The Future of my Blog

K Morris - Poet

The purpose of this post is to let you know that on or around 1 June, there is a possibility that posts on this blog may cease for a time. If this happens, I wont have been assassinated by readers angered at what they (rightly or wrongly) perceive as the poor quality of my verse, (or kidnapped by a crazy fan who wishes me to write poetry solely for them). No, it will be down to the replacement of the WordPress Classic editor by the new Block editor.

Since the inception of this blog, I have been blogging using the WordPress Classic Editor. Classic works well with my accessibility/screen reading software, Job Access with Speech or JAWS, which converts text into speech and braille enabling me to use a Windows computer/laptop.

From 1 June 2020, the Classic Editor will be replaced by the WordPress Block Editor (although the Block Editor…

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#Writephoto ~ Guardian #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Guardian #writephoto

Image by

For visually challenged writers, the image shows a flower-strewn cliff-top above the sea, where a rocky outcrop, seemingly shaped into many forms and faces, looks out over the waves.

A line of white foam caresses the rocky shore

Like a ribbon on a blue iced cake.

Soppy moment over,

I noticed a field of flowers beside a rocky outcrop

The faces there, taking me back to my childhood

when I played cowboys and Indians with my brothers.

There he stood, looking out to sea

My Cheyenne chief, minus his feathered head dress.

Noble, forever watching, guarding the land

His tepees may have fallen, the buffalo hunting long forgotten

Their whispering spirits walk the land in soft moccasins.

Brother spirits whisper back,

we remember brother bear, tree, and sea

We remember the proud Cheyenne nation…

©anitadawes 2020

That’s Odd

Chelsea Ann Owens

“That’s just it, isn’t it?”


Douglas stares at the round rocks, hands behind back and face in concentration. His eyes flit from one to the next, counting.

“What’s ‘it,’ Douglas?”

Nothing moves, yet Douglas looks up. “These balls.”


“They’re odd.”

multicolored pebbles on white ceramic bowl Photo by Steve Johnson on

©2020 Chelsea Owens

I blame Debbie, and her 42 Word Story Challenge, keyword oddball.

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Excerpt from Let it Go…

Excerpt from Let it Go…

We hadn’t seen dad for nearly a week, and that was a long time, even for him.

Mum was going spare, ranting on about what she’d do to him when he finally came home. Poor dad, it could mean another black eye, or a nose which wouldn’t stop bleeding for hours after mum landed one of her punches. Pretty normal behaviour for my parents and had been going on for years. Considering my mother’s temper, you would think he would stop rolling home drunk and penniless, but he never did.

It was late Friday night when he finally came home. We knew it was him, even though it sounded as if something had been thrown at the front door. We listened to him fumbling with the key for ages; mum with arms folded, waiting for him to fall through it. How she controlled her temper and didn’t rush at the door and tear it from its hinges, I will never know. I think I would have done; it would have been quicker.

I heard the lock turn and dad swung in like a gust of storm wind, holding on to the key that was stuck in the lock. His dark, shaggy hair hadn’t seen a comb in days and his clothes appeared to have been slept in. He stood there swaying, grinning at mum like an idiot.

She slapped his hand from the key, sending him flying across the hall, skidding on the mat that never seemed to want to stay in one place. I had a ringside seat at the top of the stairs and watched as she calmly removed the key and slammed the door…

The Anatomy Of Prose by @sacha_black #BookReview

But I Smile Anyway...

There are a plethora of writing craft books out there, and it is mind-boggling to work out which one is worth your hard earned money.

Today, I am so excited to share with you a book that is out today, and TOTALLY worth it!

Many of you know Sacha Black. She’s been on the blogging circuit for a long while, and was the head honcho for the Annual Bloggers Bash Awards too. She’s the proud author of two YA fiction books and has two fantastic non-fiction books out already, about developing your Villains and Heroes.

This time, Sacha has excelled herself with a book about creating perfect prose, in her own inimitable style.

Do your sentences fail to sound the way you want? Are they lackluster, with flat characters and settings? Is your prose full of bad habits and crutches?
In The Anatomy of Prose, you’ll discover: 

  • A step-by-step…

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Television Magic

Caramel (Learner at love)

hfdsdigSo…if you saw my post last night you will know I felt sad. I had planned to do some work on this course work have asked me to complete. But I did not feel I could face hours of reading.

Instead, I poured myself a glass of wine and flicked on the television and had a very pleasant surprise. It was episode four of the six part BBC Pride & Prejudice. You know…the one with that scene!

It was great! It cheered me up no end!!! If I could pick four minutes of television magic…well that would be it!!!

But then my mind started wondering. Is Jane Austin to blame for the romantic streak I possess? Has she put to many ideas of a Mr Darcy into my head? Is that why I sulk over not knowing when I will see Goldfinch again?

I think Jack is my Captain Wentworth…

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Masks of Day

A Latta Words

What brings you comfort

In the night?

Is it your blanket

That you hold so tight?

Or is it your night light

That keeps you from fright?

When you lay down your head

Do you forget

About the monsters

That lie beneath your bed?

Or do you still fear

The waking of the dead?

Do you pray

For the light of day,

Knowing that the evils

Will soon be at bay?

Do those same

Demons not prowl,

When rays of sun

Are shining proud?

Only at the break of day,

Masks hide their face.

To our dismay,

The darkness may

Never leave us.

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Jaya Avendel

I Write Her


In her hands a gift
Before her eyes a silver lining
Tied into a thousand knots of love
As she unwrapped diamonds
She threw her life into the mud.


She fights with bared teeth
Raking raw old lies and truths
It takes one willing
To see their mistakes for her
To welcome souls with a smile.


There is a city
Resplendent with crystal dreams
Hiding in a lake
Where broken hearts swim in tears
Made of vodka and whiskey.


Jaya Avendel lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, where she dips her pen into the inkwell of fantasy and prose. Often inspired by life in the forest around her, she writes at Nin Chronicles


If you’d like to be featured on The Short of It,
click here for the submissions guidelines.


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