A Onomatopoetic Conversation (A Word Prompt Fiction Story)

 I'm trying again. I posted this story here last week and two hours after I published it, it disappeared! I have no idea if the cause was something I did or something Google did. I wonder if perhaps the previous title I created (using some of the word prompt words) sounded a little smutty (not intentionally!) and perhaps Blogger flagged the post as inappropriate content (it's not!) and took it down. I've contacted them but have had no response.

Moral of this story, ALWAYS keep a copy of your work!

Anyway, I rewrote it as best I could and I am sharing it again today, using a different title. Hopefully, this time it will stay up long enough for you to read it!

I wrote this piece of fiction using word prompts. See below for more details.

An Onomatopoetic Conversation

“Sooo.” My mom crooned, in a soft persuasive murmur, “Are you going to help me?”

“Mmmmm.” This sound came out of my full mouth garbled and non-committal–I uttered it both as a platitude and a moan of pleasure. The piece of steak I was chewing was so rare I almost heard it moo before I put it in my mouth, just the way I like it. 

My mother was not placated. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!” Her tone rose to a shriek. “Egad. Were you even listening to me? Did you even hear a word I said?”

Still working on my steak, I took a big schlurppp of my wine and swallowed. I tried hard, but I couldn’t suppress the impulse to giggle at her expletives, and I let out a big guffaw.

“Hmph.” My mom’s state of annoyance came surging through the phone line. You know my car is in the shop this week. I need you to run some errands before we all congregate tomorrow.”

I asked, “Hm… What do you need me to do again?"

“Grrrphhhh. Grrr.” No one can growl quite the way my mother can. The sound of it made me jump. I accidentally dropped my fork, and it landed on the steak with a SPLAT and splattered the bloody juice all over my shirt.

“Just a minute, mom!” After listening for the barely audible clink, indicating I had switched the phone to mute, I then set it down. I walked over to where the light was coming in through the window over the kitchen sink and examined the stain on my shirt. I squirted a little dish soap on it and tried to rub it out. The friction of the fabric sounded like the whoosh of a bird’s wings when it takes off in flight.

Before unmuting my phone, I nostalgically said to myself, “onomato-PEE-AHHHHH.” Many years ago my brother and I had created this word, to describe the way our mother often used onomapeia when she spoke. Suddenly, I was looking forward to the dinner, when I would congregate with my siblings and reminisce about our childhood.

Eager to avoid the hazard of my mother’s wrath, I apologized for my lapse in listening to her earlier in the call.

I said, “Yoikes! I’m sorry I wasn’t paying proper attention to you earlier. Please tell me exactly what you need.”

“As I said, I’d like you to go to the market and pick the groceries for our family dinner. I’d also like for you to buy me a peasant skirt.”

"A peasant skirt," I squawked. "Why on earth do you need a peasant skirt?" 

Mom explained, “My women’s club meets this weekend, and we will discuss the painting Return from Market by Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin and a poem Eavan Boland wrote about it. I plan to go in costume and imitate the woman in the painting. It seems like a good way to add some zing to a meeting that could otherwise be sort of boring.

“Oh, Mom,” I said. “Where would I even find a peasant skirt? Are they even in style anymore?”

“Don’t worry, honey. I called around, and the boutique on 5th Street has just the skirt I want. You can just pay for it and pick it up.”

“Ka-ching!” I rolled my eyes at such a frivolous purchase and then immediately felt glad we weren’t on a video chat. Eye rolls always angered Mom! 

“Mom, everything in that store costs a fortune. But if you want me to, I will buy the skirt for you.”

I then told her about the bloody steak stain on my shirt, and (of course) she offered to get it out. She said I could drop the shirt off to her upon my return from the market when I delivered her the groceries. Although she was originally very irritated with me, before we hung up Mom told me to be prepared — she planned on giving me a hug and a great big smooch.

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Two separate challenges supplied the prompts. 

To write this story, I used the prompts from both the 4/28/21 Words for Wednesday Challenge and a challenge from writer, Micheal Burg, MD (AKA Medium Michael Burg).

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The First Challenge

The Words for Wednesday weekly writing challenge prompts were provided this month by Wisewebwoman on her blog. I encourage you to go to the comments there and read the other stories writers have posted.

The prompts she supplied this week:
~ An image of a painting and two lists of words taken from a poem about the painting, written by Eavan Boland:

• Congregate, Impulse, Market, Peasant
• Wine, Surging, Light, Hazard
• “Back from Market” a painting by Chardin.

~~**~~

The second challenge: 

Michael Burg provided a list of prompts in his post, A Fun Onomatopoetic Prompt. He solicited the favorite “sounds” of other writers, then complied those in a list and challenged his readers to write a story using all of them. 

Here is his list of words:
(Spellcheck complained a lot about these! 😉)

hmph, sooo, clink, Hm…, Grrr (growl), SPLAT, Mmmmm, whoosh, 
Ka-ching!,onomato-PEE-AHHHHH, murmur, egad, Guffaw, Schlurpppp, Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!, Moo, Yoikes!, Giggle, Grrrrphhhh, zing

~~**~~

Just for fun

I added a few onomatopoeic words of my own. Did you spot them?

~~**~~

He Wasn't Standing Where He Was Supposed To Be

Word Prompt Flash Fiction.

Image by author, Susan Foster.

This piece of flash fiction was written using word prompts. See below for more details.

He Wasn't Standing Where He Was Supposed To Be

I rushed to the door and darted out from beneath the shop canopy into the street. Behind me, in hot pursuit, was the cashier. Despite his age, he was almost as fast as me, thanks to my gimpy gait. Minutes earlier, he watched me sneak a chocolate bar from the sweets aisle into my pocket. 

Like a well-oiled machine, this was all working out just as I'd planned. Earlier this morning, I stomped down hard on a rose stem from my mother's garden, making sure a thorn punctured the ball of my foot. This made me limp, causing soreness with every step. It was so important that I be viewed as a bit of a charity case. Nothing, not even pain, was too much to endure for the end result.

The cashier caught up to me, grabbed my arm, and shouted, "Show me what's in your pocket. I saw you take that chocolate bar. You can't steal stuff and expect to get away with it."

I hopped two steps and leaned against the wall of a nearby building, holding my injured foot pitifully off the ground. It throbbed intensely after running on it, so my grimace was sincere. Opening my eyes wide, I gave him a mournful look. 

"I'm sorry, Mister.  I started thinking about all that candy and it seemed like a good way to help me forget how much my foot hurts," I said. "I was just daydreaming about the taste of this chocolate bar, and I pocketed it without thinking." 

I sobbed for a minute to emphasize my point, and then continued,  "I knew right away you saw me do it and that you probably thought I was stealing, so I  - I ran. Or hobbled, anyway." I gave a loud sniff. " I don't want to go to pp-prison."

 

Just as expected, the cranky old man's expression softened.

Convinced that I had drawn things out long enough, I seized the moment. I reached into my pockets and pulled out the chocolate bar from one and a few dollars from the other. I offered it all to the cashier. 

"Here," I said, "I really did mean to pay for it. You can have my money, and I'll give you the candy bar back, too."

 

"Oh, that's all right," said the cashier. "This one's on me. But, be more careful from here on out. This sort of mistake doesn't often work out so well."

"No, sir, It certainly doesn't." 

I grinned inwardly and pictured my friend and shoplifting partner, Billy. By now, he'd be waiting for me in the back alley with bags full of candy and other stuff for each of us, stolen while I'd lured the unsuspecting cashier out of the otherwise unattended shop. 

We were so good at this.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Word prompt writing sometimes practically writes itself!

I used all of the words provided to write this story but decided not to include the image. However, after I finished writing, I realized I had been inspired subconsciously by the photo, which then helped to write my title! 

By the way, despite having concocted a rather elaborate shoplifting plan, I have never (ever) stolen anything! I'm a little nonplussed by how easily I came up with such a devious plot.

Words for Wednesday Word Prompts for the week of 4/4/21

This story was written in response to the Words for Wednesday Challenge on 4/4/21. The prompts are provided this month by Wisewebwoman on her blog. I encourage you to go to the comments there and read the other stories writers have posted.

This week, there were two lists of words and an image with a caption, all of which were taken from The Book of Longing by Leonard Cohen. Here are the prompts: 

Canopy, Thorn, Machine, Charity and/or Limp, Aisle, Nothing, Sneak

and/or 

a photo of art by Leonard Cohen (shown here), described in this book review as "A very loose self-portrait sketch is accompanied by the words, "I believe that you are standing in the place where I am supposed to be standing."

Do you see how (although completely unintentionally) the image influenced my story?

A strange coincidence

I am currently reading a book with a nearly identical title but a very different genre called The Book of Longings written by Sue Monk Kidd. So far, I am really enjoying it.

Please keep social distancing, wear a mask, wash your hands, get vaccinated, and stay healthy. 

A personal update

I was lucky enough to be vaccinated on Tuesday, and although I was pretty under the weather with flu symptoms for about 24 hours after the shot, I agree with the protagonist in my story that some discomforts are worth enduring for the end result. 

A few hours of a fever (and the embarrassment of my newsletter publishing itself without me remembering yesterday to update it from last week) is definitely better than getting COVID! Stay healthy, everyone!

Flash Fiction: A Wily Decision

 A wife takes a cue from a dog and initiates a big change.

(Image by author, Susan Foster).

This piece of flash fiction was written using word prompts. See below for more details.

A Wily Decision

The tenth of every month was the day Mr. and Mrs.Wily picked up their allotment of wine from the vineyard. They had been members of the wine club there for over ten years, and although they sometimes opened a bottle on special occasions, they had built up an impressive collection of wine in what Mr. Wily called the “wine cellar” in the basement. Really, it was just wooden shelves lining the walls, but she knew Mr. Wily liked the way it made him feel when he referred to it that way. Like they were rich, or something.

Their drive home followed an ice-covered brook. Mr. Wily rolled down the car window, letting in the chilly late afternoon air as he puffed on his cigar. Mrs. Wily felt irritated; she had told him many times the cigar smoke gave her a headache. Why couldn’t he wait to smoke it in the backyard?

Last month, when they picked up their wine, these fields were full of wheat and glistened with an ochre hue, as far as she could see. Now they were just full of stubs and brown dirt. “Not pretty at all,” she mused, in a distracted sort of way. Her main thoughts were focusing on the upcoming task of making dinner. It was Saturday, their day to eat salmon. And broccoli, a baked potato, and pudding, of course, for dessert.

The promenade just blocks from their house was lined with trees. A watchful dog sat on a porch, sniffing the air. As the car drew close, Mrs. Wily saw it leap down the steps to chase a squirrel, who was searching for nuts along the roadside. At first, the squirrel didn’t see the dog approach, and its laggard attempt to get away was almost its demise. Fortunately, it had the wisdom to know the dog couldn’t climb a tree. As soon as the squirrel reached a tree trunk, it climbed high in the branches, quick as a lightning strike.

Mrs. Wily heard the dog bark as it circled around and around the tree. She was reminded of a nursery rhyme circle game she used to teach nursery school children to play.

Here we go round the mulberry bush,
the mulbery bush, the mulberry bush,
here we go round the mulberry bush
on a cold and frosty morning.

The song was meant to teach morning routines to the wee ones, she remembered. Instead of “Here we go round the mulberry bush, the next verse would change to, “this is the way we wash our face.” Then “comb our hair, brush our teeth, put on our clothes” would be inserted in the remaining verses, ending with a final verse of Here we go round the mulberry bush.

The little ones had already learned to play the Ring Around the Rosey game, which ended with, “We all fall down.” Inevitably, while dancing in a circle to the mulberry song, some of the children would forget during which song they were supposed to fall and would drag the others down, all of them landing in a heap. Some cried, and others giggled.

“My life has been going in circles,” Mrs. Wily thought. “Just like the nursery rhyme, Mr. Wily and I have followed the same boring routine every day and every week for years. If things don’t change soon, this marriage is ready to fall down and I’ll be the one crying. I need to be more like that dog, and chase after what I want.”

“Maybe that song is the key to finally being heard,” she thought. “Lord knows, just talking and complaining hasn’t gotten me anywhere. It’s time I become as wily as my last name. I’ll borrow verses from the song and modify them.”

Thinking quickly, she began singing with her pretty soprano voice, raising it loud enough to be sure her husband heard her.

This is the way you make your wife sick, 
make your wife sick,
make your wife sick,
this is the way you make your wife sick,
ignore her and smoke in the car.

Mr. Wily glanced at her, raised his eyebrows, and snuffed out the cigar in the ashtray.

“Oh my heavens, Mr. Wily listened to me!” Then, she thought, “No! Not 'Mr. Wily.' My name is Angie and his name is Bill. No more of this silly Mr. and Mrs. Wily stuff! How did we ever end up calling each other that, anyway?” 

She kept making up verses and singing them.

This is the way we die of boredom,
die of boredom, die of boredom, 
this is the way we die of boredom,
Never doing anything new…

Isn’t it time for new hobbies, 
new hobbies, new hobbies,
isn’t it time for new hobbies
and to start using our first names?

Bill pulled into the driveway and yanked on the emergency brake. 

“Angie,” he murmured, “I never knew you felt like this. I thought I was the only one unhappy with our life.” 

He smiled ruefully and in his off-key baritone and not at all rhythmically, he sang:

Let’s stop going round the mulberry bush, 
the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush,
It’s time we listened and show love to each other,
and we need to make our lives a lot better.

They both smiled and Angie let out a small giggle. They exited the car and she held open the front door while Bill carried in the carton of wine, like always. Except for this time, he bent down and kissed her cheek as he passed her. 

She suggested he leave a bottle of chardonnay in the kitchen, so they could open it to drink with dinner.

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Word Prompt Fiction

This story was written in response to the Words for Wednesday Challenge on 3/31/21. The prompts were provided by Hilary Melton-Butcher but posted on the website Elephant’s Child. I encourage you to go to the comments there and read the other stories writers have posted.

I used this entire list of word prompts to create this story:

Watchful, Laggard, Pudding, Mulberry, Bark,
and/or
Promenade, Vineyard, Allotment, Wisdom, Tenth, 
and/or
Life, Borrow, Wily, Ochre, Brook

Where would these words have taken your imagination?

Please keep social distancing, wear a mask, wash your hands, get vaccinated, and stay healthy!

Taking Time to Stitch a Tapestry (Word Prompt Fiction)

This piece of flash fiction was written using word prompts. See below for more details.

Taking Time to Stitch a Tapestry

The world outside was silent, blanketed by a thick layer of snow. Martha sat by the window, taking advantage of the last of the evening light. Her needle darted in and out, weaving the embroidery thread into the stiff fabric, while the peppermint aroma of her tea faded as it grew cold. She had been stitching longer than she realized. Her thoughts had wandered pleasantly while embroidering this summer scene, which centered on a sweet brown hare darting behind a flowering hedge.

Earlier, along the side of the house, she had seen a similarly sized rabbit, wearing his winter coat of white. Perhaps, she mused, when she finished this one she should embroider the same picture again, but change it to show a winter season instead of summer. Maybe she could even create a set of four tapestries with this same view and rabbit, showing all the seasons. It wouldn’t be hard to do and would add one more dimension to her catalogue of items for the sale.

"If professional artists can present some of their work as a series, why shouldn't I?" she thought. 

The hard scrunch of her husband’s footsteps through the newly fallen snow on the path beyond the window interrupted her thoughts. When the men clear-cut that swatch right up to the house she had disapproved, because she hated to see such beautiful old trees cut down. However, she now appreciated how much easier it was to get to the house from the end of the road, and how the layer of rocks (or snow) warned her when anyone approached.

With a sign, she pushed aside the tapestry and rose from her chair. It was time to get supper started. Her dream of being able to make her sewing a priority over mundane household chores would have to wait.

"Someday," Martha vowed, "I will become a full-time, self-reliant artist and leave this place."

~~~~~*~~~~~

Delores of Under the Porch Light used to offer a weekly writing prompt called Words for Wednesday, and encouraged others to use it to write something creative.  Unfortunately, Delores began to have computer issues, and could no longer provide the weekly prompts. Elephant’s Child took over for a while, and then she organized volunteers to share the responsibility.

The prompts for this week were provided by Hilary Melton-Butcher but posted on the website Elephant’s Child. (They were posted last Wednesday, but it has taken me this long to get around to writing this!) I encourage you to go to the comments there and read the other stories writers have posted. 

I used the entire list of word prompts to create this story: Silent, Tea, Summer, Scrunch, Tapestry and/or Hare, House, Catalogue, Clear-cut, Path.

~~~~~*~~~~~

Where would these words have taken your imagination?

Please keep social distancing, wear a mask, wash your hands, get vaccinated, and stay healthy!

This post contains affiliate links. The opinions expressed, however, are entirely my own.

It Started With A Glance In the Mirror (Word-Prompt Fiction)

A long time ago, I regularly participated in a word prompt challenge, as some readers here may remember.

Delores of Under the Porch Light used to offer a weekly writing prompt called Words for Wednesday, and encouraged others to use it to write something creative.  Unfortunately, Delores began to have computer issues, and could no longer provide the weekly prompts. Elephant’s Child took over for a while, and then she organized volunteers to share the responsibility.

~~~*~~~

Today, I once again participated in that challenge. The prompts for this week were provided by Hilary Melton-Butcher, but posted yesterday on the website Elephant’s Child. I encourage you to go to the comments there and read the other stories writers have posted. 

I used the entire list of word prompts to create this story: wafer, haggard, procession, juniper, drips, disdainful, stream, weed, chalk, treasure. 

Where would these words have taken your imagination?

It Started With a Glance in the Mirror

Julie stared at the mirror and sighed. Who was this haggard woman staring back at her, anyway? She needed to find a way out of the slump she’d been in ever since she left her job. “I need sunshine,” she decided.

“I know, I know,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “Getting a tan isn't good for my skin. But it will help me feel healthy and pretty. That seems like a priority right now.”

Wandering into the kitchen, Julie poured herself a cup of coffee. With no energy to make a proper breakfast, she grabbed a box of vanilla wafers from the cupboard. She placed her mug and the box on the table in the breakfast nook. She went to the front door and grabbed the newspaper from the stoop before sitting down at the table.

Munching on a wafer, she turned to the classified section of the paper and perused it. 

“Ha,” she exclaimed loudly, after a minute of reading. “This is just what I need... a job I’m sure I can do, and it’s outside work, so I will get a tan.” 

She picked up the phone and dialed the listed number.

~~~*~~~ 

Julie stared at the procession of potted plants laid out in neat rows along the hospital walkways. They expect her to plant all of those by lunchtime? 

“Oh, goodness,” she thought. “I certainly hope I don’t get fired on my first day!” 

She loaded as many of the plants as she could onto a wheeled cart and took them over to one of the soil beds near the hospital entrance. The other gardener had already tilled it. She eyeballed where the plants would look best, picked up a spade, and started digging.

~~~*~~~

Tired, but feeling accomplished, Julie was proud all the plants assigned to her were neatly in the ground. She and Sam, the other gardener, were sitting at a picnic table eating sandwiches for lunch. Julie assumed the hospital had kindly placed the table there for visitors and possibly for patients who were well enough to venture outside for a bit. She realized the garden might help brighten an otherwise dismal day for some people who came here.

A minute later, her good mood deflated as Sam told her what her tasks would be that afternoon.

“All the old juniper bushes need to be torn out. Make sure you dig up all the roots. When you finish with that, add drips to all the flowers you just planted.”

“OH, MY,” thought Julie. “Removing those bushes sounds like scratchy and backbreaking work.”