Got the Yankee – Astros game playing in the background, the fan is whirling and making a steady shwooo noise, and I’m snuggled in bed with a book.
Everland, by Wendy Spinale. It’s this steam punk version of Peter Pan. I love the cross genre and diving into the realm of fiction classics is always fun, too.
What are you reading? Anything good?
I worked on this last week, but I guess I forgot to post. It was something I saw on a Facebook feed from a previous year. Someone had shared some 6-word stories and they were heartbreaking. Beautiful though, but amazing how they were able to portray so much with so little words. It’s such a great challenge though for creative writers.
Let’s see what you can come up with…here’s mine:
Seven 6-Word Stories
1. Brian said, “Goodbye.” Then he jumped.
2. Snowflakes danced around flower-covered headstones.
3. Black coffee drank up searing disappointments.
4. The advertisement read: need companion, non-violent.
5. Clutched hands trembled, the doctor spoke.
6. Tail wagged. The Vet said, “Ready?”
7. Birds chirped happily over rushing water.
Hmm. Wanted to write some fiction tonight. Sat down and this kind of popped out. Not sure I’ll continue…but hey, it’s something.
Hope everyone is having a great night, and happy writing!
Miss Green
Her hair was the color of straw; in dreads and pulled up on the top of her head. I loved the way it looked heavy and woolly, like she was carrying some sort of burden that spoke of an adventurous spirit, a need to get a way and explore.
She wore an electric green top, and the jewelry on her nose and ears and hands were a metallic green. She looked like something electric and natural, like a cyborg-computer mixed into the natural environment; something that couldn’t be outdated or out-sourced.
I’d ventured into this club because my friends told me to. Go to The Hollow they told me, you’ll love it. “Eclectic,” another friend had said. “Eccentric,” said another.
I found it to be a place full of oddities – like me. I wasn’t in any position to judge, really. My shy, awkward persona seemed to melt well into the absurd: the guy wearing the golden tights and the black sparkly mask, the woman dressed in garb that looked nineteenth century, and the blonde with the silver bikini and chewbacca tattoo on her stomach. What guy couldn’t resist a woman who had an ode to one of the greatest movies on earth tattooed on her body?
I found Miss Cyborg-Green on the dance floor. She was dancing to a funky beat; something with all drums and a nasal groan. Every one else seemed to be talking or drinking – not the typical mixed drinks and beer, no – mostly ales and wine, and I saw someone drinking coffee.
The lights were dim, but not completely dark. There was an atmosphere of frivolity. If I blinked my eyes, I could lose myself in another world. I felt the magic, the otherness in the air and was certain that Miss Green was a person that I wanted to meet.
I write a lot of notes in my phone’s notebook. Grocery lists, dreams, story ideas, names, blog ideas…you get the picture.
Found this in my phone written about a year ago. I guess I was going to submit it somewhere, but had forgotten about.
Going back and reading my dreams, too, are a hoot, but I think that’s worthy of a post all on its own. Anyway, enjoy. 🙂
The Proposal
A man leans against his black SUV in the early morning chill and stares down at his burning hands. His girlfriend left him, or maybe she died; it doesn’t matter now.
He thinks it might matter when he can get back inside and finally warm his hands, but he can’t decide what to do. His thoughts are jumbled, and panic ignites in his chest. He fumbles with the door handle behind him and climbs back in the SUV, rubbing and blowing at his hands.
He eyes the velvety box sitting in the glove box, which has spilled open, papers sliding down to the mat on the passenger side floor. He calls 911 and starts to sob into the receiver.
“Fiance,” he gasps. “Floor. Not breathing.”
He relives the scene etched forever into his vision as he begins to describe what happened. Her collapsed body on the sofa, her arm dancing towards the floor. The other one pinned awkwardly underneath her chest. She could have been passed out from drink, she could have been drooling into the sofa cushions, but she wasn’t.
Yesterday, she had told him yes, but today doesn’t feel like an affirmation.
Later, they will tell him that a complication with her medications was the cause; a misuse of sleeping aids. It haunts him to think that maybe she couldn’t sleep because she wasn’t happy, or that maybe she was too happy and sleep wouldn’t come.
Either way the cold continued, and he could never warm his hands.
Probably been marathoning a little bit too much Once Upon a Time today on Netflix. 😉 But when you don’t feel well, what else is there to do?
An old hag yelled at me today. Did I forget to mention she’s my boss? I imagine her as this crumpled type of creature with claws for fingers and eyes that glint with rage and blindness.
I was assaulted by the copy machine. She snatched those papers out of my hands so fast, she might have snapped her fingers…poof. Papers gone in a flash of magic.
Oh, if I were to have magic. What a glorious world this would be. What a glorious one I would live in. Still, a 9 to 5 isn’t some kind of torture chamber… Mostly.
Now, where would the prince charming fit in? I suppose the guy in marketing has some kind of charm. He did wink at me the other day. Or maybe there was something in his eye?
“Cindy!?”
I look up and there’s the old hag herself. Hands on her hip, glaring down at me. “Didn’t you get my email?” She says. She throws more papers on my desk. “This is the wrong report. I want the one I gave you yesterday.”
After a few, “Yes, ma’ams,” from me, she’s on her way.
I watch her in her gray skirt-suit as she storms away, her ridiculous black heels look like those crooked ones that witches always wear.
Huh, how appropriate. I imagine myself with a bow and arrow trained on her back. One released breath and twang she’s down for the count, never to terrorize anyone again.
Lucky for her, the phone rings. I pick it up without another thought. “Mrs. Applebaum’s office. How can I help you?”
Ah, I suppose there’s always another day.
I thought this was a neat idea. I always like looking for different and unique writing prompts. I got the idea from The Pocket Muse, by Monica Wood, which I’ve had on my bookcase for about a year now. It is definitely time to use it more.
The writing prompt is this:
Pick 10 random letters from the alphabet and try to write an opening sentence with it. I came up with:
M A F G H N S E Y T
“Maybe a future guiding helicopters–” Nancy stuttered. “Erin! Your tooth!”
Or…
V A W E R T M D K B
Veronica answered Waldorf, “Even Richling thought magic dragons killed Boarders…”
And I’m sure with a few tweaks (or many) you could possibly have something great here. Now, get to writing! (And that includes me, hah!).
Hope everyone has a great night!
Was doing some cleaning around the apartment this afternoon, and thought I’d take a pic of all the books I collected from my bedroom.
This is just from the bedroom, people. I found books in my top dresser drawer, books on the floor, books on top of my jewelry box, and books next to my hamper. If you say I need a bookcase in my bedroom, I’d say you’d probably be right.
(Bookcase in office)
I’ve now come to the conclusion, that maybe I need a bookcase in every room, because it is clear that I love books! The top shelf of this bookcase are mostly books that I’ve purchased within the last month or so.
For all you book lovers out there, (especially young adult fiction readers) I recommend picking up An Ember in the Ashes, by Sabaa Tahir, and Maggie Steifvater’s The Raven Boys (and sequels that follow) as well as, The Scorpio Races.
Maggie Stiefvater is my favorite author, and Ember in the Ashes is a new favorite. Its got romance, an intense dystopian world and real at-risk action here.
Lately, I’ve also liked checking out non-fiction and autobiographies. I think its because its so inspiring reading real-life stories, and triumphs.
Why do I love books so much?
I think it has something to do with the fact that you can go anywhere you want and never leave your chair, or bed, or couch, or wherever you like to curl up and read a good book.
A good book can take you places.
Knowledge is power. When you read you learn, and there is no limit when it comes to reading. You can read whatever you want, wherever you want, and be inspired.
Sometimes when you have all these things going for you, reading a good book is like discovering something magical. And I just love that!
What do you like to read?
I think I took this when super storm sandy happened.
Water fell in torrents. What a perfect end to a stormy night. Rain poured down the gutter, my face fell with it. I looked down at my speckled blue rain coat, and flicked the dark drops from my shoulders. Tomorrow will be a new day. Today, I’ll bury the hatchet.
“So then Robbie told me that he caught this giant lobster, and it practically took his arm off.”
“What’d he do with it?”
A shrug from the man across the lunch table from me. “Dunno.” He picked at some chicken in his teeth. “Cooked it up–No. That one he threw back.”
Rafael has been regaling me with tales of fishing with his cousin in Maine. In the last fifteen minutes, I’ve learned that people in Maine talk funny, chowdah is the tits, and don’t stick your face in front of a lobster. Specifically, its claws.
“What’d you do this weekend?” He asks me.
I shrug. “Went to the park. Worked out. Got a pizza.”
“Your life is so boring, dude.”
I shrug again but its more like a wince. “Daniella left, you know. Again.”
“Why you wasting your time with her? Get a new one.” He juggles his hands in front of his chest knowingly. Our co-worker, Jane, makes an appalled face.
I bite back a laugh. “Naw, man…I don’t think Merlin would approve.” Merlin’s my five-year old rottweiler who’s part human and part dog-child all wrapped into one-hundred and thirty pounds of goofball; but mostly he just hogs the covers.
“I think I have a cousin, you can meet,” says Rafael.
“I hope it’s not Robert.”
Chicken goes down the wrong way, and comes flying out across the table. “You’re gonna kill me, man.” Another cough. “It’s Ashley. You know, bright-blond, kinda slutty?”
I grunt. “What happened to Sarah?”
“Oh, she got married last year. Met some guy in Vegas. I told her not to, but she said he bought her some kind of leopard-printed dress that matched her ring…and well, she said her new man’s got style.”
“He rich?” asks Jane. Rafael gives her an odd look, like he forgot she was there, eating her PB&J.
“Yeah, where you been?”
“Any kids?” I ask.
“Twins. Cute, too, although you wouldn’t think it, cause her new husband, some kind of Antonio…he’s got a dog’s face, dude. Guess you can be ugly when you’re rich.”
“That’s not very nice,” says Jane.
For some reason, I immediately feel sorry for her. She gets up from the table and slumps from the room.
“What’s her problem?” says Rafael.
I shrug. “Bad weekend, I guess. ” But my eyes are still on the open door of the break room.
I get up then without thought. “I’m going for a smoke.”
Rafael looks up at me, startled and then he looks down at his paper plate and realizes he’s already eaten his chicken and he’s spilled his rice all over the table.
“You’re such a slob, man.”
He laughs as he swipes rice into the trash. “Wait up, will you?”
But I pretend I don’t hear him as I walk purposely from the room. I can hear him calling to me from down the hallway.
“Oh! And there’s also my cousin Mary-Patrice…”
She sat at her desk and drummed her fingers across the keyboard. Seven more days of this, she thought. Seven more days until she could surround herself in sun tan lotion and sand. Already she could hear the sound of the gulls and the waves lapping at the shore. Soon, she would stand in the surf and let the water wash over her ankles, sinking. Sinking and relaxing. Isn’t that what vacation was all about it?
Sinking her paycheck…but sinking…no, absorbing all the sun, waves, blue sky and soft comforter that she could stand. That time in the morning where you relish in the fact that there’s no place to be. No work, no appointments, no commitments whatsoever. Just the promise she’ll make to herself when she stretches her toes out of the covers and reaches her arms up over her head. Soon it’ll be the time to relax, to slough off the bruises of a long day, and the scourge of human emotions. Soon. But not yet. Not yet.
A. J. Morse 