We bought a new car. It wasn’t slated into our immediate financial plan, but when awarded squat for my husband’s mashed up write-off and a whopping $5000 repair estimate for our 11 year old van (lovingly known as the Silver Bucket) we were left with little choice.
Despite the sharp snap of our purse strings, I’m thankful for this new vehicle. It makes me feel safe and relaxed. When I’m driving…
Exciting news, folks. I hope you have your seat belts fastened, because not only is this the first time I’ve typed and posted a blog from my phone, but I’ve also decided to take you with me.
You are now on an all expenses paid trip to Dublin and the United Kingdom.
You get to sit here at Gate D65 and keep me company for the next hour, which is nice because I’m not used to traveling alone.
The Band-Aids are blue. Four that I can see. One masking each little knee poking from below her skirt’s hem and one on each elbow, like patches covering holes on an old man’s cardigan. The rest are hidden, but I know they’re there. They’re always there.
Back one night as she lay on her firm cot, she whispered into the lamp’s soft glow; “They can change, you know. When I’m happy, they turn…
I entered a contest a while back. I didn’t win. Or even place this time. Which stings. But it’s okay. It’s okay, because I always pay extra to receive a serving of critique alongside my disappointment. And sometimes. When I’m lucky. It ends up making my disappointment taste like dessert.
Yes, there were words like, uneven and cliche (ouch) but the words that really stood out for me were…wonde…
A spoonful of potato hits the plate with a wallop and a little spec of mash lands on the hand holding it. Instead of shuffling on like most, he pauses, making eye contact. I steel myself, waiting for a curse word or a dirty look but all I see is empathy.
It’s the last place I want to be and if I hadn’t already committed, I’d be home, covers over my head.
When I think of someone I haven’t seen for a long time. Or someone I will never see again. I see their hands. My mind pictures the shape of their nails. The length of their fingers. Slender. Wide. Rounded or squared. The curve of their wrist. The gestures they made.
Unique. Personal.
But they change. Our hands.
Fingers bend with an arthritic curve. Skin tells of our days…
I say this with a sigh, so you get a feel for where I’m at. Oh, I may try and pass it off as Hazy, but no. There’s no doubt in my mind I’m certifiably nuts.
And sometimes I forget to tap into that. To use it to my advantage.
Because it works for people like me. People with a creative inkling. So does a little shot of something strong and throat-blazing first thing in the morning,…
I tend to write dark stuff. Most of my stories are either dark fantasy or horror, and many of them don’t end well for at least some of the cast. This once prompted Nimue to comment that all my stories seem sad.
In truth, I try to weave a fair amount of humor into my stuff, and the more I write, the less consistently tragic my stories have become. Still, if you write horror, you’re going to…
dexraven
I tend to write dark stuff. Most of my stories are either dark fantasy or horror, and many of them don’t end well for at least some of the cast. This once prompted Nimue to comment that all my stories seem sad.
