Pope Jon wrote:
This is advice that has become legendary among my family, and I am delighted to share it with the rest of the world now.
The source is none other than my dear mother.
"When you leave from somewhere, always check to see if someone is trying to flag you down."
Basically, my dad and I were leaving our church to get a stereo system from our house because the one at the church wasn't working. This was before cell phones were common, so as soon as we left, it was too late. Without us knowing, the church's stereo started working just as we got in the car, but we failed to notice my mother attempting to flag us down as we were leaving.
I am admittedly terrible at following this advice. On one occasion, my cousins reminded me to check for flagging as I left their house. Despite just hearing the advice a few moments past, I completely forgot. One of my cousins tested me by attempting to flag me down, but I ignorantly drove off without a glance.
This is one of the most unexpectedly accurate pictures I've ever been able to find for one of my posts.
Dan Christmann wrote:
Everyone always seems to want to give me advice, but I am terrible at taking it. Like many young men of my social strata, I’m individualistic to a fault. Back when I was younger, I would even deliberately ignore advice, or do precisely the opposite of that advice, just to show how much of an independent thinker I was. Which always worked out well. A good example of this is when I started my master’s degree and my friend, Jane, told me that I should read Whitman’s Song of Myself.
“Now that you’re entering into the world of American literature,” she said.
But I, as always afraid of what might profoundly change me, brushed her aside. I preferred my Europeans, anyway, my Poles and my Romanians to the great authors of the American canon. Moths passed in Glasgow, and as I began my studies, my anxiety disorder flared up again. It became difficult for me to write, poetry especially, because I was published once as a Junior and had overinflated expectations of myself. I made new friends, but even there was more solitary than I’d ever been anywhere else, because I threw myself into my studies. I read Ianesco, Walcott, devoured Jovanović, Różewicz, along with Kierkegaard, Adorno, Brecht and Whitehead. My hair grew long. My beard, full and scraggly. I wrote, but it was a pained sort of writing. The kind of writing that tries to make blood from ink, squeeze something out of pure possibility, when nothing was there.
When I finally did get around to reading Whitmann, It was raining outside. Of course. I trudged through the streets to my favorite tea house and set up shop in a small corner, where I always sat, and had made a comfortable burrow for myself in and between the pillows and rugs scattered haphazardly about the place. I opened the book, and began to read. I read, and read, and I read. It was a very strange thing. As if my friend were speaking to me, giving me advice through a long dead poets masterpiece.
There’s not a single portion of Song of Myself that I could say is the best advice I’ve ever received. And maybe the advice I realized in it is not even written. But it made me realize that, to actually live, I needed to take advice. To hold it and its giver tight to me. Because to deny them is to deny myself, and myself to them.
Prompt: Write about this picture.
Chuck C. wrote:
The falling woman. She doesn’t know where she is falling to, doesn’t know why, or really if she will ever stop. It’s not really about the terminus, it’s about the fall. The rest is just details.
Melody Joy wrote:
It had been too long since Emilee had exercised her powers. After all, use of powers - genetic and experimental - had been banned for several years, and she had strictly adhered to the law after her brother had been arrested and imprisoned when he used his ability to save a little girl from drowning at the beach. The police had shown up with the ambulance. The little girl was taken to the hospital for observation and Emilee’s brother had been shoved onto the ground, handcuffed and collared, and shoved into the back of a van.
So when Emilee found herself hurling through the air toward the water, she had only a few seconds to consider her options. Her now soon-to-be ex-boyfriend had thrown her off of the side of the mountain during a hike with some of his friends. She had made the mistake of mentioning her powers, and he had instantly hated her for it. They fought, but he had mysteriously dropped it and not brought it up again. This had been just days ago, and now Emilee realized he had been quiet because he despised her and was planning this. She drew closer to the water which was certain to kill her falling from this height, and had to decide if she was going to die or risk arrest. Death didn’t seem too bad, but right before she hit the water, she thought of her brother’s sacrifice for another human. Could she really sacrifice her life to avoid something as trivial as prison?
She curled up and forced the transformation she had spent so long avoiding. Her clothes splatted against the water as her body shot back upwards, a swirling pillar of dark red smoke.
Prompt: What is your favorite type of weather? List the advantages of having that type of weather every day, year-round.
Pope Jon wrote:
Overcast and temperatures ranging from 55 to 70. Celsius. Jk, Fahrenheit. Totes fahrenheit, because I'm an American.
No sunburn. (Or darkening for those with Radiant Resistance/Immunity.)
No guessing what you need to wear. (All you need is a light jacket.)
No snow. (Snow knows nothing anyway.)
No one commenting on how crazy the weather is. (Seriously, worst small talk ever.)
No news station telling you the weather, or people telling you what the news told them about the weather. (Please never tell me what the meteorologists have said about weather. I care more about Kim Kardashian's love life than that. I care more about learning the name of the person who invented dry wall.)
Plus overcast skies can be beautiful too. Let's stop unrealistic beauty standards for skies.
Author's note: It is rarely more apparent than this how much of a pessimist I am. All of my listed advantages start with "no."
Dana Lee wrote:
My perfect weather would be the typical Michigan weather that we all love to make fun of. I love the unpredictability of the weather in Michigan. Here are some advantages:
-It keeps you on your toes. As Forrest Gump says, "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get." We all know the same holds true.
-The plants are able to get all their nutrients. Whether they need rain, sun, or cooler temperatures. All will be available within a day at times.
-It keeps the conversation going. We always have something to talk about where the weather is concerned. Let's be honest, it's one of the best conversation starters.
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