Olla Podrida

Westdell

“So, how did it go?”

“Oh, you know I like strong stuff… but it looked suspicious, and it had some floating things. I couldn’t figure out what they were, for the life of me, and I think some of it was meat, but I am not sure, and it had some yellow stuff, and…”

“Breathe!”

“I am not quite sure if I liked it or not, to be honest.”

“Well, it’s ok. Just… just relax.”

“I hate it when people make me eat something that looks suspicious.”

“But why suspicious?”

“The floating things, the floating things!”

“Umm… I was just checking here. It’s just a stew with pork meat, beans or chickpeas, tomato and vegetables. It actually looks quite delicious.”

“Oh, you should have seen it…”

“It’s slowly cooked and quite aromatic.”

“Really…?”

“Yeah, you didn’t notice that? And listen to this. Its name comes from “poderida” or “poderosa” as in powerful, because of the rich ingredients.”

“It certainly was powerful…”

“I bet you’re feeling quite energetic after that olla podrida, aren’t you?”

“Well… Now that you mention it…”

“See, it wasn’t that much of a disaster after all.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I feel quite chirpy actually.”

“There you go. So, next week… chicken curry?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Isn’t that too spicy…?”

“Well, it has chicken and chicken is good. Curry is pretty awesome too. Rice does no harm to anyone…”

“Yes, you’re right!”

The power of suggestion is a wonderful thing. Green chillies finely chopped are too, with as many seeds as possible!
Writer's Dash

Of Branches and Stories

The Tower by Rebeca Bashly at LEA6 (2012)

I was invited to write for the blog iRez and this is the first post, a brief bio of my still short path as writer.

Of Branches and Stories

Hope you enjoy the journey.

I'll have a lot of fun!

*

Who is the new face at iRez, you may ask. Allow me a few words about myself. I promise these to be the first and last of the sort!

I’m Lizzie Gudkov, a former educator who became a writer. My world is made of words that branch out intertwined to grow into stories.

It was not always this easy to explain who I am, though. I spent many years secretly jotting down thoughts on scattered bits of paper I often called snapshots of life, created with the flow of sentences and the catchy sound of vowels and consonants. At the same time, I struggled with a dramatic lack of time to write, juggling an extremely demanding job as a teacher and major changes in my life.

I loved being a teacher. However, life does play a few tricks on us when we least expect it, and suddenly I had a lot of time on my hands.

One day, I stumbled upon Second Life, a virtual world with vast potential, daring places and fascinating people. What an amazing source of inspiration for my writing!

It was this virtual world that pushed me out of my safe cocoon as an anonymous writer. I started taking part in many writing events both inworld and off-world, some extraordinary, others somewhat bizarre, I must admit. Luckily enough all contributed to enrich my stories and I survived the first steps of an increasing complexity in my writing reality!

I decided to create a blog about a year ago that became my headquarters, where I push myself beyond my comfort zone. Do you have a style, you might ask, a genre? I enjoy writing about everything. I often, still today, consider myself a photographer using words instead of images. My short-fiction frequently captures a fraction of reality, a moment suspended in time, as does my poetry. I now tackle writing not as the product of a short-lived sparkle of inspiration, but as a demanding job, excruciating at times (but don’t tell anyone!), yet so much fun.

I must say I am thrilled to join the team at iRez (thank you to Vaneeesa for trusting me)! Throughout my online life of almost two decades, I have had several blogs, yet it is the first time I face the challenge of writing at a home where other writers live as well!

“What’s the plan?” a very special person in my life would ask.

Well, the plan is to embark with you on an expedition into virtual places where fictional stories will unfold. I’ll take you into the lives of many characters that populate my imagination. I must warn you, though. They are rough, belligerent, twisted and perverse, although they are human, funny and even generous at times, a few of them, at least!

The apparent solitude of the writer transforms itself progressively into a multitude of possibilities! So, I’ll sit here crafting the branches of stories that may surprise you, shock you, move you and make you drift into other realities. I hope you enjoy them.

And now it’s time, the journey begins!

Pogonip

Magical Farm

Touch a snowflake ever so lightly.

Melt a heart ever so brightly.

The fog is coming

Up the path ever so quietly.

And whispers and whispers

Storm my wonder ever so faintly.

Writer's Dash

Bloodless

The Tower by Rebeca Bashly - LEA6 - 2012

“I washed away a thought of hope,” she murmured leaning against the wall. Her perfect smile, her beautiful eyes, her hair of gold had slowly disappeared. “I forgot my name and I forgot my soul,” she whispered softly. Though lifeless and pale, the melody of her voice traveled around the room. “I washed away a thought of hope,” she repeated while disappearing through the wall, her voice still echoing on. No one shed a tear. No one was moved, except one man in a row at the back. He stood up and clapped. Alone, he clapped for several minutes while the others left. The actress stepped back on stage and bowed in front of a room filled by one man’s clapping. After so many performances, she finally understood that touching one person, only one, was not a failure, because that one was a crowd.

Writer's Dash

Silence...

Grimm Shores

A comforting smile.

“You must sit here and be really quiet.”

And they were.

Lost in a cloud of uncertainty,

They wrapped themselves in silence,

Feeling the warmth of one another,

Shoulder to shoulder.

Tiny souls filled with questions and trust.

In those few moments of abandonment,

When fate caught the world unaware,

Their path was sealed…

They would be found,

Together,

Holding hands...

A comforting smile fading away…

To the teacher who died to save her students (Newtown, CT, USA)
Writer's Dash 

Pudding

Grimm Shores

 “No.”

“Why not?”

“It tastes bad.”

“You haven’t tried it.”

“I have.”

“Not this one.”

“Is it any different?”

“No.”

“Well...”

 “I’ll eat it.”

“Be my guest.”

Fast-forward to an hour later.

“How is he doing, doctor?”

“Stable. But we are very concerned. Tell me, what did he eat?”

“Pudding.”

“It must have been bad already…”

“No.”

“No…?”

“No. I added some arsenic to it.”

“Why would you do that,” asked the doctor alarmed running back into the ER.

 I told him to buy sweet rice so many times, he thought.
It was 8pm. Great, the supermarket is still open. 

100 Word Stories