The Shape-Shifter: Happy Halloween

The Grimble grumbled as he ambled down the slimy stairs.
His hair dripped grease,
his clothes they reeked,
and flies chased the stink of his ears.

In one corner sat a chair
covered with burrs and blips,
it seemed to shudder,
as he hovered,
and pursed his dry, bleeding lips.

He mumbled to himself,
in a cankerous, almost expected way.
"Shizzle shuzzum, as she wazzum,"
he waved his hands and turned the chair into hay.

The hay it trembled,
as he thimbled
both his forefinger and his thumb.

He held the pin to the light of the moon,
grew his grin,scratched his chin,
and laughed the laugh of a drunken baboon.

As the hay shivered,
the old wizard wizards,
and dropped the pin into the quivers
of hay as it screamed out, "YOU!"

The old man snarled and turned again,
his gait as decrepit as his nails.
He hummed his melodious song,
hiccuped as he scuttled along,
and the hay inhaled the needle on a wail.




                                                   {source}

Towanda!

It's funny how easy it is to think that things must arise. That in order to accomplish happiness, specific things must come into play. I've noticed how much I use the idea in my head. "If only things were easier. If only these things weren't there, weren't weighing me down." Lately I've given up things.

Gandhi said, "Man is but a product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes."

I've stopped thinking things, and started thinking haves. As in, "I have everything I need. I have it all in me, and I have the courage to become the person I am."

I thought in order to be this person, I had to have all these things happen. But I was wrong, I only needed to recognize that I have all that I needed in the first place. I just have to be. To do, to try, and to realize that I'm already there.

I'm changing my thoughts, and in the process I'm awakening me. It's much easier than I thought, but letting go was the hardest part. Giving myself that unconditional love to stop hurting myself. We all have a tendency to go there, to beat ourselves up, and judge our faults. But those things, they're not real. They're not the truth.

The truth is I have. The truth is I am.

So are you. May today show you that you're deserving all the haves you dream.

{source}

Why I Write

Today is National Writing Day, which if you're a writer is every day. Writers talk a lot about how they write - the process, the craft, and the headaches they endure as they try to pour story from their minds into a siphon that will drip letters onto the page. But the why, which is perhaps the most important question, is often brushed aside.

It doesn't seem as important why, so long as the book is written. Perseverance is the foundation of any authors success, and so getting the job done, then pushing to get the work out becomes the more important criteria.

But without the why, the rest of the wold wouldn't get built.

I write because I fell in love with the reading rainbow as a child. I began to see life as inside and outside of the pages, and disliking the separation, wrote them together. I write for escape, understanding, empathy, laughter, and love. For all the things I wish to see and believe in, I write.

Gandhi said for us to be the changes we wish to see in the world. So I write to see mine, then read them back to embody the essence.

Plus, it's just damn good fun.



                                          {source}

Will Beauty In The Moonlight Overthrow You?

We all need a little inspiration, a moment to raise a cup, lean back, and escape. This forever takes me there. 

Shake, Shake, Shake, Senora

Get off the sidelines.....

{source}

And go after your dreams today.

{source}

It's good to do something for you. Promise.

{source}

Biting Off A Bit Of Story

Writing is like water. I drink it, bathe in it, and when I'm lucky I float around on it. But sometimes I need to add a slice of lemon, a bit of orange, or a spritz of Jamesons to keep me intrigued. I've done that this week, going from the novel I've overedited and underwritten (thanks to a fear that has me pausing before the end), and working in a new playground. Here is a snapshot of the newly blossomed world:


                                       A Boy Named Normal

Ava stood under the willow tree, watching the bush whisper. She was certain that’s what it was doing. She’d witnessed it shiver, shake, and murmur. At first, she thought the murmuring was the beating of her own heart, sending out a loud vibration - echoing for all the neighborhood to hear. After all, how else did one’s body respond to such a phenomenon? Spying always led to a racing heart. The combination of adrenaline and excitement coursed through her like an unleashed monster. And now, now she was sure something magical would take place.

A noise, not unlike feet slapping against pavement, began to grow. Ava felt her eyes widen, as she anticipated whatever was next to come. She leaned forward, parting the willow’s limbs with one hand, as the other braced the trunk behind her. Her body was stretched like taffy in both directions, prepared to run to or from.

As the noise came nearer, she bounced on her toes, trying to control her breath. A whooshing sound emitted from the bush and then --

Thunk

Something, a bullet or a ray from a laser beam, surely, hit her in the back, and she fell forward, a whimper escaping her lips. Ava felt the cold seeping deep into her skin, and she prepared to meet her destructor.

Laughter, more commonly referred to as snickering, had her pausing in her doom, and looking up and back.

Standing a short distance from her was a boy with dark red hair, laughter in his eyes, and a smirk on his lips.

“I didn’t tap you that hard.”

{source}

Allowing Way To Lead To Way

What if Robert Frost went both ways?
Slinking down the yellow wood,
bending as the undergrowth stood
and welcomed him to stray.

He took them both,
happy that they were worn
equal and the same.

Traveling down and under,
around into a blunder,
then turning
and going
where way led to way.

He held in the palm of his hand,
the light from both worlds.

Studied the heavy heartbeat
of a decision,
flicked from his wrist
the errant thought
with a magician's precision,
and brushed fingers against the willow's lanky curls.

Back and forth,
up and down,
along each trail he tread.

Day met night,
light haunted dark,
and he continued to circle the thoughts in his head.

What if Robert Frost took the fork in the road?
Giving permission to look back,
stumble, grapple, and attack,
and learn all that there was to know?

{source}

The Presentation Of An Answer

Expressions are like echoes, they chase after us, rebound off of us, and transmit from here to there. Perhaps you're familiar with this one, "go to the mattresses." If you're a Godfather buff, or have seen You've Got Mail, it will trigger an emotion, a response. 

The one that calls to me is a take off -- "go to the books." Whenever I go to the books, I'm surprised, astounded even, and renewed. 

Last night I went to the books, and came away with wisdom. 

I was finishing Marisa de los Santos FALLING TOGETHER, which I highly recommend, and came across a scene that clicked everything I've been struggling with (in one aspect of my life) together.

In this scene, one of the characters is talking about how a secondary character (who feels like one of the protagonists) had a miscarriage in a grocery store. After the miscarriage, the character couldn't step foot in a supermarket, going so far as to order in groceries, giving up the ability to enjoy her fresh bananas, and having to settle for the delivery of riper, stringier ones. You know, when you peel the banana and there's a string stalking the fruit?

This scene shimmered. Rising up from the story, and settling over my own reality. Because I've been that girl. Here's something, something very me, and very much a personal tidbit.

I blamed the car for my miscarriages. 

I didn't miscarry in one, or by one, or while one came racing towards me. But I had it in my head since my Granny suffered two miscarriages, she believed due to automobiles - traveling a certain miles on rickety transportation - that so did I. That the car, traveling outside my hometown over and over, had killed my babies. 

Then I took it a step further. The cars weren't just baby killers, they were people killers, too. And if they killed my unborn children, I was surely next. The car became The Monster. One I ran, sprinted, and flew from.

Which isn't any way to live. 

I'm not judging my line of reasoning. I won't say I was crazy, irrational, or being a total goober. But I know now that none of that matters. Losing babies sucks. But I believe in a higher power, and I don't think that higher power is my car. 

I'm working on finding faith in myself, the world, and the ways of the Universe. It's getting better all the time, and I'm happy to be Paige on her Next Great Adventure. 

Sometimes I don't like the questions, but I'm always interested in the answer. Sometimes the answer isn't what I wish it to be, but I'm always grateful for the resolution. 

The books bring me escape. They offer refuge, insight, laughter, and returnable pockets of bliss. Yesterday they provided me with closure. What a magical art. I can't wait to discover what they bring next.

 

{source}