*disclaimer to all my works here, especially the writing prompts – they are unedited first drafts. Always, except for the parts I edit along the way (a thing I have to stop doing), like word changes, spell corrections & little things like that.
This piece is going in the book. It will most likely be edited a few times before it goes in, but whatever tips can be offered, I’d appreciate them. Constructive criticism is good. Continue reading
Stay tuned for conversation blurbs after this brief passage. *wink, wink I am still overthinking the title of this story. While I really was feeling “The Blackest Golden Birthday” I am pretty certain it wouldn’t fly with first glance people. The people who glance at a title of a book & want to read it instantly. Nor would it fly with many others, just because. So, I am seeking synonyms or a different title altogether. Continue reading
I was totally going to take this to a fictional level. I was going to write about a curse on the blog or a monster would get you if you read it. But just now, I was thinking the reality is – you shouldn’t read my blog because then you’d be admitting, in a small way, that you care.
If you read my blog, maybe that means I mean something to you. Maybe it means you’re nosy and want to have a peek into my life so you can compare the bad in mine to the good in yours, or vice versa. If you read, maybe you’ll read something interesting that might take up some time in your day. All our time is valuable to us, why should you waste yours on me?
If you read, you might have to care if I succeed or fail in the writing of my book. You might have to care whether or not the writing is good or bad, maybe take a second and tell me I suck or that the writing is really good. Maybe you’ll read and take something away from a passage, a lesson or a feeling.
You shouldn’t read my blog because if you do, I will know and think that you care what I have to say. You shouldn’t read it because I might think you are in my life for a reason and want to know more about me. You shouldn’t read this blog because facebook has most of me and my life on it and that’s much easier to access. It’s much easier to glance at memes or photos and click a like or love or wow or sad or angry, than read. You shouldn’t read this blog because it really doesn’t have a lot to say, but maybe it says it all. Don’t read this blog because if you do, I know someone cares at least a little bit.
Guilt has me a bit. While I have been busy, I could have taken some time to write, but by the end of each of the last 5 days I was too tired. Right now, I’m writing this because I had this shit in my head before I went to bed and it won’t let me sleep. I wish I could say that I’ve been penning the book, that I had a few chapters written, but that isn’t the case. Continue reading
To bespeak of me would be to call me Naunet. I only have learned the Earth languages in the past 2 light years of my travels. This report will be told in the one called English. The planet I am arriving from is aquatic. Not most aquatic, all aquatic. Our planet would be called, in English, Taura ( Ta-oo-ra). We are a water people. We communicate in a way that humans do not, or cannot. What a human calls a brain, we call tefnut. Our tefnut allows nonverbal communication, or what a human might call telepath. If I encounter a human, the communication for me will be most difficult. I’ve never used my rillette to verbally communicate. I intend on remaining stealthy to avoid such a possibility. Henceforth will be my discovery. Continue reading
So, this was simply supposed to be a recipe. Any recipe. I saw “doom” without seeing the humor in it and thought, hmmm, I can maybe write a recipe of doom. Like murderous recipe. After thinking on it, I really am running short on ideas. Also, I’d hate for my blog to get flagged and have anyone in my life ever turn up dead and be looked at suspiciously.
I am going to share a recipe for Kugelis. This Lithuanian dish is one that my mom grew up with, learned how to make and passed the recipe on to me. My grandmother was Lithuanian and she made the best kugelis I’ve ever had, though my mom’s is up there, too. I was told not long ago by my cousin Michael that my kugelis tasted just like Grandma’s. That made me happy. Continue reading
I am never good at these top 10 lists because I’m uber indecisive. I like too many things, too much to make a list of my favorites. This might not be too difficult if I can remember enough things that make us giggle. I’ll probably ask her for help with this one. & Thanks to my awesome friend Caralie for giving me this gift of an idea. Even tho it’s true, I usually forget what it was that made us start laughing in the first place.
10. “Itsy Bitsy Spider” our version
9. Look up… “Waaat?” Not like that.
8. Funny faces
6. Ruby’s affection for her raccoon
5. Dad’s special vocabulary
4. Dad dancing
3. Maia asking me if I want to see something cool and she shows me something…oh so NOT cool, like wiggling her fingers at me.
2. “You smell like butt.” or “You smell like onions.” An inside joke between us.
1. Chunky chocolate tears. Or chunky chocolatiers, whichever feels funnier at the time.
Tangerine merging into golden hues was the sunrise mirrored off the calm lake. The smallest of bubbles lifted at the surface and emerged from that was a tiny little nymph. The dun sat atop the water, awaiting its next transformation. It is vulnerable here, fish might see it as a meal, albeit a small one. The cute little colorless winged creature shimmies across the surface to hide in the banks behind and upon stalks of cattails and lush water grass.
The imago reveals itself as it takes flight to land on the tall greenery. It is now a more colorful version of itself. Several hours have passed and the noonday sun warms the shallow waters.
I shall sit and become…. might be the thoughts of this magnificent insect. Whiling the hours, with nothing really to do but wait for another revision of itself, a final becoming. Other creatures skitter across the glinting sheet of lovely drink, oblivious to this little fly awaiting the only thing he lives for. The calm waters produce the mouths of hungry fish, in search of sustenance.
A breeze ripples the reflective blue of the sky. Dusk is upon us, now. Only the final stage remains. It is becoming. The mayfly flutters high then swarms with the many others. The females dive into the fray and copulate, only to drop and imminently dip into the water to attach their eggs. Most often, they succumb to the currents or as a meal. This one, well, he flies away to perch himself on the greenery. Not long now and he will meet his end. A day in the life is the entire life of the mayfly.