It's Our Time

Over the past few weeks, I seem to be so busy I rarely have a moment to sit down during the day and do anything. Between classes at the Y and school functions and doctor/dentist appointments, I feel like I've been running around for the past few weeks with little more than a checklist of places I need to be.

Over the weekend, I decided to slow it down and enjoy this unseasonably warm weather we've been having here in Indiana. It is beautiful out with temps in the lower 80s and the leaves changing colors fast. So Saturday afternoon, I took my little one to the park and we had a picnic. It was such a lovely day!

There are trails throughout the park that lead you through this twisty woods along a creek and after our picnic, Christian and I decided to take a little walk down one of the trails. As we headed into the canopy of trees, I realized that my camera batteries were low and I said aloud, not really expecting any kind of response, "If we weren't running so late today I would have remembered to check my camera batteries."

My son, who so often makes me wonder if he isn't far older than his nine years, says, "What are you talking about? We weren't running late. This is our time. We can do whatever we want."

Those words stopped me in my tracks. He was right. This was our time. We had no appointments. No must-do's. No people to meet. No anything. And yet I was stuck in that checklist mode. It made me wonder if I am all too often that way, running around like a chicken with its head cut off and for the first time, it made me curious how often my son notices these things. It definitely turned me philosophical for a moment and then I snapped this picture of him with the last of the dying battery and I laughed at how quickly he goes from the wisdom of an old man, back to a little kid.



Anyway, here are some more pictures from our afternoon at the park ...

Words of Art 9.27

Today's writing prompt asks you to come up with an original poem, short story, journal entry, etc., inspired by the picture posted below. Feel free to share your thoughts below. I'll be posting mine later because I have a crochet project calling my name.

NaNoWriMo Plans?

Well, it's that time of the year again where writers scramble for 50,000 words worth of plot, characters, setting and another pot of coffee. Fifty thousand words in thirty days. When you first start NaNoWriMo, how impossible does the task feel?

Last year, I didn't start until about the second week in November so this year I'm doing a little more planning and plotting than before. I know my characters inside and out because they're the same NaNoWriMo characters I've written for the past two years. I'm fairly certain my water dwelling creatures will sprout legs and live amongst us land-faring creatures this year.

I sat down and started brainstorming chapters and how long each chapter should be. I started some research, although I admit I don't put as much research into NaNo as I do my other work.

Anyway, the point of this post is to find out how you prepare for NaNo? Do you have everything planned out way in advance? Do you fly by the seat of your pants? Is your NaNo project something you'd be proud for people to read or is it something you file away and forget about until next NaNo? Is it a catalyst for a project you plan to work on even after NaNo ends?

Words of the Week

Here are today's Words of the Week and since I'm about to scoot off to take my son to school and then head to water aerobics, I'll have to post my short story later this afternoon.

Prompt: Use the following words in an original work: short story, poem, journal entry, etc.. Feel free to share your work in the comments section below.

Floe: A sheet of flowing ice
Gibber: Speak rapidly and unintelligibly
Kudos: Praise, honor
Parable: A story told to illustrate a moral
Contusion: Bruise, Injury
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Early November on the coast was already freezing. Out in the distance, a gaggle of seagulls bobbed on the water like a floe of jagged ice. It wouldn't surprise me to see ice already; it was bitter cold or maybe that was just the constant black cloud over my head doing my thinking for me again.

I gripped the old beat up copy of Ella and Emma and their adventures in the attic; the beloved parable my mother was most proud of. As a little girl, I'd read the same story and wondered how two seemingly bright little girls could get into so much trouble in an attic and why they needed so much trouble to learn the simplest of lessons. Life shouldn't hurt this much.

I was a doctor, I helped people from simple contusions to delicate cardiac surgeries. Now here I was six months pregnant, listening to the gibber of the cold ocean tides as if they held some secret I needed to know. When had life gotten so messy?

"Momma," Max said, tugging on the sleeve of my sweater. He looked so much like his father in that instant I felt my heart slam into my chest.

"It's too cold out here for us." I took his hand and started back up the beach toward the road.

"Momma sad. Max loves Momma." He clapped his hands together and looked up at me with his father's big brown eyes.

For just a moment, that was all the kudos I needed to remember just how lucky I was despite what our family was going through.

When Life Gets in the Way

You know that wonderful feeling of anytime you open your WIP you know you can write, add to it, edit it, or brainstorm for it? It feels lovely, like you're actually in control of this creativity monster. I don't know about you all, but I thrive for that moment when it feels like it doesn't matter what time of day it is, I can write and not be totally disappointed with the words.

Then life happens and writing gets a backseat. I hate that. This past week I've been painting the ceilings in our house. No big deal right? Should only take a few days, at most. But I had no idea just how vehemently opposed to ceiling painting my shoulder and neck would be. So, it's taken more than a few days and more than a day or two of resting my shoulder in between rooms.

Yesterday, I finished the kitchen and started the living room. I would have finished the living room but we ran out of paint so I have to make another trip to the hardware store or manage to live with a two-tone ceiling for a while. Speaking of two-tone, it amazes me the difference just having the ceiling painted has done for the brightness of the room. When we bought our place, it was a real fixer-upper that looked as if its previous occupants smoked three packs a day. Take a look for yourself.



Sadly, that isn't even the best example I have to offer but I didn't take before and after pictures of the bathroom.

Anyway, we've decided to do a few home improvement projects as our finances allow us the opportunity so I may or may not get the chance to write as frequently as I'd like. The urge and desire is there, so perhaps 3am writing sessions might very well call my name if I find no other outlet during the day.

Friday 45 (Femme Fatale)

Femme Fatale will deliberately use her charm to control men and get them to do things against their nature. She is the kind of woman capable of luring good men into crime and murder. She trusts no one, is jaded and disappointed with life. She feels power when others do her bidding and may only value herself for her body. She feels society owes her and she is just collecting her due.

She will never get her own hands dirty or implicate herself in any wrongdoing. Any man who strives for her will end up dead or absolutely ruined. Watch any film noir movie to see her in action. When she decides to turn on a lover, things get ugly and blackmail is the first thought in her mind if he's married. She would rather die than give up her looks or power and doesn't play the victim easily. Also will not sit in the shadows while a younger woman tries to take her place as center of attention.

Example: Cleopatra preferred to commit suicide rather than give up her power. This need for power is a defining characteristic of the Femme Fatale.

She is excessively emotional and attention seeking, but these rapidly changing emotions are well hidden behind a stoic, unreadable face. She has a low tolerance for problems of any kind and has no problem using her body as a weapon. She believes if men are stupid enough to fall for her wile then that's their problem and they must suffer the consequences. She is driven to prove she's not a piece of meat to be thrown around. Has a kill or be killed mentality. She is a great actress who can cry real tears on command. She will be concerned with money and power which equal survival to her.

She is unfaithful and can remain detached when sex is involved. No one knows when she speaks a lie. She can be all things to all people.












Sharon Stone as Catherine Tramell in Basic Instinct

























Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra




















So, do you have a Femme Fatale character you're working with right now?

Chain - Chain - Chain

(Did that title also make you think of Aretha Franklin?)

*From Room to Write by Bonni Goldberg*

PROMPT: Today, try a trick. Write one of the following words at the top of a page: fence, road, boil, or fall. Now without thinking or stopping, write whatever other words come to mind in a list down the middle of the page until you reach the bottom. Write a piece in which each line uses one of these words in the order in which they appear.

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"I fool myself, in a good way, into dodging the pressure. I tell myself that I'm not trying to write a scene, I'm just making some notes for the day." ~~Marsha Norman
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Fence
Grass
Privacy
Neighbors
Garden
Out
Picket
Home
Children
Dog
Happy
Family
Secure
Ivy
Tethered
Outside
Fortress
Hills
Trees
Dirt
Roses
Weeds
Jagged
Disrepair
Sad
Memories

She liked to feel the grass underfoot, squishing her toes down against the vibrant green blades. It'd been a long time since she'd had this kind of privacy. In the suburbs, neighbors made it a priority to know your business and then make it gossip-worthy. Standing amid the garden, she couldn't see any other windows or houses. She was out of the city, out of the suburbs.

Whoever would have thought she'd crave living on a ranch where white picket fences weren't just some cliche accessory to make your neighbors think life was perfect? This was her new home and the thought made her heart race. Her children would like this place, she had no doubt. For the first time in her life, she wanted a dog, a companion to share the front seat of an old rusted truck.She would be happy here. This was the kind of place where a family could strive, could get back to what was really important without distractions like iPods and texting and television shows. This was the kind of place where families were secure.

The thought gave her pause as she ran her fingertips over the leaves of ivy that snaked up around the long post of a bird feeder. A halo of colorful flowers was tethered to the feeder, almost like a memorial for something lost and loved. Chewing on what was left of her fingernail, she forced herself to think about being outside, about becoming a lover of the outdoors. There was a stable on the other side of the garden, a building that looked more like a fortress than a home for horses. She took off down the path out of the garden and toward the stable, amazed at the sight of rolling hills in the distance. Great, looming pine trees dotted the perimeter to the west, separating her new property from her nearest neighbor; three miles down the road. At the door of the stable she kicked her toe into the dirt, just to watch the dusty aftermath settle on the cowboy boots she never thought she'd ever want.

The smell of roses was strong and distinct in the air, like a hundred blue ribbon stallions had graced the stalls. She swung the doors open and stepped inside, unsure if she'd find an empty space overrun by weeds or a hoarder's paradise. Jagged rays of sunlight hit the ground she walked on. As she looked around, amazed at the cleanliness before her, she took note of the one stall that seemed to be in total disrepair.

In the wood of stall beams was a sad little heart and initials carved into the deterioration. It was broken, like her heart, and suddenly all the memories of her losses came sweeping back in an uncontrollable deluge of tears and guilt.

Words of Art (The Reader)

This week's photo is one I took of a painting I bought a long time ago. I found it at a yard sale and I don't know who the artist is. There are no identifying signatures on the front or back of the painting. I don't know why I bought it. It went with nothing in our home, and still doesn't, but I had to have it and now that I have it, I can't let it go either.



The object of this prompt is to write an original piece (short story, poem, journal entry, etc.) inspired by the picture posted. I'd love to read anything that you all come up with and comments are always welcome.
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Today, I'm just going to write my thoughts about this painting because everything I try to sit down and write seems too stiff and rehearsed. I bought this painting at a yard sale for three dollars. I wasn't in the market for a painting and I still don't know why it had to be this one. I imagine her name was Elizabeth and I get the sense she's not reading at all. I imagine that she is hiding her true feelings as best she can. Perhaps someone is watching her and she doesn't want that person to know the thoughts swirling around in her head. I imagine she's innocent, but strong and determined, although most everyone around her seems to think she's meek and fragile. When I look at this painting, it makes me thoughtful, curious about her, about what book she's holding. I think she looks very unhappy and it makes me sad for her.

Words of the Week (Mardi Gras)

Words of the Week is a writing prompt where you're given about five words to use in an original short story, poem, or journal entry. This weeks words are;

Cavalcade: A dramatic sequence or procession.
Lampoon: Publicly mock or ridicule
Noxious: Harmful, poisonous.
Jocular: Characterized by joking
Mutable: Prone to or capable of change

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She watched the parade from the safety of her apartment balcony, relishing in the barely audible sound of classical piano playing from the speakers in her living room. It didn't match the tone of the cavalcade of performers or drunken onlookers below her. It was soothing, such a stark contrast to the noxious smell of sloshed beer that wafted below.

Anyone who knew her would suspect she loathed the annual parade through the streets below, but she rather enjoyed the sight of it. People hung out with their friends and family, laughing, drinking, joking. These people were free to let go and completely uninhibited. She longed to be that way, to feel the rush of blood from a spontaneous decision she knew was probably bad for her but refused to care.

She took a drink of wine right from the bottle. That was about as wild as she was capable of. Most people were mutable, able to adapt to change, but how long had she been living in the Big Easy? She'd yet to experience anything but gumbo and live blues music.

She watched a group of guys below her apartment yelling at a group of college girls who'd just won Mardi Gras beads. Purple and green strands hung from their necks as they took another swig of something in a brown paper bag. One of the guys dared to cross the street and ask for a phone number or a one night stand. She couldn't be sure which, but the girl's answer had been no either way. Red faced, the college guy went back to his friends and of course was lampooned with hearty laughter and jokes she wished she could hear from her perch above them.
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Can you use all five words in a short original work?

Black Swan

I wanted to watch the movie ever since the previews when it first came out, but my husband and son had absolutely no desire to see it. So I kept waiting for a couple hours to myself where I could settle in and order it off of pay-per-view. Last night, my husband went out with friends to watch the Mayweather/Ortiz fight and our son was spending the night with his grandparents. So, I ordered the movie and snuggled up on the couch and tuned in.

I expected to like the movie. The reviews were favorable, right? I didn't like it. I'm not sure why, but I just didn't like it, which was even more disappointing because I had expected to like it so much. I guess I wanted more insight into why she lost her mind, what exactly was it she was suffering from, why was her mother so strange, why was she a 20-something woman living in a 12 year old's room?