I was going to skip it this month. I have some unfinished writing that I wanted to complete, but in July I was totally consumed by 100 words. My other projects collected dust on my hard drive as I concentrated with new intensity on this project. I was proud of myself when I finished yesterday. I felt I had a sense of accomplishment. O well, I can’t give up the 100 words. I enjoyed the journey. I never missed a day. 100 words are the most consistent writing I’ve done in ages and I loved every single minute of it.

She has never harmed you; she has been kind and good to you. She has helped you on countless occasions through many troubled times. I hope your conscious hurts. I hope you never get over the guilt you must now feel. You have lost a friend. You have hurt countless people; your mother, your father, your brother, your sister, and you have injured your best childhood friend with this senseless despicable act. Most of all you have hurt yourself. I hope you dislike yourself as much as I dislike you on this sad day. How could you! How dare you?

It is me who chooses the people who will be in my life. A long time ago, when we were both really little I chose you to be my friend. All this time I thought you were my friend. I spent the whole day thinking about whether or not I will stand by my choice. I have come to the conclusion that I will, but you have changed irrevocably the nature of that choice. I have decided to forgive you, I will still be your friend, but I will never, ever, ever forget the wrong you have done me today.

I have never been so hurt in my life. I have been crying the whole night long praying that her betrayal couldn’t possibly be true. I must have mislaid the money somewhere. Maybe it’s in a drawer or in my jeans. It has to be somewhere and it’s my fault that I can’t remember where I put my money. I have such a bad memory, I’m absentminded and often distracted. It’s just not possible that she took it. She’s my friend; she wouldn’t do that to me. But she did and oh my god what am I going to do now?

My head really hurts. My stomach aches. I feel sick and distraught. I did the wrong thing. I know the difference between right and wrong and yet, I made a bad, horrible choice. If my actions are discovered, as I fear that they will be, I don’t know what I am going to do. I wish I could disappear, I wish I could crawl into some unseen space. I would stay there perpetually. I won’t come out. I despise this feeling. The guilt. The shame. All I feel is the agony of realizing that I am totally, completely, forever wrong.

These random daydreams talk to me. They have a unique voice. If I concentrate hard enough, I see them dancing oh so eloquently. There are all kinds of them, happy thoughts, sad thoughts, angry thoughts, silly thoughts and fantasy thoughts. Usually I just leave them alone. In fact, sometimes I ignore them completely just because they seem to be always with me in shape and form. I am a daydreamer. My dreams at night are mysteries to me. Often I fervently wish, I could remember the night dreams, but it is the daydreams that dance to music in my soul.

The thunderclouds are black and a vicious storm seems ready to burst forth in terrifying violence. The storm will overtake my senses; my soul will fill with new energy and passion! Ha! I only wish! What to know what is really going on! I’m bored. I’m frustrated. I want something different than this constant malaise! I want a personality that sings with wild spontaneity, easy gaiety. O Sigh, I’m relegated to wandering around aimlessly, restlessly and the thoughts in my head are in reality without purpose or center. Mundane, inane and useless, this is just another day in my life.

The best thing about writing is that I have umpteen opportunities to complain, and whine. Lately I’ve been voicing my ongoing irritations with life in writing. Writing and venting compliment each other marvelously. The two together are better than any psychiatrist. I can let my cranky side out in a myriad negative ways. I complain about boredom, my cat, my apartment, the world, the weather, a bad cup of coffee, horrible television shows, books and movies. I read them later when I’m in a better frame of mind and sometimes I think I am entertaining, witty, whimsical and utterly insane.

From the moment he awakened, the day went horribly wrong, starting with the bad coffee and that annoying phone call from Evan. He couldn’t understand all this incredible bad luck! It was beyond him why fate and people should treat him in such a shabby way! He was after all, such a sweet, great guy! Everyone, he knew and loved said so! His mom, his best friend Jake and of course Amanda. Even, Evan thought, he was simply marvelous! But Evan had gotten him into this perilous predicament and man! Joe was livid, outraged and fit to tie! Damn him!

The city was ablaze with lights. There was so much high voltage electricity on the street that Shane had taken to wearing sunglasses. No one on the street noticed this of course. Cities guaranteed anonymity and Shane relished his invisibility. It was party time, New Years Eve. He wanted the noise of this particular celebration. He was hoping the pandemonium would erase thoughts of Katie. Love, who needs it? Not him! There’s that denial thing! He was in love and he didn’t like it much. He wanted love to go away, and vanish into the noisy night. He sighed forlornly...

No matter what she did today she couldn’t get him out of her mind. He was a compelling force in her life and today she was having a terrifically hard time getting him out of her mind. Whatever she did, her thoughts seemed always to return to Allan. She tried everything in her arsenal to extricate him. She walked to the store to pass time. She did the laundry. She cleaned up her messy apartment and still nothing worked. Allan intruded, subverting her. She resented the intrusion. Today all she wanted was to forget forever that she still loved him.

I have to train her to understand that I, Sheba, am in reality a computer genius! It’s so frustrating that she doesn’t get it! I should sit on her hands some more. I'm adorable, aren't I? Spitting image of me in my younger days, don't you think? I was a killer cat! Now, I am a lazy ex-killer cat, spoiled rotten and loving it! Drop in, kiddo! I guarantee I will sit on your lap. I will allow you to pet me! I'll purr for you, if I remember, but I'm old now so you might have to remind me!!

You chased all the bad guys, over the river, under the bridge, through the mountains and across the valleys until they disappeared into the night forever and ever. You used the Kiddle Potion to melt ghosts and vampires into candle wax. The lightning from your high voltage sword was a grand, awesome blinding light that utterly destroyed the Wicked Warlock! Best yet with your friends in dire danger in the dark and dingy ghost cave, you saved them with your Doggle Magic Wand. You saved the day, you’re are the hero on this night to remember! Whow! What an adventure!

She was never going to see him again. Suddenly she remembered the things she had wanted to say to him but hadn’t. She remembered all the missed opportunities for closeness and intimacy. She had never forgiven him for not loving her in the same way she loved him. She had walked away from him, hurt, wounded and blinded. She had moved forward in her life, driven, ambitious and totally oblivious to the love that had always been there for her, waiting. Now he was dead. Gone forever and all she could think of to say in her grief was, “goodbye.”

Yesterday, I gazed at the stars, and tried to forget that for a while I would be without the mainstay of city life: electricity. For a moment, I reflected on how utterly dependent I was on the stuff. I thought of what wasn’t working because there wasn’t any electricity: bank machines, water, elevators, and subways. As I watched what ordinarily I wouldn’t be able to see, I dismissed these inconveniences. Instead I sat mesmerized by the world of starlight. Here was a world I would never know intimately as long as I lived under the bright lights of the city.

I can’t think of a thing to say today. Maybe that’s saying something about me. I’m not feeling very clever. I certainly don’t feel creative. I wonder what being creative feels like. Where do you go to learn creativity? Or maybe there’s a pill I can take that will miraculously transform me into the ‘creative creature’ I long to become in my fantasies. I don’t know how to go about discovering where my imagination lies. Sometimes, I wish a brilliant idea would just hit me like a bolt of lightning. If it did then maybe I could write about it.

I’ve often wanted to express what I feel when I write. I feel that when I write I am painting a picture, a picture with words. The words have always been with me. I like the process of using words to fill an empty canvas with the stuff of life. It is not always easy to do this, but this is the challenge I face in my writing life. I love the challenge! Writing is the most important activity of my life. I worked hard to make my dream come true and I am certain that I will never stop.

I actually met her at a coffee shop. Today the coffee shop is a modern day candy store. She kind of stood out. She was the only person in the place besides the coffee shop staff and myself. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, so I did what any self- respecting man of the male persuasion would do I dragged out one of my one-liners. I had a million of them in my arsenal; all of them gleaned from 15 years of being a man seeking a woman. I remember saying “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” Embarrassing, Huh?

I miss him so terribly sometimes. Every time I leave him, I can feel a tear coming to my eye. I spend whole days thinking of him and wondering what he is doing with every second of his life. I write him letters. I chat with him on the phone. He has infiltrated my heart, stolen it and for once in my life I don’t want my heart back. It is necessary to me that he has become part of my life. He has aroused emotions in me that no one else has ever been able to arouse in me.

Don’t know what to think about today. Don’t know what to say about today. Don’t know what to write about today. It’s so strange that sometimes the words just pour and on other days it seems as though the words just dry up and fade into nothing. Lately it’s come back this writer’s block thing. I am told to write anyway, but what is the point? Write about nothing? That seems such a waste. Can there actually be a point in writing about nothing? Do just words, any words mean that I have written something meaningful for myself? I wonder.

She stepped off the bus, unable to contain her excitement. She had arrived. Ella took a deep breath and looked around the city. It felt strange to be in a different part of the world. The buildings were huge, unfamiliar and somehow intimidating for such a small town girl like herself. People bustled about, busy with their day and their own thoughts. The day was cloudy and cool. Ella shivered as she considered what she should do next. She didn’t want to think about finding a place to sleep or something to eat. Not just yet. That was for later….

He looked miserable, sitting there nursing his drink. Poor Jack, Helena thought. “Jack?” Jack looked up forlornly and sighed. “Hi, Helena.” “Ok, what’s the matter? You look like the world just ended.” Despite himself Jack had to laugh. “So you and Janet have another fight?” The laughter died in Jack’s eyes. He slumped in his chair and sighed deeply. Helena watch as his face changed in confusion and disbelief. Something was really wrong. She waited suddenly worried and anxious. “No, we didn’t have a fight. Not even close. She left. She packed a bag and just vanished without saying goodbye!”

We were awake just about all night long. We watched movies together, ate popcorn and chips. We played monopoly. He didn’t want to go to sleep. He wanted so badly to spend every waking minute with me. Sleep would have interrupted that. For a while I didn’t mind, I felt the same way. I had my little friend for only a short 24 hours. We were stealing all the precious time we could muster. We had to because our stolen moments were all we could have and neither one of us knew when the next time for us would be.

“Don’t read it like that?” my eight-year old friend cried. I smiled. “Ok, so how do you want me to read the story? I asked, pretending to be annoyed by his interruption. “Read with your funny voice! Make a million gajillion mistakes.” He said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. This time with every sentence I read I placed the letter ‘f’ in front of it. I imitated a lisp with a deep menacing growl and soon enough not only was he reading that way with me, my wonderful, adorable little friend was laughing so hard he fell off the bed.

The house groaned at our intrusion. The boards on the wood floors creaked in protest. The walls frowned. How spooky, it was to be here again, twenty years after we’d all left. But here we stood, my brother and I. We stood remembering, I in my thoughts and my brother in his. My mind’s eye filled the emptiness of this old house with memories of my family. The furniture, the pictures, the smells of cooking, the sound of laughter, the tears of joy, sadness and death all came back to haunt me in this; the most haunted of all houses.

Sitting under a tree and contemplating life is not a bad way to spend a day. Certain criteria have to be met. 1. It has to be a sunny, warm day, not too hot. 2. The tree has to be large, or fairly large, hopefully a majestic willow tree, because willow trees are serious trees and sitting under them immediately inspires great and deep contemplation. 3. Bring your dog and if you don’t have one borrow one. When you’re done with life you then will have a dog to run around and play with for the rest of the day.

I’m not going to argue with you. I see no point. That’s all there is to it. I am the adult. You are the kid. Because I am the adult, because I am miles older and wiser than you, I say you will not go to this concert with a bunch of kids and no adult supervision. There’s no way I will allow you to go. Don’t bother trying to change my mind. I don’t care what other parents say, I am your parent and your parent says No! That’s final. Quit looking at me like I’m an evil monster.

The hand sits poised on the keyboard, waiting patiently for the fingers to start. Hesitatingly the finger strikes a key, and a letter appears on the blank page. The hand instructs the fingers to keep moving, coaxing out letters needed to make a word. The hand smiles at the handiwork of the fingers; the hand is proud of the word and offers encouragement for the next step; the sentence. The fingers pause and wait for the brain to offer the sentence. The perfect sentence flows from the brain, to the hand. Immediately the fingers rise up and soar across screen.

She rummaged through her closet, looking futilely for something to wear. She pulled out dress after dress, thinking that each one simply wouldn’t do. Frustrated she sat on the edge of the bed, glaring angrily at the mess on the floor. She wasn’t going tonight. She didn’t have one decent dress to wear. Now she’d wished she’d listened to her mother and gone shopping with her that afternoon. But no, she’d been stubborn and insisted that she had the right dress for the occasion. What a fool she was! She sighed, anger instantly fading into desperation. Then she saw it…

Once upon a time…It happened one night…She wishes upon a star… She gazes at the sunset…She reads an old letter today…she finds an ancient photograph… Where have all the flowers gone…? She sees a stairway to heaven…She hears the sound of music…She is a child…She remembers her youth…She wishes, she remembers, she dreams, she sees, she hears, she tastes, she feels… her life… The fool on the hill is thinking about her life, her loves and reliving her memories. The fool on the hill is a song in her heart. The fool on the hill was and still is, me.

It sits in my throat waiting to strangle me. My body feels taut, strained and mercurial. I feel my jaw tighten; my eyes are flashing bolts of lightning. I feel hot and cold at the same time. I am shaking. Then without warning words fly, mean words, hurting words, cutting, nasty, and horrible words. When the victim of my anger is totally vanquished, I feel bad, sad and drained. But I can’t take it back. I have reached the point of no return! The damage is done! And I don’t ever seem to know what to do to fix it.