“I know someone else who loves to read mysteries. Her name is Marie.” She wagged her fingers for me to follow. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

She lead me to a short, dark-haired woman who became my mystery mentor and, soon after, my favorite friend. I should have thanked that woman for introducing me to Marie.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “Marie.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

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

4 thoughts on “Marie”

  1. Her middle name was Marie and she liked it a lot combined with her first name. It suited her. However, in her twenties her only sibling, a younger brother, married a woman named Marie who was a complete and total biatch. Signs were there from the very beginning when she always responded to his side of the family’s questions about what she might like to set up her new household. She constantly wanted top of the line whatevers – Waterford crystal, china, silver, furniture. You name it! It was hilarious and set Marie #1 and her cousin, Barbara, off into fits of giggling when they discovered the old glasses shrimp were sold in a long time ago set at the engagement rehearsal dinner at Marie #2’s mother’s home. Here was evidence of her humble home and yet she decided she wanted all expensive top of the line items from her future husband’s family. For the rest of their lives Marie #2 alienated every one of her in-laws. Her family was perfect. Her husband’s not so much. Even at the end of her mother-in-law’s life while she was battling cancer Marie #2 was nasty and rude to her. After all this, Marie #1 didn’t care of her name as much. It automatically triggered feelings of anger.

  2. There has been one Marie in my long life. Biography is not my genre however, although memories are good. I am at ease being essayist, reflector, educator, intellectual gadfly, champion of language (especially that which conveys the real, especially the visual). For instance, because of my world vision I’ve concluded that although what’s depicted as a noun – until now is thought to be a complete, static being – that’s simply not true. Each and every noun is also a verb. Nothing, no thing, just is. Each thing, everything is becoming at the same time as it is. That includes who I am, who I’m becoming and who Marie was to me and is and who she will be. Marie as verb; Joan as verb. This is real.

  3. Marie has been a friend to Lila for as long as She could remember. In fact, Marie has been there longer than the birth of Lila. She was there for Lila’s mother and her mother’s mother too. Little did Lila know that as soon as she caught the scent of Marie’s perfume, she would forget the questions about Marie’s life.

  4. Marie flounced into our lives one fine day , wearing cheap sunglasses , and a multicoloured floozy skirt. She talked animatedly , her hands weaving patterns into the air , and the goggles slipped off her nose bridge . She folded it up and pushed one of the stems down her ample cleavage. Her bosoms were a landscape in their own right . Huge , bouncy , vibrant . Just like her . I remember seeing her from the perch of my mother’s arms . She appeared mountainous.

    She was offered a drink , which she didn’t so much drink , as tipped into the vast pit of her mouth . We gaped . She asked for more . She , at the point of leaving , had emptied my mother’s meagre stores of orange and lemon squash . My siblings still remember , bitterly , that squashless summer .” Marie ne maar daala “, (marie has killed us all ) was the general refrain .

    At one point she plucked me and tried to smother me amongst her vast globes . I let out a howl of protest . Her cleavage smelt of perfume mixed with sweat . It was a formidable odour .

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