Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Monday, March 28, 2011
It's been over a year
I had opened up a new blog about my weight-loss journey and promptly began neglecting my writing here. Now I have a 3rd blog chronicling our up-and-coming beekeeping journey and I'm hoping to post some creative rants here from time to time as well. Welcome back the crazy!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
My newest addiction
As if I need anything else to keep me from doing housework, I have become addicted to the Helium writer's website. Click the red thing over to the left side of the page and see what it's like. Submit something yourself and you'll soon be hooked. It's probably a scam, but I'm enjoying while I can and it's FREE.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Would anybody notice if I didn't blog today?
I'm trying to be better at writing every day. I did write today, though not here. I wrote 2 new articles for a website called Helium. I'm interested in comments and advice from any other bloggers who have experience with them (or any other site).
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Peculiar Compulsions
(a story inspired by today's Meme Express).
Peering over to top of my algebra text, I covertly observed her movements. It was study hour in the middle school library, and I studied her every move. Holding the newest tome of the Sweet Teen romance series in her left hand, her right was busy as usual. Thumb and forefinger would lightly rub the top of her forehead until they found purchase. Delicately, they would pinch a single strand of hair, and slide from the root towards the tip. Once, twice – not ever three times, the hair would be wound around the index finger. Wait for it – relax, yank! Without so much as a cringe, the hair was liberated. Freed from the scalp, the base was carefully examined, checking for the satisfaction of the white follicle, without ever turning her face from her novel. Moments later, the lonely tress would be discarded unceremoniously to the floor, floating to its new home among the carpet fibers. Soon, the right hand would return to what lingered of the thin, wiry mane and the ritual would begin anew, as if of its own will.
Filled with shame, I attempted to redirect my attention to memorizing the binomial concepts in front of me. Focus, I told myself. Still, I felt the heat of my face and knew instantly that it must be displaying a glowing crimson performance for everyone to see. Why should I be the only one watching others to witness what secret horrors they commit in the school library when everyone should have their nose in a book. I knew that the only relief I could expect was later that day, on the bus ride home, when I could press my hot, shamed cheek against the smooth, cool window of the bus. The desk, a mirror, or the back of the bathroom stall door was no match for the relief offered by that cold, clear window. Who would be watching me when I sought my own peculiar satisfaction? To what compulsion would they be driven after witnessing my odd behavior? I couldn’t think of that now. Maybe today I would resist. Or perhaps . . . I would be trying to get a better look at a somewhat familiar dog, or had I already used that one?
Later that day, the bus pulled up to our stop, and I rushed ahead. My long strides could carry me quickly to the door before she caught up with me. I suspected that she was aware of my daily clandestine inspection of her library routine and I was in no hurry to be confronted with that eventuality. How sick could she be, was she putting on a show for me, to ensure that I would feel uncomfortable in my new school? Was this just another of her ways to control me and my thoughts? It would be creepy, but not impossible. Mostly, though, I was in a hurry so that our fellow commuters might not realize my deepest secret: she is my sister.
(I feel I could build on this . . .but to what end?) Putting myself in that other mind has all but exhausted me for now).
Peering over to top of my algebra text, I covertly observed her movements. It was study hour in the middle school library, and I studied her every move. Holding the newest tome of the Sweet Teen romance series in her left hand, her right was busy as usual. Thumb and forefinger would lightly rub the top of her forehead until they found purchase. Delicately, they would pinch a single strand of hair, and slide from the root towards the tip. Once, twice – not ever three times, the hair would be wound around the index finger. Wait for it – relax, yank! Without so much as a cringe, the hair was liberated. Freed from the scalp, the base was carefully examined, checking for the satisfaction of the white follicle, without ever turning her face from her novel. Moments later, the lonely tress would be discarded unceremoniously to the floor, floating to its new home among the carpet fibers. Soon, the right hand would return to what lingered of the thin, wiry mane and the ritual would begin anew, as if of its own will.
Filled with shame, I attempted to redirect my attention to memorizing the binomial concepts in front of me. Focus, I told myself. Still, I felt the heat of my face and knew instantly that it must be displaying a glowing crimson performance for everyone to see. Why should I be the only one watching others to witness what secret horrors they commit in the school library when everyone should have their nose in a book. I knew that the only relief I could expect was later that day, on the bus ride home, when I could press my hot, shamed cheek against the smooth, cool window of the bus. The desk, a mirror, or the back of the bathroom stall door was no match for the relief offered by that cold, clear window. Who would be watching me when I sought my own peculiar satisfaction? To what compulsion would they be driven after witnessing my odd behavior? I couldn’t think of that now. Maybe today I would resist. Or perhaps . . . I would be trying to get a better look at a somewhat familiar dog, or had I already used that one?
Later that day, the bus pulled up to our stop, and I rushed ahead. My long strides could carry me quickly to the door before she caught up with me. I suspected that she was aware of my daily clandestine inspection of her library routine and I was in no hurry to be confronted with that eventuality. How sick could she be, was she putting on a show for me, to ensure that I would feel uncomfortable in my new school? Was this just another of her ways to control me and my thoughts? It would be creepy, but not impossible. Mostly, though, I was in a hurry so that our fellow commuters might not realize my deepest secret: she is my sister.
(I feel I could build on this . . .but to what end?) Putting myself in that other mind has all but exhausted me for now).
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Good and Powerful Writing . . .
I've been tagged by Beth at The Wicked Flower Girl Thinks Out Loud, for this meme. Here are the rules:
*Link back to the person who tagged you.
*List three things that you believe are necessary to make writing good and powerful.
*Tag five others and comment at their blog informing them that they’ve been tagged with this meme
So, three things that make writing good and powerful.....
1. An Erudite Vocabulary: If you don't know what that means, you don't have one. So, look here to find out what it is. Reading can help you find one.
2. Genuineness. Be yourself. If you are trying to "sound like" a certain kind of person, readers will see right through you. Be genuine and readership will naturally follow because your audience will be engaged.
3. Guts. Take the risk to say what is on your mind and not sugar coat it. There's not a lot of fun reading what people expect people to say - reach down deep and tell 'em how you really feel!
I tag:
Kristin at Xanga's Marketer319
Amy at GrammarSnob
My favorite "rookie"
Mrs. Chilli at A Teacher's Education
and of course . . . memeaholic
*Link back to the person who tagged you.
*List three things that you believe are necessary to make writing good and powerful.
*Tag five others and comment at their blog informing them that they’ve been tagged with this meme
So, three things that make writing good and powerful.....
1. An Erudite Vocabulary: If you don't know what that means, you don't have one. So, look here to find out what it is. Reading can help you find one.
2. Genuineness. Be yourself. If you are trying to "sound like" a certain kind of person, readers will see right through you. Be genuine and readership will naturally follow because your audience will be engaged.
3. Guts. Take the risk to say what is on your mind and not sugar coat it. There's not a lot of fun reading what people expect people to say - reach down deep and tell 'em how you really feel!
I tag:
Kristin at Xanga's Marketer319
Amy at GrammarSnob
My favorite "rookie"
Mrs. Chilli at A Teacher's Education
and of course . . . memeaholic
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