Writing Successes: See Sunday Brunch prompt assignment below. 888 darn words in a half hour. I was JAZZED. The last one turned out VERY nice and I think I might expand on that and make a real story out of it.

Music Playing: Mix 107.5 The 80's and More station. Playing Prince, Modern English, and a wealth of Madonna.

MOVED the WEBSITE. Took me two complete freaking days, but I think I've finally finished it. If you link to this blog, don't worry, it's not moving. But if you link to the Fifth House, change your url to: http://fifthhouse.net. Thanks!

Since that's all I did all day yesterday and 80% of today, I don't have a lot to say. I like the new site, it's a lot cleaner than before. I added a few links and at least one new story, the infamous critique story.

Infamous? Yeah, we had this chat once upon a time @ iVillage, before they became the Evil Empire, where they did a LIVE critique of a volunteer's writing. Being the kind who volunteers, it was my story. It was ripped to shreds. I learned an insane amount in 2 hour period of time, including "Don't volunteer for EVERYTHING." Titled "Mother's Bouquet", it still contains the disputed "Captain's chairs", a descriptive title nobody seemed to understand, and the tears of the mother. Too bad.

But here's the fabulous stuff I did at the Sunday Brunch Chat. Special thanks to "Broker", "Jadea" and "Q" for making it a lot more fun than it usually is. :)

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Start with: It’s so cold that….. 5 min


It’s so cold that my fingers are changing color from pink to blue. It’s not a good sign, I’ve seen the standard frostbite movies. I’m just not sure what I can do about it.

My toes must be turning black. Insulated against the cold in heavy hiking boots and three pairs of thick socks, I can’t feel them much anymore.

I’m going to die here. I know that now. They won’t find me in time.

I blow a little on my fingers to warm them, exhaling a puff of white warmth that envelops the bluish fingers for a second. Futile, the warmth turns into tiny crystals of ice as soon as it hits the leather of the gloves.

Makes me feel better anyhow. Like I’m actively trying to live.

But it’s pointless.

A shiver runs through my body constantly now. I can’t stop shaking.

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Use the following words: purple, birdhouse, curls, ivy, penguin 15 min

Darla snuggled down into her favorite rattan chair, pulling the plaid wool blanket up over her bony knees. It was still warm from the day, but an early evening breeze was coming in and she was prone to colds. She settled back and let the quiet of the rural street surround her as darkness began falling in the purpling sky.

She kept her eyes on the street, but it was rare to see folk passing by anymore. The days of twilight walks and children playing in the street were long gone. But she remembered when you watched your neighbor instead of your television. She carried on this tradition from her past, even though there was little to watch.

A squirrel dropped down from the leafy walnut tree and scurried across the lawn to the side of her house. The nuts were still too green for him to harvest and Darla could tell he was looking for an easier source of food.

His tail flickered, quick as the flame of a candle, as he moved up her porch post. He used the ivy that curled up a weather-beaten trellis as his personal highway, pausing every now and again to snap his tail and listen to the wind.

He made his way up to her telephone line and crossed it quickly. It was obvious to Darla that he had a route mapped out. He was a frequent visitor, one she was accustomed to seeing in her twilight vigil.

He hovered over the top of her birdhouse, his destination. The seeds inside beckoned to him, dangling before his eyes like a fish before a penguin. He measured the distance, curled his body into itself a moment, and launched himself down onto the wooden house.

She wondered why he did such a silly thing. He could scuttle along the grass to the post that held the birdhouse in a matter of moments, safely climbing the structure to reach the bounty inside. Instead, every evening, he chose this arduous path along the vines and the long drop from the wire.

She was sure he did it for her benefit alone. She kept the decrepit feeder full of seeds for his benefit. Birds didn’t come visit anymore, they’d long since abandoned the wormy wood for sleeker plastic homes down the block.

Like her neighbors, they preferred the artificial to the real thing.

Darla pulled the wool covering a little higher, her eyes on the bushy brown tail of the squirrel. He pulled seeds into his fat body swiftly, as if a threat lingered nearby, waiting to pounce on him and take it all away.

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Write about a chance meeting with a friend, 10 min

“Shirley?” the voice was low and throaty. It sent a shiver down my spine.

“Charles.” I didn’t have to turn to know who had spoken. In fact, I closed my eyes and hoped the voice would go away.

It didn’t. “I thought that was you,” his voice smiled at me and I sighed and opened my eyes. No use fighting.

I turned to face the love of my life. Dark hair curled softly around his ears, a lock of hair draping down over his eyebrows. Brown eyes surveyed me, coating me with a warmth I wasn’t supposed to feel anymore. Get refund from therapist, I thought. “How have you been?” I asked. I couldn’t help the polite smile that accompanied the words.

“I’m fine! You look GREAT, though,” his glance took in the loss of fifty pounds, the clarity of my contact-covered eyes, the stylish cut of my skirt and blouse. I was a new woman, I could see it in his face. “What have you been up to?”

“I got a couple of promotions at work. I’m now the Managing Director of Customer Service.” I buried myself in work to forget you.

“That’s wonderful! I knew you could do it if you kept yourself focused!” he enthused. “Hey, I’ve got a few minutes here, would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

She considered. It would give her the chance to be with him, the opportunity to listen to his voice for a half an hour longer, the hope that maybe he had missed her as much as she missed him. “Sorry, I can’t right now, I’m afraid. I’m meeting someone for lunch.” My therapist.

He looked crestfallen, which raised her spirits. “That’s too bad. I had some other news to share. Little inappropriate for the bakery department,” he chuckled. It was too charming.

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Yeah, there's more to be done there. I can think of several endings already. *rubs hands together* Don't forget you can comment.