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BraveWrite, Week 3

September 19th

She fears its gentle hands have found her again. It whispers in her ear all the things she shouldn’t to hear. The truth long gone, her heart long since battered, she welcomes the cold. It hollows her out. Vacant of emotion. It’s too late when she names it. #Depression

 

September 20th

In the state of #jejune, we were all consumed by our fables. We were a unique center whose storms were unlike any other. The Gods aimed for us, small and insignificant though we KNEW different. But then our eyes opened. We wore others’ shoes and heeded our empathy.

 

September 21st

Their trunks, china cabinet, and every nook and cranny served as a #cache for their precious items. The house seemed willing to burst at the seams with their collections. It was a glorified storage unit filled with the sentimental. She worried it would go up in flames

 

September 22nd

The world is full of the #esoteric. It haunts the realms of math and science. It teases everyone. But it belongs to the artists most of all. The ones who draw, paint, compose and write for themselves, hoping some will understand. They bare their hearts for acceptance.

 

September 23rd

Wanna know what I think? she asked all of a sudden.

What? His eyebrows raised above a curious gaze.

I think life is a marinade in which we all #marinate. It’s experiences, people, and choices are all the spices we added, She smiled and nudged him, Don’t you think?

 

September 24th

The clock chimed #twelve in the middle of the night and summoned the witch from her workings. Her feet bounced down the stairs, jostling the book she held in her arms.

Ah, there it is, she said while flipping through the aged pages. Clearing her throat, she began to recite.

 

September 25th

The abyss was #tempting, as always. It called to her in seductive whispers. It threaded its fingers into hers, holding her hand, pulling. Her shoulders drooped in defeat and matched the dark bags under her eyes. The image in the mirror wasn’t her so why continue?

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VSSPoem, Week 2

For the second week, here are my vsspoem prompts! I enjoyed some of them and was challenged by others. They always start off as short stories and then I remember they’re poems!

That silliness pretty much sums up my week. Got some stuff done around the house and off to get more done!

Hope you guys are all as productive as you want/need to be!

 

September 15th

The pen scrawled

Across the page

Black ink

Vibrant against

Stark white.

She smiled

As the words

Stumbled Into sentences

 

On the third page

She stopped

The smile now tears

Their spots marring

Her paragraphs

 

She signed in scribbles

And kissed the #letter

Goodbye

 

September 16th

The #Cry for Justice

is answered

with guns, knives,

all sorts of weapons.

 

And scarcely words.

 

The people take it

into their own

hands.

 

Because the scales

are

broken

and

untrusted.

 

How does this change?

 

When does this change?

 

 

September 17th

(Time zones sometimes screw with my ability to do prompts… Sorry!)

 

September 18th

My problems are #mountains

that stand tall

despite my

cries.

 

My worries are #mountains

fierce against wind

and rain

always.

 

My goals are #mountains

with no summit

to reach

soon.

 

My life is #mountainous

and they only seem larger

despite my steps towards the top.

 

September 19th

The grass was burdened with dew

Cool beneath her soft, bare feet

 

The sun had pulled back its blanket

Its rays of light there to meet

 

The world seemed to smile at her

Yet she crumbled with defeat

 

#Serenity was a thing of the past

It was never meant to last

 

September 20th

#Inertia does not rule my life.

I am constantly

knocked off course.

Change might be

my middle name.

No path to stick to

like some sort of glue.

Not me.

I’m bounced along

from spot to spot

Always thinking its right

But its not.

They tell me so.

You Idiot

You Idiot

How is it you can’t see

What’s in front of your face?

 

You Idiot

You think your words or lack of

don’t hurt me?

 

You Idiot

Think again about what you’re doing.

It speaks loud and clear

 

You Idiot

Take stock of yourself and improve

Or lose those who’d help you.

 

You Idiot

Look in the mirror for worth

Inside you and around you.

 

 

Please

See me?
 
On the sidelines of your life?
On the bench, alone?
 
I guess you don’t.
I guess it is too little too late.
 
Don’t you see me?
How hard I’ve tried?
 
I reach out, but touch wall.
I reach out, but hear nothing.
 
Have you been locked in a cage?
Pushed from another’s life?
 
I don’t think so.
I don’t think you ever have.
 
Maybe if it had happened to you
You would see me
Screaming for the keys
And you’d open the door.
 
But you don’t, do you?
 
See me?
 
Please.

That Time of Year

Today, I spent the morning wrapping Christmas presents with my husband. It was fun, and all that, but stressful too. In the past, my wrapping skills have been… critiqued. I try my hardest, but it doesn’t translate into the gift, it seems.

My mom wraps with crisp edges, like a bloody pro, and tries to be gentle, but I know she sees how bad my wrapping is. My husband wraps like a pro, too, and he has tried to teach me, but it takes practice and patience.

But I struggle with not being perfect from the get go. I slowly let it get to me, that my wrapping sucks, and always will which means my negative inner voice is winning. It is tough to acknowledge that since my negative inner voice has sway over me ninety percent of the time. It makes simple things seem way more difficult, and makes me feel like a failure.

And like all things, it spirals out of control especially if I am alone. It turns into everything I hate about myself, and grows to include everything I think everyone hates about me, too. It is annoying, and it takes sooooo much effort to shut it down before then. So kudos to anyone else with that negative inner voice who manages to stuff it back in a box, and beat the snot out of it too!

Anyway, that trigger today was wrapping gifts, and the longer I sat taping and folding, the quicker it crept up on me. Eventually I was in tears, because how the heck can’t I get crisp frickin’ edges on a bloody box?!?

Thankfully my husband intervened, and stared me down. He finally said, “Your wrapping is fine. I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

It was what I needed to beat my inner negative voice back into its cage, and say to myself, “Yeah, your wrapping may not be God’s gift to the world, but it was done with love and that’s all that matters! Plus… it is better than it used to be.”

Treat yourself with kindness this season, everyone! It is the effort that matters at the end of the day, and there is nothing wrong with falling. Friends and Family should take care of each other, and lend a hand when it is needed. Be it wrapping that is your downfall, or something else, YOU TRIED!

It is better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation. ~ Herman Melville

 

 

 

Mind and Soul

Love.
It’s bitter.
It’s caring.
It shred souls,
And woos hearts.
 
It fills one with
Desire.
To claim,
To maim,
To fight,
And cause pain.
 
It makes one
Surrender.
To the glory of another,
To the passionate touch,
That ignites tempting fires.
 
It builds our
Dreams.
To stumble,
To be stronger,
And take what is our’s.
 
Love.
It is human.
It is animal.
It is all.
 
Let it claim you,
Mind and Soul.
You can’t be a good writer without being a good thinker. This is a depressing thought for a writer. ~ Andy Rooney

Winter’s Bark

Paw prints decorate the snow,

Telling tales in winter’s glow,

Of their runs in bitter fluff,

Proving they are made of tougher stuff.

Dogs may shiver at the door,

Yet still they wish to play some more,

Chasing snowballs in the cold,

And barking, if they be so bold.

I wield my shovel to make a path,

So even tiny shih tzus,

May avoid a frozen bath.snowy.maze.jpg

Wrote this to commemorate another year of shovelling the backyard for my two dogs, Jasper the Shih Tzu and Raven the beagle. Raven freezes despite a sweater and coat, and refuses to wear any sort of bootie. Jasper will bark for days outside until we fetch him in, tired of waiting. You would think in the middle of winter, there’s not much to sniff at, but they find something or other. [Jasper on the left, Raven on the right]

The Mysterious Script

I have finished the James Dashner series, The Maze Runner, and it has reminded me even more how writers create different worlds. They vary from creative time lines in normal reality, to completely unique universes, and I wonder how it comes to happen for each writer.

For my book, I had an idea, and I fleshed it out with characters and events, but still… it developed a mind of its own, and told me how it was going to go. Does that mean how I planned my novel went to the wayside entirely? No. It means how I got to point B from A had some added twists and turns to it.

Still, I don’t feel the level of planning I put into it  matches others like James Dashner or Suzanne Collins with the dystopia realms they created. Or George R.R. Martin. Or. J.K. Rowling. Or J.R. R. Tolkien. Or Jacqueline Carey. Or C.S. Lewis. And the list goes on and on.

Do they have a method, a level of organization that comes with practice? Does their ‘instinct’ or the book’s mind tell them what to do? Is a mixture of both? Or is it individualistic like their personal voices?

To be honest, I wish there was a concrete answer, and I guess practice will tell me which works best for me. Hopefully I will be able to create a captivating universe one day if my first book is indeed a flop (if it’s ever published *fingers crossed*).

The storytelling gift is innate: one has it or one doesn’t. But stile is at least partly a learned thing: one refines it by looking and listening and reading and practice- by work.  ~Donna Tartt