Writing of the outside world. Archeonews: A 2,000-Year-Old Roman Inkwell Found in Portugal Contains a Technological Recipe That Shouldn’t Exist, Oliveira et al. 2025. Hat tip to G.
~~~
#15 Ageless Ambition, 0 words
Fiction wasn’t happening. Fiction is the point of this exercise. Instead of marinating in a fog of frustration, I wrote what spoke to me in order to stay in the game. 200 words of non-fiction about ageless ambition.
When I was 10 years old, I wanted to ride horses and win blue ribbons.
When I was 20 years old, I wanted to ride horses and win blue ribbons.
When I was 30 years old, I wanted to ride horses and win blue ribbons.
When I was 40 years old, I wanted to ride horses and win blue ribbons.
When I was 50 years old, I wanted to ride horses and drive horses and win blue ribbons.
When I was 60 years old, I wanted to ride horses and drive horses and win blue ribbons.
When I am 70 years old, I will want to ride horses and drive horses and win blue ribbons.
My first pony ride was unrecorded.
My most recent ride was this week.
A lifetime. To date.
My first blue ribbon was in 1972. I was 9.
My most recent blue ribbon was last month. I was 62. [Trip to Tennessee, Show Report, Southeast Academy Championship 2025]
53 years apart.
I age. My ambition does not.
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#16 Birthday Girl, 202 words
Alice was the birthday girl, so she declared a pink theme to her birthday party.
She had been misgendered recently and she was feeling irked about it. It wasn’t so much being taken for a guy. That happened from time to time, and what did it matter really? What annoyed her was the clumsy explanation that her black knit beanie wasn’t usually worn by a woman. Women didn’t want to keep their heads warm? If they did, they only wore pink?
It made her ornery. So she mandated that all gifts must be pink, and must cost less than the offending hat.
Beth brought a tub of pink popcorn.
Claire went to an art store and bought a fistful of pink pencils and markers.
Debbie brought a CD of the singer Pink, and dug up a portable CD player to play it on.
Eyana brought strawberry cupcakes topped with cherry frosting and decorated with pink and dark pink M&Ms. Apparently one can order specific colors of M&Ms in bulk.
Francine brought a Birthday Wishes Barbie, with a flooffy pink dress and permission to regift as appropriate.
Grace knitted a pink hat to keep Alice’s ears gender-appropriately warm.
Her friends were the best.
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#17 Doctor’s Orders, 202 words
He put her favorite Book Goblin mug down on the table next to her, “Drink up, doctor’s orders.”
She threaded her fingers carefully through the large handle, “You have a PhD in Public Policy Analysis. That does not qualify you to dispense health advice.”
“It’s homemade hot chocolate with milk. That’s never the wrong thing to give you.”
She chanced a small smile, “Who am I to argue with a doctor?”
He sat down next to her on the couch, “How are you feeling?”
She sneered at her right foot, which was wrapped in a brace and resting on the coffee table turned footrest, “Bah, humbug.”
“That’s for Christmas, not for when you are laid up.”
“Why am I even laid up? So I broke my pinkie toe. That means I have 205 other bones that are just fine. I don’t see why the entire system has to shut down. Did you know that the pinkie toe is 0.001% of your body weight? I looked it up on the Internet.” She returned to glaring at her foot.
“First of all, you must be doing okay if you are looking up random facts on the Internet. Second, healing is hard work.”
“Bah, humbug.”
~~~
Afterword
Sometimes fiction isn’t.
For those following along at home, I took narrative liberty with the details. IRL, he is a medical doctor and I fractured my wrist. The hot chocolate is true. As is the ‘bah humbug.’
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#18
Body Paragraphs, 204 words
“I’m almost done with the body paragraphs. How are you doing?”
It was Andi’s voice coming from the other side of the pile in front of Shayne. She looked down at the strips of paper in her hand. “I’ve got the arms done,” she answered. “I’m having trouble getting the fingers in the right order.”
The pile in question was a humanoid shape created from discarded art and studio supplies. The body was an old wooden easel. The legs were rolled up drop cloths. One arm was compose of flattened, empty paint tubes. The other arm was the leg of an old chair. The hands and fingers were made of dried-out pastel sticks, broken pencils, and paint-caked brushes. The fingernails were dented pen nibs.
She and Andi were currently engaged in covering the figure with a skin of printouts from critic reviews. The piece was called Body of Work. Shayne thought it looked like a heap of junk.
What did she know. She wasn’t the acclaimed genius with awards and gallery shows. She was a simple art minion. One of her art school professors had called her work pedestrian. She preferred to think of it as clear and commercially-viable, but thanks for the input.
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#19 Love Life, 200 words
Love? Life? Lane? Lute?
Roberta squinted at the cramped letters on the page in front of her. So many words could start with L and end with E. She rotated the book slightly sideways. Perhaps a different angle would spark a synapse in her brain. She had been trying to decipher this section of the old ledger all morning and was making minimal progress. Digital communication might be ephemeral, but at least it was legible. Didn’t they teach handwriting back then?
She had used valuable grams of her luggage weight allowance to bring this ledger onto the ship. It was written by the captain of a blue water ship that shared the same name as the spaceship she was assigned to. It seemed like a good off-shift project. Interesting, possibly useful, if anything came of it. On the other hand, not critical if she turned out to have limited spare time.
It wouldn’t hurt her career either for her to be seen to be contributing to the history of her ship. Who says interest and self-interest couldn’t go together. Technology might have changed but sailors maintained their traditions, whether on the ocean or in space. Names of ships were important.
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#20 Strength Training, 0 words
Arm aching. Brain not braining.
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#21 Inner Critic, 0 words
Doc appt Friday. if this space is empty, I did not have the time &/or energy after.
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General Afterword
The beginning of the week was unusually autobiographical.
#15 & #17, self-evident.
Initiating event in #16 happened. [Potholes Along The Road, intro]
For #18, I went so far as to I quote myself. [Schadenfreude Saturday]
See Jane Write: 30 Writing Prompts for November
[November Writing Challenge Week 1, Fiction Fragments]
[November Writing Challenge Week 2, Fiction Fragments]
Onwards!
Katherine
Virtual Brush Box 
Healing is hard work.
Harder than most people realize.
I won my first ribbon of any color in 1966. A 4th. I was 12. I won a division reserve champion in 1985. I was 31. I won my first and only blue in 1986, age 32. I haven’t been near a horse since 2001 when Chief died. Not by choice. But life sometimes goes way off track.
On the other hand, I’ve won multiple ribbons, including blues, for various things at the county fair and needlework, doll/dollhouse miniature, and jewelry competitions. But I haven’t competed in any of those venues since 2010. Again, life.