Time For a New Reader’s Challenge
I received some amazing and enthusiastic comments on my last blog piece: She loves to play miniature golf, published 9/12/2026.
Interestingly, several readers have commented that they want to know how the story continues, especially after the last line tickled their spines a little.
While it is true, I could finish it if I wanted, instead, I am going to ask my readers to finish the story in the way they think it should be done.
So, here is the challenge for my readers:
Finish the story, starting with the last sentence of She loves to Play Miniature Golf. You don’t need to write a book chapter, but instead, perhaps write a small paragraph and that would be great. If you want to write 3 or 4 paragraphs, that is fine too, but no more than one page please.
Each entry will be published and I will comment on each one individually, with respect and admiration. I will not publish entries as they come in, but instead, publish them all at once when I have several on hand. My only rule of course, is no pornography or real names.
I am excited to see what you write, and will be honored to receive and publish them on my blog platform.
Good luck!
SRCarson
…So, the three of them drank beer and ate pretzels at the picnic table and discussed the finer points of Pee Wee Golf. This lengthy and lively conversation of small talk and awkward laughter quickly changed to personal questions because of Mark’s undeniable interest in the brunette with emerald eyes. Amanda quickly did the math and realized she was the third wheel. Noticing her friend’s mesmerized expression towards this unexpected handsome man, she made a fast, polite departure. Hearing the interruptive sounds of anxious employees trying to close the lucrative Put Put Golf establishment and with the sun disappearing, they migrated to the nearest coffee shop where they could quiet the effects of their Irish Red with two cups of warm caffeine. “What is your name?”, asked Mark enthusiastically and very pleased that he had the emerald eyes focused only on him. “Maria.” “And what occupies your time Maria?” “I own an Architectural Firm. I’ve built my business over the past eight years. Life in the fast lane leaves a lot of men in the dust… until now.” And with a subtle grin added, “How about you Mark? What keeps… you… busy?” Her speech slowed as she stared at his unusual octagon watch. Nervously reaching down and adjusting it on his wrist Mark shared, “It belonged to my Grandfather. When I wear it I feel connected to him.” A very still Maria muttered, “Yes I know. And it has a compass.” “How did you know that?”, asked a curious Mark. Maria explained that she has had a reoccurring dream throughout her life. “I am running through cities and countrysides with a mystery man wearing that same watch. And you are him!” Leaning in and hoping for answers Maria asked, “How do you spend your time Mark? And why are you center stage in my dreams?” Mark’s jaw fell to his feet when he noticed her necklace trying to hide under her white lace blouse, an ancient looking key with a golden glow on a tarnished silver chain. He could not believe what he was seeing. His inner voice boomed, “After an eleven year search, there it is!” Maria noticed his fascination as she gazed down and twirled the key between her protective fingers. “It belonged to my Great Great Great Great Grandfather. He grew up in the Cliffs of Moher. Do you know where that is?” Mark just stared in a catatonic state with unbelief. “Ground Control to Major Mark!” Snapping back to reality, Mark rubbed his chin and with a confident smile said, “I’m a pilot. I fly international with American Airlines. I am a treasure hunter in my spare time. And Maria, you and I are flying to Ireland as soon as possible.” Responding with a big smile, Maria said, “Absolutely we are!”
…and who knows what happened after that. Let’s just say the pretzels were great, but the date took a wild turn when my girlfriend decided to show off her own “perfect putt” technique right there by the picnic tables. She swung a plastic putter, hit a stray pretzel nugget, and launched it straight into the owner’s beer mug, splashing foam all over a glaring group of wives nearby! We had to make a run for the car, giggling and jiggling all the way out of the parking lot. The hunk ran right beside us, shouting, “This is the best first date ever!”
…and who knows what happened after that. The night dissolved into a blur of bright neon lights, cold draft beer, and the soothing hum of a late summer evening. As we walked out, the wind kicked up again, blowing my short skirt just like it did on the green. He looked at me with an intensity that felt less like a playful game of putt-putt and more like a fateful encounter on the astral plane. “See you around, Suzy-Q,” he murmured. I never told him my name. I climbed into my car, staring at the golf ball in my hand, wondering how deep this new trap really went.
Well, I certainly didn’t call him that night, but two days later, I found that wild golf ball at the bottom of my purse and smiled. I sent a quick text: “Still looking for foul balls?” Within ten minutes, he replied with an invitation to a real steak dinner and no pretzels this time. It turned out he didn’t care about my golf score at all, but he definitely loved the way my skirt caught the wind on the green. Sometimes, being a little careless is the best decision you can make.
We finished our drinks, and as the hunk walked us to my car, a black sedan slowly cruised past the edge of the mini-golf park. The driver was a woman with long black hair Veronica. Suddenly, a familiar old man with a cane stepped out from the shadows near the clubhouse, catching my eye with a subtle nod that signaled everything was under control. The hunk kissed my cheek and said goodbye, completely unaware that he had just walked right through a high-stakes national security perimeter!
As the three of us laughed over our beers and pretzels, the handsome stranger leaned in close and whispered, “The alligator’s mouth isn’t the only trap around here, Suzy.” He slid a familiar looking black and white notebook across the wooden picnic table. My heart stopped. It was the exact duplicate of Ollie’s notebook. He winked, stood up, and disappeared into the parking lot, leaving his phone number on the golf ball, which I now realized was actually a coded coordinates marker for Washington D.C.
So, the three of them drank beer and ate pretzels at the picnic table and discussed the finer points of Pee wee golf, and who knows what happened after that.
And that might have been the end of it, except she had other plans. Her busy life had finally caught up with her, and the fanciful cover of a carefree spirit had done its job. The intelligence was correct, and the countless hours spent at the Putt-Putt course had finally paid off. Fourth hole – the one-eyed alligator; Eighth hole – octopus, third tentacle; Twelfth hole – off the grave. She knew every obstacle as intimately as the contours of her own body. It had been reported that, as a mini-golf enthusiast, he was known to frequent this course. It turned out that she and the intelligence community had rather different definitions of “frequent.” Still, the hours spent at Harry’s Putt-Putt Adventure hardly qualified as her worst assignment. That distinction was reserved for the weeks she spent doing Kambo in the jungles of Costa Rica during monsoon season. That experience would always occupy a special place in her personal canon of things that were less than ideal.
and then she received an urgent call from 911… and without explaining anything, she disappeared from the golf club… and who knows what this guy is ready to do to find the one he has been looking for all his life!