New Year’s Eve Flash Bash from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie 31.12.16


New Year’s Eve Flash Bash: Here’s what you’ll find if you visit Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, and check out my Flash Bash. A buffet table of 5 sorts of flash fiction to sample. Why not stop by and join the party – it will go past midnight to be sure.

Welcome to a New Year’s Eve Flash Bash. Tonight, I’m offering up a buffet table of flash fiction for you to sample from. I hope there is one that piques your interest.


Flash One: In 25 words or less: Using one of the photos provided, write a story in 25 words or less. Beginning, middle and end.


Or Flash Two: Tweet-tweet: Using one of the photos provided, write a tale of no more than 142 characters (thanks to Kat of like mercury colliding and her Twittering Tales for inspiration). Use this handy character counter when composing.


Or Flash Three: Selfies from the Edge: Take a selfie, post it and a piece of flash fiction (100 to 150 words) based on your picture. Include the selfie in your post.


Or Flash Four: Traditional Fare: Using one of the photos provided, write a story of 100 to 150 words. (Thanks to Priceless Joy of FFfAW, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Friday Fictioneers, and Al of Sunday Photo Fiction for inspiration)


Or Flash Five: Pot Luck: Choose a photo (yours or someone else’s – give accreditation) and write a piece of flash fiction 75 to 200 words based on the photo.


You’ll be able to link up to the prompt page and click on a Mr. Linky connection.


Since this is my party, my rules, you can submit your flash bash entries after midnight. And, one more champagne-induced indulgence: 75 to 200 words will work fine tonight – I’ll be counting down not up!


The idea is to have fun with a few different forms of flash – only a sampling of the many that are out there in the creative blogosphere.


Wishing you a bright, brilliant and flash{y} 2017. Let’s write together.

All photos: (c) Lorraine (click on some imagines for larger versions)



The Mighty 30 day challenge



my mighty month challenge on face book

article about the challenge


I’m not good at challenges – I realize that I stress out and the few words I have left disappear. That’s one of the reasons I’m skipping JusJoJan on LindaGHill’s blog

I’m not good at journaling – My feelings come out in my poetry (which I rarely write now) and in my prose (which I feel is dreck)

So why even consider this?

If I don’t, I will stop writing. Writing has been my life-line; my hope; my outlet; my distraction. To give it up, is to give in. To the depression demons who mock my efforts as farce.

So for now, until I create a separate journaling space, what better place that in a darkened room inside a darkened house. If I’m to share my personal feelings, best do it in the dark by candle light.

This wouldn’t be pretty; I’m in one of my deep weepy depressions were all the voices are howling. Each day is a struggle; my sword arm is weary, and my shield is all battered and beaten in.

I can’t write and post anymore. The voices, often with tidbits of right in them, have convinced me others are the wordsmiths. Even the novelettes I’m writing, and planning are out of my scale. Each hair I lost – 3/4 of my hair – was an word, or an idea, or a way of expressing myself or a character. The “surprisingly early entropy” of my brain cells has swallowed up creativity, flow.

If writing hadn’t meant so much to me, if it wasn’t my last hope at achieving sometime, then I wouldn’t go on so. But my life has been never hope or dream, for the more you do, the less likely it will happen. Another kick in the gut when I realized that I really can’t write. Can’t pull together a story that’s only 10, to 15,000 words long. Mine are already longer but no amount of editing will turn them from make nos.

So I’ll try to journal – where no one will read (like they read now, ha) and I can vomit on the page. My days are full of self-recriminations, regret, remorse, laundry, trips to the drug or grocery store, and once photography and writing. My photo editing program doesn’t do what I wanted it to, and I stopped being able to take a good picture, and now I can’t write.

There, even before the 1st, one whole confessional journal entry.


You are invited


You are invited to join tale adh [a darkened house] at her new café local, My Frilly Freudian SlipA lovely café with cozy corners to share a latte or a dark-roasted coffee liqueur

Plans are to leave this blog up just incase someone stumbles across it on a quest for a tale, or directions.

Update: no longer accessible

Redirect emails to:


soc: a bamble on a bus

bambling on bus for Stream of Consciousness Saturday #SOCS

There’s lines in a Joni Mitchell song “My idiomatic brain/I was insane/because I had some crazy ideas/like not to ride those double decker buses/ because they had no driver on the top . . . Cheech and Chong break in: “what no driver on the top. . .  Man that chick is twisted.”

Horse pulled double-deckers where call omnibuses. A word I love – and I suppose omnibus in the political came from so many people packed into one space; some may items packed into one piece of legislation.

If you add an s bus, becomes buss which is a kiss, take it away the s and a t and you’ve got something to be bussed, and you can be a bus boy taking the letters away.

Then there was the back of the bus; started a whole civil rights movement, and African-American men weren’t “hey boy” any more.

Put it in front – words like business happen. Mankind was your busy-ness from A Christmas Carol – love how it’s pronounced.

All this bus talk is getting me no where closer to the public transit I need to take today – no a commuter train, not a bus.

TLT week 34: Cyril and Llimona

image: wolf schram

Another great Sonya prompt for TLT, week 34. As I suspect others had similar ideas, I haven’t read any of the week 34 posts.

Everyone cautioned Cyril against buying that car with reasons from “too ugly” to “it’ll cost to keep running,” and on to the natural conclusion: “its bound to be a lemon.”

It was no use; Cyril had been seduced, and was in love with the car as if it were a sumptuous, erotic woman, rather than the clunker it was.

Cyril lovingly painted Llimona bright yellow and massaged her with the finest car wax on Thursdays; Sundays were for romantic drives, just the Cyril, Llimona and the open road.

#writephoto: Fingül’s Gate

For Sue Vincent’s #writephoto: gate. Too late for inclusion in the round-up, I’ll cheat and pretend it’s prior to noon GMT today (Wednesday).



Behind Fingül’s Gate, the world lay
stretched out like well-patched quilt
To the east – the sea, swelling with pride
at it’s enormity
To the west, undulating grasslands
wove intricate dances
North were the dark forests of sweet pine
and bitter hemlock
And south, fields and farmyards,
fruit trees and fullness

Behind Fingül’s Gate, the world stretched
like child on waking
Veins and arteries of roads and footpaths
Watery transport on canals and rivers
Dots of villages, cathedral spires
A world with giants peeking
in windows
Striding cross rivers
Careful to not rattle roofs
or scare hares and hinds

Behind Fingül’s Gate
A miniature world
of a magic time gone
The laughter and glee
of giant children among
the scale models rings
far beyond Fingül’s Gate

And Fingül smiles; his graveyard bust always does.

© adh a darkened house 2016

#tuesday use it in a sentence: host

Myfrilly had a host of things to do – invitations, decorating the blog, twitter and instragram accounts to set up, facebook page to finish – before she could officially introduce herself as the host of a new blog, My Frilly Freudian Slip.


Using Stephanie’s #tuesday to do a bit of pre-change “advertising.” Thanks, Stephanie – some exciting stuff to report soon.