Welcome to the Creative Writing Challenge for December 2018/January 2019 !
The topic chosen this month is JAMS.
You are welcome to interpret the topic whichever way you want ~ traffic ~ culinary ~ machinery ~ musical ~ use your imagination!
Thank you @serving_n_a_j for the topic suggestion.
As he said, ‘There are too many traffic ‘jams’ … ‘JAMS’ can be interpreted many ways, so I’d like to see what people make of this topic.’
This thread is for ENTRIES only. This makes it easier to read and judge the entries without distractions.
Please put all comments in the COMMENTS thread.
(Please note that this is a live link)
The comments thread is where you can ask more questions about the entries, and discuss the writing styles and ask for advice. Basically, anything related to the topic but not in itself an entry!
Everyone is welcome to submit an entry in this thread. Feel free to interpret the theme however you want!
Please keep your entry under 1500 words if possible.
If you submit an entry written by someone else please give proper credit and acknowledgements.
There are no prizes, but the winner will be chosen as usual on the basis of ‘kudos’ received by the end of the month.
Looking forward to reading your entries this month!
As it happens this Christmas Season, I have gotten my self into a bit of jam..I have been invited to a Hungarian Christmas Meal on Dec. 24th. I have volunteered to make the Traditional Hungarian Desert known as Zserbo Szelet. Having previously read the recipes online I noted that this cake requires Apricot Jam.
Upon volunteering to make the cake, my host mentioned I needed Peach Jam. Further research again states Apricot Jam is the Traditional Jam to use and Homemade Apricot Jam as store Jams are too sweet. Hmmmmm, no apricot tree in the back yard, and actually none in season.
In a bit of a quandry about Apricot Jam, or Peach Jam, I messaged a friend with a very similar Hungarian background. She assured me that Apricot Jam was traditional and that Peach Jam is not good for baking. Okay dokey, Apricot it is then. Bundling up I walked into town to shop at our wonderful Polish Store. I know they do not like as much sugar in their products so I felt I would be able to find a less sweet jam on their shelves.
After a few moments and mistakenly picking up Quince Jam because I was interpreting by pictures, I checked Google tranlater and learned the proper words for both Apricot and Peach Jam, of which where both on the shelf in English. I opted for the traditional Apricot and was happy to read it was a low sugar version as well. Feeling quite proud of myself for making my decision and sticking to it, I woke this morning to find a message from my Hungarian friend.
She stated that she also visited the Polish shop yesterday and purchased a jar of peach jam for me. I am confused because she told me not to use Peach Jam, and now I owe her some money for a jar of jam I will not be using. All I wanted was an opinion but now I am back to being in my original jam of not knowing which flavour jam to use.
SHORT AND SWEET
I like cherry jam on buttered bread. The other day I was sitting in a traffic jam so I decided to eat some cherry jam. Whilst sitting there I noticed a driver on the outside trying to vear into a narrow gap infront of me. I thought "some drivers want jam on it."He then proceeded to cut me up , I had to jam my brakes on and in doing so causing my foot to get jammed.
It started off as a jammy day but did not end as such.
Years ago I went on a hostess course to learn how to make jams and pickles it was very interesting and I learned a lot. At the end of the three month we had a competition for the best jam or pickle and I chose to make a jar of PICKLE which took a lot of very expensive ingredients so I was very pleased when the one I entered won and I got the prize.
I took the jars home and my husband thought it was the best pickle he had ever tasted So when my parents visited me later that week I gave them a jar and explained that I had won the pickle competition with this recipe and it was a very expensive to produce but I wanted them to have it.
A month later when they visited me again. They told me that
'They did not know how I had won because it was disgusting and they had had to throw it out and what ever sort of JAM was it' Needless to say I only made it for friends and my husband after that
I have always been prone to getting myself into jams. It's not something I go to seek but, like some unseen force, my decisions seem to land me in situations that cause difficulties for me and others.
Take the other day. I was walking down the main road, in the town, when a huge articulated lorry pulled alongside me, and the passenger leaned out of the window to ask directions. Immediately, I gave him the information as I saw it but, as soon as the lorry had pulled away, I realised that I was directing them to a road which was much too narrow for them to negotiate. There is no signal or sign exists that I could use for sorry, forget that route, go the other way. Too late, the lorry was gone. I heard later that the vehicle got stuck on the lane and traffic was held up for several hours whilst the police extricated it. Nobody died, however, so all was not lost but I suspect the commuters trying to get home were unimpressed. I can no longer walk down that main road any more.
Then there was the time at a party when a girl asked me for a light for her cigarette. As I offered her the match, I noticed someone I knew was across the room and my concentration switched. The result was that instead of lighting her **bleep**, I set fire to her heavily lacquered hair. I can still smell the burning when I think about it. She wasn't happy at all. I never got invited again.
Yesterday though, I got myself into a real jam. Nosy that I am, I was looking around the local farm shop and as all the assistants were busy, I stuck my head in the big fridge to see what it held. Told you I was nosy. Well it was dark, so I stepped inside and as I searched for the light switch, the door swung closed behind me and I heard the lock click. When I turned on the light, guess what? There was no door handle on the inside. Luckily the fridge wasn't working, I could tell that as the temperature was okay. I looked around for something to knock on the door; to alert people of my plight. Then I noticed that the shelves around me were filled with every type of homemade jam. Ironic eh? In a jam and surrounded by jam. Obviously, I got out or I wouldn't be telling this tale. Needless to say, I'm not welcome in the farm shop any more.
When I was a little girl, we lived in a terraced house next door to my auntie and next door to her was my grandma’s house. We were so lucky to have family so near to us. My grandma had a large house with lots of rooms, my cousin and I used to run around shouting and playing, she ran a bed and breakfast business and took in lorry drivers overnight. Her cooking was legendary and she was never short of customers. She always had a coal fire burning in the grate and I remember the black iron fireplace and rag rugs. The house was always buzzing with life and people in and out. A gigantic metal teapot bubbled all day on the stove.
But the thing I remember the most and the memory fills me both with joy and with sadness, was that no matter what time of day or night you went in, there was always a massive plate of bread and butter on the table and pots of grannies home made jam.
When I came home from school and mum was still at work in the factory, I would perch on one of the tall wooden chairs, placed around the huge dining table, and help myself to bread and jam. Oh the taste and the smell, it makes my mouth water even now. Fills my heart with joy to remember all the family and the goings on and my grandma’s wonderful jam.