Author Archives: Wild Child Mama

Winter night.  Joe tells me he wants to show me his favorite place.  Hearing that he’s gonna share it with me is better than the spot itself.  It’s a short drive from his house.  We park my little Dodge Rampage and overlook hills covered in snow hazily lit by a muted moon.  It’s like a blank canvas waiting to be painted with our dreams.  
It is quiet.  Soft silence, moments that last forever.
 
We smoke a bowl.
 
We talk.
 
He listens to me [...]

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This week’s memoir prompt asked you to dig deep to find what, from your childhood, you still know from heart.

Engrained in my memory, in alphabetical order, are the, “fifty nifty United States from thirteen original colonies.”  That’s right.  Admittedly, I couldn’t point to where they all are on a map.  But I can name all of America’s majestic states from A to Z thanks to my wide-mouthed 4th grade music teacher Mrs. Malowitz.  I think that was her name.  [...]

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Remembe(red) is The Red Dress Club’s memoir meme.
This week we asked you to think about graduation. It didn’t have to be yours and it didn’t have to be high school. It does have to be non-fiction – it’s memoirConstructive criticism is welcome!

 At night, we actors and techies would unite singing robustly, swaying, arms tossed over each others’ shoulders, beers and cigarettes clinking in our hands.  Sometimes we’d go skinny dipping in the lake across the gravel road.  Or line up in front [...]

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The Red Dress Club was created as a place for writers to gather, exchange ideas and learn something about the art of storytelling. Constructive criticism is welcome.
Red Writing Hood offers fiction or non-fiction prompts and word limit is 600.
This week’s prompt: gluttony.

The little red button didn’t look like anything special.  Or make much of an impression on a fingertip.  It was simply the power it possessed.  One person, just one single individual could control the world just by pushing it.  An [...]

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We sit in our quiet hideaway.  Not your typical, dizzily populated cesspool beach.  My mom found us a secret pond behind giant broccoli trees where translucent, toe soaking water gently echoes off petrified wood aged to look like a sunset. 

Warm sun slow-dances over my skin while I eat my vanilla wafer cookie, grinding the thin, crispy shell up with grains of sand that glued themselves to my snack.  I allow the jolting, pounding indestructible pebbles chipping away at my enamel so I can keep tasting that [...]