The "I DonWanna Blues", Part 2...

Some times pictures are good for getting the creative juices flowing when you're at a loss to write. What sorts of thoughts, feelings, ideas do these images invoke for you? I've written mine by each picture, where does your imagination take you?

Ooo, wouldn't a community barn dance be fun here? He's had his eye on her for a good long time, ever since her family arrived in town during their junior year in high school, ten years ago. After high school, she'd gone to some fancy eastern college, he'd gone to the state university on a football scholarship, now he's home between football seasons (he's gone pro), and she's back to open a badly needed medical clinic. She's not been able to get him out of her mind since high school, either, but she's too shy to approach a handsome, popular man like him. So they circle each other warily during the festive dance, until a common friend decides to take matters into his/her own hands and put on his/her matchmaker hat...


If she had to listen to one more word about how she was wasting her life by remaining unashamedly single, while all her mother's friends' daughters were marrying and reproducing like rabbits, she'd kill something. She had standards. She wasn't going to fall for the first guy who came around the bend who told her how pretty she was. No sirree, she wasn't that naive any longer. A good jog would take her mind of her mother, clear the cobwebs, maybe even work out other kinks she didn't wish to contemplate any more than she had to in her current frame of mind. Didn't help that her body agreed with her mother about needing a man. A deserted road, resplendently decorated by Mother Nature herself suit her just fine, all right. So who was that jogging down the road towards her, infringing upon her space, time and peace of mind? And why did he look familiar?

This place didn't look like it could possibly have been the site of the bloodiest one day battles of the Civil War. Some one hundred and fifty years later, there were some telltale signs, but the peacefulness belied the tragic history. He didn't stop to think about the horror the men who survived and died here witnessed, all that was on his mind was the girl he'd left at home, waiting for him to come home to her. She sure could bake an apple pie fit to make a man think he'd died and gone to heaven. What he'd give for the stingiest of slices of her pie right now. Just remembering the last time he'd had a piece made his mouth water. Oh, boy. Where had the mist come from? Who was this apple pie baker extraordinaire? What caused the gut wrenching regret that tugged on his heart and soul... And awe-some! He hadn't known there was a re-enactment scheduled for today! Something hot caught him in the middle, bringing tears to his eyes as he dropped to his knees. He clapped his hands over his stomach, shocked to encounter a warm, sticky liquid there. The cinnamon-y aroma of freshly baked apple pie overwhelmed him, and when he opened his eyes...

Ack. Now I think I've started three stories I could actually have fun writing. See how well that works? LOLOLOLOLOL.

This concludes our test of the "do a writing prompt" to counter the IDBs. Had this been an actual writing prompt session, I'd've actually named the characters. We now return you to your regularly scheduled IDBs.