Skip to main content

My Memory

Not enough memory
The computer box read.
It was THE DAY
I’d come to dread.
I had more words
Than my system could handle
I kicked it hard
With my old brown sandal.
The message blinked OFF
Then, ON again fast.
I had to do something
My story wouldn’t last.
I saved it to disk
And hoped it wouldn’t crash
I did it quick -
Just under a flash.
The machine gave a sigh,
And it’s final good bye.

Then, I went to the store
And bought more and more,
Computers and hardware
And software galore.
I’d get myself going
I would - I swore -
Even if it took me
One hundred days
Or more.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

ODE TO OLD OR I SHALL WEAR PURPLE.....

Ode to Old
When I am old- Really really old- And cannot see -
Red balls of rouge- Riding- High on my cheeks,
Black lines- Arching- Over my eyes, 
Gravy stains covering- Yellow flowers- On my good blue dress.
When I am old- And cannot see - Will you please do-  My grooming for me?

by: Barbara A. Whittington











The Dreaded School Pictures

This year when my children brought home their school pictures, I cringed. These kids can leave home looking cherubic, but the minute they pose for that school photographer they are transposed into unrecognizable beings. My middle daughter brought home pictures bearing her name and room number that couldn't have been my offspring. Nor a distant relative.
I had worked for hours on this child. Her hair was parted in the middle and drawn into a cute little ponytail over each ear. Even though she is at an awkward age, she looked adorable when she went out that door. Her missing front teeth only added to her charm. The kid in the picture has her mouth open wide displaying ugly dark gaps. Her one visible ponytail is lopsided, her part is uneven, and her bangs look like they were cut with pinking shears. I know this isn't my child because I always give my children a good haircut before they have their pictures taken. The only thing vaguely familiar is the sweater the child has on. My dau…

Building a story vs building a house

My latest book!



Dear Writer: 
Writing a story is somewhat similar to building a house. Or not!
Remember this:
when we give a piece of our story to someone to read - we expect them to see the whole.
It's like building a house and offering a single piece of lumber to another builder. “Here, see the house I'm building.” SOME CAN SEE IT AND SOME CAN’T. Here's the thing: MOST CAN'T.
This step is as necessary to me as breathing. 
I need to give you single boards as I create them. AND I expect you to be a visionary and say, “Why yes. I see.”  
I need you to see how special the piece of lumber is that I'm using and to see that eventually I'll add more pieces to make the whole. 
Choose people to read your work who like the kind of stories you write. 
There are as many kinds of stories as there are houses to live in. If you give a brick ranch to someone who only appreciates a cape cod then he'll have a hard time fitting himself into what you are offering.
Don’t rebu…