The Writer-

Mbarker Writing Exercise: A Passion for Narrative Part I

The writer is:

A storyteller

Gertrude Abercrombie

an enchanteur

a guide

Gertrude Abercrombie

and swimming in the resovior

in the writer’s head are


waiting to be named and set free

music that plays from one single moment

that no one else can hear

bitter memories


and memories that smell like burnt sugar and dry brown grass in a field full of dead flowers at midnight.

Gertrude Abercrombie

“It’s none of their business that you have to learn how to write. Let them think you were born that way.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

I May Have A Situation Here

Linda G Hill’s  prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “MAY.

I really struggled with writing last week.

I may have had writer’s block or I may have just been uninspired.

All I know is, none of the words I came up with wanted to work together- little bastards.

Do you know what I did have?


They were whoppers.

I woke up screaming because I thought I was dead and that the rats were coming to eat me. But of course I was still alive, but the rats didn’t know it.  I had  dreams about an evil witch outside my window scraping her grotty yellow finger nails up and down my windowpane- every time I thought I had woken up and  and she thought wasn’t really there I’d hear that scratching again

You would think that with stuff like that I would grab my notebook and scratch down some images or something, but did I? No. I did not, because those dreams were kid stuff.

I decided to surf around some Museum Gallery sites and I came across a series of pictures taken by drones and Eureka! I think I found out what happened to my ideas.

This guy took them:

It’s a creepy clown in a muddy cornfield.

I’m not afraid of clowns, I have no feelings about them one way or another, but I do know there’s a whole urban legend around creepy clowns.

The  Urban legend says that Creepy Clowns try to lure kids into the woods, they show up on street corners and menace people.

But I  don’t think that’s what is going on at all:

I think they steal ideas and stories. Maybe they grind up Muses and eat them for dinner. Maybe the Creepy Clowns want to be the only game in town.

Chase away my monsters will you?

We will have to see about that.

There’s isn’t a muddy field on the planet where you can hide from me, my Mask Wearing, Big Shoe Clomping, story stealing friend.


I will find you. I will take back my ideas.

And I will write about you-







Promptuarium: Down The Aisle

There is a little store around the corner from where I lived called Myrtie’s.

Before I tell you about Myrtie’s I will tell you straight up that you will swear you’ve been to Myrtie’s because there is a Myrtie’s in every single town in the world, swear to God.

But this is a story about my Myrtie’s.

The cashier working at the counter  wears a light green smock with Myrtie’s stitched in red over the left hand breast pocket, the customers wear t-shirts advertising beer or a very happy looking Cheech and Chong smiling at you from their van  or the band Foghat  ( Slooowww Riddeeee ) and sometimes KISS,  they all wear blue jeans with iron on patches that are curling at the edges and in their hands are six packs of beer or maybe a soda. Someone was always a dollar short and there was always an argument about that.

Myrtie’s walls are lined with coolers and the counter  where the cash register sits is crowed with  dispensers for cigarettes, packs of gum and breath mints.

The newest addition to Myrtie’s ( established  1949 ) is glass counter that used to be full of fancy  lighters and cards of mood rings and butterfly yo yos. It’s empty now and Myrties uses that case to stash their non working telephones and aged dusty phone books.

There are a few shelves where you could buy bags of almost expired cookies, chips and  beef jerky, but I wouldn’t recommend that because once I saw the door to Myrtie’s swing open and the top row of Chips Galore Cookies were moving and when I stopped to take a look at the rippling bag a chips a rat popped it’s head up. Saw me and it hissed.

Seriously, I’ve never had a rat hiss at me from a cookie shelf before, have you? It’s not an image you can get rid of and it comes back to haunt you- mostly when you are reaching for a cookie.


One day Myrtie’s  closed down.

The coolers were lined up against the building’s outside wall in the alley and the shelves were stacked against the back wall in the store waiting for their turn to be taken out.

My Aunt Sharon told me that when she was a kid Myrtie’s used to sell penny candies and comic books. They sold ice cream and cigarettes and road maps and postcards too.

I can’t imagine that. She was right though,  in one dark corner of the small store there is a spiner rack that may have held comic books and jammed next to it is one that could have held postcards.

They use the racks to stuff cleaning supplies on, which is funny because I don’t think Myrtie’s is the kind of store that cares about things like polished windows and rust free metal fixtures. There’s wads of invoices jammed in some of the slots too.

There’s a poster near the back door with a clown holding up a bag of peanuts.

He looks happy and even though clowns don’t creep me out the way they do some  to some people, there’s no way in Hell I’d eve take a peanut from him.


And then a month or so later,  Myrtie’s windows had been ( sort of ) cleaned and you could see into the store and there were the same grungy coolers were back and the shelves once again stocked with the almost expired food.

The cashier was wearing the same green smock and the customers were wearing the same t-shirts and the same patched blue jeans.

The clown poster was back, but to honest I’m not sure it had been taken down.

The rats were back too.

It’s funny, but I was relieved to see everything back in place.


As rule, I tried to not shop at Myrties. There were lots of other places I could buy Soda. But sure enough, I’d find myself walking through the door almost everyday.

I don’t like how dark it is, even though the windows let in the full sun and there were those long metal fluorescent lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling pumping out bright greenish light. I don’t like the empty faces of  the customers, I don’t like knowing rats live on the cookie shelf and I don’t like the cashier becauses she glares at the customers like she wanted to climb across the counter and throttle them.

But every once and awhile I’d go in and buy a soda or some chips and I’d stand in line with the guys in faded rock and roll t-shirts and the girls who bathed in Babe perfume and wore Strawberry Flavored lip gloss.  I’d stare at the floor until I got to the cashier.

One day the cashier looked a little less homicidal then usual and I said, ” My Aunt used to shop here when she was a kid. ”

She looked at me. ” Oh yeah? Is she here? ”

I paid for my soda and she reached into the register for change.

She looked over my shoulder.

” No, no. That was a long time ago. When Myrtie’s  sold Penny candies and comics. Stuff like that.”

” But she’s not here, now? ”

I fought the urge to turn around and look. ” No. She died a few years ago.”

” And she’s not here? ”

I took my change.

She glared over my shoulder again. ” Good for her. Some people keep coming back

because they don’t have a freaking clue, you know? ”

I reached for my Soda. ” About what? ”

” That it’s time to move on. ”

I took my Soda and I didn’t turn around, why should I? I wasn’t going to see anything new or surprising.

All of the customers have my face-even the Myrtie’s cashier.

Instead I looked down at my faded KISS shirt and peeling knee patches and I said to Myrtie’s cashier, with my angry and scowling face  glaring right back at me, ” I don’t know where to go. I just don’t know where to go. ”

Myrtie’s cashier looked right through me and I looked right through her and after a few minutes-

I find myself walking through the door into Myrtie’s.


Myrties is a store around the corner from where I lived and where I think I died when I was running across the street against the light.

I ran for it because I had seen my friends standing on the corner and I wanted to get to the other side of the street. I  wasn’t thinking about speeding cars.

Who does?

On that day, I was thinking about KISS ,the hottest band in the world, they were even better then Foghat  and I knew that patched jeans were the height of fashion and girls wore flavored lip gloss.

So I get my soda and I get into line because I always do.

And I probably always will.

It’s Like We’ve Always Known Each Other

For Fandango’s Flashback Friday

First Published September 19th 2014

Delayed Contact

How would you get along with your sibling(s), parent(s), or any other person you’ve known for a long time — if you only met them for the first time today?

I think that what makes me and my sister so different from each other would make it possible for us to be friends if we just met.

Two things: My Uncle gave me the nickname ” Pebbles ” and my sister really is the efficient one who needs to laugh louder.

So this story is  based on us.




The bus wasn’t late, it was on time. It’s always on time it’s the passengers who are late.

Today  a woman with long dark hair, a limp and a red backpack was the last person to board the bus and it took her a minute to find her bus pass and scan it.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder and made her way to the back of the bus and took a seat next to Adele.

Adele was always on time. She was never late. For anything.

The woman with the backpack was a few years older than Adele and when she slid into the seat next to Adele she looked over and smiled at her.

” Guess I held the bus up. ” she said.

” Well. Maybe a little. “

Adele looked at the backpack on the woman’s lap and saw a tag with the woman’s name on it. It was written in gold glitter pen and edged with hot pink marker.

” Pebbles Macleod”

Adele wondered if the backpack belonged to the woman’s daughter .

She must have been staring at the tag for a little too long because the woman volunteered” Oh yeah. That’s my name. My Mom was a big fan of the Flintstones cartoons. To bad she couldn’t have been a fan of a show that involved real humans. Then I could have had a normal name like Emma Peel or Barbarella. “

Again Pebbles laughed and Adele found herself laughing with her. She wasn’t sure why. The woman’s laugh was deep, heartfelt and a little too loud. Usually Adele didn’t bust a gut, but she thought she easily could with Pebbles.

” Have you taken this bus before? ” Adele- the same Adele who never spoke to anyone she rode the bus with.

” Oh. You know how it goes. I just grab whatever shows up.”

” Nah. I like to be home at the same time. Stuff to do for the family.”

That laugh again. ” Wow. If my boys waited for me to do stuff they’d be walking around naked and hungry. They’re teenagers. They can manage.”

Adele and Pebbles made small talk all the way to the Transit Center and when they got off the bus Adele was sorry to see Pebbles head towards another bus.

” Hey. So maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.” Adele said.

Pebbles swung around and smiled. She laughed. “I think so.”