Raconteurs~ "Steady as She Goes"

The video is odd, but I like the song.

The Caterpillar's Wife

Mary crawled up the trunk of the maple tree, she was feeling very flustered today. Actually she felt flustered a lot of the time, but it wasn’t her fault, no, no. Her mother had told her there would come a time when she would feel ugly. At the time she couldn’t image being and feeling ugly at the same time, but the time had come. She felt slow and heavy; all she wanted to do was sleep and eat. It meant only one thing: the change was coming.

Soon her entire existence would be altered. Her lifestyle, the way her body looked and functioned would change, she would be able to fly. A daunting a thought as that might be she had thought there would be someone to support her. Someone to talk her through this tough time; that someone was Carl.

He had been charming and sweet…for the first five minutes.

Now he ate and slept just as much, nay, more than even she did!

She tried to speak to him about it, but he would always shush her. Last time, he said it was very crass of her to even speak of such things. Crass! Crass! They were married! Before she could come up with a descent argument, he had gone back to eating. Indignant; she left to go down to sulk and nibble on the remains of the leaves she and Carl had missed.

As Mary reached the leafy branch that she and Carl had been eating at for the past few days, she took a sip of some dew. Panting from exhaustion she forced her soar feet to crawl to the branch where she had last seen her husband.

“Carl!” she called, “are you still here?”

There was no reply.

Odd, she thought to herself. There were plenty of unfinished leaves and dew on these branches. She couldn’t think of why he would have moved on.

  Maybe he came looking for me, she thought dubiously. No most likely he got eaten by a bird; serves him right for eating out in the open. Oh, well, more for me.

  A few hours later she had just finished off a leaf and was out to find another one when something caught her eye. It was brown, and curled up. Surely it can’t be a leaf! She thought shocked. That would me she was late changing.

Crawling closer to the brown thing she realized it was a chrysalis.

“Carl! How could you!?” She squealed in anger, “of all the selfish things to do!” she scolded the Carl-sized cocoon. “You get to sleep while I’m stuck out here it’s so rude, it’s…it’s – cosmopolitan! That’s what it is! It’s so rude the world, knows it! You just wait until you wake up and I’ll give you a piece of my mind!”

I'm Going to Hell

Lights up on stage, I’m practicing the piano on an average living room set. The sound of a door bell sounds. I stop playing startled. I go to door and look through peep hole.

Lights up on right corner of stage where two young men in white shirts and ties with backpack on standing at the door. Lights down over guys go as I step away from the door.

I walk upstage; more lights go up to where my brother has been quietly playing video games this whole time.

Me

It's Jehovah witnesses.

Brother

Yeah.

Me

I’m not answering it, are you?

Brother

No.

Me

Chuckling

The piano suddenly stops the moment they ring the door bell, they probably saw me from the window too.

Brother

Busy killing people on-line

Hmm.

I stand a moment before walking back to check the door just as there’s another knock. In a split second decision I open the door.

Guy 1#

Hi there.

Me

Hi.

Guy 1#

Who are?

Me

I look at the audience blue lights go on representing my thoughts.

None of your business, who are you?

I look at back at the door, lights go back to normal.

Samantha.

Guy 1#

I’m Jim. This is Henry.

Me

Nod at Henry in greeting.

Jim

We’re from the Jesus …… Church.

Me

Lights go blue.

Well, thank God you’re not Jehovah Witnesses.

Lights go back to normal.

Jim

And we have a message for you.

Me

Lights go blue again.

Oh boy.

Normal lights.

Henry

We have a ten minute speech that we do with all families we find and it’s just ten minutes, but it could change your life.

Me

Snort.

Henry

Do you think there is a time that we could speak to your entire family?

Me

No, I don’t think so, thanks. You have a good day.

Jim

Thanks bye.

Me

Walking back to brother.

I didn’t do too badly did I?

Brother

You did better than what I would have.

Me

Really.

Brother

Yeah, I almost laughed.

Me

When?

Brother

When you snorted.

Me

I didn’t snort.

Brother

Yeah you did right after he said their message would change your life.

Me

I wasn’t aware of it.

Brother

Yeah, it was funny, I almost laughed out loud.

Me

Well, if I did that badly, I guess I should just mess with their heads and say what I’m thinking, at least then I’ll be entertained. I’m going to hell anyways.

Brother

Yeah.

My Hat (aka. My Brother's Hat)

                Avon has just started selling what they are calling “Foxy fedora” (Product number 532-025 price $24) it’s adorable don’t get me wrong, but I started wearing my brothers fedora before I started seeing models wearing them.

The Story Behind the Hat

First it was my brother’s hat, then he out-grew it about the same time I started abducting it from his room to wear it around the house until he would take it back. Then to my immense joy, he tried to put it on right after he took it from me one time, and it was ever so slightly too small, (just enough for him to look a little goofy, but not enough for him to notice by the feeling of it.) When I hinted he could give it to me, he said “no”. When I continued to push it and suggested that he could give it to me as a gift, (Christmas was on the way) he smirked as he put the hat away. That Christmas I found the Fedora with a ribbon wrapped around it and a bow; it didn’t need a label for everyone to know who it was to and from.

The fall of the Vase

The vase sat upon its pedestal and coolly serveyed his neighbors, if he had been in the possession of a nose, I am sure he would have been looking down it, and occasionally would have given the occasional disdainful sniff. None of them were even worthy of being in his presents. The only one close to his high rank would be the long legged marble topped table he sat upon, but even he was not above rebuke, he had one leg that was shorter than the other three and had a tendency to tremble when someone with a heavy step walked past. The vase had found it prudent to rebuke the pedestal on several occasions about this flaw, yet the table had failed to do anything about it, with the feeble excise that he couldn’t do anything about it.

  The last day of the vase began like any other day, but then the earthquake began. The vase began to rock back and forth upon the table. Vase began to scream at the table to stay still but like always, the table excused himself by saying he couldn’t do anything. The case rocked at first very quickly and in short rocks, but it didn’t take long for the earthquake to gain momentum causing the vase rocks back and forth dilate until the ornament was thrown asunder and crashed to the floor, breaking into a thousand pieces; and so, ended the tyranny of the vase over the other item occupying the living room. No one mourned the vases violent death, with the exception of the pedestal. Despite the vases snootiness, the piece of furniture had grown quite fond of him.

  As time elapsed, the table became apprehensive when he wondered who would take the vase’s place. Would it be worthy to adorn his fine marble top? He grew so frantic by his fears that he fell over, his short leg having cause the other three to grow weak during the earthquake. In falling he too broke and the two most distinguished of the living room’s items went out with the trash that Friday.

"How do you say that again?"

Tess tried to think of the English words to express what she meant. She had only been studying the language for three weeks. So, it made no sense to her why their teacher had decided to make her the guide for the American exchange student. Somehow Tess had made it through the day without completely embarrassing herself, now it was the end of the day and she couldn’t remember how to bid the American Adieu.

Driving Test

Today I’m taking my driving test, I’m not as nervous as I expected myself to be, but I’m sure that will change the moment I get to the DMV office. Mama is taking part of the day off work so she can drive me down there, which is really nice of her. I’ve never driven in the area of the DMV so it’ll be a new road, and everything, but the driving instructor is going to be giving me directions, it’s probably someone I have never met or even seen before. I don’t understand how anyone can fairly judge someone’s driving in such an alien environment. I’m never going to be in a situation, (at least I hope not) that I’m going to have a complete stranger in the car with me with no one else there. This is probably going to be the only time I will ever do something like that. I don’t know I find it bizarre; maybe I’m just blowing it completely out of proportion because I am a bit nervous, but…it’s still a weird concept if you think about it too much.

Throwing Things Out

I love throwing things out. Let me explain; things have a tendency of accumulating in my room. Since I try my best to keep everything within their various folders and envelopes to the outside observer, it may not always appear that items are beginning to pile up, when in fact they are doing just that. I try to throw things out as they become irrelevant or old, but if I have set something aside in its proper place, I can sometime forget to throw it out when the time comes, or I think I already have thrown it out when I haven’t, or I don’t know that the items time of usefulness has past.
Let me give you an example, just yesterday I had my college folder out, most of the flyers and pieces of paper in there are essential for me to finish the process of getting into Fullerton College: proof of assessment, my student I.D. number scribbled on a scrap of paper (since they haven’t sent me my card yet), proof of orientation, flyers on the different class I can take within my various interests since I’m not positive what I want to study (people ask me what I’ll be studying and I always say Art, because I don’t like the look most give me when I say I have no idea. Some people may have their entire lives planned out, and I want to be one of those people but am incapable of it) I think you get the idea of how much stuff is in that single folder. Because I’ve been so busy lately, I usually only have time to open the folder when I need a particular scrap of paper. So things that are no longer relevant, such as old information on scholarships I didn’t win and flyers for events at the college for this past spring were still in the folder. Yesterday I actually had a free moment, (imagine that) and the folder was right in front of me, so I went through it and had the pleasure of throwing out old pieces of irrelevant notes, and flyers out. I say pleasure because it’s a form of cleaning and I love cleaning because it makes me feel like I’m on top of the pile of stuff that is my life, rather than being buried by it. Also getting rid of these things shows me how far I have come in the process of getting into college, it also makes the folder, so much lighter and easier to carry.

My Puppy

Whenever I’m feeling like the entire world doesn’t understand me, or I think there is something wrong with me, I confide in my dog. He always makes me feel better. He still wiggles and waggles the same way he did when he was a puppy, which is really comical because he’s so big now.
He still loves to rub up against me; it almost makes me fall down. I keep telling him not to do that, one of these days he’s going to land me on my ass, but he doesn’t care, he just wants to be close to me. It’s sooo sweet!!
I still adore him just as much as I did when he was smaller than our little dog: Tippy; now if he stands on his hind legs he can kiss me on the mouth, though I’ve told him not to do that, ‘cause he’s a dog and that’s grows. I love, love, love, love him!
He likes to sleep beneath my bedroom window, so if the window is open and I’m listening to songs on my computer I can hear him sigh. These sighs are superbly timed, they always occur every time an angry rock song ends, then I play something softer, and I don’t get any comments from the doggy peanut gallery. I guess he doesn’t care for screaming and guitar solos.
So, I love him, he loves me, and all is right with the world!

Merlin, my puppy!

Nonsense

If this poem makes any sense to you, leave a comment for me and explain it for me please. I know I’m the writer, and I should know what it means, but I don’t.

If you’re looking a little pale,

Drink so ginger ale.

It’s bubbly and free

There is no better place to be

Than here with Ginger and me.

The Proposal

Kelton paced back and forth, his light elfin feet didn’t so much as bend any of the virid undergrowth. He was waiting for Yastley to meet him. Elfin folk of the West were always punctual, following the clock of the sun, Yastley however was of the East, and they tended to be a more free flowing people, saying that “they’d get there when they get there and if the appointment was important enough to make, than it was important enough to wait for everyone one (namely themselves) to show up.”
Yastley scampered into the small clearing, her long carrot colored hair streaming behind her. As she came to a gentle stop, the only thing that kept her long locks from falling around her face was the fact that it was tied in the back with two ties as was the way of the East.
“You wished to speak to me Kelton?” Yastley asked, not bothering with a salutation to get straight to the point.
Kelton resisted a small smile, Yastley was so much like the rest of her brand of elf in so many ways: her comparatively tall stature, red hair, almond shaped green eyes, abundant freckles, and a proneness for being tardy, but at the same time she was unlike them too. Her somber tone and face Kelton had never at anytime seen on any other Easterner. Her manor was abrupt in a way that could be taken as rude, regular Easterners are known for being overly hospitable. Most of all, Easterners were reputed with the ability to empathize with anyone at anytime, while Yastley became disgruntled and uncomfortable whenever anyone came to her with their emotional woes.
“Yes, I did,” Kelton replied, “I wanted to ask you something.”
“If you need advice on your love life, you’d be better off with a Northerner.” She said bluntly, her body language changed ever so subtly as she leaned away from Kelton, ready to leave. (Northern elves were all involved with their work, and were the least social of all the elves, rarely did they ever leave their beloved mountains for any gathering of any kind, even during times of trouble. They found the “soul searching” of the Easterners a complete waste of time. Suffice it to say the North and East never truly saw eye to eye, though the East never considered themselves to be any one’s foe, they merely looked upon the North as the estranged cousin who was difficult to understand.)
“I’m not here for advice,” Kelton said, he tried to swallow down his nervousness. His emotions had been twisting inside of him like a wild horse, refusing to be broken.
“Oh?” She inquired, her eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch; obviously his inner strife had made itself apparent across his face.
“Yes, I would like to court you Yastley,” it was utterly unromantic and must have been an embarrassment to the Romanics of the East, but his prepared speech which he had been reciting while he paced had left him the moment Yastley stepped into the clearing.
“This is highly irregular,” she said after a barely noticeable pause. In which her face had turned to what would have been the perfect poker face, if it weren’t for the slight darkening of the naturally pink color of her cheeks.
“Yes, I know,” he tried to rush into some sort of explanation, but lost the words in his hurry and she cut him off before he could begin again.
“We would need permission from both councils, and not to mention, you would need to approach my father, and invite me to meet your parents. This is so unusual a notion that we will have to do everything to protocol to avoid a scandal.”
Kelton couldn’t believe his ears.
“You mean to say,” Kelton said “that you are willing to entertain the idea of a courtship between…you and I?”
“Yes, of course, though I must say you went about it the wrong way.” Yastley said calmly, though her blush deepened.
“I thought there wasn’t a wrong way to begin to love,” Kelton replied, he was quoting the Eastern representative in the West court.
“Only fools who don’t mind their lives ending in tragedy and the more tragic the more romantic the tale. I have no intention of taking part in a relationship that will end in banishment, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now the first thing to do is for each of us to see our local councilman and get an approval, now you go to mine and I’ll go to yours, and don’t you dare leave until you get it in writing.” Yastley paused. “What are you waiting for, go.”
“Don’t I need to make an appointment?” Kelton asked.
“He’s an Easterner Kelton; you just need to find him.”
“Alright,” he turned to leave the clearing. This wasn’t going the way he had planned, but at least, she hadn’t said no.
“Oh, wait, I almost forgot.” She caught his sleeve as he walked by her. He turned and she put her arms around him and kissed him full on the mouth.
Clanging bells went off in Kelton’s head, and his ears were still ringing when the two of them parted.
“There, now my mother can stop worrying about me,” Yastley said, evidently proud of herself.
“What?” he asked confused.
“I’ve finally kissed a boy, now maybe she’ll let me get some peace and quiet. Bye-bye,” she said before running out of the clearing, “see you back here later.” She called over her shoulder before she vanished between the trees.
Kelton headed out of the clearing and towards Easterner’s home by the ocean. Once he cleared his head he started to laugh quietly to himself. If this was any sign on how the relationship was going to go, then he was glad he asked.

My Apologies - Makeup

First off I want to say I’m sorry for the tardiness of this post. Tuesday just got away from me somehow. It seemed for a moment it was there then the next thing I knew it was midnight: too late to post, so I figured since it was already Wednesday, it couldn’t hurt to wait a few more hours and get some sleep…

  My Post

 So my Mama and I finally got eyeliner, I’m glad because now I have my own and my Mama’s glad that I’ll no longer be “stealing” hers anymore. A while later, I began to reflect on my attitude towards makeup over the years, when I was a little girl I loved makeup, it meant that I looked more like one of the big girls. I got my first mini makeup kit when I was four on my birthday, and that Christmas I got my first acrylic nails, they were light pink with dark pink ballerina slippers on them; they didn’t last through the morning. Also when I was five I got my ears pierced and my first bottle of sparkly blue Bon-Bon nail polish, (which I might add turned out much better than the acrylic nail attempt.) I was eight when I got my first bottle of perfume, it was sparkly blue too, and it was around that time that I finally got through my first makeup kit. After that I got some Cover Girl eye makeup, but I mostly stuck to lip-gloss, and only when my lips were actually chapping.

  By the time I was in my early and mid-teens I felt makeup was unnecessary, vain and utterly pointless. Though Mama did collect some free sample lipstick and lotions for me. She also continued to get me new nail polish (even when I asked her not to) when I was about fourteen she started giving me some of her old nail polish and lipsticks that were “too young” for her now, (at the time I didn’t really understand what she meant by that, even after she explained it to me.)

  It wasn’t until I was fifteen that I put on lipstick and the Cover Girl eye makeup (which I applied to my cheeks as well as my eyes, not realizing that eye makeup, is only supposed to be used on my eyelids,) and purple nail polish, then I changed my mind to blue nail polish, which I just put over the purple polish, which wasn't really done drying yet. (After that of course it took all night for the polish to finally harden.) The occasion that I did all of this for was a Halloween party and I had felt significantly underdressed after I had seen my Mama and decided that a little makeup wouldn’t hurt.

  Once the party was over, I came to the conclusion that makeup was alright, under the right circumstances. I didn’t suddenly start putting on makeup every time I preformed the piano, or made a public presentation. Just every once in a while it would cross my mind that it “wouldn’t hurt” if I added a little bit of makeup to my face. I can actually list all of the occasions and what exactly I used and in the original draft of this blog I actually did make a list. However, now I think that’s a little silly and you’re just going to have to take my word for it.

  Today

I received an email earlier today from my Mama suggesting that I might sell Avon as a first job, and I think I just might. In my early teens I wouldn’t even have considered it, I guess it just goes to show that you can only go so far in one direction before your life just brings you at full circle.

Friday Report and Comforting Quotes

I just got the email from the agent that contacted me last week and long story short she is not going to represent my manuscript. So, while I’m disappointed, I’m ready to get back to sending out query letters again, and I came to the realization that whoever said that writers are fools, masochists, and crazies was right. Now, I was unable to find the right quote because I have no idea who said it, but I did find these, so enjoy!

Writer's were supposed to be a little crazy." ~S.E. Hinton

He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realize.” ~ Oscar Wilde

Perhaps I wasn't going crazy after all. Perhaps I was just becoming a writer." ~ Janette Rallison (Just One Wish)

"Are writers reporters, prophets, crazies, entertainers, preachers, judges, what?" ~Wallace Stegner (Crossing to Safety)

"I have great faith in fools - my friends call it self-confidence." ~ Edgar Allan Poe

"Every writer, without exception, is a masochist, a sadist, a peeping Tom, an exhibitionist, a narcissist, an 'injustice collector' and a depressed person constantly haunted by fears of unproductively." ~ Edmund Bergler

"The writer is both a sadist and a masochist. We create people we love, and then we torture them. The more we love them, and the more cleverly we torture them along the lines of their greatest vulnerability and fear, the better the story. Sometimes we try to protect them from getting booboos that are too big. Don’t. This is your protagonist, not your kid." ~ Janet Fitch

"A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul, and that, I am sure, is why he does it." ~ Ronald Dahl

"I'm all in favor of keeping dangerous weapons out of the hands of fools…Let's start with typewriters." ~ Solomon Short

Preparation

It’s been almost a week since I got an email from an agent saying she was interested in see my book A Slice of Life Death. My jubilation has finally begun to wear off, and I have begun to prepare myself for the worst-case-scenario: a rejection. She told me to put sending out my query letters to other agents on hold for at least a month to give her enough time to read it and then come to a decision. At the time I thought a month would be no big deal. Now I’m wondering if I’ll be able to keep my sanity for that long! Just to give you a peek into my head right now it sounds something like this: “What if I wait all of this time just to get a rejection? Then all this time I spent waiting is wasted and I could be working on finding some other agent who wants my work.” “But then” another part of me says “if there is someone else would will want my book it doesn’t really matter when I send it, they will still be a interested in it now as they will be later.” “But what if I wait on a query and I catch them in the wrong mood? What if they need to see it now in order to like it?” “In that case I won’t ever know about it now will I?” “Exactly!!”
So, you see my problem? If you don’t, then just keep in mind that these inner conversations are ten times louder and faster than you can read them, and in the background there’s voice just screaming. Then there’s another voice that is telling the other voices to be quiet, and let me write!
Until I get the yes, or no from the agent, I’m going to do my best to distract myself with writing on my various other projects, getting a job, getting my driver’s license and cleaning the house. Let’s hope it’s enough.

Texting is a Life Sucker

So I just got back from Disneyland, hence the late blog, and I got back a bit earlier than I anticipated. After the sunset, the temperature started to drop, and I didn’t bring a sweater, so I decided it would be best to leave the Happiest Place on Earth on search of warmth. In leaving when I did, I had in my possession two fast passes for the Indiana Jones ride that were not ready yet, so instead of letting them go to waste, it was decided that they were to be given to the first couple seen. The first couple I saw near Adventure land was texting separately on their phones and walking at the same time, and it proved that attempting to hail them was futile, even when standing right next to the girl and practically speaking in her ear. Not too long after this a second couple was found and the tickets were given away. Upon reflection I couldn’t help but wonder that if the couple texting had the good common sense of participating in the real world, as opposed to the cyber world, then they would undoubtedly have had a fuller experience at Disneyland, and perhaps even a better life in general, but we and they will probably never know.

The Fence

Rachel stood back to examine the picket fence her brother-in-law was building for her. She could see that it was crooked yet, when she tried to tell him so, he just said that getting it straight would be the last thing he did before he painted it. She had shaken her head and said that’s not the way it works, only to be promptly told that she was not the one who did this for a living and should not expect to know anything about it. Rachel had remained silent and went inside. From that point on she was verbally slapped every time she saw her brother-in-law or her sister. If she asked them how their day was, they would reply fine, but they were dealing with some clients who thought they knew everything about building and kept telling them how to do things when they clearly had no idea what they were talking about; or how much they resented the “know it all types”.  

  Rachel bore it all in silence. She couldn’t think of what to say or do. The fence was finally done being built, all that was left to do was paint it and the entire structure was very lopsided. If she brought up how crooked it was, she risked getting another verbal lashing, but if she said nothing, would it ever be fixed? If she hired someone else, her sister and brother-in-law would both be offended and she would never hear the end of it. Every family gathering will be brought around to her failure to help out her family during this tough time in the economy. None of these scenarios were acceptable, so she decided the best thing she could do was pick the most livable of all the evils; and she knew she could not live with that lousy fence.

  Picking up the phone she called a professional fence builder and had him out there that afternoon and he gave her an estimate to fix it. The price wasn’t too bad, so she told him to get to work on it as soon as he could. Once that was scheduled in she felt a tingle of apprehension. How should she tell her brother-in-law? She decided that sooner rather than later was better. Ever since he started building, he had been very unprofessional about his working hours. He just showed up every once in a while, put a few posts in, or nailed a couple of boards then left. Making it abundantly clear to Rachel that her fence was far down on his priority list. She never knew when he’d show up, he could literally drive up any minute now, and then she’d have to take his bawling on how inconsiderate she was not to call him to say she hired someone else, and he had driven with all the stuff up here just for her.
  Snatching up the phone she quickly dialed his cell phone. She, of course got his message machine (did that man ever pick up the phone?) Leaving a message she hung up and dialed her sister, Rachel thought she might be over doing it a little, but she would just feel better once she talked to one of them, she got the feeling that her sister and brother-in-law didn’t listen to her messages on purpose.
  Thankfully Helen picked up.
  “Hello?”
  “Hi Helen, this is Rachel.”
  “Oh, I was expecting someone else.” Helen replied, not bothering to hide her impatience.
 “Then I’ll make it brief, I’m having some people from the office come over for lunch next week – “
  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly come over; my husband and I are booked every day for the next two weeks.”
  “Well, that’s not really why I called.” Rachel said carefully, she felt as if she were walking of hot coals. “I know how busy you are, and I just wanted to let you know that I’ve hired someone else to finish up my fence, because I really would like it to be finished in time for this lunch – “
  “If you had let us know sooner, we could have rescheduled.” Helen said in false sweetness.
  “It was kind of a last minute thing,” Rachel said carefully.
  “Well, I think we could come over and finish it if it’s really that important.” Helen replied, backpedaling.
  “Oh, no you don’t have to do that – “
  “What are sisters for?”
  “You see I’ve already hired someone else, and they have me scheduled in,” Rachel explained.
  There was a pause.
  “Tell your hubby to call me back so I can send you guys a check, ‘kay?” Rachel asked, trying to sound cheerful.
  “Talk to you later,” Helen said coolly.
  “Okay, see you, bye.”
  Helen hung up.
  Rachel hung up with a grimace, she had the feeling she had just released the dragon.
  However, to her surprise, when she talked to her brother-in-law he sounded downright relieved to be let out of the making of the fence. He said the work had been beneath him anyways, and he wished Rachel the best of luck with the next crew, though they couldn’t possibly measure up to himself ,they were going to have to do. She said she hoped they would too and wished him a good day.
  After she hung up, Rachel wondered how two people with C grade averages could have such big egos.             

You know you're a Writer When 1

You know you’re a writer when you have pads of paper and pens within easy access of your bed.  

Pretty much everyone who has been writing for a while at one point had a great idea right before they fell asleep. That’s just one of those weird things about our brains that just happens sometimes. We’re close to having an idea, but can’t quite break through to reach it. Then it comes to us right when we’ve stopped trying, but we can’t let it go by – wouldn’t it just be peachy if we forget the idea by the next morning? So now we always make sure we have a pad of paper and writing utensil close to our beds. Every the optimists: we writers are always anticipating the big breakthrough to occur anytime and at anyplace. Which isn’t a bad thing: we need that optimism to survive all the rejection letters and the non-responsive agents.

Vitamin Dog

Whenever I’m feeling put out, or if I need something to lift my energy level up a notch or five, there is one person that will make everything alright: my dog. The master of the yard, the receiver of treats, and the lover of walks: that dog is everything. He’s got the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on an animal, and I swear he thinks he’s a puppy and doesn’t understand why my lap keeps getting smaller and smaller, when in fact he’s the one that’s changing sizes. He’s the most protective guy I know, he sleep just below my bedroom window to keep me safe.

  All I need to do is go outside when I’m not at my best and I’ll be smiling again in no time. I don’t know what I would do without my daily dose of vitamin D; I’d be a real case.

Catherine Griffith

Amentia: A-m-e-n-t-i-a. Catherine wrote out the final word on her spelling list which she would take home and study. It was an interesting looking word: she had no idea what it meant though.
Her teacher, Ms. Hoper’s, never taught them what the words meant; she just concentrated on getting her students to pass the test, nothing more. If they passed the test then forgot all the word the next week, it was okay with her. It didn’t reflect on her work at all.
Catherine finished writing the word, then slipping her hand into her desk and felt around for her thesaurus. Finding it she quietly pulled it out, she didn’t want to disturb the rest of the class, who had not finished their lists yet.
Thumbing through the worn book, she found amentia. It said the synonyms were mental defect, and mental retardation.
She couldn’t resist a smile. She could use the word amentia as an insult towards someone and they’d probably have no idea what it meant, and thereby prove her point.
An involuntary giggle escaped Catherine’s throat which did not go unnoticed by Ms. Hoper.
“Would you mind sharing with use what is so funny Miss Griffith?”
“Hmm,” the girl looked up.
Humpbacked Ms. Hoper limped towards the girl, her cane making a loud click on the tiled floor, followed by the soft shuffling sound of her tan leather shoes.
“What is it that is so amusing that you find it necessary to ignore your spelling in order to enjoy it?”
“But, I’m done with my spelling words, I was just-
“Then you should have sat still until the rest of the class was finished as well.”
“But-
“‘But’ nothing,” the teacher snatched away the Thesaurus without even looking to see what it was. “You will sit still, hands folded on your desk, facing straight ahead until the end of the lesson. Then you will remain in class for the next recess for your disrespectfulness.”
“Aren’t you behaving rather like someone with amentia?” Catherine ventured. “You don’t even know what I was doing.”
“For speaking in class, you will have lunch here as well.”
Catherine suppressed another giggle. That old troll clearly didn’t know what she had said: otherwise she would have been in a lot more trouble than staying in class for lunch.

Editing

As I edit my book

In a quiet little nook,

Here I stand,

Pen in hand.

I scribble away,

All the mistakes

It’s a small price to pay

I do what it takes

To make the perfect tale

And not one that is stale,

So an agent may not go berserk

At the sight of my work

Though I hate this task

I ease the boredom with music

To keep me from being sick

And put on a patient mask.

As I edit my book

In a quiet little nook,

Here I stand,

Pen in hand.