This month I wanted to do something a little different, so I offered to come up with Words For Wednesday, and I’ve enjoyed the new visitors and their creative stories. I hope my regulars will find this a fun departure. Some have already jumped in and written some short, shorts using the prompts. They’ve all been fun to read. So here we go again.
Here’s what Elephant’s Child writes to explain the meme: “Essentially the aim is to encourage us to write. Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music, or an image. What we do with those prompts is up to us: a short story, prose, a song, or a poem… We can use some or all of the prompts, and mixing and matching is encouraged.” Ready. Set. Go!
Sweetheart | Married |
Succotash | Lately |
Semi-stable | Diet |
Solace | Denied |
Singularly | Squash |
Solution | Urban |

I’ve been watching the Olympics, and as usual, am in awe of what athletes from around the world have achieved. When I came up with the idea for Shattered, it was during a winter Olympic season, and I started with a question. What if you’d trained most of your life for a chance to compete for the Gold, and then something happened that denied you your one opportunity?
There are so many ways this story could have played out, but I chose to write about a girl who must not only deal with a plan-altering event but also with a life-altering one. Fortunately for my heroine, she turned out to be one tough and resilient woman.
EXCERPT: Libby’s mom delivers the tragic news.
Mom swiped at both cheeks, then between tight lips, whispered, “Libby, you can’t ski in the games.”
I knew hearts didn’t stop beating until you died, yet I was certain mine had just stuttered to a halt. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs refused to expand. My throat went dry. I’d planned most of my life for this one year. I’d worked out, built my strength, gone to ski camps, kept at it until I’d made it through the selection process—until I’d almost made the US Olympic slalom team. I had my passport. I’d packed my bags weeks ago. Now, my mother was telling me I couldn’t do what I’d lived for all these years?
EXCERPT: Libby’s first lesson on an adaptive ski.
Mack stood behind me and pushed me across to where instructors were giving new skiers lessons on Franklin Hill.
The upside was that I wasn’t staring down a steep slope. The downside was that I wasn’t staring down a steep slope. I’d stopped skiing on Franklin Hill when I was eight.
“We start here, Libby, but I have a feeling we’re going to be moving on real quick all the way to Stover’s Mountain. You’ve got the skills, so I know you’re going to be one fast learner on this new equipment.”
I wished I felt as confident as he did.
Mack held onto the back of the ski and shoved off, skiing behind me. Panic fluttered inside my chest when I started down the gentle white hill. I’d done this before, but on two skis when I’d been a kid. My dad used to stand me between his knees and zig-zag all the way to the bottom. Now here I was back starting at stage one with someone showing me how to ski. I had to learn a whole new way of doing this. I was a beginner again.
Quote of the Week: “A writer gets to live yet another life every time he or she creates a new story.”
― Pawan Mishra