A to Z Challenge | Z

I’ve made it! To the end of April! Writing every prompt day! I’m so proud of myself. ☺️ Think I might give myself a lil break in May, stay tuned. 💛

The Words

“Zenith: Originating from Arabic and meaning the way over one’s head, by the 1300s zenith was used to describe the highest point in the heavens and by the 1600s it had come to include other high points. Nowadays it is used to describe reaching the top of one’s career. When she played Desdemona she realized that she had reached the zenith of her theatrical aspirations.

“Zephyr: Zephyr, a gentle breeze from the west, derives its name from Zephyrus, the Greek god of the west wind, and was used by both Chaucer and Shakespeare in a figurative and metaphorical sense. More recently, zephyr has been adopted as a term for a lightweight fabric and the clothing made from it.”

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

“Zaftig | Borrowed into English from Yiddish (and descended from a German wordmeaning “juicy”), if a woman is zaftig then she’s plump or curvaceous.” Mentalfloss

Haiku | Ripe Summer

Zenith of summer
Zephyr carries sweet scent of
Zaftig peaches ripe

A to Z Challenge | U

I hope I don’t make the ending awwwwful… wish me luck! This week I’m writing a continuous story, check out my previous posts to enjoy the whole tale! (or scroll to the very bottom of this post)

The Words

“Uneath: In Old English something described as ēathe was something straightforward and easy. The opposite of ēathe was unēathe, something tricky or complex. It is from these words that the adjective uneath developed, to mean a difficult action or task. In diving, points are awarded according to the degree of difficulty of the dives – the more uneath the manoeuvre, the higher the score.”

“Upbraid: To upbraid someone is to severely scold and reproach them for their faults or behaviour. The Old English word upbrēdan, meaning to find fault, is the root, but generally people are upbraided on account of their actions. His wife upbraided him for his drinking and gambling habits.

“Uxorious: This is a rather curiously negative adjective in that uxorious means excessive devotion and sentimental attachment to one’s wife. It is, however, often used mildly disparagingly to describe somebody slavishly devoted and subservient through their doting. He had thoroughly uxorious opinions of his wife.

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

My Summertime Goddess | The Finale

When I woke, which was uneath and exhausting, I was no longer in her domain. I was somewhere dark, the death of summer. I upbraided myself for letting this happen, how could I have been so foolish?! But how would it have been possible not to have uxorious intentions towards my flower maiden. My flower maiden. My goddess. What a joke I was. I focused my gaze, tangling deep green vines entwined before me. I staggered to me feet and tried to ravel my way through them. I felt like the whole world was made of these green tentacles, ready to strangle me if they got bored. And yet I didn’t stop searching. I ended up in a clearing I didn’t know I was looking for. There were others there. Others I recognised. Other aforementioned fools that had paid tribute to the same succubus as me. Apparently this is where you ended up, so your life, your spirit, your soul, could continue to feed the woman I still saw as beauty. The woman I still loved but now saw completely. The woman I am forever connected to. So I warn you about that girl with the golden hair, the one that seems too good to be true. She cast a spell on me. She can cast a spell on you.


The Story So Far

Petit flowers, nimble in nature, swam through the waves of her light gold hair. She was the epitome of beauty and many wrote her paeans, hoping to win her favour. I was one of these fools, who approached her at an early summer festival. The day was covered in bright blue hope, and I had no knowledge of how my heart would be lost to perdition. I usually found contentment lurking in the penumbra of her entourage, the very outer circle, not close enough to learn her flaws, but the perfect proximity for falling recklessly in love. But today was the day I would break my own rules.

My daydreams that I were soon to act upon were, to be frank, quixotic. She was the quintessence of summer; warm, lovely, encouraging. Her skin was golden even in winter and her voice bathed us in fresh garden streams. I, on the other hand, had quiddities of a different nature. I was known as short and quiet but all round jovial. I did not belong in her collection of groupies, even in this outer orbit, and yet somehow I persisted. I knew that I would never have a chance with my summertime goddess, and yet every moon brought poetic dreams of her, and everyday excuses to socialise where I didn’t fit. It was as if a spell had been cast upon me…

And in a way it had, as it had on all the men that fell down her well of love. Even now the scent of summer flowers is redolent of her floral locks, somehow her spirit is redivivus in petals. But looking back I can also tell you of her rapacious desire for people, and the power they gave her. She was a socialite made of sherbet and fairy dust. Until you dared step beyond the boundary she gave you. Until you couldn’t contain your own desires. Once you made a move on the golden girl, you no longer came around, no longer welcome in any ring of her circle. We all assumed it was by choice, who would want to hang around rejected? But I would find out otherwise, as I was to be her next victim.

So I manoeuvred my way through the group of labyrinthine friends. Making pleasantries, laughing at the right jokes and knowing the right things to say, I was as slimy as a scaramouch. But it got me to the centre of the maze, the queen bee of our honeycomb heaven. Now what? I had to make sagacious choices if I wanted a chance. The delicate daisies in her hair soughed at my approach, they whispered to her, beckoning her around to gaze upon she who would disturb her grace. I wondered if she had ever before been approached by a woman of romantic intentions. It was not common in our time of youth, but not unheard of. Maybe I could be her first.

Or maybe I was too innocent to see. Of course I wouldn’t be her first female lover, I would be far from her first lover of any gender. My goddess let me approach, sunlight creating a red carpet for my entrance. I bowed low, truckling up to my queen. I began to recite the waterfall of words that I’d practiced so many times. Now the syllables cascaded from my mouth, a frothy mess. She took me anyway. To her tent, a huge teepee of luxury, I was titubant in her graceful shadow. Overwhelmed, with love and obsession and lust and desire. I needed, I craved, I yearned. And she gave. It was delicious, the juicy bite of apple. Until I swallowed the bite. It was over. The world shifted, a veil of tenebrosity dispelled all of the summer warmth. Satisfied, she sighed and floated from me. Leaving me weaker than I could ever describe. I reached out my hand towards her whimsy, she was shifting in and out of focus, I could do nothing as my heavy lids shut out the world to me.

A to Z Challenge | T

It’s Friday thennnnnnn… This week I’m writing a continuous story, check out my previous posts to enjoy the whole tale! (or scroll to the very bottom of this post)

The Words

“Tenebrosity: The Latin word for darkness is tenebrosus. Tenebrosity is the quality of gloominess and suggests a sombre and dingy atmosphere.”

“Titubant: Derived from the French word for faltering, titubant describes a staggering or stumbling movement, possibly due to intoxication. It is related to an Italian word titubante, which describes somebody who dithers and is indecisive in their actions.”

“Truckle: A truckle at one time was a small wheel attached to beds so that they could moved around and easily stored. These beds became known as truckle beds. Often used by children, they were stored under larger beds for adults. This gave rise to the figurative sense of truckle as being subservient to someone larger or more prominent, or bending to their will in an obsequious manner. He was obsessed by wealth and status and would truckle up to anyone he thought had power and influence.

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

My Summertime Goddess | Part 5

Or maybe I was too innocent to see. Of course I wouldn’t be her first female lover, I would be far from her first lover of any gender. My goddess let me approach, sunlight creating a red carpet for my entrance. I bowed low, truckling up to my queen. I began to recite the waterfall of words that I’d practiced so many times. Now the syllables cascaded from my mouth, a frothy mess. She took me anyway. To her tent, a huge teepee of luxury, I was titubant in her graceful shadow. Overwhelmed, with love and obsession and lust and desire. I needed, I craved, I yearned. And she gave. It was delicious, the juicy bite of apple. Until I swallowed the bite. It was over. The world shifted, a veil of tenebrosity dispelled all of the summer warmth. Satisfied, she sighed and floated from me. Leaving me weaker than I could ever describe. I reached out my hand towards her whimsy, she was shifting in and out of focus, I could do nothing as my heavy lids shut out the world to me.


The Story So Far

Petit flowers, nimble in nature, swam through the waves of her light gold hair. She was the epitome of beauty and many wrote her paeans, hoping to win her favour. I was one of these fools, who approached her at an early summer festival. The day was covered in bright blue hope, and I had no knowledge of how my heart would be lost to perdition. I usually found contentment lurking in the penumbra of her entourage, the very outer circle, not close enough to learn her flaws, but the perfect proximity for falling recklessly in love. But today was the day I would break my own rules.

My daydreams that I were soon to act upon were, to be frank, quixotic. She was the quintessence of summer; warm, lovely, encouraging. Her skin was golden even in winter and her voice bathed us in fresh garden streams. I, on the other hand, had quiddities of a different nature. I was known as short and quiet but all round jovial. I did not belong in her collection of groupies, even in this outer orbit, and yet somehow I persisted. I knew that I would never have a chance with my summertime goddess, and yet every moon brought poetic dreams of her, and everyday excuses to socialise where I didn’t fit. It was as if a spell had been cast upon me…

And in a way it had, as it had on all the men that fell down her well of love. Even now the scent of summer flowers is redolent of her floral locks, somehow her spirit is redivivus in petals. But looking back I can also tell you of her rapacious desire for people, and the power they gave her. She was a socialite made of sherbet and fairy dust. Until you dared step beyond the boundary she gave you. Until you couldn’t contain your own desires. Once you made a move on the golden girl, you no longer came around, no longer welcome in any ring of her circle. We all assumed it was by choice, who would want to hang around rejected? But I would find out otherwise, as I was to be her next victim.

So I manoeuvred my way through the group of labyrinthine friends. Making pleasantries, laughing at the right jokes and knowing the right things to say, I was as slimy as a scaramouch. But it got me to the centre of the maze, the queen bee of our honeycomb heaven. Now what? I had to make sagacious choices if I wanted a chance. The delicate daisies in her hair soughed at my approach, they whispered to her, beckoning her around to gaze upon she who would disturb her grace. I wondered if she had ever before been approached by a woman of romantic intentions. It was not common in our time of youth, but not unheard of. Maybe I could be her first.

A to Z Challenge | S

This week I’m writing a continuous story, check out my previous posts to enjoy the whole tale! (or scroll to the very bottom of this post)

The Words

“Scaramouch: In the classical Italian theatre of Commedia dell’arte, Scaramouch was a boastful (often Spanish for some reason) and cowardly buffoon. In English in the seventeenth century the word scaramouch became a byword for a gutless and weak rascal. Today it is probably only familiar to people from the lines of the rock song ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ by Queen. Courtly romances were very popular in France in the seventeenth century with their stock characters of the swashbuckling hero, the downtrodden heroine and the scheming scaramouch.”

“Sagacious: Sagacious initially had the meaning of having keen senses of perception, particularly a sense of smell but also of sight and sound. However, the modern meaning is of somebody of clever judgement, discerning in the choices that they make. He was a sagacious judge of character and chose his companions carefully.”

“Sough: An unusual word used to describe a low, soft murmuring sound, rather like a sigh but produced by natural causes such as a gentle breeze rustling leaves on a tree. As she hugged the tree, the great old oak emitted a sorrowful sough.

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

My Summertime Goddess | Part 4

So I manoeuvred my way through the group of labyrinthine friends. Making pleasantries, laughing at the right jokes and knowing the right things to say, I was as slimy as a scaramouch. But it got me to the centre of the maze, the queen bee of our honeycomb heaven. Now what? I had to make sagacious choices if I wanted a chance. The delicate daisies in her hair soughed at my approach, they whispered to her, beckoning her around to gaze upon she who would disturb her grace. I wondered if she had ever before been approached by a woman of romantic intentions. It was not common in our time of youth, but not unheard of. Maybe I could be her first.


The Story So Far

Petit flowers, nimble in nature, swam through the waves of her light gold hair. She was the epitome of beauty and many wrote her paeans, hoping to win her favour. I was one of these fools, who approached her at an early summer festival. The day was covered in bright blue hope, and I had no knowledge of how my heart would be lost to perdition. I usually found contentment lurking in the penumbra of her entourage, the very outer circle, not close enough to learn her flaws, but the perfect proximity for falling recklessly in love. But today was the day I would break my own rules.

My daydreams that I were soon to act upon were, to be frank, quixotic. She was the quintessence of summer; warm, lovely, encouraging. Her skin was golden even in winter and her voice bathed us in fresh garden streams. I, on the other hand, had quiddities of a different nature. I was known as short and quiet but all round jovial. I did not belong in her collection of groupies, even in this outer orbit, and yet somehow I persisted. I knew that I would never have a chance with my summertime goddess, and yet every moon brought poetic dreams of her, and everyday excuses to socialise where I didn’t fit. It was as if a spell had been cast upon me…

And in a way it had, as it had on all the men that fell down her well of love. Even now the scent of summer flowers is redolent of her floral locks, somehow her spirit is redivivus in petals. But looking back I can also tell you of her rapacious desire for people, and the power they gave her. She was a socialite made of sherbet and fairy dust. Until you dared step beyond the boundary she gave you. Until you couldn’t contain your own desires. Once you made a move on the golden girl, you no longer came around, no longer welcome in any ring of her circle. We all assumed it was by choice, who would want to hang around rejected? But I would find out otherwise, as I was to be her next victim.

A to Z Challenge | Q

This week I’m writing a continuous story, check out my previous posts to enjoy the whole tale (or scroll to the very bottom of this post).

The Words

“Quixotic: Quixotic derives directly from Miguel de Cervantes’ (1547–1616) celebrated Renaissance novel Don Quixote. The hero of the novel is a foolish romantic, driven by rash but unattainable ideals. In English, quixotic is often used to describe plans or ideas that are unrealistic or overly imaginative and optimistic. His head is full of quixotic plans and ideas, none of which ever come to fruition.

“Quintessence: In medieval Latin quinta essentia meant the fifth essence. At the time, people still thought that the earth was made up of four elements – earth, air, fire and water – and that the stars and planets contained a fifth element, believing that if they could isolate this fifth essence they would be able to use it to cure all disease. Despite this theory finally being discounted, the word quintessence remains in the English language as meaning the purest essence of something. There is no doubt that Adolf Hitler was the quintessence of evil.

“Quiddity and Quirk: Quiddity dates back to the fourteenth century and means the essence or substance of something; it typifies what a thing is. From quiddity came quibble, meaning a trivial or small point, which arose to describe the trickier points argued over by sixteenth-century academics. Like quiddity, quirk also derives from the Latin pronoun quis, meaning who, and, also like quiddity, it can refer to a person’s unique eccentricities. The portrait painter managed to capture the quiddity of his subject.”

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

My Summertime Goddess | Part 2

My daydreams that I were soon to act upon were, to be frank, quixotic. She was the quintessence of summer; warm, lovely, encouraging. Her skin was golden even in winter and her voice bathed us in fresh garden streams. I, on the other hand, had quiddities of a different nature. I was known as short and quiet but all round jovial. I did not belong in her collection of groupies, even in this outer orbit, and yet somehow I persisted. I knew that I would never have a chance with my summertime goddess, and yet every moon brought poetic dreams of her, and everyday excuses to socialise where I didn’t fit. It was as if a spell had been cast upon me…


The Story So Far

Petit flowers, nimble in nature, swam through the waves of her light gold hair. She was the epitome of beauty and many wrote her paeans, hoping to win her favour. I was one of these fools, who approached her at an early summer festival. The day was covered in bright blue hope, and I had no knowledge of how my heart would be lost to perdition. I usually found contentment lurking in the penumbra of her entourage, the very outer circle, not close enough to learn her flaws, but the perfect proximity for falling recklessly in love. But today was the day I would break my own rules.

A to Z Challenge | P

Happy Monday fellow writers and A to Z’ers! I hope you’ve all had fab weekends. I spend my weekend mainly in the countryside, walking and cycling, and gracing a riverside tavern. I also write entries for two writing competitions! Creativity on fire.

I realised I wrote mainly poetry last week, so this week I am going to try and write a continuous short story, a new part each day. I hope I can keep it connected and use the words well, let’s see where this goes.

The Words

“Paean: A song, hymn or speech that praises the virtues of someone or something, a paean is written in honour of its subject. In Greek mythology, Paean was physician to the gods and the earliest musical paeans were hymns of praise and thanksgiving to Apollo who, according to Homer, on occasions took the guise of Paean. Originally sung at festivals, funerals or when marching into battle, over time a paean has come to mean some kind of tribute. There wasn’t a dry eye at the funeral when Tom read the paean he had written for his brother.”

“Penumbra: Although literally meaning a partial illumination, as in an eclipse, penumbra is also used to refer to something that covers, surrounds or obscures, e.g. a shroud, and also to a ‘grey area’ where things are not just black or white. Deriving from the Latin words paene, meaning almost, and umbra, which is shadow, penumbra is often used as a legal term to refer to an area within which distinction or resolution is difficult or uncertain. The defendant was advised that the verdict could go either way as this was a penumbra.

“Perdition: Originating from the Latin perdere, to destroy, the first known use of the word perdition was in the fourteenth century. It means utter destruction or eternal damnation. All sinners are condemned to perdition.

(from “1000 Words to Expand Your Vocabulary” by Joseph Piercy)

My Summertime Goddess | Part One

Petit flowers, nimble in nature, swam through the waves of her light gold hair. She was the epitome of beauty and many wrote her paeans, hoping to win her favour. I was one of these fools, who approached her at an early summer festival. The day was covered in bright blue hope, and I had no knowledge of how my heart would be lost to perdition. I usually found contentment lurking in the penumbra of her entourage, the very outer circle, not close enough to learn her flaws, but the perfect proximity for falling recklessly in love. But today was the day I would break my own rules.

March Writing Challenge | Day 1

So today was the first day of my March writing challenge. It’s the 1st of March (duh) getting closer to spring! Me and my husband had last week off which was a blessing of a coincidence as the weather was fantastic. It was a beautiful week of sunshine and warmth, pretending it’s summer, picnics and walks. Summer meadows, along with the prompt, were my main inspirations for this writing. Find full details of the challenge here.


Blush blades of lengthy green. I float in the fluffy grass. Splattered paint of pink and blue and orange flowers transform the field into artwork.

Rivers of turquoise flow overhead, the clearest skies. I put down my book and gaze into the meadow. Bumbles and blustering, a low hum of dancing bees. I watch, immersed in their world, where the strands of grass are skyscrapers and the flowers organic supermarkets. They go shopping, a one item list of nectar, an impulse buy of pollen. Our ecosystem in their sticky hands.

I pick up my rose lemonade, my nectar. And without intent I disturb theirs. No malice in my actions and no malice in theirs as they swarm to protect the gatherer I threatened. I fumble to move away and fall back onto my elbow. My elbow onto a bee. Its last action is to protect its family, it stings me, warding me off, warning me.

Deep pangs swell my skin, my first ever bee sting. It leaves a scar that I can only see in a mirror. No matter which way I twist or turn my scarred elbow eludes me. Another scar I can only feel forms in my heart, a memory of this summer day, the peace and community and spirit of the bees.

How beautiful it would be to belong like a bee.