Serious Withdrawal Symptoms are About to Set in

Computer...need my computerrrr

Computer…need my computerrrr

Just when I was getting back into my stride posting on my blog, I’ve hit a pothole in the road…no, make that a bloody great chasm.

As of yesterday, I have no computer. It started doing strange things, so I took it to my computer guy and he gave it the last rites. It has suffered the rainbow screen of death—as opposed to the blue screen of death and it will be some time before I’ll be back – i.e. when I get a new computer (possibly 2-3 months).

Not having an i-Pad means I won’t be able to access WordPress, Twitter and Facebook—not really too worried about the last two. It also means I won’t be able to work on my book, or send emails (I hate sending emails from my phone).

I’m writing this post on an ancient computer that has no fan and overheats, so sadly, there is no chance of using it as a replacement.

I know it’s asking a lot, but do try to be good children while I’m away :D

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A Golden Dream

Each week, Alastair offers one of his photos to all Wordsmiths who like a challenge. You can join in the fun and add your story of around 200 words by clicking on the little blue linky thing at Sunday Photo Fiction My story goes over the 200 word mark this week, so I apologise for that, but hope you’ll enjoy it anyway.

Golden HorseDad removed my blindfold and grinned. “Happy sixteenth birthday, honey.”

“Oh Daddy, she’s beautiful.” I reached out my hand and gently caressed the velvety nose. The mare nickered softly and nibbled my knuckles.

“We get a bonus with her too.”

“A horse float?” I asked hopefully, knowing how expensive a good one was.

My father laughed, “Even better. She’s pregnant.”

“Your kidding!” my voice rose to a squeak as I looked over the stable door. It was true; her belly was huge. She had to be very close to producing a foal.

“Dr Mitchell says she may not foal for a week, but we’re to call him if she starts and he’ll come straight over.”

We stared at each other – this beautiful golden creature and I.

“You’ll need to think of a name for her.”

Goldie? Sunshine? Bella? I couldn’t think straight.

After Dad left for work, I stood staring in wonder at my new baby. Well, she wasn’t really a baby, but that’s how I thought of her. When she had her foal, would that make me a grandmother?

And that’s when it happened…

“Honey, could you bring me some Oreo cookies and a bowl of those little round pickles.”

My mouth started doing fish impressions. “W-w-w-what?”

“I tried to ask the one you call Daddy, but he didn’t know what I was saying.”

I think I must have fainted, because the next thing I knew was my horse was blowing gently on my face.

“I’m sorry I startled you. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to understand me, but I’m so glad you do.”

I stood up and grabbed hold of the stable door, which my horse had somehow managed to open. “But…I…did…did you really talk?”

“All horses can talk honey, but very few humans can understand them. You do, so it means we’re going to be the best of friends.”

I threw my arms around her neck, and laughed and cried all at the same time.

She nudged me and whinnied softly. “Now, about those Oreo cookies and pickles…’

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It’s Too Hot to Take a Jacket

There was a soccer game on today. Actually, there were probably several, but I want to concentrate on just one of them. The game was postponed and for a while, it looked as though it might never get underway.

My granddaughter had front row seats for the A League final between Western Sydney Wanderers V Perth Glory. She took some awesome photos – but not of the game. These were all part of the pre-game entertainment.

Don’t worry, it’s just a bit of rain.

ANZAC - soccer (Emma)Are you sure there isn’t an alien craft in those clouds firing on us?

(c) Brendon Thorne/Getty Images

(c) Brendon Thorne/Getty Images

“I’m turning into an Emmcicle. It’s so cold I can see my breath.”

snow plough football styleOh look, they’ve brought out the snow plow.

(c) ABC News.com

(c) ABC News.com

“Are the rest of you coming out to play or not?”

Despite being freezing cold and soaking wet, Emma said she had a great time. Sadly, the Wanderers lost 2-1

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Let the Games Begin

The Cave Mistress has given us another historical medical photo for The Scribes Cave flash fiction. If you want to take part, click on over; the Cave Mistress will make you very welcome. You only require 50-200 words to join in. While you’re there, have a read of the other stories too.

torpedoes

Admiral Masters walked up and down the rows of beds examining each subject without saying a word. He nodded towards the door and Professor McGoinen followed him into the hallway.

“Impressive.”

“Thank you, Admiral. We aim to please.”

“Why the nurses?”

“We have to make it look good if we’re going to fool any enemy moles. Of course, the uniforms are just a cover. They’re actually naval officers.”

The colonel harrumphed. “So, we just wheel ‘em on board right under the noses of the enemy and simply set sail on a mission of mercy.”

“The Captain had this wild idea and put it to me. Disguising the missiles as highly infectious patients was a stroke of genius on his part. No one is going to inspect them too closely for fear of contracting something. They’re about the same size as an average male, and unlike the old Sea Cat missiles, they don’t have any fins to try to hide.”

“Right then, let’s get the er… patients loaded.”

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It’s the Little Things that Count

It’s time for Monday’s Finish the Story. You have up to 150 words to dazzle readers with your brilliance, your wit, or even both – or just make us laugh. But unless you join in, we won’t be able to enjoy your story. So, hop on over to Barb’s Monday’s Finish the Story  and have a go. Do not forget to click on the blue guy on Barb’s page and add your link so that others can enjoy your story too! My story starts under the photo.

2015-03-16-bw-beacham - Monday Finish the StoryA body suddenly crashed through a plate glass window at the Brigadier’s house. His wife burst into tears, “Really, Alastair, it’s just getting beyond a joke. You must speak to the Andersons and tell them it has to stop.”

“Hmmm?” the Brigadier lowered his pipe and looked up from his Sunday Times. “Did you say something dear?”

“I said, you have to speak to the Andersons.”

“Did you want me to invite them to lunch?” the Brig looked confused, “but I didn’t think you liked the Andersons.”

“I don’t want to invite them to lunch; I want you to tell them it has to stop immediately.” Her voice rose to a piercing shriek.

“What has to stop, dearest?”

That has to!” Penelope pointed to a small man getting groggily to his feet. He poked his tongue out at her before running out the door.

“The Andersons, they’re having a dwarf tossing party again.”

Posted in Flash Fiction, Monday's Finish the Story, writing | Tagged , , , | 33 Comments

Lucky Dip Anyone?

You’ve heard of The Ghost in the Machine? Well, I have one—in my email program and he’s driving me crazy!! “Oh,” I hear you say, “How do you know it’s a he?”

Ha! That’s easy. What he’s doing is perverse, annoying and just plain childish.
I started my email program after lunch, and checked who has sent me emails. Every one of them is from the same person. “Whaaat?!”

I open one. The subject is the same as in the email list, but the actual email is from someone else. You can see what I mean from the picture. They all show that they are from Momus News. Yet the one I clicked on is from Leanne at Writer’s Wednesday Blog Hop.

screen shot

It’s the same with every one of them. This morning, when I first switched on my computer, they were all from Morpeth Road. Yesterday they were all from Wiley’s Wisdom. I’m fully expecting them to be from someone else if I shut down my computer and start it up again.

While I love surprises, this is just a tad annoying, because I read my emails in a particular order. Non-writing related ones I read first to get them out of the way, and leave the blog post notification ones till last – you know… keeping the best till last, because I love reading the flash fiction my internet friends write :D

This is certainly making life interesting; rather like a lucky dip at the fair. I guess I’ll just have to start from the beginning and go through them one by one. Hopefully, tomorrow my annoying friend will rack off, and go and bug someone else – but not one of my friends.

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Dear Friend, What is it about God…?

Lyn:

I cannot begin to say how beautiful this is.

Originally posted on Writings and Ruminations:

Dear Friend,

What is is about God that makes you so mad? The mere mention of His name causes your shoulders to tense, and your fists to curl, and your mouth to spit words of hate.

What is is about God that makes you so skeptical? The mere mention of His name causes indignant doubt and the passionate desire to prove His non-existence.

What is is about God that makes you so irritated? The mere mention of His name causes you to turn your back, to tune out your heart, to question the intention of the Believer.

What is it about God that makes it easier to believe in the universe, to believe in coincidence, to believe in “just meant to be”–all of which are equally unseen and void of visible proof and human explanation. Why is God so much more intensely unfathomable than those other things to which we…

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