Nevermind that he committed suicide the next morning, Ernest Hemingway’s famous last words to his wife were romantic.

“Good night my kitten.”

By comparison, my husband Larry’s last words to me, “Come inside already. That garden of yours is gonna be the death of you,” sound lackluster if not controlling; and about as romantic as “Pass the salt.”

If Larry said those words once, he said them 999 times, repeated every time I was out there on me time, compulsively, belligerently, thrusting open the kitchen window on high octane, even when his sciatica was acting up, hollering each syllable with the same emphasis in exact order, like a mantra, unable to think creatively whatsoever, never contemplating reversing the two simple silly sentences, let alone inserting an alternate adverb, and why couldn’t he mix things up and call out to me from the back door, instead of the kitchen window above the sink each and every time? Couldn’t he for once avoid messing with the delicate hang of my pressed curtain tiers?

I’d just ignore him, sort of, because although I didn’t run in like possum on a vole back to the house, I could feel my shoveling arm auto shift into high gear, slicing earth like a deli meat until I plum tuckered out calling it quits. As I’d enter the back door all sweaty and ravenous; sorely in need of a beverage, a meal and a body rinse, he’d be sitting at the table twiddling and in-betweening waiting on me to fix his supper instead of putting up a pot for me, (mostly ’cause he was nearly blind as a bat towards the end), so naturally I’d get to fixing right away but not before I’d say,

“Larry you’ve gone and done it again! Look at my curtains!”

But the last time he called out from the window was different. By the time I got into the kitchen, I did not inherit the opportunity to demonstrate a retaliatory curtain kerfuffle. Larry’s head was face down on the kitchen table like a big pile of silly putty on a newspaper, deceased from a massive aneurysm.

The sad truth is, ironically; and I hate to admit this, Larry’s last words were 100 percent accurate. The garden was the death of me. I was found by my conscientious mailman too late; as I succumbed to heat stroke on a sunny unseasonable 95 degree day in early June. His postal eagle eye caught a glimpse of me while he stepped up onto the porch to deliver my chamomile tea. He noticed me in the side yard slumped over a cluster of azaleas and dialed 911; even attempted to pull me into the shade while my clippers were still married to my fingers, not knowing if it was too late, poor thing, since with the back of his hand he felt the high heat coming off my tomato face, expecting death to be cold, not realizing I was no different than a shrimp on the bar-be.

But that was then, and as I retell all that memory lane nonsense, Larry is right here beside me chucking a chuckle that brings out his sweet dimples, those same dimples that had been lost with age, swallowed up by the sundry cavernous lines that come with fretting over time. Not sure if I’m supposed to let the cat out of the bag, but on this side, when you get to the gate, there is a form to fill out. Old school, no wifi. You get a pencil and a manilla envelope with your name on the outside (obviously no need for an address), with your D.O.B. and D.O.D. under your name and inside the envelope is a questionnaire to be filled out with three absolute questions.

1. What age do you want to be for all eternity?

2. If you could do one thing with your time in eternity, what would that be?

3. If you could pick one person to share eternity with, who would that be?

Taking me somewhat by surprise, I wondered if Larry was right on the other side of that gate and if he was, what were his three answers? After laying him to rest, I admit I had not thought of him much while I toiled my days away betwixt the rutabaga and the beets. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my husband dearly and I was lonely without him, but a newly unbridled horse is gonna run.

Pencil in hand, slightly bewildered by my clarity, my mind automatically turned to our wedding day all those years ago, almost as if someone popped in an old VHS tape of our special day implanting it into my mind. There we were dancing The Wah Watusi in front of all our loved ones, like two 30 something year old kids, not caring who was in front of us, not wondering if we looked like fools; during the whole evening affair I maintained my focus on his luscious dimples, the comfortable sound of his laugh and our dancing feet; a sound I had forgotten about; the sound of young love.

Without knowing if my answers were to be accepted or denied, done, done, and done:

1. 30

2. Dance

3. Larry

And the gate opened, and there you were, weren’t you Larry, looking as dashing as you did on the day we said “I do.”

So you see? Death ain’t so bad after all. Never did think too much about it when I was alive. Larry on the other hand admittedly did. But I don’t hold it against him. I’m too busy dancing without a care and staring into those dimples that somehow had gotten lost between the root vegetables; somewhere out there, on the other side.

https://video.search.yahoo.com/video/play;_ylt=A0geJaZ1cLheGlIAhTfBGOd_;_ylu=X3oDMTByMjB0aG5zBGNvbG8DYmYxBHBvcwMxBHZ0aWQDBHNlYwNzYw--?p=the+wah+watusi&back=https%3A%2F%2Fsearch.yahoo.com%2Fsearch%3Fp%3Dthe%2Bwah%2Bwatusi%26ei%3DUTF-8&turl=https%3A%2F%2Ftse2.mm.bing.net%2Fth%3Fid%3DOVP.RTFxDKk2mlD0D1IfsO4eBQHgFo%26amp%3Bpid%3DApi%26w%3D144%26h%3D77%26c%3D7&rurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DOcQQi9vbZZE&tit=The+Wah+Watusi&l=171&vid=dd2bb24ac6a91cf9133270020b5debd9&sigr=7BO9UkxI8lPf&sigb=OcOFDOQAixMy&sigt=aY9R_.xDvhMp&sigi=Ir4ijp_tQf9e

Happy November Writers and Readers;

Fall is a time of change, a time of ponderance, preparation, and preservation. And with the final month of fall comes our first $100 Challenge of the Month, wherein we explore the bright colors and darkening skies of autumn. Not only will the winner receive the $100 purse, we’ll also be sharing all outstanding submissions with our publishing partners and contacts. When you’re ready to get started, you’ll find the prompt here: https://theprose.com/challenge/7775. Best of luck!

With the arrival of our monthly challenge, we thought we’d shed a little light on how we’ll be judging your entries (and how we’ve been judging your entries in the Challenge of the Week). In particular we look for: creativity, fire, memorability, coherence, proper grammar, and linguistic mastery. Let’s take a closer look.

The First Paragraph

We read a lot of your writing, and usually don’t have the time to give every word and sentence the attention they deserve. As such, we will commonly eliminate entries immediately if the first couple of paragraphs are rife with spelling or grammatical errors, don’t read clearly, or don’t intrigue. Our advice - make your first paragraph your best paragraph. Make it captivating and irresistable. Make it shine. More advice on how to do so below.

Creativity

Written creativity can take many forms, and pervades every category along which we judge. It could take the form of compelling characters, exotic settings, unusual word choice, unique story arcs, and everything in-between. We want to think “wow, I would never have expected/conceived of/realized that.”

Fire

Fire is passion. We want to see your love for the craft of composition shine through. Whether a controlled burn, or a raging blaze, we want to see your dedication to the story, the characters, the poetry, and the craft. Some of the best writing reads as though the author agonized over every syllable.

Memorability

This is related to creativity, but somewhat different. It hinges a bit more specifically on the author’s ability to clearly convey that creativity. As we’re reading challenge entries, we keep a list of the pieces that catch our eye. When we’re done, we go back over that list of top contenders and choose the winner(s). More often than not, we’ll choose the stories we remember most vividly. In addition to compelling characters and themes, little details can go a long way towards making a piece more memorable. A perfectly crafted sentence. A witty title. A surprising interaction.

Coherence

Your writing should be lucid and coherent. If it’s hard to follow the plot, be it theater or thesis, it’ll be difficult to win. Avoid rambling, over-description, and muddled thoughts. Read your work back to yourself as though you hadn’t written it. Ask yourself, “what am I trying to communicate? Did I do so clearly? Is any of this hard to follow?” If we find ourselves lost or unsure of what’s going on anymore, we usually move along.

Spelling & Grammar

Do not underestimate the importance of proper spelling and grammar. Here at Prose, we respect, if not revere, the King’s English. While we forgive the rogue missing letter or misplaced comma (it happens to the best of us), repeated offenses and gross negligence are to be avoided at all costs. You are of course free to make stylistic choices like omitting capitalization; but unless it’s in the service of some artistic vision it’ll generally be frowned upon.

Linguistic Mastery

This is the x-factor, and the thing that sets great writing apart from good writing. This is proper useage of metaphor, descriptive language, imagery, word choice, alliteration, sentence/paragraph composition, overall flow, finesse, nuance, restraint, and everything in-between. For examples of “linguistic mastery,” please read some of the winning entries from our Challenge of the Week. The winners typically demonstrate a high degree of mastery in their work. To further illustrate what we mean, consider the following two sentences:

“The crows’ calls blared through the quiet like a siren, a dreadful cacophony that rose and fell like the tide, under the chilling, pale light of the full moon.”

“The shrieking of the crows sliced the silence, an unholy symphony beneath a cold, ghostly moon.”

Both are more interesting than “The crows were cawing loudly in the moonlight.” But the first exhibits a sort of scattershot approach, calls upon multiple disjointed metaphors, and betrays a lack of restraint. The second, by contrast, by surgical use of words like “sliced,” “unholy,” and “ghostly,” evokes a certain eeriness. It feels more intentional, and reads more clearly.

These are just a few of the things we look for, and we urge you not to think of them as some sort of “checklist” or “rubric.” Hopefully this has been informative, and will be of aid to you as your craft your entries.

Happy writes,

Prose.