Whenever I come across anything described as “unique,” my right eyebrow raises ever so slightly, but with respects to Henderson’s debut novel this is fair.
Stranded in Sunshine is the story of what happens when 11 people are invited to live in a recently abandoned shopping mall in order to create, a small sector of, civilization anew. While the premise may read as the plot to a reality show, it’s in the method Henderson chose to deliver the story that helps it earn its “unique” cred. Each chapter is through the eyes of a different character and plays out like a satirical soap opera.
“‘Forget technology, we’re starting… drum roll, please… A Better Place.’”
When I think of having someone write my biography. My first thought is why wouldn’t I want to write my own memoirs, plenty of authors & writers do or have. I’m not, nor do I expect to become, a celebrity. Nor do I consider myself incapable of doing so. That aside, would I still be interested in seeing how someone else would paint my life? Sure, why not? And given the option of any author living or dead. I give my knee-jerk vote to…Richard Castle.
Screen capture via amazon.com
Why Richard Castle? Not only is he ruggedly handsome (or so I’m led to believe), but have you read his books? They’re action packed, humanizing, engaging, maybe even a guilty pleasure (to some, not moi), and his journalistic experience means he’s thorough with his research. Not to mention he’s dedicated to his pieces. His ego wouldn’t allow him to do a sloppy job regardless of how great or simple the task. Granted, my life is not filled with the same level of excitement as drug cartels, or life tagging along with members of the NYPD. But I’m sure there are a couple of highlights he could run with, and I’d love to see them.
Who would you choose or did choose? Leave a comment below and/or a link to your own post answering this Daily Prompt and just maybe I’ll edit this post to include links to my favorites 😉
Ladybugs invoke a sense of calming good will
that is until
you catch them feasting on your favorite set
of woven tweeds
they’re not the cute ones,
but lengthier beetles
that love to feed
clothing, carpets, fabric
ridden with tiny holes
annoying as canines
chewing on your clothes
Story Bandit: We dare you to write a 49-word poem using the following words: tweeds, lengthier, invoke, ladybugs. #writingdare
Before you start to wonder, “could this be about a person rescuing a feline from a tree?…” it is.
I was a wee lass heading home after a day of child shenanigans at a local playground. Walking with head down, lost in thought, I caught movement in my peripheral. The movement was coming fast and blurred. A real life cliché of a dog chasing a cat unfolded before my eyes, and sure enough, that cat scaled the nearest tree.
I was thankful no cars took that opportunity to come speeding around the corner. A common occurrence in my neighborhood. Even with the noticeable signs of caution and speed reduction.
“Aww poor thing.”
The small dog remained stationed at the base and let out a few “menacing” barks. Then headed toward its home. I didn’t know if this kitty was a stray, but at the time no one was coming for it or knew it was in a tree. I sized up the towering plant. I’m about 5’2 now and was several inches shorter then.
This was a challenge.
However, one I was willing to accept. Especially once the grey fluff started mewing realizing its mistake and trembled from its pursuit. I looked around for anyone that might be able to give me a boost. Of course, there wasn’t anyone.
I made for it on my own and pretended I was channeling skills I mastered in Girl Scouts. Reality being any of my refined tree skills came from the streets…of suburbia. I found decent footing and eased my way up to the desired branch. Using my feline charming voice, which was probably much creepier then, I told the kitty it would be okay. And gently reached for it, not considering it might make an attempt to climb higher. The cat backed away a couple of inches, but stayed on the branch. I got a firm, but not crushing, grip on it and started to head back down feeling vainglorious. I slipped a little on the return and scraped my arm and leg on the rugged bark. In my self-satisfied haze, a minor wound was worth it.