Day 23 - The smell of winter and crazy writers

August 23 - The smell of air in winter

The air in winter is plain, smokey and boring.   Except for right after a snow.  Then the air is still, clean, clear, warm, and magical.  I love to stand in our backyard and sing "Winter Wonderland", preferably after dark so the porch light illuminates the snow and casts the prettiest shadows.  (Fewer chances of eavesdroppers too.)
Spring mostly smells like snot to me because I am so stuffed up I can't smell anything else.  Spring smells like mud and dirt and rain and new things growing.  And wet dog.  :)
Summer smells like sunscreen and chlorine and campfire smoke.  And it is not summer until I have used my SPF 15 Sun Shades Harvest Berry lipbalm. ♥♥♥  Summer smells like wet concrete ans sea and, if I have my choice, sulfur.  Yellowstone or airshow or both.  Acrid but comforting.  Home.
My favorite season to smell though is autumn.  There is a change come September and October (my favorite month ;)) that I live for.  As the cold air begins to creep in the first wood fires are lit in stoves and fireplaces in the neighborhood giving the air a warm, rich scent.  There is also a smell in the first week of September, psychosomatic I'm sure, but it smells like school.  Old musty books and new pencils and binders and backpacks and jams of people.  The smell of Eastwood and happiness.  Autumn is also when those bags of cinnamon pine cones show up.  When the shelves are stocked with apple and cinnamon and spiced candles and everything becomes cozy and happy.
Winter is nice, but I love autumn.

Day 23 - What Writers Do

Some authors have very interesting ways of writing.  One gets up at 4 am, sets his laptop screen so dark he can't read what he's writing, writes for a few hours, then goes back to bed until 8:30 am at which point he edits what he wrote.  Another writes 250 words every fifteen minutes from 5:30 am to 8:30 am.
They are both NUTS.  Or morning people.  Or both.  How the heck do you get anything coherent or legible out that early???  I prefer writing in the afternoon or at night, depending on my schedule and mood.  Some scenes only come out after dark, when I'm alone.  And that sounds bad!  :)
It also lists two authors who use different font methods: 8 pt so they have to squint to read and 14 Courier.
I'm more of a Verdana/Georgia myself.  Times New Roman if I'm using a word processor too.  I prefer rounder fonts to think with, in a comfortable 10-12 pt reading size.

Day 22 - Packing for writers

August 22 - You're packing a suitcase

The first step to packing a suitcase is print off your packing list.  Then your pants and shirts go squarely in the upper left hand corner, held in place by the underwear and socks packed on the bottom left.  Any skirts or dresses get packed next, folded on top of the shirts if there's room, rolled up on top of the socks or folded flat in the right hand quadrants if there isn't.  Next, make sure you have jewelry for every outfit packed in the tackle box and store with any makeup  that is coming.  Next is shampoo, conditioned, soap, hair ties, comb, brush, and tooth washing implements.  Anything else gets to play jigsaw puzzle to fit in.  Except any nail polish.  That gets wrapped in the socks or shirts (with the outfit it matches if possible).  Then you zip the case and you're done.  Ta-da.

I realize this isn't creative but that's all I could think of.  :)  Now I've got a vision of Tony Stark walking into Pepper's room and leading off with a very confused "You're packing a suitcase.  Why are you packing a suitcase?  You have clothes at all of our houses.  Stop packing.  Where are you going?"

Day 22 - A Writer's Lifestyle

"Writers don't have lifestyles.  They just sit in little rooms and write."  - Norman Mailer
While the act of writing may not be the most exciting thing in the world, I'll grant you, I would object to the statement that we just sit in little rooms!  I can't think to write id that is the only place I go/am!  I must have green at some point.  Blue sky is nice too but honestly, this is Oregon.  I'm soaking it up now.
I can agree that writers don't have lifestyles though because we are each unique.  There is no set way for a writer to live and perform their passion.  On pages 150-151 of A Writer's Book of Days it lists fourty three authors and the various jobs they had while writing, including pasting labels on bottles of shoe polish (Charles Dickens), selling roach powder and playing the piano (E.B. White), selling tombstones and playing an organ in an insane asylum (Erich Maria Remarque), banking (T.S. Eliot), compiling encyclopedias and teaching chemistry (Isaac Asimov), and serving as a University Postmaster (William Faulkner).  The variety and eccentricity of jobs is mindboggling and fascinating.  Some where married, some weren't , and a variety of religions are represented.  Each writer has their own unique lifestyle and style of writing.
Don't pigeonhole us!

Day 21 - Home in the spotlight

August 21 - The geography of home

Home is where the heart is.
Interesting that it doesn't say "the geography of a home".
I used to design a house I could live in with my family that would allow me to have cats.  It involved two seperate air systems, an airlock, and a laundry room between the cat and cat-free halves of the house.
Home is my family, a place to eat, a place to sleep, my pink blanket, and my dog. ♥  Which mean, when we are camping, home becomes our trailer or the tent I am sleeping in.  When I am housesitting, that house becomes my home after the third day, unless I've stayed there before, in which case it becomes home as soon as I've mostly unpacked, put away the food I brought, and greeted the animal I am caring for.

I cannot type today.  Spell becomes speel, is becomes id, would becomes woild..  -headdesk-

Day 21 - Finding the spotlight

The author discusses a guest speaker in her writing class who was "beautiful and forceful and self-assured" because she had given up "the fear of people getting mad at her".
I look forward to the day when I am calm and self-assured.
Evidently I can fool many but I always think of the illustration  my mother uses to describe my father.  He is like a duck on a pond; he appears calm and serene and knowledgeable, but under the surface he is frantically paddling.

I don't remember who took the pic, other wise I would credit.

I bees back!

Hey howdy hey!  I'm working on getting the back prompts typed up.  You can expect a batch tomorrow later today!  Enjoy!
Oh, and my trip was a lot of fun and a growing experience.  :)  It was my first build away from home (meaning I couldn't come home every night) but that was OK the first two nights because I stayed in our trailer. 
Mom and dad hauled our trailer up a couple of weeks ago for use by the brothers and sisters who also couldn't drive home each night.  When we were there one brother in the kitchen crew slept in my bunk, one slept on the folded down kitchen table and dad and I shared the master bed in our own sleeping bags.  Dad and I traded off on who was and wasn't sleeping all night.  And let me tell you what.  He SNORES.  Seriously, my parents and grandmother are epic snorers.  Usually I'm at the other end of the trailer, not next to either one of them.  Thankfully I brought caffeine otherwise I would not have functioned the next day.  It was also only through Jehovah that I was pleasant to the rest of the crew.  A nice morning person I am not.  Being surrounded by roosters when I woke up kinda helped though.
Friday we bent pipe and put on mud rings and drilled holes and I got to go up on a ladder and promptly lost all coordination as I had three guys watching my every move.  Stage fright!  On a ladder!  I survived and felt useful and it was good.
Saturday we ... basically did more of the same but the smoke from the fires, coupled with all of the sagebrush and dust started to cut off my breathing, prompting me to use our emergency inhaler, which gave me the jitters (worse than I remembered) which meant running around the work site wasn't going to be a good idea.  Thankfully I found a fellow card player so we played several rounds of speed until it was time to strip wire and run tails on the speakers, which is my favorite part of the build (even if I do have a habit of nicking the inner wires when stripping the bundle).  We were done around lunch time, at which point dad took me back to the trailer so I could pack my things, moved me to the trailer I would be staying at that night and dropped me back off at the work site while he went home.  This was a stressful time because I didn't know dad wasn't staying until Sunday when I agreed to work Personnel.  This meant I had to scramble to find a new place to stay.  Sleeping in a trailer with two men to whom I am not related (even if they are the-annoying-uncles-I-never-asked-for) and driving with them in their separate cars isn't exactly appropriate.  Thankfully I could bunk with some sisters from the kitchen crew, ride in with them at 5 am to be there for check in at 7 am.  Also thankfully, I had access to the sound trailer so I could stash all of my things there until it was time to go home Sunday night, as well as having a nice, quiet place I could retreat to after Personnel was done for the day and before going to help others.  I could also put on my makeup so I looked simi-awake when welcoming our brothers and sisters.  :D
Sunday morning it decided to rain and someone didn't cover the internet router so during one of the rushes three of us stood there with clipboards, hand writing each volunteer's information as rain soaked our tables.  Internet came back later but then Builder Assistant went down (Google and all that jazz worked), which meant we had plenty of time to watch the house down the hill smoke.  I never saw any flames, the firefighters responded very quickly and got it under control and no one was harmed.

Off to Hermiston

Hey guys,
Just dropping a line to say you probably won't see anything here for three or four days, depending on WiFi.  Life's gotten a little busy so I didn't have time to pre-write the posts for the next few days and I will be in Hermiston, OR helping rough in a Kingdom Hall.  I'll write every day but if I don't have WiFi they're not going to get posted.  :(  Forgive me?  :)
See you in a few days!
 - Leandra

Day 20 - Sleeping ... naked?

August 20 - Write about the weight of sleep (after W.S. Merwin)

Swimming upstream under wet concrete.  It drags you down, away from the sunlight of day.

Day 20 - Naked in the Hallway

Gwahhh?  The author has a friend (middle aged) who has a naked photo of herself, and one of her husband, hanging in their hallway.  O_o  The point the author is attempting to make is that "writing is indiscretion".
I think a better way to use the analogy is that you bare all when you write.  You can hide bit with lighting, leaving parts in shadow, but you are still exposed.

Day 19 - Faith in good writing

August 19 - You can have faith in _______

You can have faith in humankind and Jehovah.
This is a huge, deep topic and I am super tired.  So I give myself permission to fill this in when I put it on the computer.

Yeah.  Too busy.  Not happening.  Nice thought though.

Day 19 - The Five Characteristics of Good Writing

"... you might want to take another look at E.B.White's list of twenty-one reminders about style in chapter 5 of The Elements of Style.  It's the most complete and eloquent writing lesson you'll ever have."

I put off writing for two weeks trying to find the time to read this.  I checked out the book from the library and everything.  Guess it's going on my 'To Read' list.

Day 18 - Porch posse

August 18 - On the front porch

From the front porch he could, and had, seen everything.  Neighbors moving in and out, old friends dying, children playing, family fights, new boyfriends and girlfriends sharing thier first kiss goodnight, cars full of whooping youths off to a football game and limos at prom time.  You can see the lifeblood of the neighborhood pulse from his front porch.  A silent guardian, he watched.  Once upon a time it had been him; playing in the street, getting his first car, kissing his girlfriend goodnight, going off to prom, bringing his new bride home, welcoming a son, then a daughter, watching them follow the same pattern.  Now his children lived across town and his wife was dead.  He had retired years ago and all he had to do now was watch.  Some of the older neighbors knew him and would greet him as they passed by on their weekly ambles, "Hello Frank."  He would raise a spotted hand in return and ask after their children, or grandchildren, or newest hobby.  They would chat a few minutes then move on and he would return to his watching.  A few of the newer neighbors would stop too, greeting him with a respectful "Mr. Foster".  These conversations were shorter, the younger generation buzzing with energy and eager to be off.  And then he would return to watching.
The local police knew him too, and if anything happened on his street he was the first to call or the first they asked.  So when someone broke into the Hamill's house and he didn't call, the officers didn't feel bad about breaking into his house.  They found him in his armchair by the window, a plate of mashed potatoes and cor sitting on one side, a picture of his wife on the other.  And sitting in his lap, the phone.  91 were the last numbers he dialed.
His funeral was held on a sunny Saturday morning, attended by his family, the few friends he had that were still alive, and half of the local police force.  When his son and daughter went to his home afterward they were shocked to find his front porch covered in flowers.  There were notes from almost every house on the surrounding two blocks.  A few minutes later the neighbors themselves began to trickle in, a few bringing food to eat.  Soon his little house was full of all the people he had ever known.  Neighbors who had never spoken exchanged stories of how he had rescued their dog or stopped an egging or simply been a friendly face.  He would have been proud to see how he brought the neighborhood together.  And tickled by the annual BBQ held in his honor.

I've read this to two people.  One cried and the other teared up.
This prompt took on a life of it's own!  I immediately saw a little old man and an old, grey, tall Victorian/New England style house when I read the prompt and it went from there.  I've since decided that Frank Foster was a police officer before he retired and his kids were more than a little embarrassed about their father's "meddling" in the neighborhood but were put in their place by the neighborhood's turn out.  
I've had it strongly suggested that this be turned into a screenplay/movie.  What do you think?  I can certainly see composing music to go with it!

Day 18 - Your Validation Posse

"We're all skinless when we write, all nerves and need.  To find the right people to read what we're writing ... is fraught with danger."
"We need people who have no agenda with us yet have faith in us, who will validate what we're trying to do and let us know we're not wasting our time.  People who know how to critique with generosity, honesty, and wisdom.  We hand over a lot of power to these people, so choose your posse carefully."

Rarely have truer words been spoken or written.  It is so hard writing without validation, and so hard to share without worrying too much about what others think.  I am very fortunate to have several friends I can ask for critiques.  Deanna and Cat are my validation posse.  I can trust Deanna to bring my flights of fancy back down to realistic earth or make a humorous scene twice as funny.  And I can trust Cat to tkae the time to read what I've written and give me feedback.
I do questions my scenes still though and wish I got more plot reviews.  Help anyone?

Somebody, review, PLEASE!  Am I talking to myself here?

Day 17 - You're not here but I love you still

August 17 - You woke up and found him gone

Rae rolled over to find the other side of the bed cold.  Her body heaved with a sigh before she rolled back over and began blindly patting though her side table.  Her hand soon landed on the slim object she was searching for.
"Fauna Feral to Nightwing.  Come in Nightwing."
"Rae, is everything alright?"  Nightwing's voice was clearly concerned as it came through the communicator.  "How's the baby?
"We're fine," Rae laughed, still raspy from sleeping.  "But I really want starfruit and pistachio ice cream."
There was a moment of silence then Dick spoke again.  "Together?"
His tone was concerned, confused, and a little disgusted.
"No," Rae rolled her eyes and Nightwing could hear it through the speaker.  "But I do want both.  Do you have a moment?  I could send the cats or bats to pick it up."
Dick surveyed the area.  "I'm near downtown.  Give me a minute and I can get the ice cream from Meijers and there is a little Chinese market for the starfruit."
"Thanks love," Rae purred,  "Fauna Feral out."
"Nightwing out."
As he flipped the comm shut he could feel Tim's eyes boring into him.
"You are so whipped."
Dick didn't respond as he flung himself off the building.  Anything for his wife and child.

I realize this prompt could have been taken very depressingly and the part of me that is a sucker for a tragedy and loves country music certainly thought about going there, but then I decided that we don't want to read a sad story today.  'He' is not gone because their relationship is over.  He is gone because of a duty and he will be back.
And I forgot when I was writing that I changed her name after she came back from hiding.  And discovered that while pregnant with Merlin and Niada she craved raw fish and rare steak.  Emily prompted 'nicer' cravings.

Day 17 - Love Thy Reader

"Readers deserve to be treated like your closest friends ..."
Well, at this point all of my readers are my closest friends.  Or good friends at least!  But I will keep this in mind should I become famous, or more widely read.  :)

Thank you and much love to Deanna, Caitlin, Chelsea, Brian and Luke!

Day 16 - Smoke of burning typewriters

August 16 - Write about smoke

Drifting pain
   Heats companion
Billowing, billowing
   Restful odor

Funny, got this on the last day of camping.

Day 16 - Exploding Typewriters, Smoking Computers

I would love to see a burning typewriter, though I wonder how they could keep it burning without consuming it.  Great performance art.

Seriously.

Day 15 - Shadows and poem puzzles

August 15 - A shifting of shadows

A shifting of shadows was all the warning she had before he swooped down and pinned her with his gaze.
"What were you thinking?" he hissed.
Teeth flashing, she snarled back, "He should know better."
"Rayella," came the un/only slightly sympathetic response.  "You are off patrols until further notice."
"WHAT?!" the puma like shreik brought bats down from the rafters and had her cats puffing twice their size.  "You can't tell me what to do!  I am a valuable resource!"  You!"
"You made a stupid move and took it too far," he cut through her tirade with one sharp comment.

I was going to write more.  I even have quote marks and the word "and" ... but nothing else.  This is a key scene I have been avoiding for a long time.  The fight that leads to Rayella quitting the superhero business for a while and running away to have her kiddos.  This takes me a step closer to writing the scene where she loses her temper and beats the snot out of an abusive man.  Yay?

Day 15 - People in a Jam


"Poems prod.  They aren't meant to be a puzzle.  ... it's like a secular prayer."


There are two schools of thought on that.  I rather like imagery based poetry that allows you to interpret what the author is trying to convey.  On the other hand, straight forward poetry, that doesn't require thinking or too much imagination is relaxing and entertaining too.

Day 14 - Alone with pizza

August 14 - "Are you alone?" he asked

"Are you alone? he asked, his deep concerned voice soothing her through the phone.  She closed her eyes and leaned on the wall in front of her, her right hand cradling the phone while her left arm cradled her head.
"Yes, I'm alone," she sighed, "But I'll be fine, I promise."
"Rayella," he gently scolded, "You really shouldn't ..."
"I'll be fine, I promise I won't do anything stupid," she cut him off, frustration creeping into her voice.  Sheesh.  Have one little meltdown after you find out your husband is cheating on you the day you find out you are pregnant and you never live it down.

I couldn't decide who Rayella was talking to so I stopped it there.  She is either talking to her father, Dick Greyson (aka Robin/Nightwing), or Alfred.  Three men with soothing voices who care about her very much.
And I considered how this prompt could be taken as a creepy guy at a bar asking a pretty girl the same question ... but I like my version better!  :)

Day 14 - Waiting For Pizza
"Carry a notebook with you at all times to write down any ideas and inspirations or interesting facts."

I never go anywhere without my purse sized notebook.  Very ragged and dogeared.

It's always green too.  Writing is green, meeting is blue, therapist is purple, and health is pink.

Day 13 - The jetty and other diversions

August 13 - Something you saved

Every scrap of paper that has ever come into my hands or been given me.  I'm a terrible packrat.
I also saved my sister's life on the jetty.  I'm also the who kinda put it in danger by choosing to run to the jetty instead of up the shore but I did my best to keep everyone safe.  The image of her frightened, screaming face, the gum falling out of her mouth as the waves crash around our feet is indelibly imprinted on my mind.

So, the story with the jetty.  My family and several others from the congregation took a camping trip to Southbeach, Oregon.  One of the days we were on the beach we wandered in the direction of the jetty and Jake and I, being young teens/preteens at the time blazed the train, with Deanna, my younger sister, somewhere in between us and the group of grownups and older kids.  Deanna had mostly caught up with us when we saw a giant wave coming that was going to flood where we were.  I could hear Dad yelling for us to run and my brain went into overdrive.  Running up the beach, away from the waves was one option but I didn't feel we could run fast enough to escape it because the beach looked almost completely flat.  The other option was climbing the jetty and I chose that option, you could get higher, faster.  So Jake scrambled up first, Deanna in the  middle and me at the bottom.  Jake tried pulling Deanna higher, I tired pushing her higher, and she played limpet, gluing herself to the rock she was on.  And we made it just in time.  The huge wave lapped at the bottom of my shoes, nearly covering the rock I had gotten up to.  When the wave had mostly receded Jake decided to play hero and jump from the rock.  Evidently he hadn't seen the large trench that was now filled with water.  He got dunked, my dad grabbed him by the front of his shirt and Jake flew to the shore.  Go Dad!  Dad then waded over to us and carried either one or both of us to the rest of the group.  I remember Deanna being carried.

Day 13 - The Matanuska Valley and Other Diversions

 "Libraries and the Internet can be like crack houses for the research addicted."
Amen!  I can't count the number of hours I've spent wandering the internet or a random book after going in search of one specific piece of information.  I can't research worth squat but I can wander and find the most random and fascinating facts.

Day 12 - Long way of patience

August 12 - Write about taking the long way around

I took the long way around to the car from the library yesterday.  Normally I take the the handy new cut out but there was a cyclist fixing their shoe with their dog.  It was hot and the dog seemed friendly but I decided to give it room.  So I changed course like a pond skimmer, all angles, sharp turns, and quick movements.  I felt bad for possibly implying that the dog wasn't nice and the people/man behind me probably thought I was afraid of dogs but it's OK.  I took the long way around.

Day 12 - Patience

Writing takes time; dreaming, remembering, thinking, imagining, silence, solitude, and wasting time.
There is no fast and easy way around it.

Day 11 - Summer and Racing Hearts

August 11 - "Nevertheless it's still summer" (after Charles Wright)

It may rain in Oregon but it is still summer.
I may not have had a smore yet but it is still summer.

Since writing this I have had several smores.  It is officially summer!  :)

Day 11 - Racing Hearts and Churning Stomachs 

You don't have to like your own writing but others might.  You don't have to be calm and self assured.

Day 10 - Beginning or ending a work out

August 10 - It's either the beginning or the end

It's either the beginning or the end
A raindrop falls on a pond
It is the beginning and the end
The tear from a grieving mother
     has given life to a baby nymph
The first melt of the glacier is now
     the first sip of a duckling
The beginning is the end

I can see this turning into a children's book with Eric Carle style torn paper and etched paints art.  Or a villanelle.

 Day 10 - Working Out

Write for only five minutes!
Work out for writers.  :)

Usually we worry about not writing enough, not writing too much!  XD

Day 9 - Light on the water

August 9 - The way of light on water

Inlightened Ruffles

Inlit petals awash with pink blush 

Glides gently on molten wax

Crisp breeze caresses velvet ruffles

Bruised tips cradle

                            embers

                    dreams       glow

Inner contentment floats on viscous

                                             primordeal fear

Glazed

         in one rose

- Leandra Kafer (8. March .2006)

-----------------

Gently, gently it floated

Hovering

Not touching the cold water beneath

Pale and fuzzy, it could not bring itself to damp its life with this unhappy medium

Alone it wandered, wondered, searched for a companion, a someone, a friend

Searching across the water at last it found a beam of hope

"Come to me," it whispered,

     older, wiser, a lady

To the beam it flew,

     quickly as its form could fly

    to the voice that reached and faded

                             reached and faded

                             reached and faded

At last it reached its love

   Dodged bodies on the water

 And joined with its love

A stationary love

Whom it would leave

Older, wiser

To float again

Leaving with love and regrets

To find someone to share the water with again

The first poem I wrote years ago in my high school Creative Writing class based on the image you see.  When I read the prompt it was the first thing that came to mind so I had to copy it in before I began the new poem.

In the second poem I see this little, young, fuzzy, male ball of light floating above and wandering the dark ocean, searching for more of its kind and rather lonely.  Then it hears this siren voice calling across the water.  The voice is a lighthouse; older, more mature, female, maternal, and rather stuck in her ways (she is a lighthouse after all).  It dodges the boats on the water around her to fling itself into her light beam.  There they are very happy for a countless number of years until it begins to mature and realize that, despite their happy times, the lighthouse with it's stability and it with it's inherently playful and freewheeling ways don't share the same lifegoals.  So eventually the fuzzy light, now stronger, leaves to wander the waves again, again in search of someone to share life with. 

Day 9 - Getting Permission

Giver permissions to my students to write about themselves or whatever they please.

Day 8 - Everything Chirps

August 8 - Everything means something

I remember being so annoyed in high school when we read stories and the teacher asked us to find the symbolism in it.  I argued heartily that authors didn't put any in on purpose.  I was wrong.  I use names to symbolize things about the character or family.  I work in flowers from the Victorian language in one of my Rae stories.  But I won't do much beyond that.  It is too much thinking and like my stories to be easy on the brain.

I apologize Mrs. Croley and Mr. Beckley.  Profusely.  I was rude and stubborn and so sure of myself on the subject and refused to listen.  But I still hate To Kill a Mockingbird and The Scarlett Ibis.

Day 8 - The Voice That Chirps and Chips

"Just do the work.  Tell your story; it's important.  Have faith."

I liked this article too.  It talked about the inner critic we all have but that in authors is a little louder about both the stupidity and importance of our writing.

Day 7 - Dreaming and Jumping

August 7 - "In my dream I was the first to arrive" (after Thomas Smith)

I don't necessarily like being the first to arrive because then I'm not sure I'm in the right spot, but I definitely like being one of the first.  Then I can help with any last minute set-up or prep; I know where everything is before people show up; I can familiarize myself with the location before there is a crowd; and I can slowly greet people/acclimate to the noise as people trickle in rather than jumping into a crowded, noisy, potentially unfamiliar local.

Day 7 - Jumping Off

OK, they can finish talking about the risk taking or inappropriate side of writing any day now.
I do like the idea of randomly bursting into song in the middle of class though.

Day 6 - Daring to view the top

August 6 -The view from the top

     Most of the vista was shiny these days, only a ring of pale fuzz surrounding the field of vision.  The scragglyness had once been full and brown but time and weather had greatly reduced it.

    What is it?  A bald man's head.

I read this prompt, looked up, and was staring at my great-uncle's balding head.  I kid you not.  I tried making it more mysterious, like I was describing a mountain top but it really didn't work.  Oh well, live and learn.

 Day 6 - Daring to Tell

"Daring to tell, to open up the subconscious.  Then having to hold self accountable for feelings."
I've thought about this and pondered this quite a bit.  Feelings are scary!  Very!!
This philosophy of sorts also works on pain.  If I don't make any sounds of acknowledge it and if I don't tell anyone the pain will fade/go away/not get much worse/I can bear it.  But as soon as I whine or tell someone it gets worse/harder to bear because I've acknowledged it and it takes over.  Give it an inch and it takes a mile.

The part in quotes is a paraphrase of the article/the gist of it.  I enjoyed this one.  And funnily enough, we had a discussion like this on pain while camping!

Day 5 - Scaring up a family story

August 5 -  It was a family story
     It was one of teenaged Rayella's favorite romantic stories: the meeting and courtship of her grandparents Raymond and Elaine McGinty.

It's epic and sweet, I promise.  It is also longer than what I have time for at the moment.  Elaine Stewart was an English vet, trained in the city despite being raised in the English countryside.  Raymond McGinty was born and raised in fair Erin, fishing the lochs with his family.  Elaine visited Ireland with some girlfriends, met the quiet Irishman with a twinkle in his eye and the rest is history.  They lived in Dublin for a while before moving to America and having Bruce, Helen and Arthur in their new country.

Day 5 - Getting Caught
"If you're not scared you're not writing."
I don't believe that at all.  I can write plenty without being scared.  Unless I am hanging off a cliff or something.

Day 4 - Good intentions

August 4 - Write what is underneath good intentions

     A desire to help others.

     Ok, this prompt really irritated me for some reason.  I refuse to read bad into a situation and find the greed or desire to hurt others or whatever in someones heart.  I will look at the world with rose  colored glasses when I can.  I help others to be nice and to ease any suffering they may have.  I don't do it for prominence or money or any reward besides feeling like a million bucks.  /rant

Day 4 - Choosing Story over Relatives
"Writing is rewriting.  But first you need to have something on the page to rewrite."

Story of my life.  I mull things over in my head so long that then getting all the details on the paper is daunting.  I need a port in my brain so I can just dump all the data on the computer and then rework it.  :)

Day 3 - Calling Unremarkable Days

August 3 - "the details of unremarkable days" (after Revan Schendler)
    Rayella sighed and leaned her head back against the brick chimney of the building she was on.  The structure was gently warmed from the fire lit below as a deterrent against the cold forecast for that night.  The day had been absolutely boring and she hoped the night would be the same.  She hadn't had any classes due to the winter break and her father's clinic was closed so the whole family had slept until noon.  Brunch had been whatever they could hunt up and they each had drifted back to their rooms to read or play Legos or work on homework.  Around eight she had left to warm up at the Wayne mansion.  She had listened to the police scanner on the way there and while warming up and has been surprised to hear very little chatter, the occasional corner store robbery, a lost child, and two domestics.  Now she was patrolling and had yet to seen anything besides one attempted and foiled mugging.

Day 3 - The Holy Calling
Writing is a calling.

I found this unusually affirming and comforting.  Sometimes I feel like I have useless talents because they can't be as easily used for employment like a talent in mechanics or electronics or jewelry making can.  I have to be reminded that Jehovah created the human race to be diverse and I need to enjoy what I have.

Let's try this again

I've begun a new writing project!  Again.  I know.  I'm really bad at following through on things.  :/  I've bought two books (see below) that both have prompts for every day of the year.  Hopefully this will keep me motivated and writing nearly every day.  I started this on August 1st while I was on vacation so it was easy to find the time.  Since I've been home there have been many more distractions but I am posting my writing one month after I've written it/the prompt date so I have time to catch up.  Thankfully.  Hopefully this will keep my posts and updates more regular (except for when I have no internet).  I've tried using the auto post feature on Blogger so that it updates at 1 pm every day.  So far it hasn't worked but I'm going to do some testing and read the Help section and here's hoping it gets ironed out.
I am hand writing each of the prompts first so if they seem a bit short on your screen, it's longer on paper, I swear.  I'd like to start writing longer pieces but first I'm going to focus on writing daily.  Also, if they seem a bit scatter-brained, it's because I am not editing them before I post them, except for spelling or grammar.  If I do expand on a subject or comment on it, it will be in italics.
And introducing .... the help:

A Writer's Book of Days  by Judy Reeves

I've eyed this book for a while but didn't necessarily have a 'use' for it.  There are short articles on subjects like getting unstuck, how other writers became writers, and perfectionism, followed by five days of prompts.  ie.
September 1  "Even the lightning spoke well of them" (after W.S. Merwin)
September 2  He (she) asked you to dance
September 3  Write what was broken
September 4  We go out after dark
September 5  Write about dispelling loneliness

You are encouraged to change genders, tenses and points of view as you see fit and I enjoy it quite a bit.  I will go back and forth between fiction (based on one of my stories etc) and non-fiction responses, depending on how I am inspired.  So far this is a very enjoyable playground.

A Year of Writing Dangerously - 365 Days of Inspiration and Encouragement by Barbara Abercrombie

Fun fact, this was published only a month before I bought it!  I did not realize that when I purchased it but I feel like a beta tester!
There are 365 one page articles or anecdotes followed by a quote.  So far they have been railing on writing being dangerous/illicit/daring.  I am so done with it.
The examples I looked at when considering the book were much more enjoyable and there have been a couple of articles that I haven't been disgusted with.  I refuse to give up though, I'm hoping it will grow on me as the subject changes.
My responses to this will either paraphrase the article, respond to it, or both.  I'll try to add clarifying comments but we'll see how it goes.


I'm also thinking about doing a 365 self portraits project but that may not last.  It will last at least two months as I take a picture of every shirt I own.  :D  I may get bored after that.  And I'm still up in the air about posting it here in weekly batches or on Facebook.

Day 2 - Cost and sacred spaces

August 2 - This is what it cost
     I hate it when my family talks about money.  A lot.  It makes me very uncomfortable and a little guilty.  We've always been comfortably supported by my dad's income; we were never rich but neither were we poor.  Only when Dad was temporarily laid off did we (I) worry, and the only thing I really remember changing is that we stopped my piano lessons.  Not that I am or was heart broken.  He expected to be called Dr. Dave all the time, by a six or seven year old.  Pretensions.

Day 2 - Sacred Space
Plan my sacred "space"
- clear desk
- set up objects/photos I love (trees, black and white, Deanna, cat, mist)
- make it inviting (water feature)
- set time and days to write
- get reference books/book by authors I like
- focus on cleaning my 'office' when I get home

Day 1 - Nothing lasts and writing spaces

August 1 - Nothing lasts
      Rayella and peppermint ice cream
     Threatens to be depressing and sad, something with kids/swimming/Baskin Robbins
     The ice cream was a melted little puddle by the time they got back.  The once lovely mounds of peppermint were long gone.  Rayella and her kids had stopped by a quarry lake on their drive, decided to take a swim, forgotten their half-eaten Baskin Robbins.
     Thankfully they had gotten bowls to rest their cones in so the pink puddles were contained but the children stared mournfully until their mother promised to buy them more - later.

Day 1 - Switchbacks up the Mountain
So, what would my perfect writing space be?
Not alone really, or maybe ...

• Quiet but stereo system through the whole thing
• Big comfy couches and armchairs
• Water feature in and out
• By train tracks?
• Big library of non-fic ref
• Art prints/paintings on walls
• Not too clean or white 

My current 'switchback cabin' is a table at the library.  But preferably on the right side.  Left is associated with studying.  Either way I see the duck and goose ponds but on the right side people feed them less, there is less a concentration of people and few distractions that way.  I put on whatever music I need in order to be inspired: epic, sweet, rock, medieval.  Usually I write on my laptop (now) but there is something wonderful about sitting down with a notebook and pen and going to town.  At home when I write, scents can be important so I have a variety of candles that I will smell/light/or have it sitting next to me.  Some stories are orange cinnamon, some are apple spice, some are a delightful musk (like the Outsiders with Darry Curtis).