Dear Readers and Fellow Writers, As I write for the last WEP entry of the year, it is with a heavy heart that I share the news of 'Write Edit Publish' closing down after thirteen long years. I wrote my first WEP post (a flash fiction) in December 2020, and it was very special as …
The Circuit of Life
Hello Readers Welcome to the August posting of Write Edit Publish, where writing is a fun exchange of stories, ideas and everything writing! For this month, the prompt is the film CHOCOLAT based on the book by Joanne Harris, and if you would like to join us with your contribution and read the others, visit …
Reflection
When I hear you talkarms flailing, the riseand fall of the voice,I trace the contours ofyour face with my eyesMeet an acquaintance,watch your spirit plungewith all its mightinto reason, contention,willingness to bring change.The mirror reflects a memoryfrom years ago,a forgotten affair with passionburied under layers ofquiet living.What's lost is often around the cornerThe apple, they …
Meeting an old, (un)familiar friend…
Free image pixabay Meeting an old friend after ages is sometimes like meeting a new person. Someone so new that you prefer their warm, old memory instead... We hold handsuninterrupted by lifeTalk about a hundreddreams-More than a score andfive years ago. We walk like we ownthe trailsthat lead to our homesSay hello to the tinyfoliolesbefriended …
Just Like That …
Free image, Pixabay A little scribble inspired by a Murakami story. And just like thatwe run into the seasonof booties and gloves.The blossoms gonein the blink of an eye,vanished in the small intervalbetween sundown and rise.And just like them we turna form into a blob into a dotinto no trace of any thinga mishmash of …
Last-ditch Efforts
Free Image Pixabay Random phone calls to talk about the rainor the cat,the food that I never had,or all the mundane thingslife is made of.Good morning messagesthat I never open,forwards I care no more for,or an emoticon to tell methey exist.Old trees, said a friend,set copious blossomsin their final years.
A Hundred Quills 