Weekend Writing Prompt — Solitudinarian

How many times and in how many ways can a man have his heart broken?

Only the lonely can understand how I am feeling. It’s as if I’ve checked into Heartbreak Hotel.

I now refer to myself as “Mr. Lonely,” and I just don’t care anymore. I will no longer allow myself to cry those lonely teardrops. I will stop shedding the tears of a clown.

From this day forth I resolve that I am a rock, I am an island, and I’ll be what I am, a solitary man.

(Exactly 90 words)


Written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt, where the word is “solitudinarian.”

How many song titles about being alone or lonely can you pick out in this post?

FOWC with Fandango — Solitary

FOWCWelcome to March 21, 2021 and to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). It’s designed to fill the void after WordPress bailed on its daily one-word prompt.

I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (US).

Today’s word is “solitary.”

Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.

Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and create a pingback to this post if you are on WordPress. Please check to confirm that your pingback is there. If not, please manually add your link in the comments.

And be sure to read the posts of other bloggers who respond to this prompt. You will marvel at their creativity.

Thursday Inspiration — Solitary Man

I’ve always been a bit of a loner
Even as a kid, I preferred to entertain myself
Over playing with friends
I used to invent games
I could play by myself
I thought of myself as an island unto my own
I was alone and wanted it that way
A rock who could feel no emotion
No pain
No joy
No love
No hate
And as I grew older
I became a solitary man
Who enjoys the sound of silence
Right or wrong
Weak or strong
I am what I am
A solitary man
A rock
An island


Written for Paula Light’s Thursday Inspiration prompt, where the theme is “rock.”

Solitary Man

Today’s Daily Addictions one-word prompt is “solitary.” When I saw that prompt, I knew that I would do what I’m about to do, and that is to post one of my favorite songs by Neil Diamond.

I didn’t get married until I was 32 because I wanted to wait until I could find me a girl who’d stay and wouldn’t play games behind me. Until I did, I would stay what I was: a solitary man. And then I met the future Mrs. Fandango.

So many prompts, so little time

I wasn’t able to get around to writing a post today that used all of the other daily prompts, including my own, “parking.” Hopefully I’ll get back on track tomorrow.

Nothing Personal

bare wallsYou’ve seen those TV crime dramas, right? You know, the ones where the cops bust into the apartment of the suspect. They look around, trying to get a sense of the man, a glimpse into his personality.

One of the cops says to his partner, “No pictures on the walls, no books on the shelves, no personal knickknacks. This place hardly looks lived in. What’s up with this guy? What makes him tick?”

Well, I was that guy. No, not a perpetrator of a crime. I just had no pictures of any kind on my walls, no books on the shelves (actually, no bookshelves, either). No plants to be found. Not even artificial ones. I was a true minimalist.

Only the necessities. A bed and a chest of drawers in the bedroom. A recliner, a small dining table with two chairs, a TV stand on top of which sits a TV in the living room. There’s also a small desk in one corner, along with a desk chair and an empty, two-drawer filing cabinet. The apartment looks totally generic, sterile. Anyone could have been living there. Or no one.

In fact, if some police psychologist came to my apartment, he would probably have tagged me as a shady, isolated type; a drifter who didn’t intend to be there very long, who had no stability or sense of self, and who had few human connections.

But that wasn’t me. Well, at least not when my wife was still alive. In my defense, though, when I moved into my apartment a year and a half ago, shortly after she died, I kind of knew it would be temporary. After more than four decades together, it’s not easy to transition from a life together to a life in solitary.

So when she died, I sold our house, the furniture, and all of our shared personal possessions, at least the ones that my two adult daughters didn’t claim. And because I thought I wouldn’t be in that apartment for very long, I didn’t invest in much to make it my own. But then again, after she died, I didn’t really know, anymore, who I was.

Turns out I wasn’t in that apartment that long. I guess being alone didn’t suit me. And now my daughters, who each live in other parts of the country tending to their own families, have flown in to claim whatever possessions their dearly departed and estranged father left behind, which wasn’t much at all.

Certainly nothing personal.