,” he murmured. They listened as the girl talked to her dog.

“It looks like the road divides up ahead, Toto. Which way should we go? Oh, how I wish I were home and not stumbling around in these woods!”

The two men stepped out from their hiding place in the trees, startling Dorothy and setting Toto to barking furiously. Dorothy gasped when she saw their longbows and grabbed Toto in her arms so they wouldn’t hurt him.

“Lost, are you, little maid?” the one man asked. “How come ye to be in the forest alone? Where is your home?”

Wherever can I be? Dorothy wondered. I can barely understand what they’re saying. But she answered bravely. “I’m from Kansas, sir. The twister picked me up and carried me away from my home. It dropped me here in the woods and I’m trying to find my way home.”

She tried to hush Toto, who was still barking and wriggling, trying to escape her hold. “Please don’t hurt my dog, fellows. He’s only wanting to protect me.”

“Indeed he is, young maid, and the good Lord knows you have need of some protection if you’re wandering in Sherwood Forest alone. You can set him down; we won’t hurt him.”

“Thank you, sir.” She set Toto down. He stayed right beside her, eyeing the two men dressed in green.

Dorothy frowned. “Say, did you say this is Sherwood Forest? I’ve heard of that.” She paused a minute, trying to recall where she’d heard that name. “Isn’t that where Robin Hood lived?”

“Lived? He lives here right now. Indeed, it’s Robin Hood you’re talking to right now, and this is my good friend Little John.” Robin clapped the shoulder of the man beside him.”Welcome to this part of merry old England.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Hood sir, but I thought you were only a fable.”

“A fable?”

“Yes, like a fairy tale.”

“A fairy tale! Goodness me, girl, that’s even worse.” He sounded huffy. “I hope I’m more than a fairy tale. I was rather hoping with time I’d be a legend.”

“Oh, yes, sir! That’s it.” Dorothy quickly replied, hoping she hadn’t offended him too much. “Legend is certainly the better word. Yes.”

“And where might Kansas be, wee maiden?” Little John asked. “I’ve never heard of it. Your accent is not from this part of England, I’m sure. I can barely understand you.”

“I speak American, Mr. John, sir. Just like my Pa and Ma and all the other people in our country.” She paused a moment more. “Say, if you really are Robin Hood, then do you rob people?”

“Only the rich. No point robbing the poor; they have nothing to take. Well, we do snatch the odd pig or cow now and then. My merry band of men has to eat, too.”

Dorothy thought of her father, a poor farmer. It would cause him grief to have someone steal their cow or one of their pigs. She looked up at the man and stated firmly, “It’s always wrong to steal.”

“A Sheriff’s child, are you? Or maybe the daughter of a Judge?” Robin Hood asked, and the two men laughed.

“It IS!” Dorothy shook her finger at them. “It’s wicked. You should say sorry and give back what you’ve taken.”

“So much you do not know about current affairs in England, little maid. But come with us now and we’ll see if my friend, Friar Tuck, might hap to find a place for you until we can find out where you belong. It won’t do to have you wandering in the forest alone like this. There are wolves — and other wicked men, too, who might sell you for a slave. You wouldn’t want that.” He winked at her.

The prospect of wandering in the woods at night scared Dorothy and being sold as a slave was even worse. So she and Toto meekly went along with Robin and Little John to Friar Tuck’s cottage. There the three men pondered how to get the maid and her dog back to her parents in Kansas — wherever Kansas was — and meanwhile where to get her some decent English clothes.

Written in response to today’s Daily Prompt

Something New in the Writing Dept

Hi Everyone,

First, a note from fellow writer, Joel Canfield, about his new project: a marketing forum for writers. Hop over and check it out. This promises valuable help for those of us who have a slim marketing budget.
http://somedaybox.com/my-free-marketing-community-needs-you/

Second, my contemplations about my blogs — and this blog in particular — have brought me to a decision. I really enjoy fiction, both reading it and writing it. I’ve actually written quite a bit already, so I’ve decided to publish some of my short stories here.

I’ll post one story every Friday, but if the story’s too long for one post, I’ll publish it on consecutive days.

So rather than this blog being the Collection that it has been, it can morph into “Fiction on Friday.”