A Writing Prompt or A Harbinger of Things To Come

Sometimes as a writer, you get these fantastic ideas for a novel or novella but because of other commitments — finishing rubysanders.wordpress.com and onethreethirteen.wordpress.com — you know you’ll never get around to starting the project let alone finishing it.

I have one such idea, and I was reminded of it again this morning while watching ‘Good Morning America. So, I’d like to throw that idea out to the writing community.

It goes like this:

When I was a child, we were taught in school that the sun is 93 million miles from earth and that the continental United States was farther south than it is today. However, if you fact check that in Wikipedia today, it states that the sun is 108 million miles from the earth and we’re experiencing a slow continental drift northward. My story idea takes that information and paints a doomsday that the sun is moving away from the earth and as it does it is slowly pulling the earth apart which is the reason for the recent rash of sinkholes.

Who would live and who would die.  And what would life be like on the part of the earth that was left in its old orbit.

A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth

 

 

 

 

 

 

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DC Naval Yard Shooting

Hear we are again with yet another shooting.  It seems we are no longer safe anywhere these days, not in our work places, definately not in our schools, and not even in our homes.   And not because of any foreign terrorists acts like the one conducted by Syria President Bashar al-Assad.   We are not safe from ourselves.

The honest truth is aside from war, most Americans are killed by other Americans with guns that were purchased for safety reasons.  

It’s about time we woke up to the fact that we need to get the guns off the streets, out of the back closet, and out of the hands of people who might find another way of expressing their anger if they hadn’t had access to a gun.

 

A Tiny Kitten With A Big Mouth

 

‘Poodle Bait’

Poodle Bait

For my first Thanksgiving as host, I bought the biggest turkey they had in the store, along with a backup ham the size of a small bus.

I’ve been a fan of General Hospital for many years and I’ve always gotten a hoot out of how every year the Quartermaines end up having pizza for Thanksgiving dinner. It was all very hilarious until it happened to us.

And by us, I mean me, my husband, our two kids, my parents, his parents, my single spinster sister and a friend of Richard’s that he had invited to dinner as a possible match for my sister.

It all started so innocently. The doorbell rang. Of course it was my parents. Who always arrived first for everything, football games, parties, weddings — you name it. Like there’s a prize for being first. And of course my mother insisted on helping with dinner.

Next to arrive were Richard’s parents, Molly and Engleburt. Who name’s their child Engleburt? My dad and Engleburt stationed themselves in front of the TV for the Army Navy game while my husband plied them with alcohol. Molly, my mother-in-law, as you have probably already surmised also insisted on helping in the kitchen.

Things were going well, if you can call three women in the same kitchen, three drunk men hyped up on football, and two teenagers with iphones plugged into their ears, and one toy poodle roaming aimlessly from room to room, going well. Did I forget to mention the dog?

Henry, our dog who is so mild-mannered and content that we often forgot that he’s around. With so much activity in the house today, Henry had found himself a quiet spot by the fireplace and was busy rather nonchalantly licking himself when the door bell rang.

It was my sister, Liz. Liz is, how can I say this, WEIRD. Liz came for Thanksgiving dressed as a witch. “Why are you dressed like that I asked”. “Like what,” she said surveying herself from the chest down. “Like that!” I said pointing to the long sleeved black peasant blouse and floor length black skirt. “I’m depressed,” she said. “I’m prettier than you. I should have been the one to get married first. This should be my first Thanksgiving as a wife.” she said brushing passed me. “What’ya mean, “you’re prettier than me?”

“Richard, she yelled to my husband, I don’t have a drink in my hand!”

“Coming up Liz, yelled back my good natured husband.

“Richard, look at how she’s dressed!” I quipped as he placed a double Manhattan in my sister’s left hand. “Thanks bro.” “How is she dressed?, asked my clueless hubby. “Like a witch!” “I’m not seeing it.” “OK. If not like a witch, then like a very depressed peasant. Do you think your friend, John is going to find her attractive in that outfit? “Don’t worry about him. He hasn’t had sex in so long I don’t think he’ll car how she’s dressed.” A roar erupted from the other room and off went my wonderful husband for the replay. Ding Dong. “Doorbell, quipped by witchy spinster sister before downing more of her Manhattan. “Damn!” I stomped over to the door knowing that it was probably Richard’s friend. I opened the door and John ‘Poodle bait’ Walker stepped through the door.

Out friendly docile poodle Henry was a blur as he tore past me and into John ‘Poodle bait’ Walker. There was ripping of fabric, screams of pain, and, oh yes, a lot of snarling and growling, while I stood transfixed by how fast our little dog could move. “What’s all the noise?” yelled Richard “I don’t think Henry likes your friend!”

John ‘Poodle bait’ Walker screamed passed me and into the living room knocking over the coffee table, Henry snapping closely at his heels. “Down, Henry!” I commanded. “Call him off! Call him off!”, screamed ‘Poodle bait”. “Henry heel!” That didn’t work. Next, I tried getting in between them, but Henry was too fast. He had tasted blood and caught the scent! The scent of fear. Flaring his teeth, he aimed himself for another attack. John ‘Poodle bait’ Walker leapt over the sofa where my sister was still sitting and crashed headlong into the dining room table laden with my best china and stemware. Henry was not to be outdone! He made the leap with champion show dog precision landing solidly on ‘Poodle Bait’s’ butt and sunk in his claws so as not to slide off. ‘Poodle bait’ let out a high C wail before sprinting off to the next room. The kitchen.

And that’s why we all ate hamburgers this Thanksgiving.

 

Love you Pepper