Category Archives: writing

Let the hibernation commence

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Winter has officially arrived, maybe not in terms of the winter solstice, but the white stuff looks like it is here to stay.  And with the first sighting of snowflakes my gut reaction is to forage for and store food. Although my foraging consists of pushing a cart up and down the aisles of the grocery store I still tune into the barbaric voice in my head that urges me to gather my supplies for the upcoming onslaught of nasty weather and get ready to hibernate.

Taking full advantage of my opposable thumbs, I turn that cart full of goodies into homemade soups, chili and stews so I can be self-sufficient during those times when the roads are closed, the snowflakes won’t stop falling and venturing out in the open world is ill-advised.  The picture below is my actual house during a two-day barrage of snow last winter.

Picture 260

Animals hibernate out of necessity for survival.  Humans hibernate because it’s cold outside.  Having lived all of my legal driving life in a rural community I am well-versed at driving in treacherous conditions.  Given the choice between practicing my defensive driving skills or laying on the couch with a steaming bowl of homemade soup, I’ll take the soup any day.

My freezer is now stocked with Cauliflower, Pear and Aged Cheddar soup, Broccoli and Stilton soup, Cream of Mushroom soup, Corn and Bacon Chowder with Shrimp and Chili that has been made with bacon and some dark chocolate.  (judge if you will, but it’s delicious).  There may be a few more additions to the soup list if I feel creative any time soon but, for now, I’m ready for you Old Man Winter.

Through loving eyes – Trifecta Challenge

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My memory is vivid.  Her eyes moved evasively across our dirt-smeared faces and scanned our meager outfits.  Disapprovingly, those eyes formulated an opinion before we even had a chance to speak.  One by one she would pluck us from the line and dismiss us like we were disposable.  The torture of being an orphan was enough of a burden for a child, but living with the knowledge that each of us was special was even worse.  Not one of the couples who came to see us would spend the time to engage us in life, to let our unique qualities shine through the filth that we were subjected to each day.  I vowed to myself that, if I survived this Hell, my life would be about substance and not an outward facade.

The path I followed was no surprise to me.  The girls who live in my child care facility today feel empowered.  They are not concerned with their appearance as much as they are focused on the woman they wish to one day become.  I took my hopelessness and gave them hope.  I took my loneliness and gave them a loving home.  And I took my experience and gave them a chance to see themselves through their own eyes and not the eyes of a stranger.

~~

Written for the Trifecta Weekly challenge:

PLUCK: (transitive verb) 1: to pull or pick off or out 2 a : to remove something (as hairs) from by or as if by plucking    b : rob, fleece 3: to move, remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly 4 a : to pick, pull, or grasp at    b : to play by sounding the strings with the fingers or a pick

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. • If your post doesn’t meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz. • Trifecta is open to everyone. – See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.YS9z9fyZ.dpuf

The Quest for Love

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I wish, oh, I wish

that I could open up your heart.

I want to get to know you

but that’s the hardest part.

I know you from the outside,

your voice I recognize.

But the real you I’m looking for

is always in disguise.

Sometimes looking into your eyes

I can read what’s on your mind.

But then you turn and look away,

afraid of what I’ll find.

I want to know what makes you tick,

what makes you run away.

I’d like to understand you,

there just seems no easy way.

If I could find a way beyond the wall

I know you’re waiting there.

Searching just like I am.

The quest for love is never fair.

Our Eyes – Trifextra Challenge

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Your eyes take me

deep inside your soul.

When you gaze into my eyes

I feel I am whole.

When our eyes are locked

I see the piece of my heart you stole.

cm0303rowland

(image credit – current.org)

~~

Written for the weekend Trifextra Challenge: And now your Trifextra prompt. This weekend, writers, it’s up to you. We want you to choose a word and use it three times in your 33 words. However, it must be either a verb, noun or adjective and the form of the word cannot change, it must appear exactly the same three times. Please highlight your chosen word in your piece before linking up below. Happy writing! – See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.lBfgSjro.dpuf

Through the eyes of a legend – Trifecta Challenge

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The classified ad was very succinct.  It didn’t use the word employee, it specifically used the word companion.  I wasn’t in the position to be picky about my job prospects or possible accommodation so I made the call.

I rang the bell and could hear the shuffling beyond the door frame.  It took her several minutes to reach the entrance and when the door swung open I was shocked by the state of her physical being.  She stood all of four feet tall, hunched and emaciated, and her skin could pass for a road map.  An oxygen tank hung haphazardly from a metal pole and she spun the wheels around to move it out of my path so I could enter the house.

Unsure of what I was about to face, I stepped across the threshold and closed the door.   The house was warm and smelled of cinnamon – nothing at all what I expected.  The walls were adorned with black and white photos and an old phonograph was scratching out “In The Mood” by Glenn Miller.  Her demeanor was welcoming and she ushered me into the living room where the smiling faces of Clark Gable, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers and Joan Crawford watched as I took my place on the settee.  I felt like I had gone back in time.

The service required of me was simple.  I was to transcribe her life as an understudy in the 1930’s and make sure the world read her story and, not only knew her but, remembered her.

skinny-wrinkles-1

The official age on her death certificate was 106 years.  She had lived over a century and only through her words did I understand the vast world she had seen change over her lifetime.  As I write this preface to her story, I am reminded of her spirit and her failure to relinquish her dream of fame.  It came too late but she finally got her wish.

~

Word count -323.  Image Credit – health.howstuffworks.com

Written for the Trifecta Challenge:  On to the weekly prompt.

1:  one that accompanies another :  comrade, associate; also:  one that keeps company with another
2obsolete :  rascal
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.
• If your post doesn’t meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
• Trifecta is open to everyone.

– See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.bNnsoN4o.dpuf

Her First Mistake – 100 Word Song

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Her first mistake was letting herself get too close.  She felt the attraction immediately and tried her best to erase him from her mind.  His voice echoed in the recesses of her yearning.  The stare from his blue eyes branded his gaze into her brain.

She felt his touch as the wind tickled her skin and her cheeks flushed at the memory of his warm hands grazing her arms.

The fire within her slowly burned.  The mere thought of his lips on hers would ignite the inferno.  Perhaps the first mistake was not finding him sooner.  Fate is fickle, indeed.

~~

Written for the 100 Word Song Challenge over at My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog – Leeroy reached out to Jen aka @jenkehl aka www.jenkehl.com home of Twisted Mixtape Tuesday and my co-conspirator at www.raisedontheradio.com . She chose the great Lyle Lovett’s Her First mistake for this week’s 100 word song. It comes from the album The Road To Ensenada which won the 1996 Grammy Award for Best Country Album. That means it beat out some tripe from Tim McGraw or Garth Brooks or Brooks and Dunn so I already applaud the choice.

Freshly bathed in saline

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I am a churning pool of emotion.  I am one of those people who can put themselves in anyone’s shoes to feel the emotion that pulls on their heart-strings.  Sometimes it is a true blessing and sometimes the catastrophic emotional breakdown is embarrassing.  The control of the outpouring of tears in public has been much improved but behind closed doors all bets are off.

Empathy is a gift that I feel truly fortunate to have.  It is easy to be sympathetic and try to understand what another human being is enduring but to be able to delve into that raw emotion and feel the searing scars of that pain as if it were my own enables me to really reach out to that suffering soul and comprehend what they are going through.

That mutual experience of emotion, for me, is not strictly reserved for direct contact with another human being.  I experience the same overwhelming sensations if I am watching an emotionally charged movie, listening to beautifully composed music or reading a consuming book that drips with powerful sentiment.  Last night my face was awash with tears watching a simple television show.  I’m not sure what came over me but the story was deeply touching and as I felt the first tear caress my cheek I knew there were more to follow.

Perhaps part of my longing to write with such feeling is because I want the person reading to have the same experience I had while writing it.  I want the emotion that held my heart prisoner to be injected into the reader with the same paralyzing sensation that I so easily succumbed.  I can only hope that once my novel is complete, the characters that I birthed will be overflowing with angst, ready to cry on a whim and that I can somehow find a way to make those feelings jump off the page.

One part water, one part rabbit, one part nuts

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In the 1987 movie “Fatal Attraction” Glenn Close convincingly plays an intelligent, articulate career woman with a penchant for revenge when her love is unrequited.  This was a very politically correct way of describing the insane nature of her character.  Near the pinnacle of her breakdown, Alex, played by Close, breaks into the house belonging to the object of her obsession and basically makes a soup stock out of the family pet.  My friends and I would use the phrase “bunny boiler” for many years to come after seeing this film.

Alarmingly, they do truly exist.  I’ve met some of them.  Perhaps they were not pressured to the point of bringing a pot of water to a scalding boil and stewing the family pet but they seem to wreak havoc in their own mind-boggling ways.  Obsessive behavior runs rampant and the clear and decisive nature of a normal human brain becomes more of a chapter in a research book than anything remotely resembling their reality.

Instinctively, most men can spot these women a mile away.  When the behavior pattern of a woman deviates from her usual likes and dislikes to mirror his – he becomes moderately suspicious.  When she begins randomly showing up in places that he frequents or becomes obsessed with the hobbies or sports he is into – alarm bells begin going off at top decibel.

I have always felt an inkling of sorrow watching these situations unfold.  Being able to remain rational during the beginning stages of a relationship while maintaining your sense of self is difficult.  Maintaining that rationale at the conclusion of that relationship is overwhelming, but it can be done.  Sure you may have wanted, with every fibre of your being, to be a perfect fit for the object of your affection but it doesn’t always work that way.  Relationships are about learning more about yourself and being able to blend your strengths with another person.  Giving up your interests to absorb theirs will only make you lose yourself in the process.

If relationships were easy, we would learn nothing about ourselves and what truly makes us happy.  It is the bumps in the road and those unexpected detours that make us truly think about our ultimate happiness and how much of ourselves we are willing to lose on that journey to self-discovery.   The failure only comes when you are not true to your heart and true to your beliefs.  Becoming something other than your genuine self will only negate the process of discovering that true happiness.

I do believe that I have gained enough wisdom at my age to know when the subject of my attention has a vested interest in the qualities that I possess.  I have learned to be grateful for my wit and intelligence and I have faith that they are qualities that someone will appreciate as they are – not a warped version of them to blend into the color palette of their life instead of my own.  I have finally learned the value of being myself.  It took a while to get here, but the pilgrimage was worth the sacrifices along the way.

With that knowledge in hand, I can go forth into my next relationship knowing that I put my self-worth first and, more importantly, that their pets will be safe from harm.

The French Maid Connection – TrifeXXXtra Challenge

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She could hear movement inside the cabin and, before she could change her mind, she knocked.  The portal opened and they stood face to face.  Although somewhat shocked, he seemed happy to see her.  For a moment nothing was said.  He simply moved out of the entrance.  As she stepped onto the threshold he caught a glimpse of fish net stockings and smiled as he closed the door behind her.

They stood, no words passed between them.  Their eyes remained locked, a gaze of unspoken feelings, and it was he who made the first move.  He casually closed the distance between them and untied the belt of her overcoat.  With trembling fingers he undid the buttons, slowly and deliberately, never wavering from her stare.  Running his hands down either side of the coat he gradually pulled the shroud from her shoulders and his breath caught audibly in his throat.

He was staring intently taking in the black laced bodice, white apron and collar and he could not contain his smile.  She smiled back demurely and bit her lower lip. He leaned over and his lips swept across her mouth.  Her skin reacted to his touch and her cheeks were ablaze with blush.

The desire in his eyes made her melt and his blue eyes bore into her.  His hands gently cupped the sides of her breasts and traveled up to hold her face.  He pulled her closer and, for the first time, their lips met.  The kiss began sweetly, mouths tentatively meeting for the first time, their tongues apprehensively touching but, as the intensity increased, the urgency became overwhelming.

She pulled away first, panting, trying to catch her breath.  He leaned over and once again their lips met, but this time was much more tender and affectionate.  The slow burn of yearning finally erupted and bodies became cloaked under a blanket of heat.  She moved with him in a rhythm she had never known before.

The music of love was written that night.

~~

My 333 words written for the TrifeXXXtra challenge: And now on to a completely different type of prompt. As you may or may not know, November 15 is National Erotica Day.  Trifecta is not an erotica-specific type of place, but we never shy away from a chance to stretch our creative limbs, and we hope you’ll join us as we dive in to celebrate this quirky day. We are asking for an open write this weekend–33 to 333 words of erotic writing.  No specific words need to be used, and we aren’t necessarily banning any either.

Taking the time

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Here is my post for the writing challenge I put up this morning, originally inspired by The Cutter.   See this post for more details if you want to join in the challenge.  El Guapo entered his in the comments section of my earlier post and the link to Janna’s post is below .

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Amy was juggling too many things at one time.  She knew that.  The hours she was spending at the office were eating into her social life and causing a huge strain on her relationship.  She had promised herself she would spend more time at home, be the doting wife she had professed she would be in her vows, but her sunken eyes and dark circles under those eyes did much to disprove her intentions.  She was a workaholic.

As she trudged along the sidewalk to head towards the bus shelter she passed the same store windows she did every day.  She had never really taken notice of what the stores offered because it never occurred to her to care.  The flashing neon signs had never distracted her before but today she decided to lift her head and see what the flashing pink lights were telling her.  Her eyes strained to see the woman behind the counter and she immediately noticed how radiant she seemed.  Amy deviated from her routine and went in.

The first thing that hit her senses was the smell of cheap perfume.   Her favorite Led Zeppelin song, Going to California, was playing in the background so she took it as a good omen.  She had no idea what this place was all about but she felt drawn here so she continued to the counter.

Amy realized her mistake halfway through the makeover.  Her hair had been teased so much it  reminded her of when she was a kid and she created static electricity by rubbing a balloon on her head.  The blue eye shadow and pink blush had been applied so liberally she began to look like Mimi from the Drew Carey show and her red lips would give Angelina Jolie a run for her money.  All she needed now was a spray-tan and a tiny dog in a purse and she could be a Beverly Hills housewife!

Tissue in hand, Amy did her best to remove the offensive pastels and tame her hair into submission.  She left the shop bereft of her dignity and wondered how she would explain the lingering color palette on her face to her husband.  She was only doing it for him.

The bus ride home seemed to take twice as long and, after doing her best to become as infinitesimal as possible on the bus, she was only steps away from home.  She could see the candles flickering through the window and the shadow of her husband moving from room to room.  His movement took her off-guard since he was always comfortably ensconced in his recliner, usually asleep, by the time she got home.

He was there to open the door before she had time to fumble with her keys.  The dulcet notes of The Tenors caressed her ears as she took off her coat.  A medium boat of sushi was on the coffee table and the wine had already been poured.  He understood.  He knew her hard work was for a purpose.  As he leaned in to kiss her his eyes caught a glimpse of the make-up residue.  She simply sighed and shook her head.  He knew her well enough not to ask, wiped off some of the leftover lipstick with his thumb and his lips met hers.

Later, as she began to drift into a peaceful slumber, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, she only had the strength to whisper four words, “I’m taking tomorrow off”.

****

Other stories for the Random Selection:

Good Ol Days – JannaTWrites

Blind Date – The Cutter Rambles