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Power of the prompt

For more than a year, I wrote a weekly blog post called The Sunday Squirrel. I picked a word or concept as a prompt and wrote a short scene about it. The scenes were written and published immediately, with minimal editing. Looking back, I’m shocked that I was brave enough to put the results of

The Sunday Squirrel: The scrapbook

Mandy carefully opened the small scrapbook. The stiff pages, wavy from too much glue, crackled with every turn. Her best friend, Joy, had given her the book as a birthday present ten years before. That birthday, and each one since, Mandy had used it to make a wish page, a visual representation of the thing she

The Sunday Squirrel: the beginning

The man had been five feet from her heels since she broke away from the pack in the second mile. Forty-five minutes ago. His heavy breaths and the light slap of his shoes on the asphalt were her constant companion. Why didn’t he just pass her? She’d entered the half-marathon to get a time check–make

The Sunday Squirrel: outburst

“This is bulls**t, Colonel!” Mick said, clenching his fists. “I’m nothing but a glorified babysitter. I should be out in the action with my team, not stuck here playing Bosley to your little band of Angels.” He gestured toward the office door, his hand trembling. Colonel Stark leaned over her desk, resting on her fingertips,

The Sunday Squirrel: drunk

The man stumbled and bumped the bar, but steadied himself enough to scoot onto the stool next to her. He smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke, and Brianna’s nose twitched in protest. She checked her watch. Vince would be there any minute. “Hey there,” the drunk man said, swaying in her direction as he