She had more than flair. She had more than style. She was mesmerizing in her flamboyance. She was like having a flaming torch in the room, no one could look away from her for even a second because she was likely to ignite and set the world on fire. Being her daughter was . . .

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “flamboyant.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

4 thoughts on “Flamboyant”

  1. was truly difficult because I was a mere ember to her flaming glory……..In my own way, I tried to downplay being her daughter…..I became an artist….a visual recorder of the world about me and my art work had nothing to do with people (I mean, who could compare with my flamboyant mere?). My work had to do with flowers, the forest, leaves, lakes, seasonal changes in the woods, animals, birds…….people I stayed away from…..

  2. Seeing the painting of the flamboyant tree at the gallery made Aylin think of her childhood in her native Caribbean island. She remembered how the cool shade on her front porch was provided by one of these majestic beauties and how the swing that her father had built for her hung from one of its sturdy branches.

    She recalled how she had wiled away the time under its shade reading her favorite books, eating sugar cane or just daydreaming. Good memories, certainly lasting ones. Eyeing the price tag, she then headed in the direction of the gallery owner.


    Geoffrey was a mild-mannered gentleman living in the suburbs of the city. He would buy his copy of the “Daily Times”, to read on the train as he commuted to the office, Monday to Friday, wearing a pinstripe suit.
    On Saturday night his alter-ego would be in charge, with his flamboyant fluorescent yellow jacket and bright blue jeans with red suede shoes, he would dance the night away.
    On Sunday he went to church.

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