Posts Tagged ‘interest


Dear Felicity Jones,



Oh, Felicity. Are you praying? Something about the force? Cuz when I see your smiling face, I say a little prayer for you. *True story.*

You little chocolate pixie. So petite. So subdued. Certainly not an *albatross.* Neither a *tempest* or *monster.* Occasionally a *fool,* perhaps.

From the moment I saw you talking with Charlie Rose, I was enchanted…*like crazy* (sans *hysteria*). A little on the short side (per my interest), but brimming with graceful beauty. Why, even your name is like a species of social butterfly. Felicity Jones = Delicate Engine.

If you were any smaller, you might be *invisible.* But, I see you with that glimmer of Amy Adams spunk. Your voice is like a warm breeze that sweeps up underneath me and tickles the backs of my ears. Your smile is just as disarming.

You’re a silent night with every inkling of ambition stirring beneath the surface, rarely surfacing with a sound. There could be a veritable *inferno* in you, and who would know? You slip in and out of a room like a silk robe. You’re that girl in my elementary or high school class who appears at the back of the crowd, smiles bashfully when she’s noticed and then vanishes when someone like me gets the nerve to approach.

[Maybe that’s why your performances on SNL seemed so insignificant. The skits lacked humor, and you were dwarfed by the taller, louder ladies. Sadly, it was one of the most disappointing productions in which to find you partaking.]

If my sources are correct, you were born a Libra water piglet. [I have to question these sources, lately.] We go together like a garden and koi pond; like dew drops on rose petals. At least, that’s how I imagine it. But, again, if sources are correct, our pairing would not be ideal. It might get a little rough, cause a few bruises, lack a little passion, leave a few infuriating questions. Would there be *cheerful weather for the wedding?* I don’t know. Still, it’s that face of yours that keeps pulling me back. That force. *Sigh.* And, *breathe in.*

So, without the *theory of everything,* I leave these words to be carried by the wind. May they reach you and tickle your fancy. And, if the wind could be so kind, perhaps you will send a nice response, one that suits your graceful charm.

Writingbolt, a stem of bamboo looking for a nice pond to nurse his roots




At the Relationship Crossroads

I’ve come to the realization, more than once, that when I hesitate to move forward with a woman that sparks my interest, someone is lurking in my blind spot just waiting to beat me to the punch, spoil all my effort and claim the most costly of prizes (or cheapest, depending upon your perspective) as if it was always within reach. The long drive may be the promise of the sweetest things, but that doesn’t stop the fast and furious. And, at the same time, haste makes waste. Too many race to get the cup without checking under the hood and pacing themselves. This often results in devastating crashes and other crimes of the heart.

You may have seen it in a movie or one of the lewd cartoons polluting the airwaves these days. The “good” guy goes through the trouble of getting to know the woman, picking out just the right flowers and gift for a special day. Then, along comes Captain Jack Killjoy with one slick line and that irrestistable musk that drops Beauty faster than a Bela Legosi can raise an eyebrow, even though she tells you she’s not the type to fall for that crap. The “good” guy gets wind of what just happened, watches his flowers wilt and walks away with nothing (maybe a lesson learned if you’re that glass-half-full type). Some may crack their routine and join the rat race. The rest patch their tires and hit the same, old road one more time, looking for Lovers’ Lane, the best bed and breakfast in a serene neighborhood.

If you ever find yourself in a position where the one you want to spend your life with is heading far away for some time, don’t make any promises. It may be an epic romantic fantasy to receive love letters and reunite years later, but you could just as likely be the focus of a ghost story, waiting on some cliff for your love to return until you die of misery.

Maybe some day, I’ll be remembered as the genuine “road warrior.” Like the movies, that may be all that is remembered about me. All the sweat and tears I went through, avoiding car-wrecks and striving to stay in the right lane, may just be dust in the wind, along with all the rules and road signs the system tries to stick in our faces.

In the end, you go with your gut when you reach that same intersection that stopped me in my tracks. So, let me ask you. If you’re pursuing or riding with a love interest, are you coasting along Learnmore Road or racing down Efher Avenue?


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Dear Jennifer Lawrence,


Oh, Jennifer…

You five-foot-nine-inch bundle of razor-sharp wit and fiery beauty. You fierce, gorgeous creature. Why do you play these Hunger Games with me? What is this Mystique about you that plagues my heart?

You say you have a hard time finding a date. You shut down those who displease you in the coldest of terms. You say nerves make you turn to vodka for relief. You’re tripping over yourself to get the gold. You’re getting drunk with some of the most beautiful women in your present business. [And, there’s this little part of me that would love to get all of you together in one room.] If only you knew what your astrology does to me. [Yeah. I just went geek on you.]

I’ve never had much luck with Leos (western astrology). Nor horse years (Chinese). [And, you being a metal horse year is certainly no plus for me.] Statistics don’t bode well for us. Yet, there is just something about horses (both the sign and the animal itself) that mesmerize me. Both Leos and horse years are capable of having overflowing beauty (including great hair), powerful voices and surprising strength that gets the jobs others struggle to complete done. Actually, a Leo Horse would have enough charm coming out of his/her “yoohoo” to delegate just about any task to someone else…if only they could trust that person to do as well as they can.

There is much confusion and discontent in a Leo Horse. Time spent in front of a mirror, asking oneself…am I a leader? I am obviously great at something. I mean…LOOK at me! I’m gorgeous…aren’t I? Who says I am gorgeous? And, who told me I was a star? Where are they? And, can they be trusted?

I first noticed you in an X-Men movie, stealing the limelight from the rest of the cast with your realistic portrayal of a young woman torn between being what she was made and what she thought she had to be to blend into the crowd. Could there be a more perfect role for your stars?

It seems you are either plucked from the audition room by a genius or you pick your roles carefully. So, why are you so nervous? Is the power you possess terrifying? Could you be afraid of having an exaggerated ego? I don’t know if you should cover your flames and go into hiding with some voice acting or writing career or turn your boundless stamina toward some more charitable vocation like nursing or carpentry.

Please put down the bottle and listen to me. You’re beautiful and talented. You don’t need to be #1, but you easily could be. Yet, being at the top is often if not always a perilous game. If this whirlwind of fame and fortune is making you turn to the dark side of alcohol, save yourself now.

Don’t mock me, J. I’m serious. You are not just a pretty face. I can see you soaring above the clouds with your fiery wings, teaching humanity to wise up and show more respect to each other while getting down to business that benefits us all.

Wait. What am I drinking? Am I thinking clearly? Or, am I drunk on this vision I have of you? Just one look at the right picture, and I am paralyzed, imagining what it would be like to lay–er, stand (no, lay) at your side.

If what I say has any positive effect upon you, I’d appreciate a little note sent my way. [Not some form memo thrown together by a representative deflecting drooling fans.] I’d like to talk with you. I am sure the experience would be exciting…if not a little unsettling.

Sincerely…I think,
Writingbolt, a wizard of words captivated by a white unicorn

From “The Many Loves of Writingbolt”


Dear Karen Gillan,


Psst! Karen! Who? You! Yeah! You, you blushing Sagittarius snow fox with that lovely red hair reminding me of spaghetti sauce. [Or, is it brown? Just painted red? Either way, you’re still enchanting.] You white fire rabbit with that cute, curling nose beckoning me to come closer. You five-foot-eleven winter beauty with that sweet, sly grin and bubbly voice (which garbles your words when you get into a frenzy).


The red lipstick is a bit much/heavy on your naturally lovely face.  [But, if it’s (for) playing a part…]


What fire. What range you have. Even if a twinge of silliness seems to leak from your serious pores. It seems you are always a clown even when you stop me dead in my tracks. That wit is as charming as it can be frustrating. [I know myself.] Where does this humor come from? Nerves? Or, an irrepressible inner child?

How could I not notice you on Dr Who? Of all the lovely companions that have come and gone, who can hold a candle to your towering radiance? I see you with that goofy TV boyfriend/husband and think that loyal dope could very well be me (though I like to think I’d have a more fiery personality in your presence).

Maybe I am just captivated by your astrology, your perfect height and that fabulous hair flopping about your face. I see us having a ball on a comfy sofa, watching movies, playing games and getting a little too silly with our hands and feet.

But, maybe we’re too much alike. Maybe we’d find fault with each other and pick ourselves apart. It’s a fair concern to mention. Some sources say two like us would have to work at happiness. Others say it’s a recipe for bliss.

Sure. You wrapped up your stint with the Doctor (though your essence seems to echo). And, you’re onto other projects, guarding the galaxy from boredom, welcoming gamers to the jungle with your fierce, roundhouse-kicking legs. Other pretty faces will move into your old territory. But, I won’t likely forget yours.  [And, please, please, PLEASE don’t do anything to ruin that lovely hair of yours…other than aging taking its course.  Shaving your head?  I pale at the thought.]

If by some chance you are able to send a message through time and space to my doorstep, I’d be most appreciative and respond in kind with the utmost respect for privacy.

Writingbolt, a kindred fire spirit looking for his match

Dr Who star toys with new action figure

Dr Who star Karen Gillan comes face to face with a five-inch version of her character Amy Pond. PRESS ASSOCIATION Photo. Issue date: Wednesday August 18, 2010. Gillan, 22, is pictured with the figure ahead of an event for fans of the sci-fi show at the Glasgow branch of the toy store Hamleys. See PA story SHOWBIZ DoctorWho. Photo credit should read: BBC / Simon Ridgway / PA Wire

From “The Many Loves of Writingbolt”


Dear Ashley Greene,

Oh, Ashley Greene. Oh, Ashley Greene!

You dream. You moon child. Your name sings in my ear like the prettiest song bird at the break of dawn. Your name is as close to perfection as your beauty. You probably have no idea how perfect you are (even if you are a few inches shorter than my ideal).

At present, it seems, you are only known for one (minor) role in some vampire-werewolf-love-triangle movie series. [And, I hate to see you do anything worse.] Not only are you gorgeous (with some of the finest brown hair I have ever seen), but you also have this curious “heaven-sent” quality about you, as if your parents were in on the secret. Let me explain (in geeky astrological terms).

You were born a rabbit year (in Chinese astrology). The rabbit is–by nature–a wood (element) sign associated with the color green. An ash is a type of tree. A lea is a grassy meadow…where trees may grow. Are you with me on this? You are Ashley Greene, a Pisces (Fire) Rabbit. [And, yes, those are rabbit ears that stick out when you uncover them/bind your lovely locks.]

Now, wait, Pisces is a water sign. Well, plants need water to grow. But, Pisces is ALSO a sign of the spring season when plants are just regaining their green color. And, what about the fire aspect I just mentioned? Well, the sun is a big ball of fire and something that also helps plants grow.

How perfect is that? You’ve got your own supply of fire and water to nurture your growth into the perfect plant that you are. Is it all just too much? Too much perfection? Or, is the combination of elements confusing, leading you astray?

I wish I could say more. But, I barely know you. All I DO know is that you are beautiful in more ways than I can probably describe. Surely, you are more than a stunning, heart-stopping face. And, I am sure there is more about you yet to be discovered/honored. We…you just have to find and share it with the world…or, at the very least, with that special someone (who could be me, given the chance).

[Oh, but there is this lingering doubt in me–from my gathered statistics–that worries we might pick each other apart while working well together…that doubt, distrust and/or jealousy might infect our bond…that our love would be obsessive, compulsive and as bad as it is good.]

I send these thought to you on a leaf with the hope that they reach your lovely branches. Please return your own in a manner I may comprehend and let me know that you hear me.

Writingbolt, seeking some bunny to love him


From “The Many Loves of Writingbolt”


Dear Lauren Cohan,

Lauren-Cohan -Refinery29-Magazine-560x840-redsweater-1

Bite me, Lauren Cohan.

That’s what I’d say if I met you on the set of The Vampire Diaries.  Alas, I only know you at a glance.  But, the more often I see you, the more I learn and learn to like.

I can’t stand the sight of blood (or needles), and, apparently, neither do you! I don’t like many horror/monster movies. But, I saw enough to learn more and discovered some tantalizing details. [If you’re not the least bit into astrology, please put up with me for the remainder of this relatively brief monologue.]

For instance, you’re a Sagittarius Water Dog (western/Chinese astrology combo)**. The first part could prove difficult but the rest is glorious. You’re a few years younger and five-foot-seven (which suits me just fine). [We’d be neck and neck if you wore heels. That was a little vampire joke.] We have similar minds (which could be good and/or bad), sharing an understanding of alone time and personal space as well as a spirit for travel/adventure.



Our sexual chemistry/balance comes very close to blissful perfection. One of my books uses the words “potential wholeness.” I would not be surprised if we both experienced buzzing nerves when we meet. Nor if we struggled to keep sweaty hands to ourselves. You could easily be the Watson to my Sherlock (or vice versa). At the very least, we’d be awesome and/or mutually challenging friends.

There are a few downsides, including the potential for being mirror images of each other, copying dramatic tactics, being equally disorganized/sloppy, inconsistent and blunt at the wrong time. If there is no grounding force to sustain our sanity and keep things in order, we might wind up penniless hippies. [Which, I like to think, wouldn’t be the worst thing with someone like you. Though, a sense of security is important.]

No. I don’t know much. But, I know I am intrigued. So, do me the honor–if you can find the time–and share with me all I need to know. [I will return the favor with the utmost respect for privacy.]

Writingbolt, the snack that bites back


From “The Many Loves of Writingbolt”

**If recent sources are correct, the birthday I first found was incorrect.  And, the new one seems to make you a Metal Rooster…which would be rather bad or, at least, challenging.  Even if the Venus/Mars combo is still rather good…but not as good as it first appeared.


Dear Taylor Alison Swift,


Miss Swift! Miss Swift!

If I could just get a moment of your hectic time. I know you’ve got places to be and so many people to see. You’ve made quite a name for yourself with your legion of fans. Your trophies keep piling up. You don’t likely need me to boost your supersonic and/or locomotive career (which leaves me a little short of breath, to say the least). But, given a chance, you and I could be something special. [Uhp! Wait! Hey! Keep your hands off me, security detail! There’s more!]

Honestly, I am a little scared. You have this air about you…  It’s a bit chilly, aloof.


Sometimes you look like a dark blonde; I tend to prefer natural brunettes and lighter blondes. I like diversity and costumes but am not a huge fan of hair dye or artificial hair pieces/extensions. You can do whatever you like with your hair, but don’t ever ruin/damage it.

I like your middle name better than your first. You’re the perfect height (and I mean PERFECTION) but over a decade younger. Just looking at you makes me feel old. We were NOT “both young when I first saw you.” I doubt I was still young at heart.

Look. I don’t want to be the cause of any more Bad Blood or the next sap to fill a psycho breakup song. I don’t like crowds or being in the spotlight unless I am performing. [So, you’ll forgive me if I am reluctant to attend any award show or concert. If you want me there, I’ll be watching from the bleach– I mean, dressing room or backstage.] Neither of us need a nightmare disguised as a daydream. But, if you were the Monster in My Closet, that would not be the worst thing I could find in there. [I wrote a story of sorts by that name without ever knowing you had written a poem ten years earlier.]

I most definitely do not like torture. [And, that song about “never getting back together” might be an implement of just that.]  If you’re looking for a James Dean or Brad Pitt, I have not been “Taylor-ed” to fit either of those molds…but you and I do have something in common with the latter.

Ever since I first gazed upon your smoldering face and heard your Love Story, I’ve been caught up in some kind of spell like a leaf in a twister…… [And, by the way, that may forever be my favorite song of yours.]

……But, then you started pumping out one possessive, scorned girlfriend ballad after another. Dark clouds started pouring in overhead. I walked away; I tried to Shake It Off and let you date all of those wannabe A-listers.

I’ve done a little research, astrological research. I can see you’ve got talent coming out of your five-foot-ten-inch “yoohoo.” You’re a force with which people must reckon, one deserving of awe and stalled heartbeats. But, with all of that comes potential dark sides: hints of possessiveness, superficial perfectionist tendencies, a possible conflict of interests, the chance one of us might misunderstand a joke, a stern dictatorial drive to judge, conceal true feelings and rule.

What I’ve also discovered, dear Sagittarius Earth Snake, is that you and I make an incredibly creative and quirky team. I like to act and would love to sing with you, composing one lovable album after another, changing genres when the mood strikes. If we never write a book together (because we simply don’t have the time between our other adventures), I am sure we could fill our share.

I think there is goodness in your “innocence,” preserved for the right time and person. You certainly have the confidence to step out of the molds you enjoy wearing and speak your mind. I would like to think you’d be a royal treat at costume parties (and, with all of your assets, we could probably host a few).

Our Venus/Mars combos clear away some of the dark clouds mentioned above. Sexual chemistry is through the roof (or, at least, rattling the rafters). I give our odds of long-term bliss 4 out of 5 five stars, an 8 out of a possible 10 on the scale of dynamic passion (with 1 being ice cold and deadly).


So, if the astrology geek in me is not a problem, I DO want to take you out. You don’t have to put on the “white dress” or some “tight little skirt.” And, you surely don’t need that bright red lipstick. I’d be perfectly happy if you wore no makeup or jewelry, a nice sweater coat with some loose-fitting blue jeans and your favorite sneakers.

But, let’s start with you writing me back. And then, we’ll take it from there. Okay?

Writingbolt, the “Swifty” of metaphors

PS If we hit it off, I’ll write YOU a love story (and then some).


From “The Many Loves of Writingbolt”


What Is Christmas About? –Steve Martin SNL style–


Looking at the pictures I find in my art scrapbook, a place where I go to drum up e-cards for those I meet and/or know online, I occasionally drift away with thoughts of jingle bells among other things. The holidays can be so commercial. And, I ask myself, “What is Christmas about?”

“Well,” I tell myself. “Christmas is about…”

The birth of the son of God, otherwise known as Jesus (for those who believe in the story). It’s his birthday above all else. Not the presents, shopping or Black Friday hype.

Ya know. Just thinking about Christmas conjures so many images! What would a winter holiday (for those who have it in winter) be without lovely women in cozy sweaters, sweater coats and festive sweatshirts you just want to cuddle til their arms fall off?! Oh, and all the stylish boots they have to pick from! So many boots.
So, Christmas is about beautiful women in cuddle-licious winter apparel…
And, the birthday of Jesus. Let’s not forget that.

But, I’m being self-centered. Maybe you don’t care for women in cozy-riffic winter apparel. Maybe you’re more interested in festive decor (indoors and/or outdoors): the trees, the lights, the candles, the artificial snow, the wreaths, the mistletoe, the stockings hung by the chimney with care, the coal, the chestnuts, the bells, the carolers, the lampposts, more artificial snow, the greeting cards from Christmases past and present, the fake presents, the birds and berries. Maybe you’d go so far as to wrap yourself in tinsel and hang ornaments from your ears! Hmm? Too much? What is too much, anyway?

So, Christmas is about decorating the house til your eyes bleed red, white and green. [Well, for those who decorate, anyway.]
Not for me. No. For me, it’s about all the beautiful women of the world in cuddle-uptuous winter apparel…
And, Jesus. It’s his birthday. Ya know? Show some respect. Don’t forget the Nativity set while you’re searching the attic, basement, garage and/or closets. That’s the most important piece, if you’re respecting the core of Christmas.

What about the kids and kids at heart? Maybe you’re the Kris-Kringle-coming-down-the-chimney-with-his-sack-of-goodies-to-grab-some-cookies-and-milk type. So, for you, Christmas is about a chubby bearded guy in a red and white suit coming to your homes to deliver presents before enjoying your holiday cookies with a cool glass of milk.

W-Wait. Didn’t I start this piece by mentioning jingle bells? And, what about snow? I know some of you down south might have your Christmas festivities in hot summer weather. But, I cannot imagine Christmas without jingling sleigh bells and gently falling snow covering the landscape in powdered sugar on a peaceful night. Just think of all the Christmas music people put out every year. Oh, my gosh! I forgot about caroling! ‘Can’t get enough versions of Deck the Halls and Jingle Bells; can we? Do you ever hear holiday carols with hot desert winds and seagulls squeaking over a swishing surf? [If you’re lucky, there might be one or two.]

So, if you forgot eeeeverything else: the women in winter apparel, the fat guy bringing you stuff down your chimney (or however he gets in there if you don’t have a chimney), the caroling, the cookies…and Jesus. Well, don’t forget him if you’re going to call it Christmas. But, Christmas is also about jingle bells on a sleigh swishing across a carpet of soft white snow on a silent starry night.

–Back off, Rudolph! You, too, Burl Ives snowman. I know. I’m sure I’ll get to you holiday movie icons soon enough. Go sit down with Ralphie, Charlie, Rex and Herb, Garfield and Clark. And, keep your hands off Mrs. Griswold.

…What were we talking about, again? My mind just drifted into this picture of a woman with lovely brown hair sitting in her cuddly white sweater coat while the snow gently falls outside her picture window. That’s what it’s all about, folks. Christmas is about women in cuddle-tastic winter apparel.

And, Jesus.

And, hot cocoa. Lots of hot cocoa.

Happy holidays from Writingbolt.