The Hemingway Day. Chills.

This week’s WordPress Photography challenge is to capture the extra(ordinary). This little guy’s sole purpose in life is to tell us sun-basking humans how tepid the water is within which he bobs. He does an ordinary job. He floats in an ordinary way. He even retains his air of ordinary when the waves of a belly flop come quivering in his direction. It’s his permanent vacant gaze in the wake of such revulsion that I find quite extraordinary.

Here’s a six-word Hemingway Day inspired by our elephant friend.

 

Chills.

Feeling blue even in searing sunshine.

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The Hemingway Day. Move.

I am back from my little Spanish jaunt and now I find myself amidst a sea of boxes as the boy and I prepare for a little change of scenery. This week’s WordPress photo challenge is of change, and the timing couldn’t be sweeter. Here’s a moving-day Hemingway Day for a few sections of fiction…

 

Move.

The box labelled ‘Heart’ is heavy.

The Hemingway Day. Surface.

So far in glorious London we have enjoyed about three days of summer. Today is the fourth. The sun is shining, the children are shrieking outside, my office fan is blowing hot air in circles, the inebriated are out early… and isn’t it just marvellous?

Here’s The Hemingway Day.

Surface.

Suede and water never did mix.

The Hemingway Day. Hide.

 

Having spent the past hour dithering between Wimbledon watching, work and this blog post, I am struggling to find more words than the six below. Welcome to The Hemingway Day…

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Hide.

The wind disguised his skulking inside.

 

Thanks to The Daily Post for the photo prompt this week, here are some other photos of doors.

The Hemingway Day. Who’s there?

Greetings on this very special Friday, special because it is National Cream Tea Day here in the UK, which sparks the never-ending debate… cream or jam first? Never mind that, if I hear another person say “scon” I’m going to launch the clotted cream. It’s scone. (And the very fact you can understand what I mean from the spelling means I’m right.)

Here’s The Hemingway Day to diffuse the situation.

shadows

Who’s there?

Two shadows. But I stood alone.

 

Thanks to The Daily Post for inspiring today’s post by asking about my muse… she’s called mother nature.

The Hemingway Day. The Drunk.

 

 

Good Friday to you all. May your weekend be spent bare-footed with flowers in your hair (it’s summer solstice on Sunday, get those sunlight hours in while you still can).  Here’s a few short fiction words and a rainbow hued photo from The Hemingway Day…

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The Drunk.

My personality was locked in bottles.

The Hemingway Day. Watching You.

I smith words. Here are six.

 

Watching You.

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Foolishly, we thought we were alone.

 

 

At a risk of spoiling the literary illusion, this photo was taken at a very deserted Hampton Court, when it was closed for a snow day. This week’s theme at the Daily Post is ‘Off-Season‘.

The Hemingway Day. Revert.

I expect that for many of you this is a very happy Friday as the sun is finally shining on the UK. For me this Friday is happy because it means I can escape my office, which sits in the rafters of my home and unfortunately has no windows… So from a very hot and bothered writer, here’s the Hemingway Day, and six words of flash fiction.

Revert.

candles

One less candle than last year.

Thank you once again to the Daily Post for continually inspiring my photo snapping.

The Hemingway Day. Echo.

Just six words of fiction and we can all say howdy-do to the weekend…

Echo.

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Her whispers filled the sea air.

Thanks to the Daily Post for the photo prompt, this was taken whilst on a little jaunt across the southern English coast. 

Catch.

Journal

Writing my thoughts down.

In my bid for both literary greatness and a satisfying night of shut-eye, I have decided my erratically leaking thoughts are in need of some daily catching.

Hemingway kept a diary, Stanley Kubrick and Guillermo Del Toro have manoeuvred their way through some of my most cherished films via notebooks of scribbles, and Sylvia Plath waged war on many a mental monster through the pages of her journal. So I’ve decided it’s time to start scribbling down a daily thought or two.

My first main issue was which notebook to choose, because, let’s face it, we all know I’m partial to a little overt affection when it comes to stationery, so much so that my office could suffice as the local stationery shop. But in honour of National Stationery Week, I am willing myself to make a choice.

I opted for this pride and joy firstly because it says ‘journal’ on the spine, and I’m not so much a rebel that I’m keen to ignore what this book was intended for, but also because its title takes the pressure off.

From henceforth everything I write in my journal shall be entitled ‘fucking brilliant’. Even if it’s not.

Thank you to the Daily prompt for spurring my churning brain.