Posts Tagged ‘fiction

16
Sep
19

Who Was Forced Into This World at Birth?

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Just a quick/simple question…

Who here was a forced birth? When you were born, did your mother go into labor?…or was labor induced before you were plucked from the womb? And, did you suffer in any way from the forced birth?

[Okay; maybe not very simple.]

I ask because I was a forced birth. And, I was subject to some “birth defect” as a result. And, looking at how my life has unfolded and continues to unfold, I keep getting this rippling, echoing feeling like I should never have entered this world, or this dimension. [Yet, another part of me pulls me in a different direction and tells me I am here for some special purpose that is written in the numbers and stars. It’s an on-going game of tug-of-war inside me.]

Now, after you answer that question, if you care to walk with me, be warned. It gets a bit “heavy.” And, you may feel the ground crumble from under your feet.

As I touched on in a previous post, I see so much in this world/dimension that is wrong and conflicts with my spirit. I’ve endured so much “crap” and see plenty of others suffering even more, at least, in ways I don’t even want to imagine much less see. I see plenty of people living in delusional ways at great expense while plenty more unseen or badly rendered faces get dragged through messes with authorities and militaristic policing forces. And, I start to wonder if the stories we write, so many that have been “dystopian,” aren’t unfolding as we write them…or if certain stories written long ago, perhaps predicted by ancient people, aren’t weaving into existence.

I am divided between the world around me which lacks friendship, self-esteem, cooperation and a little discipline, which settles for and offers little for slavery, lacks glamor/style and divides people like cold fish in a processing plant…and the world I see on TV which is either on the verge of destruction, even total annihilation, or “living the high life” of risk, wealth, drugs, marriage and lust. I see dreamy possibilities but no real and/or pleasant path to achieving them…nor do I comprehend what I would do once I reached that dreamy plateau…which makes all creative efforts fairly worthless, like building a house of cards just to see it fall. If there is a way to reach the “golden city,” it seems paved with traps, deception and torture; is it any different than being lured into biting an apple from a tree you were warned to avoid?

And, while all of this–and more–passes through my mind, I am sure some may breeze by my words and shake their heads or laugh at their foolish nature. You may tell me all I have said makes no sense or isn’t true. But, maybe, that’s just how you perceive this world/life. And, maybe, we each experience it differently. Maybe, no matter how we connect, we are each experiencing this existence separately and only seeing virtual reactions from the bodies/minds around us…isn’t that a terrifying thought?

So far, my only “saving grace” has been to be mindful of the good stories from long ago, of figures like Jesus being of service to others. I tell myself to help others when and where I can; so even if the rest of this life sucks and the world goes up (or down) in flames tomorrow, I can die knowing I did some good.

But, even that feels somewhat sad and empty…or, rather, I feel sad and empty when my thoughts shift to what seems to be missing in this life…love and friendship…comfort and acceptance…being in tune with the natural world as nature intended and feeling the fullness of my spirit as it was created, not simply repeating the words of some fabricated religion, telling myself it will get better. Talk is cheap, as some say. And, I am growing tired of talking. My spirit burns and yearns for something greater. It wants to sink my toes in warm, wet sand and let the symphonies of crashing tides and whispering woods fill it to the brim of zen/blissful completion. But, if this world is so crappy…if everything is polluted and some risk to my being…why? Why do I burn this way inside? Is it a mad trick to torture me?…like dangling a carrot in front of a hungry horse?

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30
Apr
19

Let’s Go to the Movies! Movie Poster Dreaming

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Another path or branch from my recent digital art…brainstorm?…led to making movie posters for stories I’ve already contemplated or written, some based on books (I’ve been pecking at), others from movies I foresee from music I hear on the radio.  I didn’t have much to work with and am just scratching the surface of my digital tool set with these.  I liked the “flash” effect and worked with it like a mandala.   It was a decent practice session.  And, I got some amusement from adding the blurbs at the bottoms.   Some day, you just might see some of these titles on your favorite bookstore shelf or movie theater wall.  Ya never know.

Whatchya think?

See if you can identify the names of the directors I “fudged” with female alternatives.

TiltheLoveRunsOut-Bond-ish-movieposter-RnBlk-flash-fab-4E-celeb-beauties-silhouette-me-anubisface_ap-CSPP-1600x2000-5wannabemovieposter-9pk-flash_ap-CSPP-1200x1500-reducedsampler-1B

Oh, and I had some fun with adding little word bubbles, too.

ColdFingers-humorousthoughts-movieposter-blue-flash-fab-3B-celeb-beauties-silhouette-me_ap-CSPP-1600x2000-1-2RoseGarden-humorousthoughts-2-movieposter-RnPk3-flash-fab-4-celeb-beauties-silhouette-me_ap-CSPP-1600x2000-7CRoseGarden-humorousthoughts-movieposter-RnPk3-flash-fab-4-celeb-beauties-silhouette-me_ap-CSPP-1600x2000-7B

16
Nov
18

Rattle and Hum, a Taylor-Made Gift Idea

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I’m getting you ready for the “holiday” otherwise known as Christmas with my own sure-to-be-a-commercial-hit gift idea, Rattle and Hum magazine, a personal creation composed relatively briskly on a whim.  Can’t get enough Taylor Swift?  Well, now you can purchase 12 months of Rattle and Hum and relish in our mixture of fantasy tales, recipes, costume parties, music, tips of all kinds and more.

Check out these cover designs for the 2019 subscription.   [Any repetition you notice is why this was created relatively quickly.]

12-issues-of-RattleandHum-magazine-covers-taylorswift_reduced-ap-CSPP-13801260-3C

2-RattleandHum-magazine-february-romance-caution-cover-taylorswift_ap-CSPP-11501400-14-4

Why Rattle and Hum?  Well, if you must know, it’s a blend of astrology, music and just the general feeling I have about what could be between her and I, if we put our heads together and made “beautiful music.”  🙂

So, who will be our first customer?

[Clever inclusions on the covers.  Right?  Tell me you notice these things.]

03
Oct
18

Sue Grafton…Dead? I Am Late to Z Funeral.

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I am, by far, a lousy reader and never thought I’d give any author enough of my time to read more than three of their books.  And, if I say or ask anything that’s published on some website, obviously I haven’t sought that out and read it, either.  I’m not even doing a good job of looking over my notes from the books.  I just want to write something quick and heartfelt.  But, like Kinsey, I have habits that are hard to break and am complicated.  😀

P Is for Pitiful Reading.

But, I’ve been keeping this under a thin blanket.  I read 20 books in Sue Grafton’s alphabet mystery series, from A Is for Alibi to T Is for Trespass.

A Is for Accomplishment.

And, I would have continued reading had my life not been rocked back in 2015 by a stupid injury which sent me spiraling down a pathway into writing one of my own books about the scary medical experience (with a bit of exaggeration/imagination).

Now, I just heard the white-wine and quarter-pounder-with-cheese obsessed author passed away last December, shortly before the new year dawned.  And, she finished book Y but not Z??  THAT’S…

H Is for HORRIBLE!!

She wrote so long and so many books, shooting for 26 in a series (which I am sure–without looking is dwarfed by some of the more famous authors who seem to be so full of words they write books in their sleep and showers….practically vomiting hardcovers daily)…and she fails to complete the last book in the series.  [Did she anticipate her own death that she wrote an accompanying book about Kinsey before finishing the series?]

And, she had so many resources at her disposal.  How many cops, lawyers and insurance people worked with her on this series?  Plenty.  She had access to case files–which I am sure she borrowed a lot from for various books–and obviously did a lot of hitting the road to get all the necessary details right.  [If anything was inaccurate, how would I know, anyway?]  I wish I had a fraction of that support for and assistance with my books.

A close contact got me to read that series, as she has gotten me to read another by another deceased author who had some “friend of the family” or “super fan” take over writing stories about the characters.  [Which, after reading one book in the series, does NOT seem fit for “young adults” other than the difficulty level of the reading.]  And, I will be surprised if no one takes up the task of writing that last book to complete the series.  If no one will/does, I’d even be interested in contributing to the book.  But, I don’t want to write it solo.

I’ve got the title all picked out.  And, it’s a hoot.

Z Is for Zinfandel.

Perfection.  Right?  It’s the story of Kinsey finally thinking about cashing in her P.I. chips and settling down (though she perpetually claimed she could not be that sort of person and had to just settle for sleeping around with guys oozing machismo, like that vice cop and that “Rob” guy (based on another detective series author) who couldn’t get out of a lousy marriage).  She might just settle for retiring her present car, putting that tired old dress she kept in her car into mothballs or giving up a particular diet item/habit.  But, she will go down fighting with a big box of white wine right by her side.   It could just be a break from all the chasing, lying and violence and having Kinsey relax with her guilty pleasures, reminiscing about past cases/years.   Or, maybe an elderly Kinsey busts one more creep, proving old age didn’t slow her down enough not to bring the jerk to justice.  [Can you imagine this old white-haired lady flipping over some burglar and securing him before calling the cops, including the descendant(s) of that guy she hated contacting (whose name slips my mind).]

Come on, people!  No way that series ends one letter away from 26.  [But, knowing my luck, it’s already in the works and decided.]  Can I help anyone work on this last chapter?

At any rate, Sue?  You had me at L Is for Lawless.

[I’ve been just a tad infatuated with your Kinsey Millhone and her lady friend (at the insurance place who wore those very 80s outfits and hooked up with that shorter doctor guy)…at the same time I was bothered by some of Kinsey’s decisions.  And, yeah, the white wine thing realllllly got on my nerves.  I’m also itching to try a number of items on Rosie’s rotating menu, sample some of Henry’s baked goods and send his paranoid brother somewhere far away.]

Without further ado and any other foul habits…

S Is for Suspenseful.

U Is for Ugh!  Not another white wine fix or QP binge!

E Is for Erotic, Mildly.

G Is for Gal Pal Power!

R Is for Racing Heartbeat to the End of Each Book.

A Is for A Slow Burn.

F Is for Fierce Fighting Female.  [Not foxglove and all those digitalis cases.]

T Is for Thanks for Writing Something That Made Me Want to Take Notes.  [I really had to backtrack to find the source of the “death cap” mushrooms.]

O Is for One Sassy Little Pistol (and All of Her Guns).

N Is for No Way I Am Reading the Rest of the Series Without Z.  [But, I’ll hang onto my notes and memories as long as I can.]

21
May
18

Short Story Writing Challenge: Tell-Tale Silhouettes

carmensandiego-ish-silhouette-circle-10pk_ap-CSPP-mini-2

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I had the impulse to craft some Carmen-Sandiego-ish, Dick-Tracy-ish silhouettes one day. Here is a sampler.

I propose a small creative writing challenge to those who happen to stop by this post. Can you conceive a short story that takes our female detective/explorer from the first image on the left to the last image on the right? Where did she go that day? What happened along the way? And, what did she discover at the end?

Place your (very) short story here in the comment section. [You won’t be glared at for writing a long one, either.]

14
Mar
18

Help Me Think of Names!

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And, get famous (whenever I publish) by having YOUR name (or a pen name you supply for yourself) worked into my latest book (project).  You could wind up a primary character, opposite the protagonist(s), a neighbor, CEO, taxi driver or police officer, for example.

The names I direly need are LAST/FAMILY names.  So, go nuts combining letters, words and/or sounds to get something special.

I am looking for:

  1. A name that incorporates the word “BUN.”  BUN could be any part of the name, start, finish or middle.
  2. A name that incorporates the word “TRESS” or “TRES.”
  3. A name that incorporates the word “LOCKE” or “LOCH.”
  4. A combination of three names (female first, female middle and last/family) that create a word or name with the initials.  IE Jane Ellen Trisket = JET

Submit your ideas to my mailbox (on the contact page) or in the comment section below.

Get brainstorming.

01
Nov
17

A Date with Corona #3

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Date #3:  Downloads and Uploads

Rain threatened to spoil our Friday meeting.  But, I wouldn’t let it.  Grabbing an umbrella, I trotted down to the café where we agreed to meet.  It wasn’t hard to spot the halo and that now familiar denim jacket.  [I wondered why no one else said anything about the light.  Maybe they did.]  A lush brown ponytail rested over one shoulder, bound by a ruffled ring of red elastic.  My opinion of her had improved over the past few encounters, but the mystery remained.  A soft red cap and a wall of feathery bangs allowed her to avoid eye contact.

Biting my hasty tongue, I refrained from questioning her tactics, opting to let her lead the interaction.

She began with a simple question.  “Is there something you need?”

The moment I opened my mouth, rain began to fall in heavy loads, creating broad splashes across the surrounding sidewalk and intersecting streets.

“Okay,” she said, her voice reduced to a droning whisper by the downpour.  She pulled a pen and a paper pad from her jacket and laid both on the table.  “Here is a crossword puzzle.  We can solve it, together.”

Though grateful for the icebreaker, I wasn’t about to sit for another long period with this woman and not have some food in my stomach.  So, I checked the price line on the menu and loaded up my placemat with an order of appetizers.

She merely looked down at the facing puzzle page, occasionally glancing at the food.

I said, “You can have some.”

Hesitating, she put down the pen, reached over and stuffed a fat mozzarella stick into her mouth.  “Delicious.”  There was zero enthusiasm in her voice.

Slightly irritated, I waited for her to say more.

“Mmm!” she added, dragging the sound out to satisfy my probing curiosity.  [I’ll admit, she stirred something deep within myself.]

When all that remained of the food was a handful of cold fried eggplant wedges, we plowed through the remainder of crossword puzzle in a matter of minutes.  All the while, the rain kept pecking away at my contentment, nudging me to chase outside, to embrace Mother Nature.  Wrapping up the cold leftovers, I grabbed my umbrella and encouraged Corona to join me.  She quietly followed me to the register, waiting for me to pay my bill.  But, when we reached the glass doors, she stalled.  Considering she had her own umbrella, I didn’t know why.

We walked, and I did most of the talking until the rain stopped.  When I suggested going back to her place, she said something strange, stranger than usual, that is.  “Your location is currently in use.”

“Come again?”

“Okay.  I’d be glad to come home with you.  You can always change settings, later.”

I wasn’t in the mood to argue, so we made our way back to my place.  Leaving her umbrella by the front door, she took a keen interest in the furniture.  I worried she might find fault with it.  Instead, she stroked a hand across the desk and asked, “Would you prefer me to sit here or on your lap?”

My face flushed, and my legs went numb.  A bottle of champagne popped its cork in my head.  What a question.  I considered saying neither before resting my tired legs on the nearest couch.  Corona joined me, folding both legs under her jiggling rear end, easing toward me with one arm extending along the back of the couch.  It’s not easy to get comfortable with someone’s glowing ring in your face.

Removing her soft, denim casing, Corona gave me an eyeful of her upper body.  [Had she not been wearing such a finely textured top, I might have been annoyed.  I’m not the sort who appreciates nudity thrust upon him.]  “Do you like what you see?  If so, I can send you more pictures.”

My mind was perfectly capable of taking pictures.  I didn’t need more cluttering up every surface they can occupy, and, had I accepted, I was afraid I might become more reclusive than I already was, ogling an image in a state of hibernation instead of dealing with reality.  “Not right now.  Thanks.”

“Okay.  Well, what do you want to do now?”

My thoughts went immediately to playing cards, escaping the sexual influences flooding the gray matter.  I knew very little of her personal interests, thus I couldn’t suggest anywhere else to go or activities to try.  We had tried so little together, and she was regularly asking me for ideas.  I needed her to jumpstart my brain with some information.  I searched her shadowy face for help.

“Sure.  Watching ‘net flicks.  Here.  Let me help you with that.”

Obviously, I had to dig out my computer before she could complete the task.  I hadn’t planned on using my computer as a home theater nor watching a movie before evening, but she was quick to take command.  Turning to me for a title, she found it within seconds.

Strangely, Corona chose to sit in front of me, obstructing my view.  I wasn’t exactly thinking about fondling her, but she was within my reach, accessible to my touch.  It was all just a screen.  When I grabbed her shoulder, she removed my hand and said, “Sorry.  I can’t connect right now.  Try again in a little bit.”

I nearly slept through half of the movie.  My mind just couldn’t stay focused.  Before the end credits had even finished scrolling, my guest proceeded to pop up onto my lap and linked her lips with my own.  I fell into a submissive posture with a growing ache in my back.  Releasing her ponytail, she let a cascade of chocolate waves crash over my neck and chest. My eyes danced as she mechanically shifted her weight up and down the length of my trembling body.  I was loaded with ideas for what to do in that moment, ideas that were not going to fill me in on who this woman was, something I vitally wanted to know before I let her into my private space.  All I knew was her voice, a portion of her façade, her ability to play cards and help with certain computer difficulties.  I didn’t even know if she liked the movie.

Now, it was my turn to bar her and seek refuge.  I asked Corona to leave before I completely lost control.  I could hear a fan inside her head powering up as she forced herself to switch gears in a hurry.  Her retreat gave me chills.  [And, the air-conditioning wasn’t helping.]

Dozing off on the couch, I was startled by the telephone.  A familiar voice met mine across the line.  “Mmph–  Corona?!”

“*Sigh* You mean Cortana.”

‘Same sweetness, but the tone had changed.  “Uh.  Okay.”

“Mr. Writingbolt, my name is Alexis? Cortana.  And, I am afraid you’ve met with my impersonator.”

To Be Continued…

~Writingbolt, 9-26-2017

a date with cortana corona-ap-1J

 

 




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