Rainy Desert Teachings

Driving through the desert after the rain on my way home this morning seeing how green everything is, I had two thoughts: The desert doesn't waste time in showing gratitude. And it is quick to forgive a drought and get on with its life, beautifully. I need to be more like the desert.

Writing Prompt 3-6-12

My Writing Group starts each week with a writing prompt. (We just started meeting two weeks ago and I got the time zones mixed up last week so I missed the prompt...) I decided to post my responses to the writing prompts - just because!

This week we were to write from the perspective of a character whose vision was obscured by some thing (whatever you decide) and let the reader know where they are/their surroundings. Make sense? Someone wrote from a character whose eyes were gouged out, one wrote from a character with one eye... and this was mine...

*******************************

The old man inhaled deeply and coughed, the dangerous aromas from the street that had crept in through the window made his eyes water. Sulfur and rotten cabbage mingled with stagnant pool of water left by the rain the night before. All the freshness from the rain had been baked away by the heat of the afternoon. Swallowing the lump the scents had brought to his throat, he made his way to his favorite chair. It wasn’t a pretty chair, but that made no difference to him, it was comfortable and it was familiar. The most familiar thing in his small, two room world.

Running his hands along the arms, he lowered himself into the crevice years of sitting had created. It molded to his back side perfectly. His rough fingers snagged on the rougher fabric as he brushed them down to the smooth wooden handles at the ends of each arm of the chair. He sat, and waited in silence just as he did every day. Waiting for … he no longer recalled what he was waiting for, but he had waited so long it wouldn’t make sense to stop now. And so he waited, in the familiar, stinking silence.

*******************************

After writing this I had a snapshot of my old man with cataracts in his ratty comfortable chair and in his silence and it sort of drifted away from me and yellowed. I wondered where this idea was going to go and if I was going to leave it alone and let it stay where it was. Which led to the thought "Where is it? Where do my unused ideas go?" I pictured a many-roomed building (house? prison?) where they were all sitting, standing, pacing, screaming, growling and crying. And then that idea began to drift away and occupy a room in this building as well.

I really need to crack the whip and finish one/some/them all!

New Look - for the blog, not me :P

I really like this new look. That's all :) I might think of more to say later, but really... I love this layout!! It's kind of creepy around the edges, but mostly I just think it's awesome. I might write a story about what comes to mind when I look at it that won't make sense if I ever change the layout again, but yeah, I think I might. I have to go buy laundry detergent now.

I Wore You For A Season

I wore you for a season, but you were too large.
I didn't know what to do
with all the bits and pieces of you.
I drown...
In your eyes
In your lies
In all the ways you said goodbye.

*****

Little poems/whatevers speak themselves inside my head sometimes. I liked it, so I'm posting it :)

The Ultimate Fantasy

Hello all you out there in the ether...

A thought just occurred to me that made me chuckle. The Chipmunk movie came to mind just now for irrelevant reasons and I realized that as a child I hadn't had a crush on any of the chipmunks. I wanted Dave. This led me to think about my first movie star crush: Nicolas Cage's "Hi" from Raising Arizona. Then I pondered on the Twilight books/movie and neither Edward nor Jacob really did it for me. I wanted Charlie, Bella's Dad (if I had to choose).

Strolling down memory lane, visiting my old crushes and 'hmmm's I thought, "Wow... I'm kind of boring. I didn't have crushes on the magic people, or the ones with special powers. Amidst all the fantasy, I crushed on the real guys. Odd." Then I realized... I'm not down to earth; I'm not realistic. I've been crushing on the biggest fantasy of them all! An honest, decent guy.

*grin* Just thought that was humorous.

Thoughts on a Lonely Sunday

I found these while wandering through my documents folder. I know exactly why I wrote them. The why isn't important now, I just thought I'd share them to whoever might stumble by my blog :)

Words left unsaid...
Can't be regretted later
Will never show you how things could have been
Unanswered questions
Feeling hopeless
The never ending redundancy of my life
Another parting kiss
Another forced smile
Should I regret?
Would I cease to exist if I lose my regrets?
Will there ever be anyone I should trust?
How will I know?



Familiar, repetative depression.
The world flurries by, but I'm underwater
Drowning on my tears
My Oblivion continues to elude me.



She made up the bed
Her movements quick and efficient
Erasing traces of you
Perhaps now I can sleep.



The stink of your cigarettes in my hair
The taste of you in my mouth
The echo of you inside me
And you drive off, so carefree.

An exercise in writing...

Last June I decided that I would write for 10 minutes every day to get me in the habit of writing every day. That lasted for one day. :P Oi... I was looking through some of my other writings tonight and found my "Daily 10 Minutes" folder. I opened it up to find one lonely file. I read through it and it seemed a little weird to me. I remember the scene in my head, but I don't really recall writing it. I think I just closed my eyes and let my mind drift while my fingers did their thing.

It isn't fabulous writing, the Daily 10s aren't expected to be I wouldn't think... but it was kind of interesting. Maybe I'm the only one that will think so, but I'm going to post it anyway. Let you have a glimpse into my inner psyche :P

"My breath reminds me of the tide rushing to shore in the middle of the night. No other sounds around, no other light in the darkness but the moon shattering on the flecks of water. Calm, peaceful, serene. There is a hint of a mystery as well, perhaps a feeling of foreboding inching in, how can it not? I sit in the chill early Spring air and gaze at the stars to quiet my mind. Something in the back will not be quieted.

I want to be alone, but it seems someone else has been seduced by the call of the waves. I wrap my shawl closer around me as a chill raises the hairs on my arms. Not from the breeze, but from the silhouette of the figure drawing closer. This isn't how I wanted my night to go. Why must there always be some figure to disrupt my solitude? Why can't night be the calm peaceful place I need it to be? I am comfortable with my aloneness, I prefer it. But he refuses to leave me alone.

I dream and he is there, a shadow in the background, a constant presence. I don't know what his purpose is, but he scares me. He takes many shapes and forms, but in the end it is the same. Dark hair, pale skin, dark clothes, dark eyes. Do I not know how to draw a villain any other way? Does he have to be a villain? There is always a sense of disquiet in me when he is near. A nervousness I can't explain or dispel. He stalks me.

The coolness of the night sharpens, the breeze once welcome now scraping against my skin. The sand beneath me no longer comfortable. He's stopped his progression, just standing there watching me. The moonlight bleaches out all shades. Everything is black and white. Everything is grey. I try to get up, but find I cannot. Does he know I am writing about him? Is he smirking at my fear?

A part of me wonders what would happen if I were to approach him, but another part knows. We've spoken before. We've touched. We've touched in ways I cannot explain, even to myself. I don't want to understand. The unknowing is frightening, but I'm terrified to know. Who would I be if he went away? I breathe. There is a faint whispering, scraping in the sound.

I have been here so many times before. This beach, this night, this man. I should know the steps. I do know the steps, but each time I am afraid. He raises a hand toward me and I shrink back as much as I lean forward. My heart is cold, icy. So are his fingertips. His face flashes before my eyes, full of hate. I don't understand. What could he hate so much? His finger points to me, and I know. I hate it, too.

Looking down in the darkness, the black white grey world, looking down I don't see an icy cold heart. I see a dark sucking hole. Soon I begin to fold inward, being pulled into the void, sinking inward with nothing but bleakness. The scene is too bright, too dark. Nothing is as it should be. The black water, the grey sand. The black sky, my grey hand. He stands there smirking."