For today’s images, I played with the trope of the hooded figure performing rituals (and it gave me an excuse to pull out my pretty cape I made a long time ago for a Death costume).
OctPoWriMo
Last time I was in New Orleans, I found a book called Gumbo Ya-Ya: A Collection of Louisiana Folk Tales by Lyle Saxon, Robert Tallant and Edward Dreyer. At the back of my book from 1945 there’s an Appendix that includes superstitions. I selected some of these superstitions to inspire today’s fear-fighting rituals.
For Every Fear a Ritual
When a howling dog gives shivers in the night
Place a left shoe upside down under the bed
When your nerves have got you jumping at slights
Valerian in your pillow calms the head
When you’re tortured by the fear of losing sight
Just wear earrings in pierced ears I’ve heard said
And always keep a frizzly chicken with you
To fight your fears that’s all you need to do
dVerse Poets Pub
Today is also Quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets Pub. The quadrille is a poem of exactly forty-four words and today’s prompt is “brush.”
The Brush-off
All the happily forgotten things:
the hair dryer, hairspray, make-up
suits, pantyhose
the iron, the lint brush
the travel mug, the insulated lunch bag
the traffic, the parking lot, the security badge, small talk
the foot-ache of high heels
clacking on hard shining floors
Writober
Logline: A young woman is invited into her neighbor’s apartment for the first time. She learns why people say curiosity killed the cat.
The Apartment Didn’t Allow Pets
The moment I crossed the threshold, I felt a chill raise the hairs on my neck. I had been so curious about my neighbor ever since she appeared that autumn evening stepping out of Mr. Manshin’s apartment. Mr. Manshin had been in that apartment when we moved in ten years ago. I figured he had always been there and always would be. I had no idea he had left.
Now the apartment looked empty. The only light came from the overcast sky through the uncurtained window. Her large black cat paced back and forth along the sill. She walked over and stood by the cat, but didn’t touch it. They both watched me.
I rubbed my sweaty hands on my pants. “When you banged on the door, you said it was urgent. Uh, what’s the problem?” I said, still scanning the room. An unpleasant sweet yet sour smell made me sneeze.
“Can I get you some tea? she asked, her voice deeper than I expected and vibrating like a purr. “I just made a special brew.” She walked to a pot on the stove and stirred.
My muscles in my arms tensed. She had banged on my door in what sounded like a panic, then didn’t wait around long enough for me to open it before she was rushing back to her apartment begging me to follow, and now she’s acting like it was only a social call. “No thanks, I need to get back. Dinner’s about ready.”
She returned to the window with a steaming mug. “Oh, I know,” she said.
Experience Writing 