Category Archives: words

Gnawing on my writing chops

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Writing, for me, is like dining on a fine meal.  I ease my way into the plate by starting with the vegetables and starches, but the true heart of my writing is in the protein.  It isn’t until I sink my teeth into the real meat of the dish that I truly get the taste for the potential of the story.  Lately I have been spending an inordinate amount of time being distracted by the side dishes and leaving no room for the most important part of the meal.

Blogging has become a very special part of my life and I look forward to writing every day and reading posts from others afflicted by the same passion.  I’ve been so wrapped up in the world of WordPress that I have all but abandoned the book that I had begun writing a while ago.  Until recently, I had great intentions of setting aside time to do nothing but continue the journey of the characters I created so long ago.  But that has finally changed.

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(image courtesy of Google)

With encouragement from fellow blogger Sage Doyle, we made a pact.  We vowed to set aside time two mornings a week and make the other accountable for getting up early and devoting time to write.  With coffee in hand, we check in with each other in the wee hours of dawn, bid each other adieu for a couple of hours and we write.  There is no TV, no noise, just caffeine induced creativity.  It’s been a fantastic way for me to shift focus back onto the book because I have that accountability, and it is truly inspiring me to dedicate that much-needed time to the WIP.  My characters are animated once again and brushing the dust from their clothing.  They have attitude and they now know there is a time and a place that they can bring it.

Fleeting ideas are now forming into meaningful sentences and paragraphs and 1,500 words magically transposed themselves onto the screen on Wednesday.  My plate is full and it’s time to gnaw on the chops of my writing as well as enjoying the appetizers.

What is your writing ritual?

The aptly named Murphy

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The Daily Prompt has me intrigued, once again.  And knowing that this can be a fictitious post made me even happier.

claddagh

Murphy had always thought his parents had named him poorly.  He wasn’t Irish, he certainly didn’t have a cool accent nor did not own a Claddagh ring.  He was sure his name had once been Jonathan, but he had too many accidents as a child to remember anything with any clarity.  He laid in bed pondering this inane moniker and realized the morning sun shone much brighter than it normally did at 6:00 am.  He glanced at his alarm clock the numbers burned into his eyes.  It was 8:46 am and he was already late for work.  He reached for his cell phone to call his boss, but the battery was dead.

He jumped out of bed, tripping over haphazardly strewn clothing and shoes and planted his face into the window sill.  He heard the crack and immediately tasted the coppery tang of his own blood.  His tooth lay on the ground surrounded by drops of his life’s essence.  He picked it up, put the tooth on the nightstand and made his way to the bathroom.

While spending his usual time on the throne, he balled up some gauze and compacted the hole where his tooth used to be.  He wondered if he should leave it there for the company photos they were having taken later that afternoon.  After wasting countless minutes reading his ATV magazine on the john, Murphy finally got up and toggled the lever on the toilet.  It wouldn’t flush.  His mother was going to be disgusted, but he didn’t have time to fix it.

He cranked the shower on and while he waited for the water to warm up he rummaged through the closet for his suit and lay it on the bed.  Returning to the bathroom, he opened the glass door of the shower and it slipped from its hinges shattering into millions of tiny shards of glass.  He could feel the tiny pin pricks in his feet with each step he took to reach the shower.

Once he had crossed the threshold of the stall, he screamed in agony.  He had forgotten to turn on the cold faucet as well as the hot and had given himself second degree burns.  He adjusted the temperature and lathered his hair with shampoo.  The bubbles trickled down his forehead and directly into his eyes.  He was momentarily blinded and fell through the open door of the shower onto the glass covered floor.

Ten minutes later, when his vision had somewhat returned, Murphy picked the remaining pieces of glass from the soles of his feet and his extremities and covered his burns with Polysporin.  His suit was still where he had left it on the bed and was now being used as a cushion by his two long-haired cats.  He shooed them from his attire and stared at the hairball that was once his clothing.   He dressed anyway, did his best to brush the hair from the cloth and headed down the hallway.  He was still getting the last of the big clumps of hair when he missed the top stair and fell head first, tumbling down the stairs like a rag doll in a clothes dryer.

He didn’t hear the sirens or realize the searing pain of his dislocated elbow until he was in the ambulance and they were en route to the hospital.  The ride was bumpy and each time the ambulance met with a pothole, daggers of pain shot through Murphy’s arm.   The ambulance sped along the road approaching a train track.  The track was clear and no lights signaled the approach of any oncoming trains.  The ambulance driver never heard the sound of the train’s horn over their sirens.

Murphy’s funeral is on Friday.

I’ll have the Number 4 with a side of humble pie

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I have been somewhat remiss about thanking a couple of bloggers who I greatly admire and have nominated me for some awards.  I was tagged by TwinDaddy at Stuphblog in a game of blog tag, which I completely forgot to follow up on.  (Fail)

Edward Hotspur nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award – thank you for that, it is much appreciated.  And most recently TwinDaddy nominated me for the Shine on Award.  I am honored to be mentioned along with these groups of talented writers.

Although I may be lax in following up on the rules or answering any of the questions involved, the awards really do mean a great deal.  It’s not the bling on the side of my blog, it’s the realization that the people who took the time to nominate me enjoy the things that I choose to write about.  I may be getting sentimental, but being recognized by people who are plagued by the same writing demons means a great deal to me.

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The rules that accompany these awards state that I am to link back to the bloggers who nominated me, which I have done, and to name an allotted number of bloggers to receive the mentioned awards, but I am going to alter my response.  Not only do I implore you to follow the two gentlemen who named me in their lists, but please take the time to check out the blogs I follow.  Whether it be writing, poetry or photography, all of these people have a passion for freeing the creative beast that haunts their dreams and follows them into their waking hours.

May we all find solace in our words or photos, may we find release in the freeing of our ideas and may we find kinship in our blogging community.  (And may I win the lottery so we can have a giant Blog Fest and some good wine!!)

Aurora Borealis – Trifecta Challenge

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The night sky had begun to turn from cobalt blue to the midnight blue she loved so much.  The sun had given up fighting to keep the day alive and she sat on her darkened porch watching the stars dot the sky.  Quickly she slipped inside and began to doctor her martini with a bit of juice from the jar of olives.  She liked them dirty.

If the forecast was correct the bright dancing lights of the aurora would be lighting up the sky and the rippling curtains of greens and pinks would soon be undulating across the upper atmosphere.

She returned to the porch with her drink in hand and pulled a blanket around her legs.  She could see the sea-foam green colors beginning to emerge and the spectral portrait was phenomenal.  Colors intertwined like graceful ballet dancers in a black light theatre.

After only a few short minutes, the colors seemed to dissipate and the night sky lay bare, speckled with only a few stars and the memory of the illusory vision.  She finished her martini and closed her eyes, letting the night creatures lull her to sleep with their soulful songs.

northernlights

(image courtesy of Google)

This post was written for the Trifecta Challenge:  On to the weekly challenge.

DOCTOR (noun)
1

a : an eminent theologian declared a sound expounder of doctrine by the Roman Catholic Church —called also doctor of the church

b : a learned or authoritative teacher

c : a person who has earned one of the highest academic degrees (as a PhD) conferred by a university

d : a person awarded an honorary doctorate (as an LLD or Litt D) by a college or university

2
a : a person skilled or specializing in healing arts; especially :one (as a physician, dentist, or veterinarian) who holds an advanced degree and is licensed to practice

b : medicine man

Please remember:
  • Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
  • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
  • The word itself needs to be included in your response.
  • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
  • Only one entry per writer.
  • Trifecta is open to everyone.  Please join us.

I read, therefore, I review

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I love to read.  I don’t make as much time for it as I would like because I am consumed with writing, but when I do ignore the incongruously fueled ideas that seep into my conscious hours I love to immerse myself in the written expression of others as consumed as I am by words.  I have been fortunate to meet many talented writers and genuinely nice people on this blog site.  And I also consider myself lucky to have read some of their published works.  I have written my amateur reviews on Amazon and wanted to share them with you in hopes that you would read the books written by these truly talented people.

The Gods of Asphalt by H.E. Ellis – I didn’t want to put it down 

Engaging from beginning to end, The Gods of Asphalt takes us on a journey of emotion and growth. Sawyer and River, two brothers with a far from normal childhood, struggle with their past and find a way to define themselves through Ellis’ depiction of teenage angst and growing pains.

Their relationship with each other, their family and their peers is written with such honesty and tension that the pages seem to turn themselves as you are wrapped into the weave of their lives. Within their turmoil we are given true insight into their characters and find something compelling in each of them. Ellis writes with such realism that the book takes on a life of its own. She gives depth to not only the main characters, but to each of the ensemble that support Sawyer and River on their adventure.

The Gods of Asphalt is the first in a series and this foray into the family dynamic puts the spotlight on Sawyer. His journey to finally break free of his past and live a life that is defined only by him is an endearing story and one that will have you strapping into your seat as you ride along on his roller coaster.

I would recommend setting aside several hours if you start this book because you won’t be able to put it down.  Go here for more information on H.E. Ellis and her books.

Scenes From A Hundred Morning Drives by Edward Hotspur – Who knew driving to work could be so funny 

One hundred morning drives and one hundreds reasons to read this book. From funny to thought-provoking, Edward Hotspur takes us on his journey to work and on an adventure through the workings of his mind. It ranges from hilarious to emotionally charged and never disappoints.

Scenes From A Hundred Morning Drives makes you wish you were the co-pilot in the vehicle that drove this book. It is a collection of blog posts that transforms into a day-to-day account of the life of real person that describes real feelings and hilarious observations of the casualties of the human experience.

It is humor, wrapped in honesty, wrapped in reality and then wrapped in bubble wrap for safety. If you like to laugh at life and find some deeper meaning hidden in the text, put on your seat belt and get ready for a hundred morning drives.  Click here to find out more about Mr. Hotspur.

The Eleventh Question by Dianne Gray – Emotional attachment to the characters

Author Dianne Gray truly knows how to get to the real essence of her characters. I was immediately drawn into this book and had trouble putting it down.

Although worlds apart, Dianne weaves a connection between a girl struggling to define her reasons for being and Seer trying desperately to help her find the answers to her questions. The book seamlessly transitions from one perspective to the other and intertwines helplessness with hope.

The Eleventh Question not only engages us in the journey of the characters but makes us reflect on the signs that life presents. It delves into the deeper meaning of intuition and gives us hope that nobody is ever truly alone. It is an uplifting story of survival and success against all odds.  For more information about Dianne Gray and the other books she has written, click here.

my words

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(image courtesy of Google)

words-1

my words embrace me.

my words do not judge me from the outside.

my words speak volumes about who I am underneath.

my words define me in a way my speech never will.

my words convey an emotion that churns in the pit of my being.

my words will help you see who I truly am without the facade that I present.

my words are me.

my words allow me to speak with no sound.

my words allow me to feel with no pain.

my words are who I am and not who I pretend to be.

my words come from my soul and not from my mind.

my words drip with my emotion.

my words are rich with imagery.

my words are me.

my words bring me to a place of comfort.

my words help me find understanding.

my words draw characters in my imagination.

my words make those characters breathe life.

my words implore me to continue my journey.

my words free my creativity.

my words are me.

Dead lines

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Today’s Daily Prompt – Write about anything you’d like. Somewhere in your post, include the sentence, “I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock.”

window

(image courtesy of Google)

The computer screen projected phosphorescent beams of light coating the room in an eerie glow.  It had a macabre essence to it but nothing helped to pique my keen sense of the unusual.  The walls in the tiny room inched closer to me with every passing second and the absence of any natural light in the small window signaled that the clock read 9:00 pm.  I could have sworn it was still morning.

The cursor continued to flash on the screen and only served to remind me that time was ticking.  Each flash represented another second gone by with no words to add to the 100,000 needed to finish the project.  Being a ghost writer was one thing, being a dead writer was the threat that gnawed on my consciousness.  The shackles around my ankles didn’t allow for the normal freedom of movement I needed to change my perspective and allow the creativity to flow.  It was a race against time and I was losing the race.

The only way I could keep track of my time spent in this tomb was to count the number of fast food bags that had been delivered to keep me nourished.  The remnants of congealed grease and faux-beef were piled in the corner and the stench was nauseating.  I had been here for six days.  Watching the cursor was hypnotic and the repetition lulled me into sleep.

I awoke in a panic and the clock on the wall slowly swam into focus.  It was 3:00 am.  I had a mere five hours to creatively articulate his vision and another 40,000 words to write to meet his deadline.  The computer woke much faster than I did and I feverishly began to type the words that had followed me from my dream into reality.  The word count rose at a rapid pace.  There was no time for editing, no time to read anything back to see how the story flowed.  I was writing for my life at this point, I don’t think a misplaced comma truly mattered in the grand scheme of my situation.  My bladder argued vehemently and I ignored it.  That was the least of my worries.

Light slowly filtered through the small window and I checked the word count – 85,400.  I was close.  I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock.  I had failed.  Somewhere at the beginning of this torture, I knew it wouldn’t end well.  Many times during my captivity I had wished for a self-destruct button on the computer, or that one little pill that would end it on my terms, but dreams and reality rarely ever meet.

The door opened and light stabbed the floor in jagged patterns.  The man responsible for my disgusting diet over the last week hovered over the computer screen to assess my progress.  I knew what was coming as he stepped back shaking his head.  I had been preparing myself for death for the last seven days.  I never even heard the shot.

Read these other entries:

  1. Daily Prompt: The Clock… digital awakenings | Fasting, Food and other musings by determined34
  2. The Clock Test | The Chatter Blog
  3. Tick Tock. | Hope* the happy hugger
  4. The Counting… | Yeahthtsme
  5. Ulysse « Spunky Wayfarer
  6. Daily Prompt: The Clock « Completely Disappear
  7. The Unbearable Burden of Beauty | Rolbos ©
  8. Time To Rewrite (Short story) | The Jittery Goat
  9. Daily Prompt: The Clock « Mama Bear Musings
  10. Daily Prompt: The Clock « JUkk
  11. The Clock | MC’s Whispers
  12. Daily Prompt: The Clock (Fiction Story) « DiaryCube
  13. Too Late | Chasing The Bubble
  14. Dead lines | polysyllabic profundities
  15. Slam – A Daily Prompt Post | Edward Hotspur
  16. Daily Prompt: The Clock « Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
  17. Daily Prompt: The Clock « In Love With The Lord Poetry and Prose
  18. Daily Prompt: The Clock Was Ticking | My Blog
  19. Daily Prompt: The Clock 16th February 2013 « ittikorn1994
  20. DPChallenge: The Clock | stuffy tales
  21. I Will Be Gone…. « So You Think You Can Think
  22. The clock always ticks | The Nameless One
  23. Daily Prompt: The Clock | Daddy’s Naughty Little Girl
  24. Daily Prompt: The Clock « It is me, Claude. . .
  25. Daily Post Challenge, I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock. | notyethere
  26. Hope | Prayers and Promises
  27. Time up. | Multifarious meanderings
  28. daily prompt: the clock | dandelion punch
  29. Daily Prompt: The Clock | The Daily Post – waldina
  30. Daily Prompt: The Clock | Fish Of Gold
  31. My struggle with Time | بيسان
  32. Never Been Kissed « I’m Afraid Of The Dark
  33. Daily Prompt: The Clock | retiredruth – Life in the 50’s and beyond
  34. Daily Prompt – Random Post « My thoughts, My life

Losing sight of what is important

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For all intents and purposes, I am a still somewhat of a virgin in the blogging world.  I started this journey in August and have been doing my best to stay true to what really means something to me.  But as it is in many cases, I felt somewhat lost along the way.  I spent a great portion of my time watching the stats on my blog instead of focusing on what was truly important – the honesty and sense of self in the words that I write.

I began this journey because of a deep yearning to free the ideas in my mind, to let loose the writing demon that was trapped in the confines of my cranial matter.  I spent my days off this past weekend utterly disconnected from the outside world.  I turned off my phone, ignored my television, refrained from playing any music and just lived in the silence.  And within that silence, I found my inner voice.  I connected with what it was that brought me to the blog world in the first place – the love of writing.  I finally allowed myself the chance to be what I desperately yearned to be – a writer.  Although there was no looming deadline and no urgency to put ideas on a page, I fervently followed a passion that has recently been rekindled.  I conceded to the power of the words so desperately trying to form themselves into ideas and let them paint the landscapes of my prose.

For me, watching the stats on my blog almost made me forget why I began this journey in the first place.  I don’t write for anybody other than myself.  That may sound like an extremely selfish statement, but it is based in pure truth.  I write because I want to, not because I feel pressured to write.  The fact that other people enjoy what I write makes me utterly ecstatic and urges me to continue along that path of creativity.  Throughout this journey I have met a great many people who not only share the same passion, but who are becoming friends in the process.  They are people who have found a forum to let their inner voices escape and meet in a place where they are not only accepted, but adored and applauded.

Losing sight of what is important to me may have momentarily altered my bigger picture, but spending a day listening to the writer in me brought me back to reality.  It refocused my yearning to write, if for nothing else, than to put words to a page and to connect with others who can translate my voice into their own words.

I had the rare opportunity to regain my vision and recapture what holds a true place in my heart.  My writing is my passion and I will never lose sight of that again.  The otters in the video below remind me that it is not about the people who are watching, it really is about getting back to the things that are truly important to us and forgetting what is happening in the world around us.  It is holding true to the things we value the most.

comunikating fonetikly

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In this day and age of technology and digital communication, spell check is a wonderful tool.  It allows the author of written expression the ability to enhance the reader’s experience by communicating effectively and correctly.

Back in my college days, we weren’t as fortunate.  Leather bound copies of Webster’s Dictionary and Roger’s Thesaurus were never far from my reach.  I loved words and I wanted to be sure I expounded my visions in the purest possible form.  During those impressionable years, I attended school with many people who seemed to be as permeable to prose as I felt I was.

There were certainly exceptions to that rule, and my best friend Sandra had a college room-mate who was the poster child for the opposite end of that word spectrum. (you know who you are!!)  She spelled phonetically.  However it sounded to her, she seemed to create a new language to convey her message.

phonetic-alphabet

They were very caring room-mates and diligent to a fault about keeping the others aware of their whereabouts to alleviate worry.  They maintained a white-board on their refrigerator so they could communicate where they were and when they were expected to return.  While visiting the apartment one afternoon I happened upon this board and stared at it with growing wonder.  Although the symbols on the board resembled those of the alphabet I could not decipher the language in which the message had been composed.

Upon realizing that I had not left the kitchen, Sandra returned to find me still engaged in a staring contest with the white board.  As many times as I listed my head from side to side I still could not digest the meaning of the strange epistle on the fridge.   It wasn’t until Sandra took me word by word through the note, sounding out every syllable, that I finally understood the concept of phonetic spelling.  After that the intent of the scribble became crystal clear.

The “fonetik spelr” and I are still close friends to this day.  I find it amusingly ironic that she studied Sign Language in school!!  I am happy to report that she has mastered much more of the English language – no longer will we wury bicuz she tuk her baik to wurk and waz caat in trafik – clooz the buuk on this peij, no morr keiass.

Stepping out of real into reality

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Admittedly, I have been spending an inordinate amount of time on my laptop.  Between writing for my blog and trying to formulate meaningful sentences for my novel, I have been consumed by the glow emanating from my screen and watching the sentences come together as my fingers feverishly type the words spilling from my brain.  I have also been sucked into the vortex that is called Twitter and I have been sharpening my skills in the #Hashtag games as well as feeling like I am watching a tennis match with all the comments flying back and forth.  It’s good exercise for the brain, but it’s exhausting trying to keep up!

I have met many new friends through this vast blogosphere.  I admire all of you for your talent and humor and I do consider you friends even though we are separated by geographic boundaries.  I value your comments and love getting to know you through your words.  But today I took time from my world wide web and ventured into a light that is not created by my laptop.  Today I shut down the computer and did something I really have not done in a while.  I went out.  I socialized with my three-dimensional friends.  They sat a mere few feet away from me and we had a great time.  Wine was poured, the cheese and crackers were arranged on a platter and the stories and laughter ensued.  Thank you Lyn and Shades for a very amusing afternoon.  I will never think of the Downward Dog the same way again. (Don’t ask!)

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I am amazed at how quickly writing has become a staple in my life.  When I leave my job at the end of a work day, I long to get home and fuel the fire of creativity.  I have been so absorbed with words and phrases that I have been ignoring the flesh and blood of the friends and family that surround me on a daily basis.  Today was a reminder that the relationships I have with these people are as important, in fact more so than my relationship with words.  Although sentences and paragraphs can be created to describe the kinship, nothing can replace the moments spent in the company of good friends and family and the memories created within those moments.  Words will only last as long as people will read them, memories last forever.

Life is waiting to be lived and the words may have to wait.  If I ignore my laptop for a few brief hours, it will always be in the same place I abandoned it and we will just pick up where we left off – no hard feelings.  If I ignore my friends and family, they may not be as forgiving.