upcoming video...

I will be reading this book which is on my summer reading list... and then reviewing on through a video. The video will be published on here...and I will take any questions on the book... if you'd like... The book isn't that long so I should be through reading it in 2 weeks or so. I am also reading the Game of Thrones.

Just wanted to let you know to expect something!!

back again

I know its been awhile. Things have been rather crazy. Actually I just haven't had the time to work on this site. I have many ideas for its new direction and I was thinking of personalizing it a bit more by uploading videos. I am thinking about doing book reviews and then uploading them on here. My book has stalled somewhat because I feel that I need to do more research about my topic and read some of the same genre literature. I love summer because I can read at the beach...without interruption. I may be reviewing canonical texts and your every day non-classical texts. I will try not to put any spoilers in there, but that may be difficult. If you have any requests for books let me know. I will add them to my list. I would also love to have discussions about books or even a cyber book club- where we all read the same book and then discuss via a website/chat room...etc. I need more followers for that.. lol. Vamos a ver.

Pingy

Pingy

sneak peak of another short story that came to me

Much like pregnancy, marriage, and death it all started with an accident. Often I look back and wonder if there was anything I could do to change what happened, to change the things I have done, to change what I have become. There are times I feel as though I am being split into two different people. I cannot make sense of it, nor can I trace some step in my past which led to this path. After the first accident, my dreams became infested, dark, brooding. There were countless times I woke up scared to go back to sleep. Scared of what I would see. I would be cold to the touch, but would need a sip of cool water in order to go back to sleep. I always forced myself back to sleep no mater how scared I was because being awake in the dead, still night could be just as scary as my dreams. Of course I was younger then, but I can still remember seeing things in the shadows, watching me. I pinched myself to ascertain whether or not I was sleeping. I always felt the pinch. As more accidents happened, more shadows visited me. Attempted to make contact. I wanted nothing to do with them. It is my belief that they wanted me to do their bidding, but I have no master, I am my own master.

Batso III

Samuel was on the other side of the village. He had never arrived at their secret spot. He was sure Hannah was furious. He let her down twice. First by not showing up and second by not telling Martha. When Martha came to call on him at work she invited him to supper. Although he had agreed to this his intentions were marred. He had hoped he could stop by Hannah's to tell her they would meet later on his way to Martha's. But to his utter surprise Martha was there at the end of the day waiting for him. As they walked to her house he never quite found the right time or the right words. This was to say the least a delicate matter. Instead Martha found them,
"I have begun to think of our marriage. I believe my parents have invited you to dinner to discuss a date."

"So you are ready to marry then?"
"Wherefore would I not be ready? I do not understand."
"I do not know what I meant...."
"You are a good, humble man. Any woman would be fortunate to marry you."
"Yes, maybe."
"Is something wrong?"
"Allow me to be frank. Have you ever cared for anyone?"
"What is your meaning?"
"Another man. Have you had feelings for another man?"
"I am not sure this conversation is entirely proper, Samuel."
"Perhaps not, Martha." They continued to walk in silence.

Once at Martha's her parents obliged him to stay for dinner. How could he refuse? What he did do is this: he informed Martha that since she will be working on the farm they may not see each other. He would also be busy. To which Martha asked, "Could we at least walk home together from church?"
Samuel replied, "Hopefully." He explained that there was much to be done due to their impending wedding. He would have to help his parents ready the house in case they moved in with them for a period of time, which is most likely probable. Secretly, Samuel hoped the distance would allow him time- time to find the right words and time to allow the empty space between him and Martha to grow so she would not be so hurt. During this time he hoped to see Hannah. Often he thought of eloping with her, but he did not know where they would elope to. Or he could pay someone to marry them. It did not matter how, she would be his and that is all that would matter.

On his way home, he passed by their spot. Hannah was not there. He went out of his way to pass her house. Her light was not on so he went home empty hearted. Early he woke to again pass by her house before work, but she was not there. On Sunday he finally saw her. She was wearing a green dress he had never seen before on her. He believed she never looked so beautiful. She could have been an angel sent down from God. After church he saw her talking with Richard and an intense feeling held him captive. It was something he had never quite felt before- something akin to anger, but also to sadness. He stood by as Richard whispered something in her ear, which made Hannah smile. Her smile is mine, he thought. Just then Martha interrupted his spectating.
"Good day Samuel."
"Martha."
"Shall we..."
"Shall we what?"
"Walk home now?"
"May as well."
"You seem troubled Samuel."
"I am not feeling quite well."
"What is it? Shall I fetch the doctor?"
"No, no. Nothing a doctor can fix."
"I see. I do not understand."
"It is better you do not." As they walked together, the wind filled the emptiness that fell before them.

Richard walked Hannah home. She had witnessed Samuel and Martha leave together, but she was used to seeing them do so by now. She had hoped for a chance to apologize to Samuel, but the moment never presented itself. Therefore, when Richard asked to escort her home she could find no reason to say no. Richard was not Samuel, but he would do.

"I love your dress. Is it new?"
"Yes, I designed it myself."
"Quite impressive. The dress compliments your beauty. You are very beautiful, Hannah."
"Richard, thank you."
"You know I was very happy you came into the store the other day. I did not have the courage to tell you how I have always felt about you."
"What do you  mean?"
"I have watched you grow up down the street from me. Watched you in school. And here I stand with quite possibly the most beautiful woman in all of Batso."
"Richard, I do not know what to say."
"Do not say anything at all. Maybe I will see more you. I would like to see more of you."
"Yes, well then you shall."
"Enjoy the rest of your day. I know mine will not be any better than this time I have spent with you today."
They parted, but Hannah felt slightly changed. She was sure Richard meant he was courting her now.

Samuel could not stop thinking of Hannah and Richard. He finally decided to go see her. On the way, he saw Emily, Hannah's dearest friend.
"Emily!"
"Samuel."
"Could you do a small favor for me?"
"Certainly."
"Could you go to Hannah's and see if her parents are home. I borrowed a tool from her father and have neglected to return it. He is quite mad and I would rather give it to Hannah. I will wait here for you to return."
Shortly thereafter, Emily reappeared and informed Samuel that Hannah was home alone. He thanked her and continued walking to Hannah's. He came upon her back door. He knocked, once, twice. Hannah opened the door just as his hand was clenched to knock again.
"Samuel." Her attempt to conceal her happiness revealed itself through a half smile which escaped her lips.
"You are alone?"
"Yes." Hannah blushed.
"Good. How long until they return?"
"A while. They are supping at my uncle's this evening."
As he made his way inside and stepped past Hannah, he managed to inhale some of her scent. Her hair was down, slightly  in her eyes all of which invoked a feeling he felt all too often before- a feeling he was not sure of since he had only ever felt it for Hannah.
"I am so sorry Samuel."
"For what? It is me who is sorry. I should be apologizing. I am sorry, my love." He gathered her in his arms, pressed her head upon his chest.
"But I overslept and di not come to our meeting place until an hour and a half past the time."
"Is that so? I was at Martha's. She came to see me at work and I offered to walk her home. Upon arriving her parents asked me to stay for dinner and I could not refuse."
"So neither of us went to our spot at the appointed time?" Hannah allowed a giggle to escape her mouth.
"No I suppose not."
"I was so worried you were angry."
"As was I, then I saw you with Richard."
"Oh, yes I believe he..."
"He what?"
"Desires me. He asked for permission to court me soon. He told me so himself."
"And what did you do?"
"What choice did I have? I can tell him I need time, but I am not sure how long that will last."
"I will tell Martha before this week si out. You have my word." He then kissed Hannah, put his fingers through her hair. She instinctively put her hand upon his back, leaned up with her body braced against his. When they finally pulled away he whispered, "How long do we have?"
"Enough time." She lead him upstairs to her room and closed the door behind them.

Their bodies lay entwined- bare skin upon bare skin. Sounds in the house beneath them roused Hannah and Samuel from their peaceful slumber.
"They are home."
"What should we do?"
"I will tell them I do not feel well and am in bed early. They will not disturb me. When they have gone to bed I will take you downstairs and lead you out."
As Hannah put on her night gown Samuel watched as if bewitched. Even now, even after he had felt her- all of her, his body still ached for hers.
"Should you dress?" she whispered.
"I will. Go." Hannah left the room leaving Samuel alone with his thoughts.

When she returned Samuel was not in bed although his clothes were still laying on the floor.
"Samuel?"
He came from behind the door. She jumped, attempted to scream, but he gently placed his hand over her mouth. She felt his longing for her upon her leg. Impulsively, he lifted her night gown and took what had been his, what would always be his. As they lay in bed, she listened to his heart beat. Counted the beats, followed the rhythm. This must be love. She heard the door t her parents room open and close.

"Now may be the time. I will check." She quickly surveyed the house. All candles had been put out. Now was in fact the time. She quickly returned to her room. "Get dressed. We must hurry."
Samuel obeyed; dressed and washed up with the basin. Hannah lead him down the stairs and unlocked the back door.
"I love you. Marry me tomorrow."
"If only. I love you too."
"For me, nothing else can bring us any closer. We are married. Tonight was our wedding night."
"Please then make it official."
"I will, my love."
They kissed and parted. When morning came, their parents had to rouse them. Both slept so soundly, so deep within their dreams.

some trials and tribulations of working on a novel

Things happen. Things that are rather unforeseen. One such thing happened to me. So I have had this lapse in time from writing as I have said. Little by little I have begun working on the Batso story- and of course I realize I could have started it out differently so that the ending would be as I like to call "full circle." But that is the nature of the beast- that we realize how to make things better by trial and error, and by thinking about it. Or as the story comes together- binds itself tighter... begins to take form, shape- This also happened with me about the novel. I had the dream like I said and have been desperate in my attempts to recapture it. Yet, nothing has really come to mind. I was subbing today and an idea struck me this thin, bit of a memory from the dream. And suddenly I saw the main character- lying on a makeshift bed- about to give birth. I saw her features. Saw pieces of her life. And I began to write. So now this beast has taken me on a trip- and I am not sure how or if the two pieces will be able to come together. The other piece I am referring to is the parts that I wrote on this blog stating it was part of the novel. I think it can be done- glued together, but it needs to be done with precision and accuracy. Not to mention style. I think I may hold off on writing stuff on here until the finished product is complete. Then I will post things in  parts- as I have been doing. I say this because I hate finishing something and realizing its missing an ingredient. The best way I can explain this is that when you're cooking a pie- and you realize you missed the sugar, well you know the pie is gonna suck. And that's how I feel about my work even on here. Albeit I don't always proof read thoroughly but its not the same. The proof reading is the whip cream on the pie...the final touches... unless its horrible it doesn't take away from the meat of the story. So tonight I will try  to type the rest of the story for Batso- make corrections to the beginning of it...

Oh and while day dreaming I had another story idea... it will also take place in the early 1900s in a village similar to Batso. I will post that today too... I am very excited about it.

I was thinking in conjuction of discussing my work on here- I would also like to share what I am reading and post reviews of it. Everything I read affects me- either personally and/or my work as well. I love reading a good piece of literature that can touch my heart- but also makes me envy the prose. I suppose that's of the many reasons I want to become a teacher... Anyway... I am currently reading Paint it Black by Janet Fitch. I love her style... highly recommend her. I should get to typing up the stories... ciao.

stories

I have been extremely busy between work, life, and well sleep. But I am working on finishing the Batso story, have a new idea for another batso story.... and had an incredible idea for the book but i never wrote it down so its vanished into the recesses of my mind. Goodness knows if it will ever come back to me. C'est le vie. Anyway, by the end of this week I hope to have Batso complete!

xox
J

continues

I ran and ran until I couldn’t feel my legs. At first my mind was blank. I ran through the woods as to not draw attention to myself. So I ran to my best friend’s house. It was dark, the blinds were drawn and I heard no noise from her three dogs. I went in through the side door, which was never locked. 


“Anyone home?”
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me. It’s Jet.”
“Ohmyfucking God. You’re alive. Jesus.” She came out of the shadows in such a way, it was as if she was part of the shadows,. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Don’t get all emotional on me. Not now. My parents are dead.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. I couldn’t stay there. Nothing to stay there for.” 
“I haven’t even heard from my parents. They went out to dinner when it hit. Haven’t seen or heard from them since. Wish we had messenger birds.” 
They shared a glance, only two friends can understand. 
“A few people have stopped by. I let them stay here. We need to stand together.”
“People like who?”
“Neighbors, childhood friends, friends of friends.”
Her house was far enough from the main road that many would not even know it was there. We were fortunate to grow up in the boonies. You know, so deep in the woods you could see deer walking around your front lawn. It was only natural that the kids of the boonies would stick together. There were about eight of us who went to the same schools from kindergarten until we graduated high school. I hadn’t seen some of them since then actually. 
“Most of them are asleep or just…well then are shocked. Who the fuck isn’t? My husband still hasn’t come home either. You can have the second bedroom. I haven’t put anyone in there just in case my parents showed up.”
“Thanks, love.” 
“Did you even bring any clothes or anything? Food?”
“I can always go back for food. I didn’t… I mean. She died- just collapsed. I couldn’t think straight. I just ran out of the house and kept on running. It took me here.”
“I understand. Maybe tonight around dusk we could go back for food. I have some in reserves down in the basement, but before any ransacking happens I’d rather be fully stocked.” 
“Shit, what else is there to do? I’m game. Nothing like an adventure while the world dies.”
“Always the pessimist.” 
“I prefer realist, but the name is nothing more than that. I’m gonna crash. I haven’t slept for…ages.”
“Alright, I’ll wake you up.” 


Emily actually lived in the house her parents used to live in. But she got married and her parents gave her the house as a wedding present. They wanted something smaller. Her mother was handicapped and needed a smaller, easy functioning house. So I was actually sleeping in her parent’s old bedroom. Emily didn’t want to live in there- she said it creeped her out so she enlarged her old bedroom and that became the new master bedroom. I didn’t mind sleeping in here though. Her parents didn’t even really like each other. So after the first few years of marriage they stopped sleeping in the bedroom altogether. It was weird actually, thinking about it now. Any time I came over if they weren’t in the kitchen they were in this room they made into a second small living room. It had a computer, tv and two couches. While thinking of them, I fell asleep. 

Working on such a feat

I did say that I would discuss how I am doing with the development of my "novel." So I may as well do just that. I had what I believed to be a great, original idea. I was so excited about it and was really looking forward to developing the characters, plot, and was so optimistic. In conjunction with this idea I also felt great to have a such a great friend whom I will refer to as East (she may want anonymity)  **CHECK OUT HER BLOG http://lordofthemarbles.blogspot.com/  ** who encouraged me to write. I would bore her with more discussion of my idea- and brainstorm over lunch breaks. Until the day that someone crushed me. Apparently my idea was not so original after all. This just threw a brick in my window. I had already chosen a beautiful piece of island that I was going to purchase- and a house I created in Sims- that I would really build (it had a corridor connecting my house to my parents house). I saw all this vanish. Suddenly my muse left me- and I began to work on the Batso story. In the back of my head I tried to rework my idea- and one night this week I just began to write. I don't know where it will take me- how far I will stray from my original idea or how it will end. I will just go with the flow and hope for the best. Please just keep in mind that I write when the feeling strikes me and I do not proof read as I write. There may be many mistakes with words- or grammar. I can always edit that later and hope to do so. Sometimes I am just so eager to put stuff on here. Anyhoo- that's all I have right now. My hand hurts.... lol

more for the book possibly continuing the intro

In my delusional mind, I thought I had passed something on to my mother. I began to beg for God’s forgiveness and to spare the woman, who surely did not deserve such a fate. I on the other hand carry mistakes and regrets; I carry so much baggage that I exceed the carry on limit for it simply cannot fit into the over head compartment. So I should be the one to die. All of this ate at my brain. It consumed my thoughts like acid, borrowing deep down into my core. At my worst moments, I could not go five minutes without thinking I was dying and feeling guilty for passing on this sickness to my mother. I even invented a futile attempt to free my thinking; I attached a paperclip to a rubber band and put it around my wrist. Every time I had a thought about this I would pull the paperclip back and snap it so it would forcefully hit my wrist. The first day was awful my wrist was red and raw, but I think it helped alleviate my mind for awhile. That is, until the day I saw another red dot on a coworker and then another coworker. It was spreading like a wicked cold, but managed to be unseen, unnoticed by the common man. I however, kept a constant count of how many I had on my body. I deleted those I have successfully removed. Today, I have 13. 
When I discovered the first few coworkers with these strange red dots, I really began to worry. My dreams no longer made sense; nightmare would be a pleasant idea for the dreams I had were filled with pain, grief, anger, confusion, and death, lots of death. Every new person I came in contact with who was inflicted made things worse. Afraid of the nightmares, I refused to sleep. Actually refuse implies that I had a choice- but I assure you, I never had a choice in the matter. I suffered from insomnia. Day after day, night after night, I would lay in bed eyes wide open listening to the sounds outside, listening to the sounds inside the house, listening for what I do not know- By the wee hours of the morning I would finally drift off into a sleep state that had no room for dreams. My mind and body must have been so fatigued that I simply could not dream. I say this because this was the only time I did not dream or the only time I did not remember my dreams. So in a way I cherished this sleep- a piece of solace. Yet, I always woke up lethargic. 
It was not until some time later that I finally received my answer to these mysterious dots. However, by that time it was much too late for so many people. People who I referred to as friends, as family, as lovers. In my opinion there were two waves. The first- unknown by us, unseen by us, unfelt by us carried a heavy charge. Many of the elderly, the sick, the young died within one to three days. As the number of sick grew during the first day or so, the government ordered a country wide emergency- the fist ever in our history, which stated that all citizens must stay in their homes and were not permitted to leave for any reason whatsoever. Anyone found outside their homes would be taken into custody and quarantined. Much to my dismay, I felt like I was in a movie- waiting for the blasted aliens to show up. And much like a movie anyone with symptoms had to put a white sheet on their front door, anyone who had a death at their home had to put a black sheet on their front door. Around the clock, trucks came to haul away the dead, and dispose of the bodies (I assume the latter). Trucks also came to haul away the sick. It had escaped the government’s prodigious plan about the necessity of food. So upon the second day, they ordered any family in need of such a thing to put any other color sheet on their front door provided it was not one of the aforementioned. Rations would then be provided. 
Ten days later, the ban was lifted. There had not been any new cases or deaths for the last 48 hours and it was thought therefore, that the infection had passed. My parents and I were lucky. We did not die. A month went by before the second wave hit. This was by far, the worse of the two waves because those of us still living dealt assumed we had made it, we were the survivors. The ones fate had allowed to live, allowed to carry the burden of such a heinous act. We dealt with the loss of losing so many loved ones, of wondering why we had been allowed to live, dealt with the question of God. Perhaps, if I had not been so consumed with the aftermath I would have seen it coming. Seriously. I would have synthesized the information. Referred to my previous data, Extrapolated. Formed a hypothesis- a working theory. I foolishly passed up the offer a year earlier to work at the CDC. Had I taken the job I would have been involved in it all. The data which I overlooked was this:  the dead had huge red blotches all over their deformed bodies. Link this to the dots I began to see on people. Our small red dots never went away, but became a deeper shade of red afterwards. New ones still appeared, so I should have realized the two were related somehow. This time, my father died the first day of the second wave. I pulled up his shirt and saw the tiny red dots were still tiny, but had multiplied- and formed clusters. My mother locked him in their bedroom and would not stop crying. I could not even bring myself to touch her. She died two days later in the same manner. What choice did I have but to run? 

Batso Short Story Part II

The next day Hannah woke early. She began her daily housekeeping chores and even had time to make breakfast for the family. Morning chores must be finished by 6 am, which is the time the work day in Batso village begins. The summer was attempting to stifle the last remnants of spring. Hannah opened all the windows to let the fresh air cleanse the house. She had to feel the wind upon her skin; she wanted to ascertain that she was not still dreaming. 


Momma awoke feeling her age. Her husband was already eating. 


“Sir, I hope you rested well?”
“Well enough. Thank you. And you?”
“Fine, quite fine. Hannah are you feeling alright?”
“Yes, momma, why would you ask such a thing?”
“Well, rarely are you up before your father and I. To what do we owe such an honor?”
“I slept exceptionally well.”
“I’ll say.”
“Momma do you still have that green fabric from Aunt Anna?”
“Yes, wherefore?”
“I wanted to make a new dress. I think I would like to wear a pretty dress.”
“Your dresses are usually always very pretty, dear.”
“Perhaps, but I would like to have a fashionable dress.”
“Hannah, fashion is a luxury we cannot afford to have. You know this.”
“Yes, but Momma-”
“Pray on it. I will too. God will tell me if you are worthy. I will wait to hear his answer.”


Hannah left the room with haste. She wanted to write Samuel a letter. this time she would be the one to ask for a clandestine meeting. Hannah sat on her bed and began to write:


Dearest Samuel,
My heart has not stopped beating so fast. I dare say, I may have not slept at all last night yet I do not feel at all tired. It is the strangest feeling to be so happy. With each new passing day, is a day closer to when we can be together. I wrote this not only to state the aforementioned but to also ask you to meet me tonight. Come earlier than yesterday, for I have a surprise for you. I will be counting down the hours until we meet. 
With all my heart,
Hannah


She sealed the letter and left the house in search of him.
She managed to find him just as he was departing for the day. 
“Samuel!” 
“Hannah?”
She quickly approached him and lowered her voice, “I have something for you. Good morning.”
“Good morning. You look beautiful on this day.”
“Thank you.” She carefully slipped the letter into his pocket without anyone noticing.
“Momma needs me back to the house. She has been summoned to the Big House so I help around the house today.”
“Very well. I must be off cannot be late.” 
“Yes. I’ll think of you,” she whispered.
Samuel smiled and they both went their separate ways. 


Samuel worked at the saw mill. He would have to wait until lunch to read her letter. The moments in between were like torture to him. In order to lessen the pain he would dream of her- of their life together. He truly felt blessed. Last night he fell asleep thinking she were lying beside him. Her warm body keeping him warm. Often while at work he thought of her milky white skin- perfect from any imperfections and of her red curly hair. Few have seen it down, few have played with it, and even fewer have smelled it as he has done. All this he knew and it was this knowledge that made him walk around with a smile on his face throughout the day. He knew many of the men spoke of Hannah, pined after her, but she made it impossible for any man to get close enough to her. 


When the lunch bell finally rang, Samuel ate alone. He quickly opened the letter. He could still smell her scent on the page. He read the letter several times, studied the flow of her hand. Without question he would go. Today was the day. First he would visit Martha to announce the breaking of their engagement. Then he would meet Hannah and ask to be his wife. He would wait a month before asking her father for her hand out of respect for Martha. He folded and folded the letter and stashed it away in his pocket. His thoughts were consumed by what must be done. 


Hannah had finished most of her chores. Since she had the house to herself she gathered the money she had been saving and went to the general store. She planned on having a picnic for her and Samuel. She assumed today was a special day and therefore tonight should be filled with celebratory bliss.


She very nearly skipped to the store. Upon arriving she noticed the head clerk was not there, but his associate, Richard, was behind the counter. 
“Hannah what a pleasure to see you on this fine day.”
“Yes, thank you.  I am out to get a few small things. I am celebrating.”
“Oh really? Pray. Tell me what is the occasion?”
“Today is…” Hannah blushed, “Is the date my brother would be 15.”
“Oh…I didn’t know. You have my deepest condolences.” 
“Everything happens because the Lord will’s it. It is his doing. Often we cannot make sense of his actions. My family chooses to remember the good and not dwell on the bad. But I beg of you. Please do not discuss any of this to any one. My family is very private. I do not know why I have revealed this much to you.”
“As you wish.” Richard could not help but think Hannah’s confession was a sign. “what will it be today for the celebratory feast?”
“Butter, smallest portion, cheese, bread and two sweet buns.”

“No, sir. But we have some left over from last week. It will suffice. I only have so much money to use for today’s luxuries.”
“Hannah, the head clerk is out sick today. Let me give you some thing special. Milk and tea perhaps? More sweet buns?”
“Richard I could not take your charity.” 
“Please, if you feel it is unwarranted allow me to call upon you after church this Sunday. Allow me that honor.”
Hannah stood still.
“It is a small price to pay for a few things.” 
“If you insist. I will inform my parents and perhaps you can stay for dinner.”
“Yes, I would like that very  much.”
“Please do not mention today or this to my parents. They do not like to be reminded nor would they approve of your generous charity.”
“As you wish.”


On her way home, Hannah spied Martha heading her way. Poor, unfortunate Martha. Should I say anything?
“Good day, Hannah.”
“Martha all is well with you and your family?”
“Yes. Although my father has pain in his hands and the doctor has insisted he take a short break from the farm. I will be his replacement. I have come to tell Samuel of the news.”
“I see. How unfortunate. I wish you and your family the best.”
“Thank you.”
Hannah was suddenly struck by a feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was pity. 
“Do you even love him?” 
Martha was just out of ear shot. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nevermind.” Hannah hastily walked home and once there was somewhat tired. She decided to take an hour nap, which quickly became a two hour nap. As soon as her eyes began to open, she noticed the setting sun. She was late for her meeting with Samuel! She quickly rose and gathered her food by wrapping it in her coat. She attempted to bypass her parents and walk out the back door, but her mother called to her, “Hannah, where are you going?”
“To meet Emily. I am not hungry, Momma. I shall not be long.” She did not even wait for a response from her mother, as she spoke she walked out the door. Once away from the houses her quick stride transformed into a run. Upon approaching the spot she saw no visible signs of Samuel. Her eyes scanned every inch of the area, but it was obvious that he was not there. Hannah waited nearly an hour until her head informed her heart, she was too late. Reluctantly, she walked home with a heavy heart and tired eyes. 

Possible intro

Just got to writing... this is where it took me:



Suddenly I began to see them, see them on everyone. At first, it was just me. My boyfriend thought I was crazy. He would say, “Stop it! Stop looking! It’s all in your head!” I began to doubt myself. Until I noticed another, and then another. I began to cut them out of my skin, one by one, millimeter by millimeter. They were never very big, about the size of a pencil point, some even half that size, but they were there. I tell you that much. I started to count them. Started to log them. I kept cutting, researched these spots, but no computer can diagnose a person, believe it or not. I began to think I was dying. I spent hours staring at my body, examining it, collecting data, and analyzing. Furtively, I would search his face every available moment. More collecting, more logging, more memorizing. 


And even more suddenly, I observed a single, solitary red spot on my mother’s arm. 

Other Selected Poems

**I do preface this by saying that some of the following poetry may contain profanity. Please do not get offended but read with caution and at your own discretion. I did not change my settings to hide this profanity because it am not sure if I intend to use it throughout this blog. This may change. But consider this a warning for the following post. 






I'm torn. Ready to shatter. Sewed shut with scorn. 

Little girl, won't you tell me what's the matter? 


If I break, the pieces will scatter. Remnants of a failing heart. Shake me til I wake. 


You see, we all play a part. 

I need someone to abuse. Or something to call my own. I need someone to use. 

Now you feel all alone. 

I found a razorblade. Accompanied by a gaping hole in the wall. Sliently I prayed. 

You wonder why there was not a call? 

The simplicity of an act. I know it's what the devil fares, to keep ourselves intact. 

Somebody out there cares. 

All night I listened to the rain. What if I were to drown...in a sea of pain. 

I hate seeing you look so down. 

I fell into dark devotion. My need is deep. Wide as the ocean. 

You really must get to sleep. 


____________________________________________________________________

Who the fuck

Who the fuck do you think you are?

To come into my life like a damn tornado

tearing up trees, uprooting houses

ripping through the town

leaving books, letters, and dolls in its wake.

A little girl searches for her cat

while a little boy finds his beloved stuffed animal.

(Neither could sleep without them)

As I stand there looking at the glass and wood

that used to be my house,

I am reminded that hearts rip like paper

Selected "Love" Poems

waiting for a sign
in an icy room
where my breath turns white:
proof my heart still beats.

__________________________________________________________________________________

on a tiny piece of paper

i jot down your name

in pretty cursive...

with words i dare not say

to such a face.

ill hide it hoping you will find it

someday, somewhere-

these feelings can no longer stay

fighting not be forgotten and

withered away...

when you find that tiny piece of paper

you will think of me- 

even if only for a moment

you will be mine.

__________________________________________________________________________________

i remember vividly

walking you to the door complacent. 

a shallow kiss given as a feeble promise 

that hours cannot change the heart.

the words of goodbye are as thin as the air 

we breathe, which hits my skin like a burn

only hot metal can yield;

a deep, branded scar- 

sore and red as raw meat. 

I wanted to stand there until your

silhouette faded,

watching the distance between you and me

become far greater. 

You were here and you were not.

I closed my eyes and the door. 

bring me back from the dead

__________________________________________________________________________________

my need is deep

you promised so much, too much. too little too late.

you promised to keep me safe

from this ever rising tide

you promised i wouldn’t have to hide

i spoke to you secrets never spoken 

except to empty cinder blocks 

who will not betray

all that my words cannot say

its wartime and the rations are low

i would chase and follow

but im not sure where to go

say it....i need to hear....i need to need....

just as god needs the devil;

i need you.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Reciprocation. 

maybe there is a chance she was right.

accepting.

believing.

is all the same. 

and maybe, just maybe, 

you are the cure I’ve been looking for.

you'll see, you'll see. 

now it's not just me. 

as the paper burns down

disintegrates into all but ash

i trace the outline of your lips in my mind

pulling a memory off the shelf; 

smoke clouds suffocate the reverie

leaving your lips

lost in time forever.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Spill Into the Night

when all the tears have been shed

and all the words have been said,

these bruises will fade.

all that’s left to do is: invade.

take no prisoners, make no amends. 

swiftly the war ends. 

feelings were slaughtered; blood spread like a disease,

beg for mercy, beg for retribution, beg to be put at ease.

broken bones can be mended,

i will lie to you, tell you this was nothing i intended.

to fall so deep into you. 

i close my eyes...and imagine you are here. 

given the chance....i would have....

fluttering back and forth on the brink of...feeling.

feelings fill this tiny, fragile heart.

its nothing like our dreams...

but dreams are only utopian manifestations 

of the promised world...

tonight when i crawl into bed....

feeling my way through the cold, cotton sheets...

ill pretend you're lying there waiting for me...

with bodies entwined like tangled ivy growing upon a building...

we can finally sleep. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

and if we stood here all night

gazing over the still to the still waters 

i'd whisper a secret in the wind

praying you'll answer my wish

praying you'll hold my hand

because even here, now, 

when most slumber,

and only the mistakes lay awake,

i can only think of you.

__________________________________________________________________________________

I reached over

hand met cold cotton sheets

my heart searched the night for you

__________________________________________________________________________________

you pretend to be dead.

still, lifelike...almost like an entombed shell of a man. 

your eyes are like immobile beads of glass, 

always steadily watching, never wavering. 

expressionless face, tight jaw- your silence says it all.

you care.

im not alone. but you fail to see beyond that which remains visible:

its you i think of before i slumber,

its you i think of as i wake,

its you which consumes my dreams-

its you i long for in the middle of the night.

you cross into my mind, seep into my thoughts like acid...

melting its way to my core. 

oh god, how you leave me wanting more-

how i want you so. 

all of this maybe you will never know-

you see:

the time has come to surrender;

for you are not the only pretender. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

and now its time for you my dear:

you spoke

i listened

you laughed

i cried

told you i may

commit suicide

you coveted

i gave

you lost

i fell

couldn’t bear 

to say farewell

you grew easy

i grew heavy

left me feeling 

quite unsteady

you

i

(ties may be disarticulated; limbs recovered; promises severed; words shed)

you 

i

unsaid.

__________________________________________________________________________________

It's in the Eyes

fighting off sleep

stealing furtive glances

before they wither away

 

logging,

collecting,

the data 

of his face, 

his smile,

his lips,

the sound of his laugh,

the feeling of his hands

 

on mine

on my skin

 

ripping me open

like an old battle wound

painful

but beautiful 

all the while. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

Refuse. 

It’s time.

(I’ve paid enough for this crime.)

It’s long overdue. 

(What can I pursue?)

I’ve got nothing left to prove.

(I don’t have a single move)

Nothing left to lose.

(what is there for me to choose? )

I’ve already lost you  

And I won’t lose me too.

It’s as clear as the wind 

(We’ve both sinned.)

You care about me not.

I’m a fictional character

Living in a world of dreams

(Nothing is as it seems.)

And as I slumber,

I remember.

I saw all the wrong signs

Prayed for all the wrong things

(How my heart still clings.)

Maybe I saw what I wanted to see

Maybe I prayed to the wrong entity

Not sure if anything I did was right

(Will I be alright tonight?)

Except this.

It’s like breaking my heart all over again.

(I begged for you to explain.)

I really did some leg work

Didn’t I?

It’s time (I’ve paid enough for this crime).

It’s long overdue.

__________________________________________________________________________________

N[o] O[ne] W[ins]

how could anyone forget?

you're a solider.

and damn son, you play the part well.

every move you make,

is hard, calculated and measured.

you never falter,

never waver. 

for you, there is no past or future;

there is only now. 

for you, feeling is not first,

for you, life is a paragraph,

for you, death, you think, is a parenthesis. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

Save the flesh, leave the heart. 

How deep your words burn

Speak softly, just like the wind

Even now, I still yearn.

As we made love, I listened to the pounding of the rain.

I felt your heart beat as our hands entwined

I watched as you left, so this is what they call window pain. 

The more you pull, the tighter the chain

You speak in riddles, love me, love me not,

As we made love, I listened to the pounding of the rain.

I used to be able to feign,

Hide everything that was mine,

I watched as you left, so this is what they call window pain. 

All I wanted was for you to explain,

(Tell me why you don’t want me as I want you),

As we made love, I listened to the pounding of the rain.

You want me to refrain,

Hold back, stop loving you. 

I watched as you left, so this is what they call window pain.  

I can’t stop, my heart is forced to sustain,

Carry on until you bleed me dry,

As we made love, I listened to the pounding of the rain.

I watched as you left, so this is what they call window pain. 

Short Batso Story Part I

He asked me to meet him behind Bridge Street, behind the Allen’s house. Actually, he asked me to meet him by the rock pile behind the tree which spilt. I knew the place instantly. He had given me my first kiss there. Momma would never approve. His family had betrothed him to Martha Miller. I knew his heart was not with Martha, but it pained me to see him walk her home after church. When we were alone he would tell me that any time he was with Martha he pretended she was me, and that comforted him. Truth be told, I didn’t doubt him for an instant. Martha was dull and rather homely not to mention shy. I dare say she didn’t even speak when she was stung by a bee last year.

It was dusk. The sun was setting in a shade of orange that reminded me of the lake. In the shallow parts of the water, which  reminded me of my childhood, were a certain hue of orange, the same orange that basked the sky.   Through the woods I could see Samuel approaching. His brown hair was blowing slightly in the breeze. His smile pierced my soul.

“You came.”
“You act surprised.”
“Sometimes I feel like this is nothing more than a dream. For I will wake and won’t know what your lips taste like, what your hair smells like… your skin..”
“Please you are making me blush.”
“shall we walk?”
“You looked very pretty today when I saw you at the General Store.”
“Thank you.”
“Is that a new dress?”
“Yes, momma brought the fabric as a gift for me and I sewed it myself.”
“It brings out the green and gold bits in your eyes.”
Hannah blushed. They were now deep in the forest and at their other favorite spot. There were a few fallen logs which were very useful. They sat down now and Samuel, confident of their concealment, took Hannah’s hands.
“Oh how I wish I were marrying you. My life would truly be a blessing. If only I could wake up beside you each morning.”
“You talk so.”
“I talk of the truth. I love you, Hannah.”
“Samuel…I…you…I love you too.”
He leaned in and gave her a small, impetuous kiss.
“I am always thinking of you. I always hope to see you around the village. With each turn, I hope you will be around the corner. I daydream of the last kiss we have had, of the way your hair flows around your face, of the softness of your skin.”
“Samuel, maybe we shouldn’t meet anymore.” Hannah pulled her hands from his, and turned away. Instantly he was at her feet, “Please don’t ever say that. My life would have no meaning without you. You are…”
A single tear flowed down his cheek. “I need you. “
“Last we spoke you wanted me to have relations with you. That is something I cannot do. You must be pure before you bed with Martha. She deserves that a t least.”
“You are correct, but to me your are my wife in my heart and soul. I never wanted to marry Martha. Our parents betrothed us when we were quite young. What choice do I have?”
Hannah now began to tear up. She wanted nothing more than to be with Samuel for the rest of her days.
“Martha is the chosen wife, you are the one I choose.”
Hannah stayed motionless.
“I will never ask you to have relations for me again. Just don’t take away these few moments we have together. Please, I beg of you.”
“I love you Samuel. Do you know what I dream of? Each night? I dream of being your wife. Running your household, bearing your children. I have named them. I have dreamt of laying with you, what it would feel like- giving all I have to give, to you.”
“Oh Hannah. Maybe soon I could simply tell Martha of this. She must love another. She must have a heart. Surely she could understand that it would kill me to marry her. It would break my heart, my soul to give myself to her all the whilst I long for you. If I marry her, I would not stop thinking of you, and is that not a sin too?”
“Do you think she would really understand, Samuel?”
He leaned his head on her chest as she stroked his hair. The breeze shook the trees, their only audience.
“Yes, my love. I do.”
“If we were engaged, really engaged I would give myself to you.”
“I know.
Gently he kissed her, as the leaves danced for them, murmured them further into bliss, just as the sun could be seen no more.

Scars

Activity: "Finish the story. Start with: He had a scar."

He had a scar. It wasn't big, yet his hands always seemed to find it. Located at the base of his neck- the part between the shoulder and the neck, for most people went unnoticed. Those who did notice were usually a little too close for comfort. Or, they were providing the comfort. He didn't mind those comforts. Nothing compares to the sweet aroma of a woman, to the way her lips always shine, to the way her hair blows in the breeze. Often, when his wife denied him her pleasure, he would pay for it. Becky, as she called herself, reminded him of the one who got away; the one he thought of as he made love to his wife. He never called Becky by her name. Instead he referred to her as Cat- her auburn hair and green eyes combined with her feline movements established his fantasy world. She purred as he made love to her; he petted her gently- unless he visited while inebriated. Then Becky transformed into a cougar- He always left bruised and scratched which gave more credence to Becky's shape shifting abilities. It was on one such night, that he received the scar. As he held her down, her face shoved into the bed sheets, barely able to breathe, he thought for just a moment he saw his wife in the room watching them.
He shouted, "Don't give me that look. You with that look- always with that look. If I didn't restrain her she would eat me. Did you know that?"

Becky suddenly fearful, struggled beneath him.

"She is not human. I don't mind paying her because the world is cruel to the unknown. The world has not made piece with that which it cannot explain, darling. She is odd, but it gives me pleasure to know I am the only man capable of taming her...this beast." Forcefully he pressed her head deeper into the sheets, but in doing so he only had one hand in which to hold both of her wrists.

At that moment, Becky was able to release a hand. She turned around so that she was not laying on her back.

Unwillingly, he began to relinquish control.

"See. She is foaming at the mouth...She's not always like this. Don't be scared. I have her now."
He forced himself upon her- his full body weight now not allowing her to move at all. As she sunk her teeth into his flesh, he fell still. His body stiffened. Blood began to flow and she let go, shoving him off of her.

"This has got to stop. I'm human. Nothing more than flesh and blood- just like you. But I will bleed your ass dry if you can't control yourself. You don't know who you're messing with. My people are more deadly than a pack of rabid cougars."

"I knew it!" He quickly gathered his clothes with one hand; the other clung to his neck. Becky already had her clothes on and was headed towards the door. I didn't even see her get dressed, damn freak. She moves faster than I do. 


"Please, daddy. You may come to see me again, but if you're drunk," she took a moment to brush the hair out of her eyes, "I'll have no other choice than to bite more than your neck."

The door slammed shut and he was left standing alone, naked, and bleeding.

while daydreaming...

I was just thinking to myself whether or not sharing some of my poetry on here may benefit me. It is my honest opinion that having experience with poetry will effectively help my writing style overall especially when it comes to my prose. Maybe I'd even put up excerpts of the letter/book I wrote to someone because I think it shows my style... I am by no means good at poetry, but I think it would be fun- and helpful at the very least. 

character sketch

There was something strange about the house. You could feel it in the air as you passed it, as if, well, as if the house itself was alive. I was 14 the first time I drove by it. The bus picked me up at 6:30am so by 6:43am we were driving by the house. There were never any lights on. Ever. It was a small, yellowish-white house that had once been loved. Now it was nearly forgotten. Statues of deer frolicked in the yard. Merry as merry could be. The shades were drawn. There were never any cars in the driveway. Bear in mind that I only had a few minutes each day when I wasn't sleeping on the bus to observe . Day after  day the house remained silent and unchanging. The withered panes grew paler, their luster completely lost forever. 


There was no way for me to know what really lay behind the weathered door. How could I or anyone else know poor Ms. Strickland was laying in a pool of her now dried, dark blood? Her beating heart may have stopped, but her cries of help did not. It took her nearly a fortnight before she realized no one heard her. It took her twice that time before she realized she was dead. And even until this day, she cannot remember just exactly how she died.


Poor, old Ms. Strickland. She was never really jolly. Maybe if she knew she was dying anyway she just might be able to rest now. In her prime she was stout woman- somewhere between robust and portly. You could never quite tell. She had thick glasses- didn't believe in make up, thought it went against God's intentions. Adam and Eve came into this world with nothing and yet they loved and lived well. Clothes were mandated by society and therefore permissible. Everything else went against the laws of nature and thus of God too. Her once golden red hair faded, but the fire within her refused to gently into the night. She bore a striking resemblance to the queen mother. But she was not royalty. Therefore the proud, indignant attitude was unjustified. Her father had been a sergeant in the military. She led a strict life and was an even stricter teacher. She taught second grade and proof of her sternness manifested itself on rainy days. While the other classes played, Ms. Strickland made the students sit silently in their seats. Discipline was essential in becoming a good member of society. 


So when love came knocking at the door she was caught off guard. Completely off guard. She had long since given up on love, marriage, and children. She had been cleaning, changing the sheets while she aired out the house when the first knock came. It was slight, small, almost inaudible. She thought she had heard wrong. No, no. There was another knock. Silence. Knock, knock. She went to the door and picked up the bat from the umbrella stand. She looked through the peep hole. "Who's there?" Silence. She could see nothing. An empty porch awaited her. Very slowly, she cracked the door ajar. No one appeared on the other side. Or so she thought. 

bits

I knew. The way only a woman can know. Something in me, traveled through my blood, through my veins, and up to my brain. It was this muscle, which sent the message to my heart: you are with child.
Then the physical signs appeared almost as if on cue. I had to keep these hidden from everyone, which meant I had to lie and hide.

*the above is a potential bit for the book*


It was just another day. Every Friday I went to the Silver Coin Diner and ate in the back corner furtherest from the counter. Every Friday evening at 6 P.M. my grandfather and I would eat at this same table. The waitresses would come and go, but Nancy had been there since I could remember. Every Friday she would wait on me.

“What will it be tonight, sweetie?”
“Surprisingly, not the usual. Today I was given a promotion so I think I should celebrate.”
“I’ll be! That is a blessing, truly a blessing. You know what that means right?”
“What, Nancy?”
“Free dessert. On me. I insist. And don’t you dare say anything about how you can’t afford to gain any weight. If I hear that out of your mouth I may force Jerry to  put more fat in your food just outta spite!”
“Fine, fine. But to drink  I just want the regular ice water with lemon please.”
“Alrighty, I can’t take that away from you now. What will it be to eat?”
“Give me prime rib cooked rare with a baked potato and veggie of the day. I will have sour cream and butter for the potato. For my salad I will have blue cheese and Russian dressing mixed.”
“Girl, you must be celebrating. You haven’t had that weird salad dressing  since he was here.”
“Yeah, I know. I wish he was here. Even though I'm happy I am also a little stressed because the promotion may require me to move for awhile so I can train.”
“Well its only temporary right, sweetie? You will get to come back and have a better job, make more money so it will all be worth it. Who knows maybe you will meet the man of your dreams while you’re at training. Some brad pitt good looking fella.”
“I wish.”
“I’ll put your order in and get the bread. We tried something new tonight for the bread. I think you will be very pleased.”

My mind couldn't stop thinking about whether or not moving and taking the promotion was the right thing to do. After four years I deserved a promotion. I stayed late, worked hard, and loved my job. I hadn't missed a day of work yet.

“Tonight, we made fresh homemade blueberry muffins. Charlie’s cousin came down from New Jersey and brought their home grown blueberries. They are mighty good.”

It had started to rain. I looked out the window to watch the water distort the glass.  It was then, at that moment, that I saw her. She was there, standing in the rain, but remained dry. She was the saddest girl I have ever seen. I blinked and she was gone. I rubbed my eyes. I must be tired.

Nancy brought me my salad. I was a little shaky.

“You alright? You look two shades lighter than chalk.”
“I’m fine.”
"No you’re not."
There she was. Squatted down at my table staring at me. There was a ghost staring at me, telling me I was not ok.

*I felt compelled to write one night and this is what happened. Haven't re-read it or proofed it... just let it flow. Come what may...*

first activity using first lines

I have many books about writing a novel- and one such book suggests taking some of my favorite books and then writing down the first lines in these books. Then writing why I kept on reading, what works, and what I like or admire about the first line. I've decided to do that then practice some first line ideas for my novel. 



"I've never given much thought to how I would die-though I'd had reason enough in the last few months- but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this."


This is a great first line for many reasons. First off, we assume that the main character is going to die, which is intriguing and begs the reader to wonder how? Then we find out that s/he has reasons for thinking she would die because the past few months have been crazy- so we wonder what has been going on. Then she says she would have never imagined this... this plays on our imagination... I couldn't help but want to answer these questions... and find out. Read the book in less than a day. 


"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife. "


Classic line. A line that truly transcends time. For me the quote has dual meanings. First during the time in Regency England this statement would be true. Men needed wives to carry on their estates- by way of bearing children. Secondly, after you realize the book is about women securing husbands the line becomes humorous. It really sets the stage well (and establishes the theme). 


"I still remember the day my father took me to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books for the first time."


This line establishes a time frame for the story. It is obviously being told in the past- and the cemetery of forgotten books is so unique that I want to read on. 


"When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold."


I love this line. It reminds me of what I tried to convey in some of my pathetic and mediocre poetry. It's that feeling of waking up alone, waking up knowing that who ever was supposed to be lying beside you has been gone or was never there (coldness). In those 12 words I have an idea of how s/he feels and at the very least can relate. 


"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen."

I can picture what I envision his words to mean- can feel the cold day- even with the sun beating high in the sky. But is the clock that really pulls me in. 13? No hour exists or at least 
no hour that I am currently aware of- I want to know more...


Here are some first possible lines I am playing with which will most likely change. 


- I knew. The way only a woman can know. 


- I had forgotten about the cold as I stood in the line awaiting my shot. 

-Again, I was alone, perpetually meant to be alone. 


-I felt the proof beneath his shirt. 

Welcome. Bienvenido.Welkom.

I decided to start this blog for a few reasons. Firstly, me and a few others are starting a writing club and I figured even when we could not meet they could read what I am working on and critique it. Plus, I wanted to put my writing activities on here so that other people outside of the club could comment as well. Lastly, at some point I will begin working on a novel and I want to write about my trials and tribulations about doing so. I will also post parts of the novel to gauge initial reception. All I ask is that if you choose to read this and comment please be considerate. In other words I know there is negative and positive criticism but please comment in a respectful manner. I look forward to my quest... creating my style, and attempting to write something......