Why I Write (Reason 1M)


Word to Word


Free write word prompt: Moon

Here goes:

The Sun rose. It always did that, rise. It’s a tale as old as time. Wait, am I writing this or is this someone else? I feel like that line was stolen. Well, it’s perfect nonetheless.

Do I have to write every word that comes to my head?

Does the moon rise?

Am I going to be one of those writers who poses questions and makes you thinks deeply but never really gets anywhere with it? Apparently I am today.

But is getting anywhere the point? What is the point of a story? Did one of the greatest books ever, The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway actually get anywhere?

(read to find out)

I write, the words get put down on page, the rain continues to fall outside under a dreary sky that I love so much, and I continue to put down words, you read them, wherever you are, and the Moon continues to orbit the earth. Are we surprised by any of this?

Should we be?

As with being a writer, I think it’s becoming increasingly evident through this post that I am also a scientist, but as I’ve stated before, they are somewhat one in the same. The same curiosity and drive that pushes me towards science, also pushes me towards writing. And there is a goal with each of these. A goal with science, with writing, with the falling of the rain, with the rising of the moon. With life. There is a goal. That goal varies from person to person and from leaf to leaf and from drop to drop and from word to word.

Word to word. What is the purpose of these words?

If I’ve puzzled you I’m glad, for these words, though not originally intended to do so, were meant for you to think.

Photo credit: http://critical-thinkers.com/

I Told You

Time for another free write. This time, the word prompt is complicated.

Here goes.

“Honey, you know I love you. You know I do. But why on Earth did you have to order the IKEA bookshelf?”

I watched my husband turn over the box and look at the picture of the shelf, admiring his decision despite my reprimand. “Honey,” I said again.

“I mean, Betty, just look at the thing.”

“Yes, I see it,” I said, patting him on the back. “It’s a design marvel. So long as you don’t mind putting it together, it’s fine by me. I have paid my time with the IKEA purgatory.”

“Well, you did put off renovating the house forever. Seems to me forever demands more purgatory than you’ve served.” He said it–lighthearted words, a joke, really. But those words had a tone that meant he wasn’t going to do it. He just didn’t want to say it outright. “I have to go to work, sweetie,” he said, like I don’t have to too.

“The car is mine today,” I said.

The tension builds like a bridge about to collapse.

“Call the neighbors,” I said. “They might let you take their car.” They owe us after us letting them keep their food in our fridge for a freaking month while they ordered a new fridge.


“It’s never going to get built,” I said to my coworker, Jane. “And does he think that thing is staying in our house building up dust for ages while he waits for me to build it? Yeah, yeah he does. And he’s never been more wrong.”

“I don’t mean to seem unsupportive here,” Jane said, pouring her coffee, “but it is just a bookshelf.”

“No, no, no. It’s more than that. He thinks he’s the breadwinner. And pay attention to my wording there. The breadwinner. Well, I have news for him. I work just as much as he does.”

“So why doesn’t he acknowledge that?”

“Thinks his work is better.”



I sniffed her coffee. “I’m trying to break myself of the habit,” I said.

“Probably best, but then again, if I really thought so, I wouldn’t be drinking it myself.”

“And who’s to say coffee is a bad addiction?”

“Exactly,” she said, throwing her head back and laughing as we part ways around the cubicle and head to our desks.


I stared at the box drinking my cup of coffee. The door opened. “I thought you were trying to quit?”

“That obviously didn’t last long, did it?”


He threw the mail on the counter, started filing through it. “Here’s one of yours.”

“Who’s it from?”

“Your Aunt Maranda.”

“Oh gosh. What’s she on about this time?”

“Want me to open it?” He said, holding it up.

“No. It’s my mail.”

“Alright,” he said, tossing it my way.

It hit me and I fumbled to catch it, spilling my coffee. “Dang it.”

“Here’s a rag,” he said, throwing the dish towel at me. I spilled more coffee.

“Thanks,” I said through gritted teeth.

Then he walked by me and sat on the couch and turned on his video game without a word. Played some multiplayer shooting game with guys from his work for the rest of the night. I vacated to my room. I read, for what else could I do? Talk to him, I supposed.


“I’m bout to leave a note that says if it’s not done by the end of the week, I’m going to burn it, and gosh darn it I mean it too. I am tired of it taking up room in the hallway. Call me stubborn, but it’s his fault.”

“It is a bit hardheaded of you.”

“Jane, do you support me or not?”

“Your coffee addiction or your stance on the shelf?”

I peered at her. “It’s become harder and harder to like him, you know. I love him, I always have, but he’s changed.”

“Men are simple beasts,” she said.

“That’s rather unlike you.”

“Why do you say so?”

“You’re usually fairer than that.”

“Maybe my life has been more complicated than you know, Betty.”

We sat in silence for a while and finished our sandwiches. We walked back to the office, her letting me have my silence and me letting her have hers. Still. Silence. We got on the elevator.

I couldn’t help but thinking. In that silence. Silence was made for thinking after all. All that thinking left me wondering. “And you think I should just build the bookshelf?”

“I do. I really do,” she said, smiling.

We parted ways at around the cubicles. Sat down to work. Clicked away at the computers. “I think I will do that, Jane.”

“Let me know if you need any help. Those IKEA bookshelves can be insanely Complicated.”

“Hm. Can’t they.” I said it, went back to work, went back to clicking.

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Photo Cred: http://designtaxi.com/news/384296/Cute-Illustrations-Show-How-Complicated-Love-Is-Made-Simpler-With-IKEA-Products/

Maybe the Earth is Round

I don’t normally do prompts, but I like how open and yet directional this one is. So here goes.


“Maybe the world is round,” said a certain Pythagoras, who wandered around his office one day, playing with his beard and questioning everything everyone knew, as was his forte. “Stop questioning me!” They’d yell at him in the streets when he replied to their theories or more accurately assumptions with a simple “Maybe,” and a pondering, searching look in his eyes, as if the sky could give him all the answers.

If the earth was flat, what happens to all the water? Does it go into the Sun? He thought. He supposed that could be what kept it from killing us all, burning us up as it swept us up into its golden flames.

That’s a rather nasty view of the Sun, he thought, but Pythagoras thought about such things often, so it wasn’t the first time he was surprised by his own violent nature. “For it is in all men,” he had once proclaimed to a council of mathematicians, some of whom scowled but some of whom nodded.

“If only they would listen to me now. When I question the basis of everything.”

For the water from the Earth cannot simply be that which quenches the Sun, Pythagoras thought. He had no real proof, but did anyone ever have foolproof, well, proof, for anything?

It simply made no sense for the Earth to be flat. Does everyone else just think we’re on this sheet of dirt that flops around the universe? “I mean seriously picture it hanging off the laundry outside the king’s palace. That’s rather meta though, I suppose, isn’t it?”

There came a knock on the door. Pythagoras looked at the sun dais. “Is it that time of day already?” He asked himself as he opened the door to let Akakios inside.

The boy was gleaming. “What have you discovered today, my boy?” For it was his task to discover something everyday.

“I have discovered nothing.”

Pythagoras’s eye’s were shrouded, his brows furrowed. “Then why are you so happy?”

“Well I have learned something that I think you might even be surprised at.”

“You have learned? But doesn’t learning imply discovery?”

“Therein lies the achievement. I have discovered in my failure to discover.”

Pythagoras stroked his beard. “Expound upon that.”

“Well,” Akakios said, pacing. “I couldn’t discover anything because I kept doubting myself, or doubting what I searched for, really. Then I realized that’s exactly what you do. I discovered that everything is a maybe.”

“No, my boy. I am a mathematician, and what you have just said is blasphemy to my kind.” As Pythagoras said this, Akakios’s head hung in shame, and realizing he made a grave error, he started for the door.

“I’ll be off, then.”


“Because I have failed you. I am no longer worthy to be your pupil. I have-I have missed the point of everything.”

“Balderdash.You just probably have no past lives is all. You’re knowledge base is starting from ground zero. However, mine have taught me that two things are infallible: mathematics and religion. Certain things are not maybes, despite what the village rumors say about me. You will come to learn this in time.”

Akakios looked like he was about to cry, like he’s been saved from death, not just disownment. “What would you like of me now?”

“To go. We are done for the day,” said Pythagoras. Akakios was shocked, his face frozen in wonder. “What? Today’s lesson is over. Trust me, that is enough for you to learn in a lifetime, nonetheless a day.”


None of this was edited, so I hope it was legible. Also, apparently my version of Pythagoras was British.