When I grow up

What did you want to do when you were eleven?

I guess you get a little insight into my life today, readers. It is coincidental that this is the prompt I chose for this week months ago, and the book I happened to review this week is about an eleven year old girl, although the novel has nothing to do with “what I want to be when I grow up.”

I think the phrasing of these questions is always interesting. “What did you want to do when you were eleven?” I am assuming this means, “What did I want to be when I grew up when I was eleven?” but in truth, it could simply mean, what did I do, or like doing. One of the questions I have seen as an alternative to “What do you want to be when you grow up?” is “What do you want to see changed when you grow up?” For teachers this is part of a transformative approach to teaching. It acknowledges that there are serious problems in the world and that it is our job to change them. It really is the initial question needed to “be the change you want to see in the world.” (Sorry for all the quotations, without this being an actual dialogue.) But this wasn’t an idea I was really aware of at eleven. At the time, I lived in a very well padded bubble and was extremely naive. I am still somewhat naive, but I do strive to learn what I don’t know.

To answer the question, I can honestly say, I have never really known what I want to do. I’ve had innumerable ideas about what would be interesting to do, but aside from one thing, that has ebbed and flowed in my life, I have never been certain of what I wanted to “do.” At eleven, I was past my desire to be a veterinarian or farmer. Although I still adored animals, I realized blood was not my thing. I considered being a dog trainer briefly, but decided I was content training my own dog. Eleven was before my brief interest in movie special effects, which I ultimately decided against because I was terrible at science, but loved the creativity involved in it. What I wanted to do at eleven was a very in between time. People starting to ask me what high school I wanted to go to, and lagged on the future profession question for a few years.

Regardless, when I was eleven, there was one thing I was rather good at, and greatly enjoyed. One thing that could be a profession that I tossed around in my head again and again over the years – from the time I was five or six, to now. I wanted to write. To be more specific, I wanted to read all the time, and write when I felt like it. I wasn’t the best at coming up with my own ideas, but if I was given a starting point, I could write a solid story. At the time, I wrote stories about Peter Pan, about my sisters; I explored character development, and setting development/ world creation, but mostly I wrote to entertain myself and my sisters. I dreamed of being an author whose stories everyone read, like Harry Potter or To Kill a Mockingbird. My friends and I would write and share stories too. I had a knack for goofy titles, and writing dialogue using dialect. Beyond the glory and enjoyment of writing, I really had no clue what I wanted to do.

Fast forward about fifteen years, and I finally realized that what I wanted to do at eleven is actually what I want to do professionally and for a living – write. While I am currently exploring ways to make that a reality, I enjoy writing on my blog everyday, and working on several long term writing projects, in the hopes of someday being a published author. Who would have known that my eleven year old self actually knew what I wanted to do for a living? Sometimes it is important for me to remind myself of the ingenuity of children. Not myself necessarily, but the simplicity of knowing what they want and figuring out how to get it. Thanks, eleven year old me, for helping twenty-six year old me realizing what I truly want to do and going for it.

Next week’s prompt: Write a poem describing all that is beautiful to you in exactly 40 words.

-M.R. Gavin


Pearl, the Hungry Monster

The misunderstood monster

A thunderous stomping came from the stairs. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP-THUMP-THUMP! Mother and Father glanced at each other from opposite sides of the breakfast table.

“Timmy!” Mother yelled, “Stop stomping! You are going to scare the baby.” Timmy appeared on the other side of the kitchen and looked at his baby sister. She was cooing and smashing banana all over her face.

“She doesn’t look scared to me,” he said. Mother jumped.

“Timmy! You are going to scare me to death!” Mother said. Father looked at Timmy with a grumpy frown. His father didn’t like mornings and there had been far too much noise for his liking this morning.

“Tim, you can’t stomp down the stairs like that,” Father started, then scrunched up his face like scrambled eggs, “How did you get there if you just stomped down the stairs?”

“I was in the garage looking for my jump rope to take to school.” Mother and Father looked at each other in confusion.

“You didn’t just stomp down the stairs?” Mother asked.


Father walked out of the kitchen. Timmy and his baby sister looked at each other. She extended a hand with a tiny piece of not mashed banana offering it to Timmy. He took it, placed it on the table of her highchair and mashed it with his thumb. She squealed with laughter and returned to pounding any remnant of whole banana left on her tray.

“I didn’t even hear any stomping noises, Mom,” he said drinking his orange juice.

“Your father is checking. I’m sure it was just the cat.”

“Blamed for the cat’s trouble again!” Timmy said, “I told you we should have gotten a dog.”

“Timmy,” Mother said with a sour face and pursed lips. She was tired of talking about the stupid cat. Father returned to the kitchen holding a small stack of books.

“These were on the stairs. Yo-Yo must have knocked them down,” Father explained.

Mother smiled, and gave Father a peck on the check. Timmy stared at the books. They were his library books. They had been on his night stand, not at the top of the stairs, or the shelf in the hallway. Yo-Yo couldn’t have moved them that far without him noticing.

They finished breakfast and piled into the car to go to school, work, and daycare. Timmy thought about the books the whole drive.

“Don’t forget, Margo will pick you up and stay with you until I get home,” Mother said kissing the top of his head.

“Ugh, Margo,” he said to keep up his appearance of not liking a babysitter, but he thought it would be a good chance to investigate the monster who had moved his books.

Back at Timmy’s house, Pearl the monster, slithered out from underneath Timmy’s bed. She meandered the house, looking for something interesting to do or read. Yo-Yo hid in his litter box as soon as he saw her. The birds outside the window stopped chirping and flew away when she looked out. Pearl flicked through the TV channels until she found her favorite and settled in to watch until it got closer to the family’s return. She did this everyday, but she was getting tired of being left out of all the family activities and living a solitary life. She wanted to be with the family; she wanted to eat a delicious meal. She had dropped the books to get a quick peek at the breakfast table this morning. No one saw her except the baby, who giggled when she made a face.

That’s when Pearl decided she would sit at the dinner table with the family tonight. She wouldn’t say anything. She wouldn’t be loud or rude, she would just sit down like a regular family member. With that goal in mind, Pearl enjoyed the rest of her leisurely day.

Timmy sprinted from Margo’s car to the door.

“Slow down, big guy! I have the key,” Margo called.

“Why don’t you hurry up?” Timmy shouted back. Timmy actually didn’t mind Margo; she was fun and didn’t treat him like a baby. Once inside, he flung his bookbag to the floor, grabbed a snack and started investigating.

“Make sure you do your homework,” Margo said, “I know you are responsible, but you seem a bit distracted today.”

“OMKay!” Timmy said with a mouth full of crackers. He started in the basement, where he would expect a monster to life, but he didn’t find anything, just Yo-Yo hiding in his litter box. Then, Timmy scoured the main floor. Looking behind the couch and TV, checking every kitchen cabinet, and evening sneaking into Mother’s home office. Nothing! Although he was pretty sure the TV remote had been on the coffee table when they left this morning and now it was in the middle of the couch, but Margo could have moved it. Finally, he went up stairs. If the monster wasn’t in the basement, it was probably under the bed, or in the closet. That’s what all the stories said at least. He started in his baby sister’s room, then his parent’s room, and last his room. As he crawled under his bed, it squeaked, which he thought was odd, but he found nothing under the bed.

Pearl, sitting on Timmy’s pillow, watched him wiggle out from under his bed before sliding back under it herself. She thought about introducing herself to him, but decided it would be better to save her introductions for dinner tonight and only to tell her story once.

Timmy frowned, brushing the dust bunnies off his shirt, and plopping on the bed. “There is something here! Yo-yo didn’t move my books. Margo didn’t move the remote. Strange things keep happening. There is a monster and it wants something.” Timmy pondered what a monster would want. He imaged bone crunching teeth chomping down on him, drool falling from its mouth, his parents fleeing in terror. Timmy sighed, but continued imagining the monster, and went to start his homework.

Pearl waited until she heard everyone’s chair was pushed in at the table and for Father to ask the question that signified dinner was beginning, “How was everybody’s day?” She snuck downstairs without a sound, took a deep breath, and stepped into the kitchen. She smiled, but said nothing, pulled out a chair, sat at an empty place, and picked up a roll.

“Could someone please pass the butter?” she said as politely as she could.

Timmy’s fork clanged as it fell from his hand to his plate. Mother screamed, Father had already ran into the living room.

“I was right,” Timmy said, fearfully watching the monster and backing into the living room. Mother fainted, leaving the baby in her high chair. She giggled and held out a tiny hand with a Cheerio in it toward Pearl.

“Why thank you,” Pearl said taking the Cheerio and popping it into her mouth, “How generous!”

Father watched the exchange and collapsed. The baby squirmed with laughter. Pearl enjoyed the meal and her new friend, and had disappeared back under the bed before either Mother or Father came to. Timmy watched, but would never repeat the story, or sleep in his room alone again.

-M.R. Gavin

Next week’s prompt: What did you want to do when you were eleven?

Feel free to join me or suggest a prompt in the comments below!

Dear Mr. Stephen King,

Dear Mr. Stephen King,

Write a Fan Letter.

Dear Mr. Stephen King,

I don’t often write someone an unsolicited letter. Actually, I don’t write letters to anyone. Do you? I imagine with all of your writing, a letter wouldn’t be challenging, but not a priority either.

Anyway, I’d like to tell you a few things, and thank you for the influence you’ve had on my life. I’ve always been a reader thanks to the encouragement of my parents, and they always shared with me what they read, and talked about reading. As a kid, “grown-up” books held no interest for me, until one day my dad started talking about a series and how he couldn’t wait for the next book to be published. He told me about The Dark Tower, explaining the premise of the story, introducing me to its characters, and cementing my desire to read it – someday. Over the next few years, Stephen King become a household name held in a place of reverence with others like Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, and Mike Royko, who my dad loved. On a trip to the bookstore, I could find my dad near the Stephen King books. I knew about all your most recent publications and the basic plot of my dad’s favorites.

When he finally let me read one of your stories, I devoured it, The Body. It remains one of my favorites almost fifteen years later. As I entered the adult world, I lost touch with reading for enjoyment, but when I found it again, I started with The Dark Tower. Since then, my dad and I discuss your books every time we speak; I update him on my “King Journey,” he recalls whatever I am reading, since his is up-to-date on your bibliography. During the 2016 election and the campaign leading up to it, we raved over your twitter commentary. Personally, Molly, AKA the thing of evil, cracks me up.

With your role in my life and in my reading journey, I admire your writing and the way you use your voice as a public figure. Many people take on neutral roles, or decide not to learn, but from what I can see, you never stopped learning and hoping. And with that I am learning from you. As an aspiring author – I’m sure you’ve heard that a million times – I value your presence in the writing community. A writer who persisted, who has written because it fulfills you, because you need to, because you see things that need to be shared. A writer who supports other writers, especially new authors (when you shared Tomi Adeyemi’s video of seeing her finished book for the first time, I almost cried), and who is never shy about the gratitude felt toward those who support you in your writing process and your constant readers. You are the type of writer I hope to be. Writing for fulfillment, writing for joy, writing for me and if someone else finds enjoyment in it and I can make a living off of it that’s great too.

So I guess all I have left to say is thank you. Thank you for writing, thank you for sharing, thank you for giving me the creeps (I’m still having nightmares about “The Moving Finger”), and thank you for giving me hope. I look forward to continuing my “King Journey,” and my writing journey. You’ve done more for me than I know how to express express.

One of your many constant readers,

-M.R. Gavin

Next Week’s Prompt: The Misunderstood Monster.

Feel free to join, or suggest a prompt.


You’re given the option for immortality. Take it or leave it? (From 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts by Ryan Andrew Kinder)


Immortality. Such a grandiose idea. In theory the opportunity to see things change, to see things get better in the world: equal rights, peace, life in space, maintained weight and health without going to the gym. It would be amazing to see so much, to have time to read all the books, to learn so many different fields, to try new things, to travel around the world, but I also think it would be full of sorrow, of loss, of pain, and of loneliness. A fear to get to close to anyone, because you know they will die, and you will still be around. You would have to watch a lot of suffering and pain and be – for the most part – unable to do anything about it, because death is part of life. I am not trying to sound morbid, but when I think of immortality I think of all the things I could do and immediately picture those I love doing it with me and realize, they probably wouldn’t be around.

Now one thing I can say about immortality, is if I did decided to take it, I would train to become some sort of superhero vigilante spy. I would spend time working out, getting buff, training to be fast, learn how to fly jets, and drive crazy courses, and then use those skills to help the world, because I can’t die! Oh, there’s a shooter with a room full of hostages, I got this, because he can shoot me all he wants and I won’t die! House on fire, kitten stuck in a tree, I got it handled. Or I would become a world famous magician. Learn sleight of hand, and then do crazy escape artist shit like Houdini, but for even longer because guess what? I can’t die.

While those things would be cool, or just living to see how the world changes, I know that without my family, I wouldn’t be as happy. While I am an introverted person, those people closest to me, make my life and without them I would be incomplete. So immortality, sorry, but it’s not even tempting. I’m leaving it and will embrace death when its time comes.

Next Week’s Prompt: Write a fan letter.

Feel free to join me, suggest a prompt or share your own piece!

-M.R. Gavin

The Hunter’s House

Write a story that includes twins, a twelve layer cake, and a house that seems haunted but isn’t. (From Creative Writing Now, “30 Days of Inspiration.”


Mikayla and Maddie where helping each other with the finishing touches of their Halloween costumes. Mikayla tied a bright pink bow in Maddie’s hair, and Maddie parted Mikayla’s hair and made two small ponytails. Together they made two thirds of the Powder Puff Girls. Their best friend Angela would complete the trio. They had spent several weeks thinking about and preparing their costumes for Halloween. The doorbell rang, but the twins ignored it assuming it was an early trick-or-treater, probably a little kid. When they heard thundering footsteps climbing the stairs, they knew it was Angela.

She burst through their bedroom door, already talking, “I know I was suppose to wait for you at the corner, but I saw Zack, Trey, and Tom! Their costumes are perfect!”

“No one’s costume is going to be cooler than our homemade ‘90s cartoon hommage,” Maddie said rolling her eyes.

“Unless they are also some ‘90s cartoon,” added Mikayla.

Angela’s eyes widened as she nodded her head.

“What? No way, Ang!”

“Who are they?” Maddie demanded.

“Ed, Edd, n Eddy,” Angela whispered.

“Oh man.”


The girls grumbled.

“But,” Angela said with a smile growing across her face, “I think they are waiting for us!”

Maddie and Mikayla’s parents were startled by shrieks and giggles erupting from the twins’ bedroom.

“Aren’t you girls going to be late?” the father called.

“I need to take your picture before you leave,” their mother added.

Five minutes later, the trio was chattering away, pillowcases in hand, ready for an evening of trick-or-treating, and find out what those “ah-door-ah-bull,” as Angela put it, boys wanted. The girls walked the first block without any sight of the boys, but ran right into them at the corner.

“We were just coming to find you!” Zack announced.

“We were hoping you might want to trick-or-treat with us,” added Tom.

“Right,” said Trey in a voice that didn’t seem earnest.

The girls giggled.

“Okay,” said Maddie, walking around the boys to the next block.

“That block was a bust,” said Zack, “We should go this way.”

Maddie didn’t like being told what to do by anyone, especially a boy, but when her sister and Angela followed the boys, she had no choice.

They trick-or-treated through the neighborhood until they had to heave their pillowcases over their shoulders, talking and laughing the whole time.

“It’s probably time to head home,” Angela said.

“Wait,” Maddie said, “I think there is one more house we should visit.” She skipped down the rode. The boys and the other two-thirds of the Powder Puff Girls looked at each other, then followed Maddie.

She stopped and turned to look at a house across the street. Her friends joined with wide eyes.

The house was black – well what they could see of it. The yard and shrubs towered over everything and seemed to suck in light. The streetlight in front of the next house flickered. It was impossible to see a pathway to the door through the maze of overgrown plants. No light could be seen coming from the house, and the smell from the yard was the sickening sweet smell of rotting leaves. Trey covered his nose.

“What is this place?” Zack asked.

“Oh you don’t know?” Maddie chimed, “It’s just the Hunters house.”

“The Hunters?”

“As in the last name or the occupation?” Tom asked.

“Nobody knows,” Mikayla answered.

“But what I do know,” said Angela, “is that I dare you to ring the doorbell!”

The three boys protested loudly.

“Guess that just makes you a chicken,” Maddie smirked.

“If your so brave, you do it!” Zack sneered, eyes flitting fearfully to the house that seemed to consume light.

Maddie paused. She wasn’t afraid of anything, except clowns, and this didn’t look like the type of place a clown would hang out. Maybe a witch, but not a clown.

“Let’s go girls,” she said and sauntered into the street.

Mikayla joined her, nervous, but always contented by the presence of her twin sister. Angela glanced between her friends and the boys, bit her lips and scurried to join Mikayla and Maddie.

“Why are we doing this?” Angela whispered through her teeth.

“It’s just an abandoned, overgrown house,” Maddie said, “No one lives here and the doorbell probably doesn’t even work.”

They stepped into the yard and vanished from the boys’ sight.

“Why’d you make them do that?” Tom accused Zack.

“I didn’t make them do anything,” he replied focused on the place he had last seen his crush, Maddie.

“Man, what if they don’t make it back out?” Trey muttered.

“Goodness, it is dark,” said Mikayla.

“Look down,” Maddie instructed. Mikayla and Angela could just make out the path they followed.

“Is that a light?” Angela asked squinting ahead.

“I think so,” said Maddie. Trees brushed the girls legs, burrs snagged the hair and costumes. Angela tripped over a root, Mikayla over a long abandoned pot. Even Maddie started to worry. What if there is something scary living here? Something that doesn’t want to be seen? She slowed.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” scolded Mikayla as she walked past her twin, “You got us into this. We are going to finish it.” Mikayla walked forward into a tiny clearing lite by a small porch lamp swarmed by fluttering moths, and chaotic bugs.

“There is a light,” Angela mumbled, “Does that mean someone actually lives here?”

“I don’t know,” Maddie said climbing the stairs to join her sister.

“Ready?” Mikayla asked.

“Yeah – No!” but it was too late, they already pushed the button for the doorbell. Angela was ready to sprint back to the boys, but froze as the door creaked open inch by inch. Maddie and Mikayla clung to each others’ hands, Angela shook behind them.

“Hel-loo!” said a happy voice, from a wrinkle face topped with curly white hair. The girls looked down surprised to find the source of the voice at least a foot shorter than them.

“Happy Halloween!” the woman sang, “You are the only trick-or-treaters I’ve had in several years! I don’t have any candy, but if you would like to come in, it is my birthday today and I make a twelve layer cake each year to share with trick-or-treaters, but then no one comes, so I freeze the twelve layers and eat them one for each month of the year!” The little old lady already hustled down her bright cheery hall. She spoke quickly and wore a floral print shirt.

“She looks kind of like Grandma,” Mikayla whispered.

“Well are you coming?” the old lady turned when she realized they hadn’t followed her.

“We aren’t supposed to enter stranger’s houses,” Maddie replied.

“Oh, but I’m not a stranger, Maddie, Mikayla, and Angela! I know all your parents, and I’ve talked to all of you at the library. You didn’t know I lived here?”

The three girls thought. She did look kind of familiar, but they still couldn’t place her.

“I can call your parents if you like,” she said lifting a phone off the wall.

“No!” “That’s ok!” the girls said shuffling into the house.

Across the street the boys heard a door slam shut.

“Oh no,” Tom panicked, “they’re going to be eaten by some crazy Hunter!”

“Shut up,” Zack said.

Twenty minutes later, the girls emerged smiling and chatting.

“What happened?” Zack asked.

“We had cake to celebrate Mrs. Hunter’s birthday!” Angela explained.

“She makes a twelve layer cake every year,” Maddie said.

“Each layer is a different flavor,” Mikayla added.

“But isn’t it haunted?” Tom asked.

Mikayla and Maddie glanced at each other and with a slight nod of their head made a pact.

“Oh yes. It is absolutely haunted,” Maddie answered.

“We barely escaped before she could bake us into layers 13, 14, and 15!” Mikayla breathed.

“But at least we weren’t too chicken to ring the doorbell,” Maddie smirked and led the three girls back toward their block.

“Next week, Mrs. Hunter wants us to come back to show her how to use the new TV her son got her, right?” Maddie giggled.

“Yes!” said Angela.

“And she said she’d have more treats,” Mikayla said, “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad the boys were too scared to take the dare.”

The girls roared with laughter the whole  way home, while the boys sulked behind them, glancing back at the house that seemed to swallow light, and apparently tried to swallow the girls.

Next Week’s Prompt: You’re given the option for immortality. Take it or leave it?

Feel free to join me, suggest a prompt or share your own piece!

-M.R. Gavin

Micro-fiction: Chair Description

Describe a chair far from ordinary in 50 words. (1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts by Ryan Andrew Kinder)………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It doesn’t look like a chair. Instead it looks like a cloud: billowing, fluffy, cotton candy texture. When you sit, you sink as it morphs around you. Lean forward, it holds your back straight. Slouch down, it hides you. Lean on its voluptuous arm, and meet the most perfect pillow.

Next Week’s Prompt: Write a story that includes twins, a twelve layer cake, and a house that seems haunted, but isn’t.

Feel free to join me, suggest a prompt or share your own piece!

-M.R. Gavin

Hyperkinesis and the Education System

Dictionary Definition Game. Open to a random page in the dictionary, point to a word, and right about what it means to you or use it as the starting point for a story. (Creative Writing Now)


Hyperkinesis – (definition 2) A disorder of children marked by hyperactivity and inability to concentrate. (Oxford College Dictionary, 669)

So I opened to a random page of the dictionary, as the exercise dictates and it happened to be the “hyp-” section with most words extremely scientific. “Hyperkinesis” struck a chord with me though and I am just going to talk about it and relate it to my experiences and thoughts around teaching. *Please note: NONE of this is based on scientific fact. I have never even heard of hypokinesis before writing this. It is just what I connected to the word through my own strange thought patterns.*

First, hyperkinesis is a disorder normal exposed in early childhood with similarities to ADD or ADHD. The child has extreme difficulty remaining inactive, and struggles to focus on any task. Ultimately, this sets the child behind in skills and academics.  I am not a scientist or medical professional of any kind. I wasn’t even a Special Education Teacher, so I am not trained to recognize the nuances between these various disorders. What I can attest to is how America’s education system (particularly urban education) does not help students with those learning issues, but in my opinion often makes them worse.

In three years of teaching, I had at least ten students with an IEP. The majority were for attention issues – not hyperkinesis specifically as from my understanding that is more extreme. If a student was considered problematic, or got in trouble often they were usually evaluated for some sort of disability with the assumption that their behavior was a coping mechanism for their inability to concentrate or follow directions. Some people blame increased use of technology and the internet for this ever growing problem. Kids struggle to pay attention because they are used to overstimulation and able to switch tasks at will with technology. Perhaps. I am sure there is research about that, but this isn’t a research paper, it’s my opinion and thoughts on a word.

In my opinion, the problem is magnified by old systems of teaching, many of which have been abandoned by countries who regularly perform better than the United States. First, we expect children – starting at five years old – to sit in a classroom for almost eight hours. Many good teachers are able to chunk their lessons and time for their students to increase their attention, but when a guest comes in or an administrator comes to evaluate they expect to see children maintaining the schools behavior expectations as well as learning.  Learning is loud! It should be interactive. It should have students – particularly the youngest students – up and moving and exploring. And there is some of that, but comparatively, I don’t think there is enough. Kids learn best through play. They actually learn more and question more on their own than many adults assume, but in the schools I taught in, kindergarten received one daily half hour recess at most. My colleagues tried to incorporate explorative learning into their classroom, but often if it was witnessed by an administrator it was shut down as too chaotic or having unclear goals. Some foreign countries don’t start formal schooling until students are several years older. Maybe this is possible because parents have more time to support and educate their children at home because work-life balance expectations are significantly different, but that is another conversation.

From what I understand, hyperkinesis and related disorders are indeed very serious problems, and they do need to be monitored and addressed properly. However, we could improve the manner in which we teach and make it more child friendly. More kinesthetic learning, more discussion and  exploration, more learning through play, and I know many teachers do that exceedingly well given the strict restrictions, the common core, and the harsh testing standards. Maybe if we taught to meet the developmental needs of students, more than the state standards, achieving those standards would be easier.

As a reminder, I have NO background in medical science, and my thoughts on education are also just thoughts. So please understand this is just a writing exercise and I am only expressing my personal opinion.  Thanks for understanding.  What word did you choose to write about?

Next Week’s Prompt:Describe a chair far from ordinary in 50 words. (Prompt from: 1,000 Awesome Writing Prompts by Ryan Andrew Kinder)

Feel free to join me, share your creative writing prompt piece, or suggest a prompt!

-M.R. Gavin