What are You Doing?

Today I’m planning to visit the ghosts at the Fenton crypt in the old section of the cemetery. I love this group of people. They are still fighting after all these years as specters. Julie is the funniest one. She’s mad at her older sister. Something about the Baker boy, who was a famous high school athlete back in 1889. Once in a while I visit the Baker section of the cemetery in hopes of hearing more about this love triangle, but Tom Baker isn’t interested in talking about that. He’s only interested in the state track meet of 1890.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “what are you doing?”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

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

4 thoughts on “What are You Doing?”

  1. No matter what Zoraida was doing, she could never eschew her mother’s question of: “What are you doing?” The majority of the time, it was something so obvious, the mere inquiry seemed superfluous. Nevertheless, the question always arose out of what appeared to be sheer habit from her mother’s side.

    Zoraida figured the only sure way to avoid being questioned would be to perform her tasks once her mother had retired to bed. Many of them had to be done during the daytime, but regardless of this, the number of inquiries diminished as well as Zoraida’s aggravation.

  2. It has been quite the week. First the launch to the space station. It never loses the thrill, being smashed into a launch seat at several g-forces. After a rest, I went on my first spacewalk to fix some cabling issues.Now a phone call to my wife, from space.
    All this amazement and her first question, “Hey honey, what are you doing?”
    “Nothing much, you?”

  3. She would breeze into the room , at odd hours , and demand “What are you doing ?”
    Most of the people would slink away, without answering.
    She was quite unpopular.
    Some would politely say some thing to fend the moment off.
    Others would sit quietly, continuing to do whatever they were doing, clench their teeth, and refuse to answer her.
    I was one of the last type. Holding my ground, not talking.
    She would make a point to plonk down beside me and relate the entire days happening , in great details. I wouldn’t even look at her, or pause from my typing. It amazes me to recall, how rude I had been…

  4. “Pardon the intrusion, but what are you doing?”

    This is how the encounter began, I dropped my book and looked up with squinted blood shot eyes at a tall, slender man wearing what I can only assume were very expensive leather shoes, a pin stripped three piece suit, he leaned heavily on a polished wooden cane with glimmering fists of diamonds, and that smile, oh I’ve never been more transfixed than I was in that moment. Where had this stranger come from? Confused, I tried to speak, “Whe-, Who, um”

    “Percy, listen”

    How did he know my name?

    “That’s easy.”, he waived a hand nonchalantly “You know Percy, you really ought to be more cautious meddling in powers of which are beyond your station.”

    He flicked a pinky from his cane in the direction of my book and in a ball of fire, he and the book vanished.

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