WISHFUL THINKING

Owing to ridiculous amounts of school-work, I couldn't do Trifecta last week or the weekend, but thank you for the first place on Week Eighty Four, the support spurred me on to think about more plots with the character, and maybe there'll be a book. We shall see. Obviously, this one is fantasy too, I shall call it Little Monsters. The word this week is:  FLY (intransitive verb) 1a : to move in or pass through the air with wings b : to move through the air or before the wind or through outer space c : to float, wave, or soar in the air <flags flying at half-mast> 2a : to take flight : flee b : to fade and disappear : vanish 3a : to move, pass, or spread quickly <rumors were flying> b : to be moved with sudden extreme emotion <flew into a rage> c : to seem to pass quickly <the time simply flew> LITTLE MONSTERS I JUST HAD TO, OKAY? *grin* Sometimes we’re baby dragons, nibbling at a piece of string or wilting flowers with puf...

Trifecta again! This week's word is: RUSTY 1: affected by or as if by rust; especially : stiff with or as if with rust 2: inept and slow through lack of practice or old age 3a : of the color rust b : dulled in color or appearance by age and use <rusty old boots> 4: outmoded 5: hoarse, grating Before I go into the story, a small preface: I've been thinking and writing of Lo Maxwell for a long time. He's a boy of indeterminate age- sometimes he's ten and sometimes he's fourteen, and at least in one of my stories he's seven. He's a lone mortal stuck in a different, bloodier, monstrous world, trying to get back to his own but in a very strange sense. Sometimes he's angry, an avenging angel. Sometimes he's sweet. Most of the time he's hungry. This is my fourth Lo Maxwell story, and the shortest. It's not much.  *and I should probably mention that Lo's dog, despite appearances to the contrary, really doesn't like him much*...

This weekend we are asking for a thirty-three word confession. You're free to write non-fiction or fiction or to blur the lines in between. We just encourage you to get creative and give us your best . This week's Trifextra Writing Challenge is to write a 33 word confession, and here's mine.  Uh, I suppose it's...fiction? Non fiction? Non fiction, I guess. We all have our virtual avatars. Here it is: By http://mihaelaj.deviantart.com/ I don’t dance; she does.   I don’t smile; she does.   I am reserved; she speaks of sex and violence, politics and ambition, dreams and illusions. I am her. She is me, only binary. 

Holy Blonde-Cheerleader-Batman! I wrote Trifecta again. I am freaking writing again. I am not staring at a blank Word document wanting to bang my head against the wall anymore. Holy holy holy holy crap. (As you can see I am way too happier than any sane person should be) God, I love Trifecta. Honestly, this entry is just crappy and weird, but I'm happy there's an entry. This week's prompt: PEDANTIC (adjective) 1 : of, relating to, or being a pedant(see pedant) 2 : narrowly, stodgily, and often ostentatiously learned 3 : unimaginative, pedestrian (a.k.a what my writing has been for the past few months) MY ENTRY: The girl raised her head to look around at the world. There were three glass birds pecking at a lamppost. The lamppost was wriggling around trying to admonish them, but lampposts couldn’t speak. Beneath a laburnum tree, two girls were helping their sister to break free of the roots her feet had pushed into the earth. Little leaves were sprouting all over...

For Trifecta Writing Challenge: Prompt is Year (as in usually represented by a number) NOTE: How this one came to be, I have absolutely no idea. At first it was about sisters. Then it was about basements. Then I watched too much Supernatural.  Suffice to say, this one is the most scary 333 words I've ever written. Hear me? Morbid! Very! Apologies in advance for any nightmares. source:  http://vvola.deviantart.com I'm calling this....CUT OUT ONES WILL SUFFICE. Here we go! “Rose.” Three times, like a charm. Whispered so soft that I can pretend not to have heard it; pretend that the sound of my name has gotten lost in the space between us; has become entangled in the clouds of hair that spans a golden bridge between us. “It’s time, Rose. It’s almost here, the new year.” “I wish it weren’t.” “I’m sorry, Rose.” I open my eyes. Marie’s eyes are open and violently blue. Ships are wrecked in the maelstrom of those irises. Cornflower fields bloom in mine....

For Sunday Scribblings, and the prompt is "Revolution".  Sunday Scribblings  I took the earth-goes-around-sun definition of "revolution", and here's a little fantasy nugget: image by 2753productions on deviantart The other world revolved around the sun in exactly 12 hours, and we looked at the people there and pitied them. There were six hours for sleep and six hours for work, and no time for leisure. There were no dogs on leashes being walked by its owners and no galleries full of art connoisseurs blabbering about symmetry and surrealism. There were no parties that went on till the morning and no time to learn the names of the constellations. Once they had beautiful names and shone with the majesty of their mythology, but now they were just stars in an unordered cosmos. There were no beautiful ponds of koi fish as there was no time to admire them, and birthday cakes were simple things with no butter-cream or chocolate. Wedding...

The Trifextra Writing Challenge is a writing challenge that happens every weekend- and it's a lightning fast one at that! This week, the challenge is to add 33 words to this 33-word story: The last strains of sunlight lingered in the corners, grasping every available point of refraction.  She slid her fingertips along the glass wondering if this was all there ever was. Or could be. Here's my take on the challenge: thanks to wb-skinner on DeviantArt for this image The last strains of sunlight lingered in the corners, grasping every available point of refraction.  She slid her fingertips along the glass wondering if this was all there ever was. Or could be. She had spent hundred years collecting as much as possible, and there was never enough happiness in the world to fill a bottle. But sorrow was black as tar and filled entire rooms. (I just couldn't help but go all fantasy on this as well) Happy Weekend! Be back tomorrow with Sunday Scri...

Note: I want to tell you so many stories. They're just bouncing around in my head, and I don't know which to write. I don't know how to start because the images and characters are so strong in my mind I'm afraid they won't translate as well to paper. I could cry, but instead I'll write till I get it right, or until a particular little story sits up and says "Just publish me on the blog, already!" This one is kind of weird. It got stuck in my head and spun round and round and wouldn't let go, although I kept telling it that it was too fantastical for such a tiny, insignificant, dreamy little thing. The unedited version had a paragraph about 700 sheep and another one about The Sound of Music, but somehow I couldn't put that in the final version. This one is for Sunday Scribblings , and the prompt is Soothe. Her soul was restless- twisting and turning, trying to break out of its shell, fluttering wildly as a butterfly caught in che...

Quick Tales is basically flash fiction, tiny short stories. Mostly inspired by pictures. Mostly less than thousand, sometimes even less than five hundred words. The Rocking Horse was written in less than half an hour on the back of a notebook in a boring class. I like to think of it in tones of black, white and red. Any theories on what the girl could be? Leave me a comment to let me know:) The inspiration for this story. Of course, I  fictionalized  the appearance greatly. The sculpture is by: Samantha Mckeown Sculpture I Santa Fe College Found objects, paint 20"x36"x14"  The Rocking Horse The rocking horse is a gift. It comes to the Care Well Orphanage for Girls packed in a large cardboard box. It bears the name of the little blind girl, arriving exactly at midnight on her birthday, and a note saying “a companion for your adventures,” in bright purple ink. There is no return address. Similar gifts have made their way to the little blind gir...