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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas #929027 added February 16, 2018 at 6:41pm
Restrictions: None
When Suddenly…WdC's Prompts
Prompt: I was reading a writing prompt on Writing.Com when suddenly...
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I was reading a writing prompt on Writing.Com when suddenly I found myself inside the novel, Armageddon by Leon Uris, that I had pledged to read in "CLOSED!The Monthly Reading Challenge"  .
“Between friends,” the Russian said with his thick accent, “this whole squabble is becoming costly. I hate that you Americans made us impose a Blockade, but you can’t continue on with the Airlift during the winter.”
“What?” I was flabbergasted. “Where am I? What do you mean by blockade and airlift? And who are you?”
“Hey, are you putting me on, Sean? I am Igor Karlovy, your Russian pal.” Igor Karlovy laughed, “This must be one of those doomed American jokes. Okay, I’ll go along with it. You are in Berlin of 1948, and you perfectly know what’s happening with the Blockade and your hopeless Airlift.”
“That’s what you think. The Airlift was successful and your side gave up. I remember from my history lessons. Just why did you call me Sean?”
“Because that’s what your name is.”
“But I am a she!”
“Okay…I knew Americans were fruitcakes,” Igor stiffened. “If you’re not Sean who do you want to be? You have to be somebody.”
I had a choice? “Hilde,” I said. “Because she is so beautiful.” Then, I changed my mind. “No, I want to be Ernestine because she’s serious and a reader…”
Igor tipped his fingers to his cap and he looked like he thought it was time for him to go. “Aufwiedersehen, Sean, Hilde, or Ernestine! Well, whoever you are!”
Shocked by his abruptness, “Joy!” I yelled, “I am Joy.”
“Yeah, sure!” he said as he was exiting. “And I am Cleopatra! Wait till I recount this conversation to Marshal Popov!” I was still hearing him talk to himself outside the door. “Crazy Americans! Bats in the belfry! With lopsided brains! Nuts! They’re all nuts!’
“And we won the Cold War, too,” I yelled after him.
“What did you say? What happened with the cold war?” My husband said. “Are you talking to yourself, again?”
And suddenly I found myself in our living room, looking at my laptop’s screen, at WdC’s prompts. 
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