Showing posts with label blog chain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blog chain. Show all posts

04 April 2016

Dude, You Got Game!

So let me remind you all, in my A to Z Challenge, my short story titles start with the letter of the day, and today is the letter D!

After my last story, Charles on Weed and Feed, (which Charles informed me he read), he kindly noted that today would be "D-day". Oh my. That's the first letter of MY name (Diane, the antagonist).

Okay, so I get a chance to continue the story. What, what?! :D

Seems like our protagonist, Charles, has learned to pick up his game in the chat department. There IS hope in this romance, ya'll!




You know this man is a sport for allowing this. :)


A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z



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03 April 2016

Charles on Weed and Feed

A little background before you read the next story, which is in the context of a chat just to mix things up a bit. This is a flash fiction romance story between Diane Carlisle (that's me) and the new man in her life, a guy named Charles. His last name is omitted to protect his identity, of course. 

Charles is today's protagonist. Watch him on his journey as he sets out to help the poor lady spread Weed and Feed in her yard. You see, Diane purchased the concentrated mix because she has a degree in Computer Science and therefore, can read instructions.






A
-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z



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02 April 2016

Beetle Juice

The warmth of the sun produced enough moisture on the tanned surface of the man's skin, just enough so the landing would go unnoticed. Here we go...gently. Ease on down and hunker between the soft hairs just below the knee.

Feather-light feet press gently into the sweat, barely touching the skin. The absence of traction does not interfere with penetration. The sweet nectar feeds the hungry insect and her vessel swells with nourishment. Ignorance is bliss.

A sudden rupture. A bursting warmth. Darkness.


The End



brevity
[brev-i-tee]
noun
1. shortness of time or duration; briefness
2. the quality of expressing much in few words


A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z



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01 April 2016

April Fools!

by Diane Carlisle

Yes, I did say I was participating in the A-Z Challenge (and I am), but did you really think I could come up with a short story every day? I can't even finish the one I've been working on for the past five years! Okay, but still, I'm sharing the word Apathy from an old post back in 2011. I will begin my stream of consciousness writing for all the days I can't seem to find a story in me. I promise!

But this one below is a story. Enjoy!

From Dictionary.com - apathy   [ap-uh-thee] noun, plural -thies.

1. Absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement.
2. Lack of interest in or concern for things that others find moving or exciting.


Squeegee


The floating scaffold moved side to side, sloshing about the soapy water in his bucket. He whipped the squeegee downward in a quick motion, the excess fluid sprayed off into the wind like a mist. The muffled voices inside just another part of the scenery, a hundred feet in the air in front of his 15th window of the day.

The screaming on the other side seemed like a movie playing in the background. He pressed the spongy strip to the glass and made square patterns on the surface, the liquid dripping toward the bottom pane and carrying a summer’s worth of dust and pigeon shit in its stream. A green and white speck hitched a ride inside a soapy bubble the size of a nickel.

The woman threw a vase across the room, "I hate you!"

The man ducked and the fixture shattered against a closed door.

He'd witnessed this scene before in his own living room, back when Margie used to watch the Soap Operas. He would leave her alone, engrossed in her favorite episodes. Something else could occupy his time. Make a sandwich. Swat at flies. Anything.

He flipped the squeegee over to its rubber side and pulled downward, pressing hard against the glass. The water flowed quickly, gravity forcing the drips to race each other to the bottom.

In two large strides, the man closed the gap between himself and the woman, placing his hands around her neck. He looked angry.

The wind shifted the scaffold back and forth and the clean surface he just uncovered gleamed in contrast to the rest of the window. He again placed the squeegee back to the top and pulled down. A pigeon stopped in for a visit and perched itself on a side panel.

“Hello there little fellow.”

The pigeon cooed back at him.

The woman tried kicking and punching, but she looked as if she was losing in her struggle for air. Her punches and kicks slowed down and then she was still.

"People will be people, eh?" he said to the pigeon and then raised the squeegee to remove the rest of the soapy liquid before moving on to his next window.



A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y-Z


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09 December 2015

Creative Writing Prompts with a Communications Theme

This came to me from Nancy at Creative Writing Now, but I didn't want to keep it to myself, so I thought you guys in the Blogosphere might want to participate. Pick one of the following prompts, write a short piece, and share it as a link back to your blog through the Simply Linked sign up below. Happy writing!


In case you're looking for writing ideas this week, here are five story prompts that you can use to write fiction of your own.  All of these ideas are related to the theme of communication.


Oui Do, in Venice


On a foreign holiday, your character meets an extremely attractive man or woman.  They don't speak the same language, but they somehow find a way to understand each other, and your character feels a powerful connection that s/he has never felt with anyone before.  Impulsively, your character marries this person after they've only known each other a very short time.  Your character's new husband/wife moves to your character's country and begins to take language classes there.  The better the spouse is able to communicate, the more your character realizes that s/he isn't the person your character had believed...





Break a Leg...Just Kidding


On a first date, your character makes a joke about wanting to kill his/her boss.  But when the boss ends up in the hospital following a brutal attack, your character begins to worry that his/her new boyfriend/girlfriend may have taken the joke too literally...


Hello From Below


Your character runs a small charity.  The charity's most important donor has just died, and the donor’s widow shows no interest in continuing to contribute to the charity.  Your character fears that the charity will not survive the loss of funding.  Then your character learns that the widow regularly visits a psychic -- which gives your character an idea.  Your character will convince the widow that s/he has the ability to speak with the dead, and will pretend to pass on messages from the dead husband urging her to continue with the charitable donations.  But something strange and unexpected begins to happen.  When your character pretends to summon the dead, s/he has a distinct feeling that someone, or something, is actually trying to communicate with him or her...





Calling For Caroline


Every evening, when she goes to the parking garage of her office building, your character finds a new love note tucked under the windshield wipers of her car.  These love notes are very beautiful and fill your character with powerful emotions.  But they are all addressed to "Caroline".  Your character's name is Melissa...


Above the Garden, We Pray


Your character has been kidnapped and locked in an attic.  The attic has a small window overlooking the garden of a neighbor's house, where your character sometimes sees children playing.  Your character doesn't dare shout out the window because the kidnapper might hear.  S/he needs to find a way to signal for help without the kidnapper's discovering what s/he's doing, and without endangering the children...


Sign up below:



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30 March 2015

My 2015 A - Z Challenge List

I've compiled my list of words which will make up my 2015 A-Z Challenge and I'm sharing it below. First, let me apologize in advance to my email subscribers who will (by default) receive emails on a daily basis due to this challenge requiring a post each day of the month. But, if you know me, it won't feel like spam, I promise! :)



All posts in April will be free flow, stream of consciousness writing exercises. The content will be unedited, because otherwise, what's the point? Stream of consciousness isn't fun if you hold back. In 2012, I restricted my challenge to topics of my own choosing. This time, you all gave me some really great words posted in comments, via email, or just by talking to me in person. Don't worry, I do not share my sources.

I would also challenge you to take these words each day, starting April 1st, and do your own stream of consciousness writing. Please feel free to share your results in the comment sections of the articles I post. I look forward to reading your streams.


Let's have some fun!


My List
Aging (and Apples)
Barnacle
Creativity
Destiny 
Ego 
Forgiveness 
Grace
Haters
IHOP 
Jealousy 
Kindness 
Lesbian 
Magnanimous 
Nostalgia
Oxymoron 
Pizza 
Questions 
Resource 
Serendipity 
Technology 
Undergraduate
Virgin 
Writing
XXX 
Yoga 


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31 January 2015

Pick a Word Blog Hop

This is a stream of consciousness exercise. Please join in the fun, or not. If you join, don't feel like you must edit your post if you can help yourself, but visit other participants by taking their links and leave comments!

My word is chopped.

I picked this word out of the air, maybe because I was watching that Food Network show. Kids were competing, like 9 year-olds, using KNIVES! What the hell. Can someone say liability? I just saw a kid cut herself in the chopped kitchen. Am I over-reacting? Why do I choose a word which needs hyphenating and why do I choose words I don’t like to spell…like hyphenating. Sucks. And why did I even picked the word chopped anyway?

What can you do with this word except describe something that gets divided in two or more things, smaller things, smaller meaning lesser. Lesser meaning not more, so if I want more of something, now I have less because I chose to use the chopped and get lesser. Unless of course I keep all parts and glue them back together. My logic sucks, but as promised I have to post this shit, cuss words and all. This is embarrassing and I should never have decided to do this assignment.

Can I get something positive from this word chopped besides this chubby cute kid who just missed an opportunity to win 10 thousand dollars? Oh, yes! It’s the dessert round, now that’s freaking positive as hell. I’m getting another beer and watching this. Kids making dessert has to be better than my writing about the word chopped.

This is my stream of consciousness writing assignment. Please don’t judge me!

Join this linked assignment by adding your own stream of consciousness  work. Pick a word,, any word. Then write your post and share it here. Deadline has not been set yet, but if you spam this blog, you might get chopped!!




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18 November 2014

Your First Post - Blog Hop

I'm sharing my very first blog post on this site, my only blog site, because I think it's an awesome concept to share the "why" behind your original motivation for exploring and creating. Mine wasn't to promote my individual writing progress. It was more to discover what blogging had to offer for our communications division where I work.

More than 5 years later, here I am. I'm part of this fascinating community of like-minded folks who love to write and share.

Will you take the time and sign up for this blog hop and link your very first post?




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11 February 2014

Gage Thomas on Diane Carlisle, His Creator

This month's prompt at Absolute Write:
Characters Writing About Authors

Have your character write about you, the author, their creator. You may choose any character so long as you created them, and may write in any format.

Gage Thomas

My name is Gage and I live at C:\Documents and Settings\dcarlisl\My Documents\Dropbox\Writing\Novels\Summer In Buddyville\





That's where She put me and has kept me for the past year and a half. She being Diane, my creator. I used to live in a town called Buddyville before she decided to shelve me in my current location. So why did she shelve me? I wish I could say something mean like maybe she's a selfish bitch, cold and uncaring about my situation.

I'm a nineteen year old kid, left behind to care for my younger sister after mother died of cancer a year ago. It's not a big deal to care for my sister. She's fourteen and practically takes care of herself. Only, I need to get a better job so I can get us out of this run-down trailer park before it's condemned by the city.

Last summer, many of the empty units were taken over by the homeless people. The city folk call them squatters. I think mainly because at night they gather at the opening of the trailer park where the dumpsters sit, start their fire pits, and squat to cook whatever communal road kill they'd managed to gather. You'd be surprised how good that shit smells.

But, I think Diane got bored writing my story. Either that or it became too depressing to continue on with such a run-down setting. Plus, she's not a pantser by any means and she didn't know where to take us after having described our pathetic surroundings. She just gave up on me.




I heard she started a new story, something about a cop unraveling a cold case at a new precinct. Diane purchased a butt load of writing software she claims will help her plot out a story she can finally write. She's kidding herself though. Her problems:


  1. She's a procrastinator
  2. She cares more about her blog than her manuscripts
  3. When she has down time, she volunteers to do other things
  4. She claims she wants to write fiction
  5. What she really wants is to have written


One day, maybe she'll realize it's time to get serious about finishing a manuscript, whichever story she decides to write. I'm just hoping it's mine.

Take care,
Gage


Visit other participants for similar posts:

orion_mk3 -  (link to post)
Sneaky Devil -  (link to post)
Anarchic Q -  (link to post)
Sixpence -  (link to post)
SamanthaLehane -  (link to post)
pyrosama -  (you are HERE)
Angyl78 -  (link to post)
MsLaylaCakes -  (link to post)
ishtar'sgate -  (link to post)
meowzbark -  (link to post)






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13 January 2014

Retro Gaming Icons - Writing Prompt

The writing prompt for this month at Absolute Write is something I can definitely give a little twist to and still stay on topic.

Whatever your definition of retro, gaming, or icons, now is the time to get your classic game on. Super Mario, Shigeru Miyamoto, the Atari 2600, Tim Schafer, Baldur's Gate...any game or gaming-related icon is up for grabs! Or, if you like, invent your own! Entries may be of any genre so long as they are 1000 words or less.

Many years ago I was a key player in an online role-playing event which caused our guild's guild master to go missing. Her name was Katidyd and she was, in my eyes, an iconic symbol in the game of Threshold, a multi-player online role-playing game. I later discovered that she had left the game and her character was permanently retired.

I never really knew the OOC (Out of Character) reasoning for her permanent removal (I think it was to join the Aether). However, the event was an intensive in-character development and relied upon the coordination and respect of many other players.

I'm sharing the link to a page where I've compiled a more color friendly version of the log entries titled "Katidyd Disappears". It gets more interesting toward the end and everything I colored is system generated spam to indicate a spell or special character ability rather than dialogue or emotes controlled by players. I hope you enjoy.


Click on the picture to view the entire log!!


As you may guess from my forum name, I'm playing the male character Pyrosama. :)

Visit the other participants to see what they have to share for this topic!

Participants:
orion_mk3 -  (link to post)
Ralph Pines -  (link to post)
meowzbark -  (link to post)
Pyrosama - (you are HERE)
Anarchic Q -  (link to post)
AndreF -  (link to post)
MsLaylaCakes -  (link to post) [after 1/18]


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07 October 2013

Snow Leopard Excerpt for the AW Blog Chain

This month's prompt on The Absolute Write Blog Chain: Lions, Tigers, and Bears, Oh My!

Our spooky October prompt posits a trio of scary critters. Do what you will with them!

As always, your entry can be prose, poetry, play, fiction, nonfiction.


For this month, I'm sharing with you an excerpt from my short story, Snow Leopard. It's the first short story I ever wrote, so be kind to the newbie. :)




Log line: A young woman's vanity is exposed in a reversal of fortune. What happens when wealthy, fur donning humans are kidnapped and scalped for their own manes?

~ * ~

The man quickly diverted his eyes toward the door when it opened. Two figures entered the room.

Theresa’s heart quickened and her stomach lurched. A humanoid looking snow leopard and a similar creature with the markings of a Bengal tiger, approached, their tails swishing about. Neither of them appeared aggressive, but Theresa remained guarded and pulled her limbs closer to her body.

The cat-like creatures, both on their hind legs, walked upright and past the humans. The leopard's fur, white like new fallen snow, was speckled with tiny black spots. A deep orange fur covered the tiger with large, black lines cutting back and forth across its furry canvas.

The spotted cat held a clipboard and both large felines wore white nylon coats. Theresa could only make out the name tag on the snow leopard's lapel, Dr. Fiona Lynch. The creature's head donned a long, cascading mane of blonde hair flowing down its back like human hair, and its forehead, covered with skin rather than the white speckled fur on the rest of its face. Black eyes brightened when they glared back at Theresa.

"That's the latest find?" the voice was soft and feminine when the snow leopard questioned the tiger, her tail swishing back and forth, but not as vigorously as before. Theresa understood the words.

"Yes, it's the rare one for Han, of the Western Amirs," the tiger said, his voice low and raspy, but also feminine. "I understand they paid a great ransom."

Theresa strained to hear but their voices became faint.

"He wanted that color and length. I think he'll like it.” The cats behaved much like humans, with the exception of the swishing of their tails.

The snow leopard brought her attention back to the table beside her and lifted the tarp. She wrote something down on her clipboard, "Looks ready for the transplant room, Franz," she said and smiled at the tiger. "Good work."

The leopard and tiger moved to walk out, the tiger pushing the tarp covered table on its wheels.

When they approached the humans, the snow leopard retrieved a syringe from her pocket, kneeled beside Theresa, and pulled the human's arm away from her body. The feline sank the needle deep into her bicep and pressed hard on the plunger until the clear liquid emptied from its barrel.

"What's that?" Theresa heard the slurring of her own words when she spoke them, but she went under quickly and did not hear the reply from the snow leopard, "You won't feel a thing sweetie."


orion_mk3 -  (link to post)
Ralph Pines -  (link to post)
ishtar'sgate -  (link to post)
skunkmelon -  (link to post)
pyrosama -  (link to post)
julzperri -  (link to post)
dclary - (link to post)
BBBurke - (link to post)
Sweetwheat 
MsLaylaCakes 
Angyl78 -  (link to post)

29 September 2013

What is Steampunk? - AW Blog Chain

Steampunk and Retro-Futurism are genres that take the aesthetics and technology of the past (the Victorian era, interwar Art Deco era, etc.) and add futuristic technology. Examples include The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Atlantis: The Lost Empire, the Downey Sherlock Holmes films, and (or so I'm told) some wacky Japanese animes like Fullmetal Alchemist, Steamboy, and a bunch of the Miyazakis.


When I sat down to write my entry for Absolute Write's September Blog Chain, my mind went blank. I tell myself I can do this, now that I know the definition of Steampunk.

Come with me
And you'll be
In a world of
Pure imagination

No problem, right?

Wrong!

I can't pretend to be a serious writer of this genre if I can't get my mind off silly things like those contraptions created by Dr. Seuss and similar machines used by Willy Wonka in his chocolate factory. Where's my creative flare? I know what people looked like in the Victorian era. I've seen movies, so combining these elements should be fairly easy.

Remember this?



And this?



I also thought the Everlasting Gobstopper machine was pretty cool. It had noisy steam and a honking "in process" mechanism moving things along. Steampunk? I think so. Others may not be so inclined to agree with me. I am the newbie. Someone straighten me out.

Anyone in for a chocolate river ride on this boat?




After all this nonsense of trying to come up with a clever story for you, I decided to do this topic some justice and share with you an educational video. "What is Steampunk?"

If you are an enthusiast of the Steampunk genre, let us know something about your characters and their contraptions. I would love to learn more.

Enjoy the video!





Please visit these other participants and their posts:

pyrosama   [YOU ARE HERE]

14 July 2013

Welcome Aboard, M'lady!

Today I'm participating in Writer's Weekend 1 and sharing the story I wrote, all while abiding by restrictive guidelines. The "loglines" were pre-determined, which makes it more difficult, yet challenging to the creative muse. The "logline" I chose is shared at the end (please don't scroll down and ruin it!).   I hope you enjoy my story!

Welcome Aboard, M'lady!

Sir Grant Bennigan placed his right hand over the deck of cards on the wooden table. He lifted a quarter of the deck and picked up a single card from the top. “Yours?” he said to his brother and tossed the Ace of Spades over toward him.

Marcus yawned. “Card tricks? Are you that bored?”


The high seas swelled gently, a contrast to the crashing waves from the earlier storms. The Regallion Princess, a three masted barque, had remained in the family despite the controversies that flared upon the passing of their father, Sir Walter Bennigan.

Grant sighed and walked to the cabin window. The Pacific Ocean presented a peaceful glow, the moon glimmering on the horizon. “The boredom will pass soon, I suspect. More storms are coming.”

“How long before we dock?”

Grant rolled a large cherry flavored tobacco leaf and struck a sulfur tipped match across his leather belt. “At least four nights,” he said, before lighting up and filling the cabin with the fresh cherry aroma.

Marcus waved the smoke from his face, “You seek an early grave, my brother,” a bitter tone in his voice.

“It’s my only vice.” Grant scratched his chin, noting the days of growth on his face.

“And the occasional harlot.”

Grant stared at his brother. Oh Marcus, the virginal Marcus, with his sinister attitude always judging.  “Every port should have a handful of available ladies. It’s not like we have pickings out here in the middle of the ocean.”

Their current mission would take them into Port Castillo on the Valparaíso Bay, one of the larger bodies of the Pacific. Its massive trade venues always attracted seamen from around the world. It would be a great opportunity for the brothers to entertain the crowds with their magic and wares.


Marcus stood up, put his dinner plate into a tin basin, and reached into the cabinet above for his Whiskey. “This is all the companion I need.” He held up the bottle and gave a quick nod. “I shall retire.”

Grant looked back to his brother, but Marcus had performed his usual vanishing act. It was his best trick, unlike levitation and other illusions which had been perfected by the older brother. The captain pulled on his tobacco a few more times and stubbed it out in a bronze bowl before returning to his quarters. The calm seas would give him a good rest.

The next morning, though the skies glared gray and ominous, the slight choppiness of the water only hinted of brewing storms.

“Captain!”

The spoon fell onto the floor. The calling for his attention had broken the levitation spell. He cursed and pushed his way toward the outer deck.

A few of the men pulled a body onto the ship from a lifeboat they had apparently lifted from the sea.

“What’s going on? Where’s Marcus?” Grant asked.

“Captain, we called out for Marcus. He’s not answering this morning.”

The woman’s body was limp and pale in the deckhand’s arms, her frail torso and limbs covered in wet clothing. “She’s alive, sir.” Long blonde strands of wet hair plastered her cheeks.

“Take her inside,” Grant said, pointing toward the stern. “And the rest of you, man the ship!” He turned and followed the deckhand into the cabin. When they reached the entryway to the sleeping quarters, the Captain pointed to his own room.

“But sir—“

“I know. We do not have a maiden to assist. I’ll take care of her.”

He watched over her for the next several hours while the storm pitched The Regallion Princess to higher crests. The woman’s lips barely parted and her eyelashes, now dry, fluttered against the draft in the room.



He wondered what it would be like to lie next to her, to feel her cheek against his skin as she rested her head upon his bare chest. He wondered how she would respond to his touch, if he could feel her soft skin pressed against his. Would she grow to love him as he did her, forever in his spell.

Marcus entered the room, handed him a rolled, cherry tobacco leaf, and proffered a light. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is.” Grant puffed until the leaf was fully lit.

“Think she’ll make it?” Marcus took a swig from his bottle.

“God, I hope not.” Grant watched the rise and fall of her chest and ached to hold her. Her eyes fluttered and opened slightly and she shivered in her damp clothing. She coughed and tried to sit up. She looked at Grant and Marcus as if attempting to make sense of her whereabouts. Then she screamed an unrelenting scream. Her eyes, wild with fear.

“And here we go,” Marcus said, tipping his bottle again.

The brothers looked at each other, one puffing on his tobacco leaf and the other drinking from his bottle. The woman screamed louder, and continued to scream until the deckhand entered the room and ran to the bedside where she had been crouched, holding onto a bunched up quilt.

“Tis okay, m’lady. Tis okay!”

She put her arms around the deckhand and screamed into his cotton blouse.

A twinge of jealousy struck Grant, overwhelming him with more heartache. If she held onto him the same way, pleading for him never to let go, he would give anything to experience it.

“Please, m’lady. All is well.” The deckhand seemed to calm her.

“Who are they?” The woman cried out, tears staining her cheeks.

The deckhand looked to the center of the room. “That is Sir Grant Bennigan and his brother, Marcus. They will forever haunt The Regallion Princess unless the captain finds a wife, a lady who dies upon this very ship, and greets him in the afterlife. Only then will he settle into a peaceful rest. His brother is merely a companion.”

“A wife? But, he isn’t real. He’s a ghost!”

“Nay. Tis a spirit, m’lady.” The deckhand smiled at the captain and waved.

Grant threw his head back and laughed, but he knew they couldn’t hear him. In time, maybe? He puffed his tobacco and blew a stream of smoke into the air. He wondered if she would ever smell the cherry aroma.

*The End*

My logline: Two brothers, who are magicians, pick up a hitchhiker on a ghost ship.

Okay, so the hitchhiker was not conscious and the only part of the ghost ship were the brothers. It still meets the word count criteria! Hope you enjoyed.

11 July 2013

July Blog Chain - Dog Days of Summer

This month's prompt at Absolute Write : Dog Days of Summer

In other words, the hottest and most sultry part of summer. Etymology lesson here. As always, this can be prose, poetry, play, fiction, or nonfiction.

I'm going off the mark here. I was so tempted to write a fiction piece about the hottest days of summer, but instead I'm going to take this opportunity to write up an obituary for Taz, my English bulldog who passed away this summer (May feels like summer in Florida).

Taz, short for Tazmanian Devil, died during the early hours of May 30, 2013. He was 9 years old. He is survived by his two sisters, Maggie and Biscuit.

Learn all about Taz if you have a moment, as this is my contribution to Dog Days of Summer. You will understand why we miss him dearly. Taz, with all of your hang-ups, honey, you were still the bomb diggity!

Please feel free to leave your blessings in the comments below.




Participants and posts:

orion_mk3 -  (link to post)
Ralph Pines -  (link to post)
articshark -  (link to post)
Sunwords -  (link to post)
Diem_Allen -  (link to post)
U2Girl -  (link to post)
robynmackenzie -  (link to post)
Lady Cat -  (link to post)
MsLaylaCakes -  (link to post)
pyrosama -  (You are HERE)
SuzanneSeese -  (link to post)
Diana_Rajchel -  (link to post)
HistorySleuth -  (link to post)
Angyl78 -  (link to post)
SRHowen -  (link to post)

24 May 2013

My 3 Ups Blog Hop Challenge


I am participating in Randi Lee's 3 Ups Blog Hop today. My blogger friend whom I get to write about today is Elise Fallson. 

There is much clean fun and a fresh voice at Elise's blog and R is for Rumpology is a blast! So much tongue in cheek humor, I couldn't hide from co-workers the fact I was reading non-work related material. 

Elise has a down to earth, matter of fact style of writing which sounds much like talking to someone face to face. This is a blog you want to sit down in front of and read first thing in the morning with a nice hot cup of hot chocolate.

Her sample fiction is not to be missed either. The writing is tight and immediate, with great sensory descriptions which put you in the scene. Thanks for contributing your humor and wit to the Blog-o-Sphere, Elise. And thank you for sharing your work out here with all of us.


The 3 things I love most:

1. Her humor and wit

Ever read material that made you feel like you weren't reading at all? You just experience pure entertainment. That's what you get when you visit Elise's blog.


2. Her writing style and balance

She understands white space! White space is necessary so the reader doesn't feel claustrophobic when reading your material and Elise gets it. Her blog is beautifully balanced and super easy to read on top of all the wit and humor.


3. Her font size is perfect

There's one thing I always appreciate and that's a good font size. There is a reason why you will stay and read on this blog, not just the humor, wit, and an A+ on balance, Elise has chosen a perfect font which will reach a satisfaction level for a wide range audience. Thank you, Elise!


And now, I'm signing off with an Elise quote from one of her blog entries:

"Have a great weekend everyone, hope it's filled with vampire-nuclear-killer rabbits with happy colons." --in case you missed crackmeupology


11 March 2013

Leprechaun Poem Now You See Me


This month's prompt at Absolute Write:
What the Leprechaun Said

Yep, it's March. The theme is one of general St. Patrick-ness, so don't worry if you're not comfortable with writing fantasy creatures like the 'Chauns.

Here is more mischief from the little guy. It's a poem I wrote many years ago. I just haven't shared it much with anyone. Also, I list more participants at the end. Visit their take on the Leprechaun, and as always, we love lots of feedback!


Now you see me, now you don't
Come and get me if you want
I can show you things that shine
You will be a friend of mine

*
I am evil, I am good
I am mostly misunderstood
Having fun and causing strife
Makes a difference in my life

*
Be it here or be it there
You will find me everywhere
Follow me and you will see
Treasures and gifts abound for thee

*
I hide behind this wicked mask
Though find it's not a pleasant task
To sometimes have to lie to you
And lead you down a path that's true




Participants and posts:
orion_mk3 -  (link to post)
robeiae -  (link to post)
writingismypassion -  (link to post)
Sudo_One -  (link to post)
randi.lee -  (link to post)
pyrosama -  (You are HERE)
katci13 -  (link to post)
MsLaylaCakes -  (link to post)
Angyl78 -  (link to post)
KitCat -  (link to post)
Bloo -  (link to post)
dlclary -  (link to post)
ConnieBDowell -  (link to post)
Lady Cat -  (link to post)
Araenvo -  (link to post)
MichaelP -  (link to post)
Ralph Pines -  (link to post)
mdgreene50 - (link to post)
dolores haze -  (link to post)





SRHowen -  (link to post)
areteus -  (link to post)
meowzbark -  (link to post)



25 February 2013

What the Leprechaun Said


This month's prompt at Absolute Write: Suggest-A-Prompt

We have so many good prompt ideas that don't get used, so it's now time to mix it up. Posters get to suggest a prompt for the next blogger in line! Be sure to list the prompt and credit the suggester in your post. My prompt is "What the Leprechaun Said". Thank you, Carol, for this great inspirational challenge!

All that gold...


"He's a legendary figure, Eric." Gracie pulled gently on her son's hand. "We're late. Maybe we can come back later and visit." They shopped every year on St. Patrick's Day because it was her sister's birthday and she always waited until the last minute. Previous years were much easier. Eric's curiosity about the world had grown and there never seemed to be enough time to explain everything.

Eric didn't budge. "Is he good or bad?"

"Well, lots of people think he's good because he brings good luck. That's why he's always around a pot of gold."

"But why does he look like that?"

"Like what, Eric?" Gracie peered at the leprechaun in the display window of Macy's department store, her patience wearing thin. The same leprechaun they put out every year stood in its designated spot, a smile plastered across his green, ceramic face, and his left ear chipped at the top, exposing the white plaster beneath the paint. His lifeless eyes stared out from behind the glass and his hand held up in a gesture, waving hello, or in Gracie’s case, goodbye.

Eric wriggled away from Gracie and approached the window, placing his greasy palms flat against it. "Where is it? Where's the gold you crazy lepachon. Gimme, grrrr!"

Gracie reached down and grabbed Eric by one hand, balancing her packages in the other. "Let's go, Eric."

Unwilling at first, Eric conceded, but kept his eyes on the leprechaun while they walked away.

"Mommy, does the lepachon know where the pot of gold is?" Eric asked while Gracie tucked him into bed that night. She wished she hadn't made him wear a green shirt today and she wished she hadn't mentioned anything about leprechauns, four leaf clovers, and pinching people who didn't wear the festive color.

The reflecting light of the moon beamed through the window, casting shadows on the opposite wall. A waving hand and the outline of the leprechaun and his chipped ear appeared briefly and faded from the shadowy wall.

"Some think so, Eric. But nobody ever really saw a real leprechaun. He's just a fairy-tale character."

"Is Santa Claus a fairy-tale character, mommy?"

"Eric, that's not the same thing, honey."

"But I never saw Santa Clause, and he brings me toys on Christmas. If I ask the lepachon for a pot of gold, do you think he would bring it to me since it's St. Patrick's Day?"

Gracie knew better than to continue this conversation. She kissed Eric on the forehead and turned off the bedside lamp. "Goodnight, Eric."

The night drew on and from the shadows, a whisper. "Psst, Eric..."

***

A searing pain in the pit of her gut woke Gracie in the middle of the night. Eric sat upon her, straddling her like a horse, wriggling a knife through her stomach. "Grrrr, gimme!"

Gracie gasped and grabbed at Eric's hands. The exiting blade sliced her palms open, "What are you doing, Eric!" The pain, the rush of adrenaline, and the warm blood seeping into her night gown, all indications she was not dreaming.

His lifeless eyes looked through her and he plunged the knife in again. "The gold is in there, mommy. It's what the lepachon said!"

THE END

Visit these other participants:

orion_mk3  - Yuppies Who Hate the Family Business
ConnieBDowell   Unexpected Library Encounter
bmadsen   Cupcake Disaster
MsLaylaCakes   Unfortunate Sports
HistorySleuth   Less Than Fortunate Foods
writingismypassion   Blind Date with a Ventriloquist
katci13   Evil Cupid
KitCat   Hunting with Hounds
Angyl78   A Ghost's Bad Day
randi.lee   The Wrong Bar
Lady Cat   Visitors 
pyrosama -  (You Are HERE) What the Leprechaun Said
Ralph Pines -  Under the Bed
dclary -  Warm Kitty, Soft Kitty, Evil Ball of Fur
meowzbark -  Road Trip
SRHowen -  Faded Blue Jeans

20 February 2013

Who Do You Write Like?

Out of curiosity, I pasted one of my recent blog posts into the analyzer to find out who I write like. The result?




I write like
H. P. Lovecraft
I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!



I had no idea!

Try it, blog about it, and share the link in the linky thingy below!



12 December 2012

10 Stupid Things To Do Before The Mayapocalypse


This month's prompt at Absolute Write:
The End (of the World)

Yes, since the predicted Mayapocalypse only fails to materialize once every 500 years or so we are piggybacking on it. Write what you will about the end of the world (those disinclined to eschatology can write about "the end" in a broader sense). Hopefully, after these ends of the world as we know it, we'll all feel fine.

Here is my month's contribution. I'm going to list for you the top 10 stupid things you can do when you realize the world is ending. It's up to you, though. I've been reading people's lists, and these seem to be top items for many, but you know what? No matter how popular they are, they're still stupid. Here's why!


10. Sell your house! You can't take it with you. Though, some non-believer will be happy to buy it from you "dirt cheap".

9. Sell your car! Why not? See #10!

8. Give all your money away to charities. It's what you should have been doing all along so the government wouldn't take it away and do it for you!

7. Go on a crime spree. If the world doesn't end, and since you've sold your house, you'll at least have a home at the local prison.

6. Join a church and start prayers. God already knows you're a non-believer, so if you do this because it's the end of the world, you're just going to piss Him off.

5. Go wing suit flying! Projectiling into the side of a mountain like a bug on a windshield can't be nearly as painful as being nuked and evaporating off the face of the earth.

4. Confess your love to your crush. There's nothing like the feeling that you never had a chance, only to be struck by the knowledge that you never had a chance when she tells you she's not interested.

3. Gorge yourself, hoard all that food! Then when the world doesn't end, you can (again) blame your weight gain on something other than yourself.

2. Run naked through the streets declaring God loves everyone. What a great way to alert all those folks on crime sprees that it's open season for rape and sodomy.

1. Invest in yellow contacts and tattoo your face red with two horns on your forehead. Whether you wind up in heaven or hell, it should make for an interesting conversation with your host!



Participants and posts:

orion_mk3  (link to post)
dolores haze  (link to post)
randi.lee  (link to post)
writingismypassion  (link to post)
bmadsen  (link to post)
Ralph Pines  (link to post)
AllieKat  (link to post)
MsLaylaCakes  (link to post)
katci13  (link to post)
Angyl78  (link to post)
pyrosama  (YOU ARE HERE)
Araenvo  (link to post)
CJ Michaels  (link to post)
SuzanneSeese  (link to post)
BBBurke  (link to post)
gell214  (link to post)

SRHowen  (link to post)
meowzbark  (link to post)
Aheïla  (link to post)






13 November 2012

Mock Review of Lethal Injection, The Seed



This month's prompt at Absolute Write:
NaMoReMo (National Mock Review Month)

In the spirit of NaNoWriMo, write a mock review of a writing project that you have done or would like to do. Make sure to either give a brief, one-sentence description of what the project is or work it into the review somehow. You can review anything (poetry, prose, collected blog posts) and in any way you like (funny, serious, Dadaist). Each post should be less than 1000 words if possible.

Lethal Injection, The Seed

Lethal Injection, The Seed by Diane Carlisle is a tale so disturbing it makes one wonder if the author has had some experience with the subject matter at hand. Who can make up such things as what it feels like to come to terms with molestation and the mortality of its perpetrators? How does an author weave such a tale without disgust for her own words?

This story resonates with the haunting voice of a young man coming to grips with his demons and confronting the past before it is too late to repair the path to his own future. I have a feeling we will be seeing this character again as the ending seemed open to more of the same disturbing reflections, peeling the onion petals further and further away from the middle and exposing a core to this dark secret, one for which we never have the opportunity to render a closure.

It is an unorthodox weaving of what appears to be an attempt at literary work by an amateur writer. I was unable to stomach this short piece of work. Likewise, I was unable to stop reading for the horror of it.

I would recommend it only because I think Diane Carlisle is a great person and would like to see her make some profit off this one, even though it is her first published fiction and she has not earned herself recognition in the literary circles of such elite and prominent authors as J.D. Salinger and F. Scott Fitzgerald.


Participants and posts:
orion_mk3 
Ralph Pines 
bmadsen 
dolores haze 
writingismypassion 
meowzbark 
randi.lee 
SRHowen -  (link to post)
pyrosama -  (You Are HERE)
Angyl78 -  (link to post)
wonderactivist -  (link to post)







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