Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

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Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby cerrodepedro » Mon Oct 10, 2016 5:08 am

NONFICTION INTERLUDE!!!

Tell a story about a person you admired a great deal when growing up. Do you still admire them? How have they shaped your view of the world?

Rules: Two or more paragraphs, and feedback to other contributors.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby ravenrussell » Mon Oct 10, 2016 5:13 am

On it
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby cerrodepedro » Mon Oct 10, 2016 5:14 am

ravenrussell wrote:On it


YOU'RE THE BEST. I MEAN IT.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby ravenrussell » Mon Oct 10, 2016 5:16 am

My brother may be joining ninja. He's working on a novel. Just a heads up to the Lit crew.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby AliceElite » Tue Oct 11, 2016 1:13 pm

Growing up I admired women who got in the way. Women who went on hunger strikes. Women who protested. Argued. Convinced. Fought.

I admired women in books. I admired Lyra Silvertongue - she was a girl who stumbled into adventure, who pushed the adults around her into action, who went alone, who went with friends. Lyra walked into other worlds, fell in love, and abandoned it. Lyra could shame an adult into moving an army. Lyra walked through death. Lyra was self-sufficient. Clever.

I wanted to be Lyra, when I grew up, because I wanted to take care of myself.

It is not impressive, being Lyra as an adult, because - I should be able to take care of myself by now. I should be clever. Hardworking. Upstanding and willing to fight for my loved ones. And I am. I do. What is remarkable about becoming Lyra, is that she taught me in the first place.

Lyra taught me that I could be at once filled with love and also strong and hard working. She taught me that I did not have to hate the struggle in my life. She taught me that it was okay to be hurt, sad, miserable, and keep going. Things my mother never taught me. Things I never saw from any adult.

Maybe being Lyra as an adult is remarkable. I don't know. I'm just so, so thankful that someone taught me how to be those things at all.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby ravenrussell » Fri Oct 14, 2016 3:59 am

"Mother of Poems"

My mother, my deepest admiration point, brought me up in a world of free and honest discussion. She daily told me something that would blow my mind. She allowed me to do the same for her. She allowed me to read her to sleep every night. This encouraged in me a fine love of English and everything written. If she fell asleep, I just kept reading, and when she went to sleep for the final time, I kept her spirit close in all I wrote.

She constantly corrected my misuse of the language we loved. She taught me words that the common man had forgotten. I loved words early. I spell exceptionally well. I enunciate my words to allow them to be understood by everyone. Above all, I explain my language if someone doesn't understand it. I am not better than my English speaking brothers and sisters. I love to question each new word, not depending on others' definitions, but looking it up, soaking it in. My mother would have been able to proofread this diatribe, cure me of my comma problems. I miss her every moment of the passing days.

I admire her still, but she lives on in me. Every poem that I write contains a piece of her inner beauty. She was and is the magical gel that keeps me writing. One of her favorite terms for someone who writes haphazardly, without care for the reader, was "Artistic Masturbation." I think of this term every time I write. I am not in the art scene to confuse people. I am a writer because I want to carry on the traditions of my mother. Free speech. Love to All. Never forgetting who I am. Always writing from the heart. That is enough incomplete sentences to drive my mother up the wall.

But English is flexible: devine; perfect in all of its imperfections, and forever drawing me farther out of my shell. I love you Melissa Ann Keenan, thanks for listening all of those years.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby cerrodepedro » Fri Oct 14, 2016 5:09 pm

RavenRussell, this is so, so, so beautiful. I feel really fortunate to know this much more about you. And now I get the privilege of reading your work with a sort of "exegesis" treatment, for lack of a better term, meaning I'll be able to read your work with a particular kind of critical eye. Thank you. You've just added to this space.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby ink » Sat Oct 15, 2016 4:26 pm

quite beautiful!

ravenrussell wrote: One of her favorite terms for someone who writes haphazardly, without care for the reader, was "Artistic Masturbation."



hah :lawl: ..interchangeable
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby Zombie » Sat Oct 15, 2016 4:42 pm

I've never thought about it like that before, but you do put a drop of their essence into what you do, it's like a little memorial for lack of a better word in the work you both shared.. I relate to this a lot and thank you for the thought.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby Skywalker » Sat Oct 15, 2016 8:22 pm

Stories are wonderful manifestation within the minds who remember them. Some stories are funny, some are grand, while others may be sad or even evil in nature. This story falls more into the former category in that it is funny story about a small girl and her parents.



It was a dark and stormy night in the small house in the woods. As the branches slapped against the windows and thunder clashed outside in streaks of white. Out of nowhere appeared a small child with a wild gleam in her eye. Then off into the distance, there was a cackle from a mad and crazy woman. The small child grew scared and dashed behind the chair as a means of protection. Only to see a tall tanned man walk into the room, clad in jeans and the dirt from a day’s work. The small child, scared because of the storm and the cackle off in the distance, peered out from behind the chair to see if the tall tanned man could in any way offer better protection than the woodland themed chair.

The tall tanned man sat down opposite of the small child behind the chair and beckoned for her to come out. The small child refused, wide eyed and scared. The man knew that the small child, while might be scared, knew that she would be fine. It was an afternoon storm and begin to take off his work boots. The small child peaked out once again, to try and figure out the foul odor in the room. She watched as the tall tanned man took off one boot and then the other. The man looked around after setting down his boots by the door. For the woman of the home would reign down hellfire, if he got mud on her clean floor. The man left the small child behind the chair as set off to the other areas of the house looking for the woman, and just as soon as he left the room the small girl heard the cackle yet again. The tall tanned man heard it as well, but all he did as give a hearty chuckle. The tall tanned man, had found the woman of the house, she was currently bathing the oldest child who was laughing. The small child was not hearing a witch that she had conjured up, but in fact her older sister who was enjoying her bath.

The small child crawled out from behind the chair and went forth to study her dads work boots. She loved those boots despite the smell. She slowly put on the first one, and then the second. The small child started to stomp around on clean floor, getting dirt and concert everywhere. As the small child was stomping, she was just thinking about whatever a four-year-old thinks about. She decided that she wanted to ask her dad a question, which he as eager to answer. The small child began to speak, “Why did God, give you us?” She was referring to her and her older sister. The tall tanned man sat a moment and though about the question, he called the woman of the house to and had the small child repeat the question. The tall tan manned, then answered the question, “to love you.” It was a simple and quick answer, but these was the answer that the small child wanted. Nothing overly completed, but it satisfied the curiosity of the small child and she stomped away in her dads work boots leaving a trail of dirt and concrete.

This is one of many memories that stays with me. When I think about my dad, the tall tanned man, I think about his work boots. I think about that question, it was then I knew that my parents loved me, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. I have kept this story close to my heart as I have gone throughout life, as it has helped me when others have not been so kind.

I describe my dad as a tall tanned man, because of the Native American that came out in him, in his awesome tan and his black hair. The woman of the house is my mom, she’d would bring forth the hell fire for getting anything on her clean floors. When I was younger, if you wanted to play even at 4. The other person is my older sister, she used to laugh and play in the tub, sometimes it would scare me, because of her laugh. I have other stories, as I grew up on the coastal plain of North Carolina and my parents clammed a lot of my childhood. So maybe I will get a chance to share more stories.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby Rivoc » Sun Oct 16, 2016 8:10 am

ravenrussell wrote:"Mother of Poems"

My mother, my deepest admiration point, brought me up in a world of free and honest discussion. She daily told me something that would blow my mind. She allowed me to do the same for her. She allowed me to read her to sleep every night. This encouraged in me a fine love of English and everything written. If she fell asleep, I just kept reading, and when she went to sleep for the final time, I kept her spirit close in all I wrote.

She constantly corrected my misuse of the language we loved. She taught me words that the common man had forgotten. I loved words early. I spell exceptionally well. I enunciate my words to allow them to be understood by everyone. Above all, I explain my language if someone doesn't understand it. I am not better than my English speaking brothers and sisters. I love to question each new word, not depending on others' definitions, but looking it up, soaking it in. My mother would have been able to proofread this diatribe, cure me of my comma problems. I miss her every moment of the passing days.

I admire her still, but she lives on in me. Every poem that I write contains a piece of her inner beauty. She was and is the magical gel that keeps me writing. One of her favorite terms for someone who writes haphazardly, without care for the reader, was "Artistic Masturbation." I think of this term every time I write. I am not in the art scene to confuse people. I am a writer because I want to carry on the traditions of my mother. Free speech. Love to All. Never forgetting who I am. Always writing from the heart. That is enough incomplete sentences to drive my mother up the wall.

But English is flexible: devine; perfect in all of its imperfections, and forever drawing me farther out of my shell. I love you Melissa Ann Keenan, thanks for listening all of those years.


That is beautiful. It really is. I wish I could say I loved something that much! Maybe chicken tenders/nuggets. I can honestly write forever about my love for these and how different they are at all the different locations and really go into depth. I dont even use sauce as i feel it desecrates the meant-to-be flavor. This is no love anywhere near your love for writing and words. That really was the most beautiful thing I've read in a long time. I'm sure she's very proud of you and smiles everytime you read or write something, looking at the smile on your face. Keep on reading, writing, spelling, and learning!!!
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby ravenrussell » Sun Oct 16, 2016 10:44 pm

Skywalker wrote:Stories are wonderful manifestation within the minds who remember them. Some stories are funny, some are grand, while others may be sad or even evil in nature. This story falls more into the former category in that it is funny story about a small girl and her parents.



It was a dark and stormy night in the small house in the woods. As the branches slapped against the windows and thunder clashed outside in streaks of white. Out of nowhere appeared a small child with a wild gleam in her eye. Then off into the distance, there was a cackle from a mad and crazy woman. The small child grew scared and dashed behind the chair as a means of protection. Only to see a tall tanned man walk into the room, clad in jeans and the dirt from a day’s work. The small child, scared because of the storm and the cackle off in the distance, peered out from behind the chair to see if the tall tanned man could in any way offer better protection than the woodland themed chair.

The tall tanned man sat down opposite of the small child behind the chair and beckoned for her to come out. The small child refused, wide eyed and scared. The man knew that the small child, while might be scared, knew that she would be fine. It was an afternoon storm and begin to take off his work boots. The small child peaked out once again, to try and figure out the foul odor in the room. She watched as the tall tanned man took off one boot and then the other. The man looked around after setting down his boots by the door. For the woman of the home would reign down hellfire, if he got mud on her clean floor. The man left the small child behind the chair as set off to the other areas of the house looking for the woman, and just as soon as he left the room the small girl heard the cackle yet again. The tall tanned man heard it as well, but all he did as give a hearty chuckle. The tall tanned man, had found the woman of the house, she was currently bathing the oldest child who was laughing. The small child was not hearing a witch that she had conjured up, but in fact her older sister who was enjoying her bath.

The small child crawled out from behind the chair and went forth to study her dads work boots. She loved those boots despite the smell. She slowly put on the first one, and then the second. The small child started to stomp around on clean floor, getting dirt and concert everywhere. As the small child was stomping, she was just thinking about whatever a four-year-old thinks about. She decided that she wanted to ask her dad a question, which he as eager to answer. The small child began to speak, “Why did God, give you us?” She was referring to her and her older sister. The tall tanned man sat a moment and though about the question, he called the woman of the house to and had the small child repeat the question. The tall tan manned, then answered the question, “to love you.” It was a simple and quick answer, but these was the answer that the small child wanted. Nothing overly completed, but it satisfied the curiosity of the small child and she stomped away in her dads work boots leaving a trail of dirt and concrete.

This is one of many memories that stays with me. When I think about my dad, the tall tanned man, I think about his work boots. I think about that question, it was then I knew that my parents loved me, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. I have kept this story close to my heart as I have gone throughout life, as it has helped me when others have not been so kind.

I describe my dad as a tall tanned man, because of the Native American that came out in him, in his awesome tan and his black hair. The woman of the house is my mom, she’d would bring forth the hell fire for getting anything on her clean floors. When I was younger, if you wanted to play even at 4. The other person is my older sister, she used to laugh and play in the tub, sometimes it would scare me, because of her laugh. I have other stories, as I grew up on the coastal plain of North Carolina and my parents clammed a lot of my childhood. So maybe I will get a chance to share more stories.


I love how the boots become their own character. The details contained in this story, show the amount of impact this moment had on you. Thanks for sharing.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby ravenrussell » Sun Oct 16, 2016 10:49 pm

Rivoc wrote:
That is beautiful. It really is. I wish I could say I loved something that much! Maybe chicken tenders/nuggets. I can honestly write forever about my love for these and how different they are at all the different locations and really go into depth. I dont even use sauce as i feel it desecrates the meant-to-be flavor. This is no love anywhere near your love for writing and words. That really was the most beautiful thing I've read in a long time. I'm sure she's very proud of you and smiles everytime you read or write something, looking at the smile on your face. Keep on reading, writing, spelling, and learning!!!


I have a similar affinity to spicy chicken teriyaki. I sample it everywhere I go, hoping to find the perfect one. I don't add anything to it, wanting to find the ultimate made to order teriyaki. Thank you for your kind words. I can't help but smile when I think of my mother.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby ravenrussell » Sun Oct 16, 2016 10:53 pm

cerrodepedro wrote:RavenRussell, this is so, so, so beautiful. I feel really fortunate to know this much more about you. And now I get the privilege of reading your work with a sort of "exegesis" treatment, for lack of a better term, meaning I'll be able to read your work with a particular kind of critical eye. Thank you. You've just added to this space.


You taught me another word, exegesis. Looked that shit up. I am so glad that so many of you called this piece beautiful. I am grateful to call you friends.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby cerrodepedro » Mon Oct 17, 2016 9:04 pm

Slightly late to the party, but here's your moderator's contribution!

--

The people who I ended up looking up to as a kid positively generally fell into two categories: The consistent and the remarkable. The remarkable folks achieved skill in whatever interest or interests they might have had. Sometimes I wanted to be them. And reductively enough, I think whether or not I chose to install them as permanent, positive fixtures in my psyche was based entirely on how much I liked them.

One of those people was this kid that excelled in all the sports in junior high school. We didn't do middle school. I perceived middle school as a bougie thing reserved for kids that didn't go to school across from a feed lot, down the road from truck stops, and attended by fellow children living in an abandoned development (if I keep elaborating the exact geography of this place gets revealed) retrofitted for housing. He was SO EXUBERANT and walked the line between annoying and pleasing the instructors and coaches at that school who also served as cultural gatekeepers for the region.

At the time, since athletic performance was one of the top, most rewarded values, people looked at my Becker Muscular Dystrophy calves with awe and wanted to see me perform really well. And given how relatively small the school was, it was totally normal for kids to get into sports. I was on the junior high basketball team. Learned the beauty of zone defense. And of course the point guard was this dude I admired. I worked really hard during practice. And I remember a particular moment right after practice in which he chose to coach me in a couple of drills and techniques. Usually the popular dudes were also douchebag alpha males. But he WASN'T. I could tell he really wanted to improve my life. And that alone won my perpetual admiration.

In retrospect, I'm "more than incidentally" bisexual, and part of that admiration was also likely sort of a crush. Most folks recognize that mentoring situations often go along those lines. And at least in athletics, I DETESTED some idiot coach coming up and trying to get all paternal and shit with me. Made me angry. It was a rare exception that I let the point guard give me some pointers, and it was because it was kindness, not part of a climb on a social ladder, and I knew this because he legitimately only really gave a fuck about having lots of fun in sports. Walked around with a baseball hat that said "porn star" sometimes, and prided himself on wearing women's basketball shoes because they fit his feet better.

How did this affect me? It probably gave me a sort of ideal reference point for what it's like to effuse very little but good. And it probably taught me that there was a balance to be struck between respecting an art (I'll include athletic performance in "art") and pushing yourself so hard it turns into nothing more than an ego-bolstering exercise rooted mainly in shame. And that balance I think is what I continue to strive for as an adult and to encourage as a parent.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby cerrodepedro » Mon Oct 17, 2016 9:05 pm

Skywalker wrote:Stories are wonderful manifestation within the minds who remember them. Some stories are funny, some are grand, while others may be sad or even evil in nature. This story falls more into the former category in that it is funny story about a small girl and her parents.



It was a dark and stormy night in the small house in the woods. As the branches slapped against the windows and thunder clashed outside in streaks of white. Out of nowhere appeared a small child with a wild gleam in her eye. Then off into the distance, there was a cackle from a mad and crazy woman. The small child grew scared and dashed behind the chair as a means of protection. Only to see a tall tanned man walk into the room, clad in jeans and the dirt from a day’s work. The small child, scared because of the storm and the cackle off in the distance, peered out from behind the chair to see if the tall tanned man could in any way offer better protection than the woodland themed chair.

The tall tanned man sat down opposite of the small child behind the chair and beckoned for her to come out. The small child refused, wide eyed and scared. The man knew that the small child, while might be scared, knew that she would be fine. It was an afternoon storm and begin to take off his work boots. The small child peaked out once again, to try and figure out the foul odor in the room. She watched as the tall tanned man took off one boot and then the other. The man looked around after setting down his boots by the door. For the woman of the home would reign down hellfire, if he got mud on her clean floor. The man left the small child behind the chair as set off to the other areas of the house looking for the woman, and just as soon as he left the room the small girl heard the cackle yet again. The tall tanned man heard it as well, but all he did as give a hearty chuckle. The tall tanned man, had found the woman of the house, she was currently bathing the oldest child who was laughing. The small child was not hearing a witch that she had conjured up, but in fact her older sister who was enjoying her bath.

The small child crawled out from behind the chair and went forth to study her dads work boots. She loved those boots despite the smell. She slowly put on the first one, and then the second. The small child started to stomp around on clean floor, getting dirt and concert everywhere. As the small child was stomping, she was just thinking about whatever a four-year-old thinks about. She decided that she wanted to ask her dad a question, which he as eager to answer. The small child began to speak, “Why did God, give you us?” She was referring to her and her older sister. The tall tanned man sat a moment and though about the question, he called the woman of the house to and had the small child repeat the question. The tall tan manned, then answered the question, “to love you.” It was a simple and quick answer, but these was the answer that the small child wanted. Nothing overly completed, but it satisfied the curiosity of the small child and she stomped away in her dads work boots leaving a trail of dirt and concrete.

This is one of many memories that stays with me. When I think about my dad, the tall tanned man, I think about his work boots. I think about that question, it was then I knew that my parents loved me, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. I have kept this story close to my heart as I have gone throughout life, as it has helped me when others have not been so kind.

I describe my dad as a tall tanned man, because of the Native American that came out in him, in his awesome tan and his black hair. The woman of the house is my mom, she’d would bring forth the hell fire for getting anything on her clean floors. When I was younger, if you wanted to play even at 4. The other person is my older sister, she used to laugh and play in the tub, sometimes it would scare me, because of her laugh. I have other stories, as I grew up on the coastal plain of North Carolina and my parents clammed a lot of my childhood. So maybe I will get a chance to share more stories.


//response to Skywalker pending
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby ravenrussell » Mon Oct 17, 2016 10:14 pm

cerrodepedro wrote:Slightly late to the party, but here's your moderator's contribution!

--

The people who I ended up looking up to as a kid positively generally fell into two categories: The consistent and the remarkable. The remarkable folks achieved skill in whatever interest or interests they might have had. Sometimes I wanted to be them. And reductively enough, I think whether or not I chose to install them as permanent, positive fixtures in my psyche was based entirely on how much I liked them.

One of those people was this kid that excelled in all the sports in junior high school. We didn't do middle school. I perceived middle school as a bougie thing reserved for kids that didn't go to school across from a feed lot, down the road from truck stops, and attended by fellow children living in an abandoned development (if I keep elaborating the exact geography of this place gets revealed) retrofitted for housing. He was SO EXUBERANT and walked the line between annoying and pleasing the instructors and coaches at that school who also served as cultural gatekeepers for the region.

At the time, since athletic performance was one of the top, most rewarded values, people looked at my Becker Muscular Dystrophy calves with awe and wanted to see me perform really well. And given how relatively small the school was, it was totally normal for kids to get into sports. I was on the junior high basketball team. Learned the beauty of zone defense. And of course the point guard was this dude I admired. I worked really hard during practice. And I remember a particular moment right after practice in which he chose to coach me in a couple of drills and techniques. Usually the popular dudes were also douchebag alpha males. But he WASN'T. I could tell he really wanted to improve my life. And that alone won my perpetual admiration.

In retrospect, I'm "more than incidentally" bisexual, and part of that admiration was also likely sort of a crush. Most folks recognize that mentoring situations often go along those lines. And at least in athletics, I DETESTED some idiot coach coming up and trying to get all paternal and shit with me. Made me angry. It was a rare exception that I let the point guard give me some pointers, and it was because it was kindness, not part of a climb on a social ladder, and I knew this because he legitimately only really gave a fuck about having lots of fun in sports. Walked around with a baseball hat that said "porn star" sometimes, and prided himself on wearing women's basketball shoes because they fit his feet better.

How did this affect me? It probably gave me a sort of ideal reference point for what it's like to effuse very little but good. And it probably taught me that there was a balance to be struck between respecting an art (I'll include athletic performance in "art") and pushing yourself so hard it turns into nothing more than an ego-bolstering exercise rooted mainly in shame. And that balance I think is what I continue to strive for as an adult and to encourage as a parent.


God, you put me back there. I pictured Junior High
crystal clear. I had one of those kids too, Jake Ryan. I am not bi, but I probably had a crush on him too. The cool kids who played with folk like me. You painted an amazing picture. Thank you for sharing a meaningful moment.
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby Rivoc » Wed Oct 19, 2016 2:49 am

ravenrussell wrote:
Rivoc wrote:
That is beautiful. It really is. I wish I could say I loved something that much! Maybe chicken tenders/nuggets. I can honestly write forever about my love for these and how different they are at all the different locations and really go into depth. I dont even use sauce as i feel it desecrates the meant-to-be flavor. This is no love anywhere near your love for writing and words. That really was the most beautiful thing I've read in a long time. I'm sure she's very proud of you and smiles everytime you read or write something, looking at the smile on your face. Keep on reading, writing, spelling, and learning!!!


I have a similar affinity to spicy chicken teriyaki. I sample it everywhere I go, hoping to find the perfect one. I don't add anything to it, wanting to find the ultimate made to order teriyaki. Thank you for your kind words. I can't help but smile when I think of my mother.


Now you just opened up a whole world for me..... i HATE chicken teriyaki because of how thick and sweet teriyaki tends to be. however, SPICY chicken teriyaki seems like a fantastic notion I might actrually enjoy since i do love spicy! Im going to have to do some searching for this.... is it a "normal" item in "am,erican" chinese food places do you know?!?!
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ravenrussell
Keeper of Dark Mysteries..
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby ravenrussell » Wed Oct 19, 2016 7:47 am

I'm not sure, in Washington state there are Teriyaki restaurants everywhere. Almost every strip mall has a different one. It is a Japanese dish. We also have tons of sushi places. Maybe I'm luckier than I thought over here.
Peace to all.
-Raven
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AliceElite
//wrestles darkness...WINS!
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Re: Writing prompt #5: Those we admire

Postby AliceElite » Wed Oct 19, 2016 5:36 pm

Skywalker wrote:Stories are wonderful manifestation within the minds who remember them. Some stories are funny, some are grand, while others may be sad or even evil in nature. This story falls more into the former category in that it is funny story about a small girl and her parents.



It was a dark and stormy night in the small house in the woods. As the branches slapped against the windows and thunder clashed outside in streaks of white. Out of nowhere appeared a small child with a wild gleam in her eye. Then off into the distance, there was a cackle from a mad and crazy woman. The small child grew scared and dashed behind the chair as a means of protection. Only to see a tall tanned man walk into the room, clad in jeans and the dirt from a day’s work. The small child, scared because of the storm and the cackle off in the distance, peered out from behind the chair to see if the tall tanned man could in any way offer better protection than the woodland themed chair.

The tall tanned man sat down opposite of the small child behind the chair and beckoned for her to come out. The small child refused, wide eyed and scared. The man knew that the small child, while might be scared, knew that she would be fine. It was an afternoon storm and begin to take off his work boots. The small child peaked out once again, to try and figure out the foul odor in the room. She watched as the tall tanned man took off one boot and then the other. The man looked around after setting down his boots by the door. For the woman of the home would reign down hellfire, if he got mud on her clean floor. The man left the small child behind the chair as set off to the other areas of the house looking for the woman, and just as soon as he left the room the small girl heard the cackle yet again. The tall tanned man heard it as well, but all he did as give a hearty chuckle. The tall tanned man, had found the woman of the house, she was currently bathing the oldest child who was laughing. The small child was not hearing a witch that she had conjured up, but in fact her older sister who was enjoying her bath.

The small child crawled out from behind the chair and went forth to study her dads work boots. She loved those boots despite the smell. She slowly put on the first one, and then the second. The small child started to stomp around on clean floor, getting dirt and concert everywhere. As the small child was stomping, she was just thinking about whatever a four-year-old thinks about. She decided that she wanted to ask her dad a question, which he as eager to answer. The small child began to speak, “Why did God, give you us?” She was referring to her and her older sister. The tall tanned man sat a moment and though about the question, he called the woman of the house to and had the small child repeat the question. The tall tan manned, then answered the question, “to love you.” It was a simple and quick answer, but these was the answer that the small child wanted. Nothing overly completed, but it satisfied the curiosity of the small child and she stomped away in her dads work boots leaving a trail of dirt and concrete.

This is one of many memories that stays with me. When I think about my dad, the tall tanned man, I think about his work boots. I think about that question, it was then I knew that my parents loved me, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. I have kept this story close to my heart as I have gone throughout life, as it has helped me when others have not been so kind.

I describe my dad as a tall tanned man, because of the Native American that came out in him, in his awesome tan and his black hair. The woman of the house is my mom, she’d would bring forth the hell fire for getting anything on her clean floors. When I was younger, if you wanted to play even at 4. The other person is my older sister, she used to laugh and play in the tub, sometimes it would scare me, because of her laugh. I have other stories, as I grew up on the coastal plain of North Carolina and my parents clammed a lot of my childhood. So maybe I will get a chance to share more stories.



I would love to hear more stories. This is the kind of memory I'm striving to give my son. <3 Thank you for sharing it.
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