daily prompt

It Was a Dark and Stormy Day

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

For years it was a recurring nightmare: a storm was coming, and it was coming specifically for me. What plans it had for me, what might happen to me if and when it successfully caught me, I never learned.

(What is the number, how many appearances in one’s psyche does it take for one to realize or decide that a dream is a “recurring” one? I do not often write about dreams because they are too private; I will almost certainly fail in any attempt to bring you into my head, and who wants to visit that strange inner land, anyway?)
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Guilty!

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

As recently as not long ago, I wrote about pencils and pens. I reiterated a promise to myself that I would not spend my money on expensive writing tools.

Well, so much for that noise coming out of my talker. Behold, my three-pack of Blackwing pencils. (Photo above.)
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When You Grow Up

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

It was my least favorite question in school. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

On one occasion, I remember being forced (forced!) to draw (draw!) what my life would look like … in … the … few … cher-er-er. (Echoes.) If I had had the sense of humor I now claim to have, I would have drawn someone who was capable of drawing. Maybe I would have drawn someone holding a board with many colors on it. The person would be wearing a smock. And a beret. (That was how Mr. V—, our art teacher in elementary school, actually dressed. It was almost a parody of a cliché of someone’s parodied cliché of what an artist is supposed to look like.) The caption to my drawing would have stated that I hoped I would be able to draw when I was a grown-up.
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