Smeesus Writes

Red Writing Hood Meme: Where I'm From

2010-09-24T05:08:00.000-07:00

Wow- this week's meme was interesting for me. It's sort of like a Mad Lib, but not quite as funny. I got a chance to really sit and think about growing up and some of the things I've experienced, and the people I've met- it was rather eye-opening. It was also nice to write after stepping away from the pen for a bit to focus on some knitting projects I've had lined up for people. So. Here's this week's writing assignment...

Where I'm From

I am from a giant picnic table suited to seat many from Dad’s own handiwork and hours in the workshop, building and planning, to ensure we were all able to have a nice sit-down meal together.

I am from the scary-looking yet comforting 175-year old farmhouse that was restored by my parents on the weekends when there was time between school functions and appointments.

I am from the rose bushes Mom wanted along the property line that she tended to daily, the small orchard that bore fruit, the garden from which we got our vegetables (and punishment of weeding when we misbehaved).

I am from advent calendars and candles on Christmas, homemade birthday cakes and presents, and learning to look past disabilities, both physical and mental, from siblings Becky, Carly, Peter, Kevin, John, Esmeralda, Jenny, Susie, Timmy, Matt, Dennis, Mark, Bart and David, to the numerous cousins, aunts and uncles we spent holidays with.

I am from the family of love, sharing, and tolerance, no matter the differences.

From being selfless and helping others before helping yourself, because their smile and word of thanks is reward enough.

I am from a spiritual family, but as an adult choose to worship in nature.

I'm from blended families, both birth and chosen.

From the drive to Chicago to greet my new brother in from South Korea, from waiting anxiously to hear the news that our new sister was born to another mother and father, to grieving together as our eldest brother succumbed to MD.

I am from two loving and selfless people who welcomed two boys into the world, then opened their doors to 13 other children who were not considered “adoptable” because of physical ailments, mental slowness, or emotional issues. Two people who brought these children together under one roof and taught us that we are indeed worthy of love, and of acceptance, and of understanding. Two people who reminded us that there are others in the world who need our help much more than we do.

Red Writing Hood Meme: Dramatic Entrance

2010-08-27T06:10:00.000-07:00

This week's meme was a doozy for me. The prompt: "An art opening at a lavish downtown gallery. A car crashes through the plate glass window. The driver's door opens, and an eight-year-old girl steps out." I think I must have started this a thousand times before almost decided to just forget it and wait until next week. I didn't feel like I was thinking very coherently, and it may be due to the fact that I am on my 7-day rotation for work, and the phones have been rather hectic all week. It's hard to put together a decent thought when you have back to back to back calls. This idea hit me as I was driving home last night, and I wrote it when I came in this morning, and all it took was looking at the scene from a different perspective. And nothing saucy this time. Sorry. Maybe the next meme I do can be Skinamax suitable? ;)

“Mom? Mommy, are you okay?” She was lying on her chair, the brown one that Grandma had given her when Dad left. She didn’t look right, and it scared me. She barely looked at me when I shook her, and her skin felt weird, like she was sweating, but she wasn’t hot. She actually felt kind of cold. I covered her with a blanket, but she started shivering. I wanted to cry because I was so scared, but if I am crying, I couldn’t help her. I tried to remember what my teachers taught us when we were learning about how to help someone, but it was hard to think. Oh, that’s it! I have to call 9-1-1 and let them know I need help!

“Mommy, I’m going to call for help, okay? I’ll be right back.” She didn’t respond, but I could tell she was trying to look at me. At least her eyes moved towards me. She was drooling a little bit, like my friend Abby’s baby sister Maggie Mae. Abby says that Maggie Mae is drooling because she’s getting in new teeth. But I don’t think Mommy was getting in new teeth. I ran into the kitchen and picked up the telephone that is on the wall next to the back door, but when I listened, there was no sound. Now I was even more scared. The phone is supposed to work when you need help, but ours must have been broken. My heart was beating so fast in my chest I thought it was going to fall out. I have to get her to the hospital so the doctors can help her. I ran back into the living room.

“The phone is broken, so I can’t call for help. There has to be another way.” Then I saw her keys on the coffee table. Mom had told me before how everything worked in the car. She also told me that I had to have a special card that says I’m allowed to use the car that I’d get when I was old enough, but I think because it’s an emergency it’d be okay. I grabbed the keys and ran outside to unlock and open the doors, then went back inside. It was hard, but I got Mommy to her feet. I helped her outside and got her in the car. I even put her seat belt on her, just like she taught me.

Now it was my turn. I got behind the steering wheel and closed the door. It was bigger than I thought. But I put the key in and turned it, just like I saw Mom do, and it spooked me a little when the car started. Okay, brake on the left, which makes it stop, and the go on the right to make it move. The stick that makes it go forward or backward, she said put it in “D”. I couldn’t remember what the “D” stood for, but I put the orange arrow on it, and the car started to move forward. I stepped on the brake and it stopped. I think I can do this. Seeing Mom as sick as she was, I had to do it. I stepped on the go softly, and we rolled forward. Yeah, I can do this.

“Hang on, Mom,” I said, still trying not to cry. “I’m going to get you to get some help.” I started to drive really slow because it was hard to see over the wheel, but once I got onto the road by our house I was able to go a little faster. Every once in a while Mom would moan, or whisper something, but I couldn’t understand her very well. The radio was on, so I sang along with the songs I knew, hoping the music would make her feel better since it always made me happy when I was feeling sad.

It took a while, but I found my way to the city. The hospital had to be close by since we always saw the buildings when we were going to school on the school bus. But the streets were more confusing than I remembered. The buildings were too tall for me to see anything, and the traffic lights made me have to stop a lot. I was having a hard time stopping the tears, but I kept reminding myself that I had to stay strong for Mom, because I was all she had left.

I didn’t notice how fast I was going. I was crying and telling Mom to hold on, we’re almost to the hospital, when a dog walked out into the street. I screamed and turned the wheel, a little harder than maybe I should have. The tires squealed and the car lurched, and I almost threw up. The car bounced up onto the sidewalk and we were heading right towards a building. The front was all glass, like one of those fancy restaurants we saw on TV, and there were people inside dressed really nice. I tried to hit the brake to stop, but I didn’t hit it in time. With a crash, the car went through the window and into the building.

I don’t remember the car coming to a stop, or me getting out of the car. It was almost as if I had fallen asleep and was sleepwalking, but drove a car instead. When I opened my eyes I was inside the building filled with the nicely-dressed people who looked really surprised. There was broken glass all around on the floor, and it looked like some paintings as well. They were broken and some were ripped. I felt bad about that, because I know I did it. But I was so worried about Mommy.

“Please, someone help my mommy.” I cried. “She’s sick and I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” A lady stepped towards us and looked into the car.

“Oh my god, Nathan! Help me!” She pulled the door open and a man helped her pull Mommy out of the car. Another lady who looked old like Grandma was talking on a small telephone and another came up to me.

“C'mon let’s get you taken care of,” she said, her voice very soft. I couldn’t fight my tears anymore and I started sobbing. My vision blurred really bad and it was hard to see, but she took my hand and took me to sit on a chair nearby. I could see the lady and the man with Mommy, and soon the ambulance arrived with the police. She asked my name and how old I was, and I told her my name was Crystal Marie Humgardner and I was almost 8 years old. She told this to a policeman while I had some fruit punch that was given to me by someone, but I couldn’t see who it was. It was good, and it was cold. I was also given a cookie. I like cookies, especially chocolate chip. Those are my favourites.

The policeman came over to me and asked me questions, and I told him about how Mommy got sick, and the phone wasn’t working so I couldn’t call 9-1-1 like I was taught by Mrs Arntz in school, so I got in the car and drove it as best as I could as Mommy had explained to me. He was so nice, and gave me a tissue to wipe my eyes because I was crying again. The ambulance people had Mommy on a stretcher and were putting her in the back of the ambulance, and he said I could go with him and we’d go to the hospital. He said I was a very brave girl, and that he thinks Mommy will be alright. He even gave me another cookie.

As we were driving away, I looked back at the building. The policeman said it was an art gallery and the lady who helped Mom out of the car was the one whose paintings I had broken. “Was she mad? I didn’t mean to do it.” He shook his head and said she was just glad that my mom was getting help. That made me happy. So happy that I started to hum a song that I knew Mommy liked alot. That would make her better. I just knew it.

Dialogue Exercise

2010-08-13T05:53:00.000-07:00

This week's TRDC meme was an exercise in writing dialogue. I'll be the first to admit that this is surely not my strong suit when it comes to writing. I have, however, found an exercise that really seems to help (a little), and thought I'd share it with anyone who is taking the opportunity to read this humble little blog. I just wish I could remember where I had initially seen the information. The idea is to write out the dialogue as if it were a play or something similar. JUST the dialogue. And then build your story around the words spoken by the characters. Here's one of the drafts I did for the TRDC meme.

Now, mind you, I'm kind of a nerd. I like my Star Wars, and behind Han Solo (simply a love for Harrison Ford) my favourite character is the badass bounty hunter Boba Fett. I tried to imagine what it would be like if Boba was hired simply as a body guard, and that it was for a spoiled rich teenage girl who wasn't the brightest crayon in the box.

B: Boba
H: Girl

H: So how long are we going to have to wait?

B: As long as it takes.

H: That's not much of an answer.

B: Doesn't have to be.

H: You don't say much, do you?

B: Nope.

H: I'm bored.

B: Okay.

H: My dad's rich, you know.

B: Of course I know. Why else would I be here on this god-forsaken planet babysitting you?

H: Babysitting? I don't need a babysitter!

B: I'm sure you don't. But you dada disagrees.

H: Can't we go out? I hate being cooped up.

B: No.

H: But it's awful in here, and it smells.

B: Go to sleep.

H: I'm not tired.

B: Then just lay there.

H: Can I have a glass of water?

B: No. Go to sleep.

Red Writing Hood Meme: Dialogue

2010-08-13T05:08:00.000-07:00

It's that time again, everyone- time for the Red Writing Hood meme! This week's meme, for some reason, was way harder than I thought it would be. The idea is to create a short piece of fiction featuring the dialogue between two people arguing, focusing more more on the spoken than the setting details. I tossed around 4 or 5 different scraps of dialogue for different stories before settling on one, and even then I'm not sure if I'm happy with it. But it's done, and it's here, although I almost feel as if it is sub par. Who knows- maybe the others are destined to become a different story? Maybe they will open that door that will get a book published?

North By Northman

"I've got a new job, Mom," Jolie said. She took a sip of her lemonade.

"You did? That's fantastic! Where at?"

"Shreveport. I'm going to be an executive assistant for a club owner." Tabitha looked at her daughter skeptically.

"That's a long way from home, Jolie, and working in a club? Are you sure it's safe?"

"Of course it is. Mr Eric has top-notch security in the building day and night." Another sip of lemonade. "He said it's actually kind of boring there sometimes."

"I don't know," Tabby replied, still not fully sold on her eldest child going all the way to Louisiana. "Don't you think you could find something closer?" Jolie shook her head slowly.

"I've sent out my resume to so many places, Mom, and haven't gotten even the slightest nibble here. So I think I need to start fresh elsewhere, and this is exactly the change I need."

"What are you guys talking about?" Jolie's younger sister Dawn came into the kitchen and flopped on to the bar stool beside her.

"Jolie's found a job. In Shreveport, of all places," their mother answered. "At a club working as an assistant." Dawn's eyes got big.

Please tell me it's not the place I'm thinking of." Jolie didn't answer. "Are you serious? Jolie, that place is crawling with vamps! Everyone knows that!" Dawn shook her head. "Surely you aren't stupid enough to take this job, especially knowing their 'turnover rate'". This was complete with Dawn's self-patented air-quotes.

"Oh please," Jolie scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Like no other bar has ever gone through several bartenders in a short period of time."

"THEY WERE KILLED!" Dawn shrieked. Tabitha grabbed the end of the counter to steady herself as the news her girls were battling over suddenly sunk in.

"Vampires? Is that what she means?" Both girls looked at their mother and Jolie nodded meekly.

Haiku-A-Day 8.11.10

2010-08-11T09:15:00.000-07:00

Brave men and women
in foreign lands; Duty calls,
sacrificing all.

A Photo A Day

Haiku-A-Day 8.10.10

2010-08-10T07:36:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've done a haiku. Beginning of this year, actually. I used A Photo A Day for inspiration. Just click on the corresponding date on the calendar to the left of the day's picture. :)

Blood seeping from wounds,
Eyes glazed, jaw slack, hair mussy,
Bare-knuckled brawler.

.:*:.

I think I want to work on a story to go along with this, as it is a great picture and has so much potential. Gotta work on my Friday Theme Meme for TRDC first though :)

Red Writing Hood Meme: Poetry

2010-08-04T18:57:00.000-07:00

It's that time of the week again! It's time for the Red Writing Hood meme over at The Red Dress Club. This week is a bit different and takes me back to my Bad Hair Emo Smee days, and is asking me to write some poetry. Don't worry- there's no scribbling manically in the dark, and no fear of cutting myself to "let the words bleed out", but here goes. The subject of the meme is a narrative poem about the workings of a family.

VACATION
Beep... beep... beep...
Good lord, it's already 5am?
Get the hubster up, good,
now I can sleep two more hours.
"Hey kiddo, time to get up," the kid is up and moving.
Let the dogs out, pet the cat,
grab the keys.
Short drive, drop her off at her sitting job,
time to go run.
Korn, Pantera, Steel Panther,
my concrete companions-
with a little Justin Timberlake SHHH!
Pick the kid up, get her fed,
"Mom, can I go play outside?"
Go, go, there's cleaning to be done.
Scrub here, wipe there,
how the hell did this get so badly stained?
Five minute break,
looks like it's gonna be Buffy on Netflix.
More scrub, more wipe, add some shine-
Perfect!
"I'm hungry."
Lunchtime already? *sigh*
Make some sandwiches,
here's the chips- enjoy.
Dogs want out again.
Straighten up the living room,
UGH this floor needs to see a mop!
Dog hair in the hallway, dust on everything,
cat toys underfoot.
Should I do laundry, too?
Oh, almost forgot! Have to defrost dinner!
Okay, chicken's thawing,
laundry's washing,
is that Buffy mugging down with Spike?
"Daddy's home!"
How was your day? "I'm hungry!"
Supper's cooking, only a few more minutes,
Vampire slaying replaced by ESPN.
Food's eaten, dishes cleaned,
pet-sitting job time!
Drop the kid off- again-
and go home to chat with friends
while folding laundry
and arranging Girl Scout activities.
Pick the girl up, chat and fold,
it's 11pm so soon?
Put away the clean clothes,
make sure the animals are cared for,
the family is happy,
and I'm gonna shower and go to bed.
5am seems to come awfully quick.
Only four more days
until I go back to work.

4 August 2010

Put the Needle on the Record

2010-07-29T07:16:00.000-07:00

I cannot express the elation I have been feeling lately. It's not because I'm now making more money, or I've discovered some long lost artifact at a garage sale. Nothing like that.

I've been writing.

Exciting, isn't it? It's all part of an online group called The Red Dress Club and it's a group of women writers who get together and write from a common meme (similar to a story prompt exercise). On Fridays there is a link party- we all post links to our stories and then read the posts. We offer critiques, advice, attagirls, et cetera, and I must admit that finding this has really jumpstarted me creatively. I've done two of the the three memes offered (missed one, but I will still write it and post it here) and have started on a few other editing projects and stories.

So thank you, Ericka and Cheryl, for creating the RDC site and awakening my inner Godzilla-writer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some stories that need tending.

Red Writing Hood Meme: POV

2010-07-29T05:26:00.000-07:00

Time for this week's writing meme on The Red Dress Club blog. I missed last week's, sadly. This is all about meeting an ex at a grocery store while writing from the male's POV. Critiques are always welcome!

Swedish Fish

It had been a while since I had come to this side of town. Five years to be exact. In fact, if it wasn’t for my brother Jasper living here and inviting me over for dinner and to listen to some new albums he had gotten recently, I wouldn’t be here at all. Too much of a chance of running into HER.

But I’m not even going to think about that. All of it is in the past, over and done with. I’m just here to grab some beer, maybe some chips, then head up to Jasper’s. He seemed really stoked over his finds when we spoke on the phone earlier this week.

“Luis? Is that you?” I could literally feel the hair on the back of my neck standing on end as her voice raked over me. Even after all this time it made my stomach knot up. I slowly turned, forcing a smile on my lips. Just my damned luck.

“Austin, hi, how are you?” I asked quickly. Surely forced pleasantries should make this go faster. She still looked pretty much the same as the day she walked out. Long brown hair that reached just past her shoulder blades, curling slightly at the ends, a thick crop of bangs over her forehead, and a little button nose that rose slightly in what she always referred to as her “ski jump”. She wasn’t wearing glasses and she was a little more plump than when we were together, but I’d recognize her anywhere.

“I thought that was you!” She reached and gave me a quick hug. “I’m well, thank you.” A little formal, but that is okay. She stood back and gave me a quick once-over. “You look great! What brings you to this neck of the woods? I thought you lived on the Island?” Her speech had a lilt to it, a slight accent I could not place.

“I’m good, Austin. Yeah, just visiting Jasper. He’s got a gig DJ-ing in the club downtown and wants me to hear his new mix.” She didn’t need to hear all this, but I couldn’t get my mouth to stop yapping. She just smiled. She and Jasper had never truly gotten along. None of my family had really ever warmed up to her. “And you?”

“Oh, Eric and I are visiting my folks.” Ah, the giant albino bastard she left me for. I don’t think he was a true albino- no red eyes- but he was blond enough and blue eyed enough that he would have made Hitler proud. Not like my black hair and olive skin. “We were only in for a few days, and fly home tomorrow.” This shocked me, as I never thought she’d leave the comfort of her parents’ house, especially after the break-up we had.

“You don’t live here anymore?” She shook her head and smiled.

“We bought a place in Stockholm, where Eric is from.” I had always known he wasn’t born in the States, but wow. Sweden? That certainly explained the Aryan features. It was hard enough being on the smaller side at 5 feet 6 inches and comparing myself to a guy standing 6 foot 4, but now she throws in that he’s a Swede? How can I one-up that? I knew I couldn’t, and for some reason it made me mad as hell. I shouldn’t have started talking but it was impossible to keep the hurt silent.

“So you went from a common slut to a kept whore, huh?” It was as if the filter between my brain and mouth had disintegrated at the attempt to one-up Austin, and I watched almost helplessly as my words tore the smile from her face. But I couldn’t stop. Secretly, I think I didn’t want to stop. “You destroyed what we had to be with that jackhole? Was it worth it? How long before he’s tossed aside just like I was?”

Tears pooled in her brown eyes and her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly before the fire raged behind her gaze and she glared at me. I could sense myself shrinking inwardly, knowing that while she was usually rather easy-going, she did indeed have quite an Irish temper. Her cheeks flushed red.

“I had always known you were a callous prick, but I didn’t realize that not only are you cruel, but you obviously didn’t believe me when I said I did not cheat on you.” Her eyes narrowed further, her jaw set and teeth clenched. I was regretting my choice of words, but deep down, seeing her happy- and with him of all people- made me want to knock her down any way I could. What I didn’t expect was her to spat back just as harshly. Or the Viking to suddenly appear behind her, hand on her shoulder and eyeing me cautiously.

“Älskling? Sweetheart? Everything okay?” His icy gaze never left my face and I almost wanted to hide, but I held my ground. I knew I was going to have to face him one day. I just wasn’t sure if today was really the right day. Austin leaned back into Eric and closed her eyes. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, and she shook her head.

“Austin…” I started but she held up her hand. I immediately held my tongue, something I should have done to begin with. But pain and hurt makes us do stupid things, and I am surely not immune to that.

“It’s done, Luis. No apologies are going to make it go away or make it better. Go live your life, do whatever, and stay a bitter man.” With those words she turned, took Eric’s arm and walked away. I could see a slump to her shoulders as they walked and I knew my words had taken a toll, but rather than feel triumphant, I felt like an ass. Tonight is going to require more than a six-pack to get through after this fiasco, so I went to the back of the grocery, grabbed a 24-can case, and made my way to the front registers. If I’m going start the journey to drunken oblivion, I may as well do it right.

Writing Prompt 7.7.8

2010-07-13T11:05:00.000-07:00

Writing Prompt 7.7.8

While you are volunteering for your favourite charity, a man walks up to your table and hands you $1,000,000 in large bills. He walks away, weeping, but never says a word. Tell his story.

.:*:.

Time had slowed so much over the past six months that Early McCallahan had difficulty at times determining what day it was. Tuesday, Friday, Sunday- did it really matter anymore? His beloved Ava was dead either way.

*~

They had married young. Early was 18 and about to head off to Europe in the next few months to fight in the war. Hitler had effectively put an end to Early’s plans of college and providing for his family. He was scared, of course- wasn’t everyone? But that fear fell to the wayside when he laid eyes on 16-year-old Ava Marie Munroe. Tall, blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and a figure whose curves sent his heart on a mad roller coaster ride. He was smitten in an instant, though Ava- and her stern father- took more convincing.

They were married in a small civil ceremony a few months later, just days before Early was about to board the ship that would take him across the Atlantic. There were many tears, and Ava gave him a monogrammed handkerchief to keep on his person while he was away,. That favour kept him safe while he was gone, and a year later he was back in her arms, wounded but alive. He never left her side after that. Four boys and two girls later, they were happy and content with the hand life had dealt them.

Then the lump appeared. It seemed to rise overnight, and concerned, Early accompanied Ava to her doctor, who immediately referred her to a specialist. Cancer. The word alone tore through Early’s soul. The tumors ate away quickly at his bide and within weeks she succumbed to the disease.

*~

Even with their children at his side, Early felt more alone than he had in his entire life. He had a good number of years in Ava’s company, but it seemed all too short. He went through the motions of the funeral, the post-funeral reception, and condolences from family he had not seen in ages until he was so weary he could barely hold his head up. The home he and Ava shared felt foreign to him, as if he no longer belonged. The smell of her perfume lingered on everything, and for the first time since his wife passed away, Early allowed himself to cry.

*~

He stayed in the house, forcing himself to live with the knowledge that he would be alone until he too succumbed to Death and would be with Ava again. He was never a very religious man, but the thought of facing his remaining days alone was too much for his already-frail state and he turned to the church. He found a measure of peace within the old, musty pews of St. Andrew’s and its parishioners, but it was not enough to take away all the pain. Early had received a large insurance payment from the life policy he had on both he and his wife, but he refused to spend the money on himself, instead living off his meager Social Security stipend. It kept food on the table and clothes on his back, and he would ask for nothing more.

Early sank deeper and deeper into a depression, sometimes forgetting to eat, then forgetting simple hygiene. His children had already moved on, engrossed in their own families' workings to worry about their father. The days began running together as he spent his time watching television infomercials into all hours of the night, preferring to sleep on the weathered sofa than the bed he spent so many nights with Ava. She dominated Early's thoughts, the sound of her laughter ringing in his head as he thought back to happier times, before she had gotten ill. The smile on her lips as she watched her children playing on the gloor by her feet, the entire family gathered aroud the Thanksgiving table and saying what they were grateful for, the flush of her skin after they made love. He could imagine the feel of the smooth skin of her face, the press of her lips against his own, and the tears came again. He was tired of being alone. He was tired of always missing her. He was tired of hearing people tell him he'd get over it. It's not something he wanted to get over, for that would mean allowing her memory to slip away.

The television was on and the newsman was at a local park, talking about a group raising money for abused and disadvantage children. Something about the story made Early take pause and listen. He suddenly knew what he had to do. Ava would want him to do it. Early stood slowly and smoothed the wrinkles from his pants, noticing the stains on them but not caring. He smoothed his wispy grey hair the best he could, then threw on a hat. He grabbed his wallet and keys and drove slowly to the bank. The manager was stunned when Early stated he wanted to close out his account, but complied, and thirty minutes later was handing the elderly gentleman a thick envelope. Early held it close. It was his entire life savings, every penny he had pinched, saving it for a rainy day, as he liked to tell Ava. He knew she wanted to travel overseas, but the time was lost for that. As he left the bank, he smiled slightly. He knew she was with him, approving his decision. He could feel her presence. He made his way to the park, feeling the sum on his wrinkled face and loving the sensation. Ava would have been out in the garden on a day like this, coaxing her flowers to grow and tending them as carefully as she had their children.

The park was crowded, but Early didn't mind. He listened to the children laughing and playing, parents chattering as they watched their offspring, even dogs barking. His step became lighter as he walked toward the long table where a pair of young women sat, handing out pamphlets, thanking people for their donations, and smiling and laughing They paused as he walked up to the table, the smiles still present on their faces.

"Hullo, sir," the brunette chirped, "would you like a pamphlet on ways you can help at-risk youths?" Early couldn't say a word, only pulled his hat from his head. The young women looked exactly as Ava had when he saw her for the first time, only with darker hair, and his felt his heart breaking anew. His hand shaking, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the envelope from the bank. He held it out to the woman, who took it, a puzzled look on her face. He patted her hand softly and with fresh tears tracing paths down his cheeks, he turned and walked away.

*das ende*

Red Writing Hood Meme: Your Mother

2010-07-13T09:54:00.000-07:00

This is for a writing meme on The Red Dress Club blog. Critiques are always welcome! (And this one is not saucy. Sorry, you'll have to wait on that one.)

.:*:.

"Your mother never ceases to amaze me," he said as they pulled out of her parents' driveway and onto the snow-covered streets of Toledo. Delia loved spending the holidays in in her childhood home, but lately the time there was becoming unbearable when it included Elliott. "Here I thought she would be an amazing cook, and yet the ham she made was so dry I had to soak that puppy in gravy just so it wouldn't taste like sawdust." He chuckled hoarsely. "And could the asparagus have been more overcooked and limp? My mom could cook circles around yours, babe..."

Delia let him prattle on, turning her attention to the cityscape outside the car. She had grown up in this neighborhood, a quiet little suburb where everyone seemed to know everyone else. Her folks weren't rich, but they had managed to secure a good-sized nest egg that allowed them to live comfortably in retirement. Her father Ed had been a fireman, ever since he had first volunteered with his local firehouse when he was eighteen. Her mother Eva had worked as the head librarian at the local public library. The two had met by chance when the IGA grocery store next to the library had caught fire. Call it an accident, call it Fate- they had been a couple since.

Delia glanced at Elliott, seeing his lips move but not hearing a sound he made. She had always believed she would find The One and have the fairy tale wedding most girls dream about. She had always imagined The One being a modern Prince Charming, clad in Armani suits for armor, a Jaguar sports car for a steed, and overflowing coffers that would make a member of the Royal Family jealous. Of course, she reasoned with herself, at this point I'd take Joe Anyman who has a Hyundai and a 401k instead of this bozo.

"Are you even listening to me?" Elliott's voice pulled her back to the present.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "I must have dozed off. I guess I'm more tired than I thought." Elliott scoffed.

"Don't see how. I mean, it's not like you've done anything all day." Great. THIS again.

"Y'know, just drop me off at my place. I have some papers to work on before the break is over, and I want to get started on them. I'll just come over tomorrow or something."

"Seriously?" He looked at her incredulously. "It's Thanksgiving, for Christ's sake. You aren't back at school for another three days. Can't it wait?" Delia shook her head and he sighed heavily, a dejected sound. He had apparently been hoping for a nightcap, but Delia had been hit with a revelation that required other plans, ones not including him. A year was way too long for this kind of emotional baggage, and it was time to kick the ship called Elliott out of the harbour.

.:*:.

Writing

2010-07-13T04:23:00.003-07:00

Yeah, I'm doing it. Only a little, but it's still something. I'll get something posted here soon. :)

New Year, New Stories!

2009-12-31T14:21:00.000-08:00

At least that is what I am hoping for. On my Facebook page I'm part of a group that does haikus. Quirky, I know, but I tell you, it's catchy. I was sick as a dog one evening and as I was paying homage to Odin the Porcelain God I was running haikus in my head describing the situation. I just never write them down. So I've decided that I will use a Photo-A-Day website and write a haiku from that picture. That is, of course, if I don't already have a haiku for that day. I'm thinking, too, that I may want to use said picture for some writing. That may work instead of the old Writing Prompt thing.

Either way, I want to be writing more and more this year, as well as working on my crafty stuff. And practicing flute more. Amongst other stuff.

Happy New Year, folks!

Dropping Plates

2009-10-25T15:11:00.001-07:00

Okay, remember when I said that I sometimes use salty language and adult situations in some of my stories? Here's a short snippet I wrote using a Disturbed song as inspiration. Yes, there's an f-bomb in there. Yes, it's quite the adult situation. If this offends you, there is a little box in the upper right hand corner of your screen. Just click it, and go to a family-friendly story site. But come back later, because I do indeed write non-saucy stuff ;)

*~*

Now, if you are a curious reader and are over the age of 18, please click the link below to be take to the story. If you are a curious reader under the age of 18, I would suggest you turn around right now and go read something else, or I'll be contacting your parents about what a bawdy little monkey that they have raised.

Without further ado, I present.......

"Dropping Plates"

Sample Chapter One

2009-10-11T20:50:00.000-07:00

This is a piece I wrote for my English class way back when I was actually taking college courses, using two characters from a book I'm still planning to write. And I got an A on the paper :)
*~*

Sorcery and Steele Sample Chapter
Christian Finds Out

Slowly she pulled her hair back, wrapping it securely at the nape of her neck with a worn strip of leather. Her hair cascaded down her back to her waist and wispy strands framed her face as her steely blue gaze fell upon him.

Standing over six and a half feet tall, he towered over the smaller woman. Raven hair long and flowing, he was a sight to behold. His skin was white and flawless as polished marble, and his eyes were the shade of evergreens, framed by long, dark lashes. He was bare to the waist, taut skin wrapped around muscle and bone. He wore tan sheepskin leggings and boots made of worn, brown leather, tied with strops of rawhide. The black leather sword frog that held his scabbard at his side was bare of his weapon, the casing and blade lying on the floor a few feet away. They called him Steele, and his name fit his demeanor.

"Christian, are you sure about this?" he questioned, never taking his eyes off her. She moved in slow semicircles in front of him, the heels of her boots never seeming to touch the floor as she treaded lightly on the balls of her feet. She smiled wickedly, but never broke her gaze.

Christian was a lithe woman, strong and quick. Blue eyed like her father, light skinned as her mother, she was a perfect mixture of her parentage. She had grown up in the kingdom of Danforth, on the Balsamic Sea, where her father, King William, reigned with his wife Elizabeta by his side. Christian had always been tomboyish, forgoing the pageantry of court life for the action of the battlefield. At first her parents vehemently disagreed, but after seeing Christian's determination and skill, they finally relented.

Christian stood across from Steele, in black woolen leggings and matching leather boots, the insides worn thin from the hours she spent in the saddle. Her emerald green tunic, trimmed with strands of shimmering gold on the sleeves and neckline, was strewn across the back of a chair, her sword and black leather scabbard balanced against the edge, and she wore a padded yellow undershirt, used to protect her skin from the heavy chainmaille she wore. Bent slightly at the waist, leaning towards him and locking stares, she continued to smile. She kept her hands near her waist, forward with fingers outstretched, her elbows cocked and back.

"I am so sure of this, Steele," she replied. "How else can I get you to respect me?" He cocked an eyebrow in disbelief and chuckled.

"I have never given you cause to doubt my fascination with you, nor have I ever entertained the thought that you were beneath me. I have nothing but the utmost repsect for you and your honour." Before she could answer, Christian found herself locked in Steele's arms, his iron grip seeming to crush her sides. She gasped and the pain intensified. She felt as if red-hot pokers were being jabbed between her ribs and rattled around, her lungs burning for oxygen. Tiny spots began appearing in her peripheral vision and spread to the front, and darkness began slowly creeping into her line of sight. Struggle only made the pain worse, and finally she relented, allowing her muscles to relax and her body to go limp. Her eyes glazing over, she looked up at Steele's face and gasped.

His once-dark eyes were now clear with the tiniest hint of green ooutlining the iris, and his pupils were pinpoints. His pale skin was as white as alabaster and the contrast of his hair and skin was made all the more apparent. Noticing her glance, he smiled and Christian noticed the enlarged pointed canines. She tried to scream, but her lungs could not gather the air needed to emit a sound. Her breath became raspy, like wind blowing through a dry wheat field, and the darkness clouded her vision once more.

Steele tilted his head towards her, cheek to cheek, his lips curled in a sneer slashed across his face. He put his lips against her ear and nibbled on her lobe, causing twinges of pain to course through her body as his needle-sharp canines pierced her skin. His breath was hot on her skin and rushed through her ear, sounding like a million steeds in full gallop.

"Is this how it needs to be?" he hissed. "Do I need to treat you like fodder? You see me now as I truly am." He grabbed the back of her hair and pulled her head back. She could see the animosity burning in his eyes, could feel the anger boiling inside of him as he glared at her. "I am the bringer of death to those around me, those I choose to drain of their essence. I chose who lives and I choose who dies. You cannot beat me. You will never be as strong as I am, even if there were a thousand of you."
Grabbing her by the back of the neck, Steele swung around and pushed her toward the turret window. The strength of his hand clamped against the delicate skin on her neck caused the skin to redden and blaze with pain. He forced her to gaze at the expanse of land spread out before them.

"Do you see this, milady?" he asked, seeming to choke on the words. "Do you see all this land below our very feet?" He leaned closer. "This is all mine," he hissed, "When you married me, you gave up your right to own anything, including the territories left you by your worthless father."
Tears welled in Christian's eyes as she thought of her father. His jovial smile that lit up the room, his deep, booming vopice that always seemed to comfort her, even when she was being chastised, The way he and her mother Elizabeta always looked at one another that showed the love shared between them, the love Christian realized she would never have with Steele.

Anger welled in the pit of her stomach, boiling up and filling her belly with its warmth. Slowly she realized the hold Steele had on her physical body was diminishing, that her limbs were gathering strength in her fury. Her heart pounded furious beats in her ears, filling her every sense with strength, and she closed her eyes, allowing the rage to wash over her. Deep in her mind, she heard the scream of a woman, her mother, and she whirled. She grabbed Steele by the wrist and twisted, pulling him to her so they stood, noses touching. The surprise showed in his eyes at her brute strength, and his mouth twisted in fury.

First!

2009-10-11T20:18:00.000-07:00

I think I'm going to follow my friend M's lead and create a blog that will hopefully inspire me to write more. I used to write all the time, carried around a small notebook for stories, words, sentences, inspirational things, but working and raising a kid and having to grow up to be a semi-responsible adult has somehow killed that. So I'll go back and find my old stories and post them here, as well as newer ones that I may (hopefully) come up with. I will warn you, Dear Reader, that I can be rather vulgar at times and will use some salty language. If this isn't something you are interested in reading, my suggestion would be to move along and find something that DOES tickle your fancy. For everyone else who likes to have a little smutty, trashy, not-for-polite-company guilty pleasure reading, my welcomes to you.

Enjoy.