Last Friday morning, I arrived at the Inn of the Ozarks in Eureka Springs only to be greeted by this lovely sign on the marquee.
Evidently, we were in for quite an adventure in travel as they had repeated the word twice. I imagined a band of Writing Quilters, or Quilting Writers, traversing the country in a Gypsy wagon peddling hand-bound stories in extra-softcover editions.
Actually, the correlation between writers and quilters is not so farfetched. Quilters stitch together blocks of fabric to form a beautiful piece of art that often carries a theme or serves as a reflective memoir of a special occasion. Writers piece together scenes to construct a story to entertain or enlighten the reader.
To get in the mood for this piece, I tried typing with thimbles on all eight fingers with my thumbs securely tucked inside the holes of a pair of scissors. I found this to be rather cumbersome, but clicking noise did remind me of an Irish Stepdance. So far, it’s done nothing to enhance the content.
I will not be posting a Friday Flash Fiction this week as I am bound for four days of outdoor recreational activities (yes, that means drinking beer) and will not have access to a computer or the web. Perhaps I’ll have a good story (that’s not too embarrassing) to tell upon my return.