Ya know, as I was reading the Yahoo!News I was thinking about some of the stuff that comes up as "News". Now, granted, some stuff is news and other stuff is just, "stuff".
Are people really so ignorant that Uncle Sam is allowed to come in and tell them how to raise their children, or eat this, not that, or,gee golly shucks, I just can't live without knowing about?
Have you noticed? THEY tell us that WE can't spank our child for being naughty. WE can't eat bacon because it makes us fat. We can't breath fresh air because it'll fry our brains.......WHO are THEY? What makes THEM so all fired smarter than ourselves?
Why do THEY know better what's good for me than I know what's good for ME? When did I suddenly decided I wasn't smart enough to take care of myself? Did I miss a memo or something?
I mean, give me a freakin' break, folks. I have a brain. I use it, and I don't need someone from somewhere else who doesn't even know me to come in and tell me THEY know better.
Have THEY lived in my shoes, slept in MY bed, worked at MY job and paid MY bills? NO! Then what makes THEM think THEY know better than I do what is best for ME?!
Get the HELL out of my life and go do YOUR JOB, you know the one; the one WE THE PEOPLE voted you in to do? We did NOT vote you in to step in and RUN OUR LIVES for us. Ruin your own life, if you must, but don't proceed to tell ME how to live, WHERE to live, or even WHEN to die. NOT in your job description.
And some of the stupid headlines. Talk about sensationalism. BFD!! I don't care if Tom, or JLO, or Spears or anyone else farts green pink or purple. Who cares if they all wear the same outfit. What impact does it have on me? NOTHING!
If I wanted to know what color dress, or what suit someone wore, I'd write and ask, not read a very biased story.
Come on people, wake up and start taking charge of your own life. If you don't, we'll soon be like Russia was once.
You know, maybe TEXAS SHOULD leave the US and become her own nation again after all. That way, we don't have to put up with all the yo-yo's in Washington, DC. We could put up with our OWN yo-yo's and make them listen better than those in the OTHER country...
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Just thinking
I've been pondering this thing called "Publishing". Why it's so hard to get that coveted prize, a "Published" book.
Even when finally published I've noticed that publishers are asking the writers to take an "active" and "monetary" interest in getting the book published or bought, i.e.: you pay X amount and we'll pay X amount and get you published in no time.
Yet I've been told that the writer should only invest their time and talent, that a "REAL & HONEST" publisher will never ask for money. They will PAY YOU to publish YOUR work.
I have been contacted by so many different "Traditional" publishers who want to print and sell my work, but only if I am willing to PAY to have them do it for me. Something wrong with this picture?
Okay, if a TRADITIONAL publisher wants to publish my work, and they are coming to ME, why should I pay THEM to publish my work?
If it is good enough for them to want to publish what I've written, why should I have to PAY them? I thought publishers were supposed to take that risk on themselves.
Yes, I believe in my work, and I believe it will sell. Why? Because it is not your everyday type of story. How many write about the deaf or deaf relations in a hearing world?
That being said, I once more ask, "If my work is good enough to catch your attention, why should I have to PAY YOU, to publish it?
Publish America is one such publisher that bills itself s a "Traditional Publisher that pays its authors for their work." Uh uh, yeah, right.
Then why am I constantly bombarded with things such as "We will walk your book over to Disney and present it for a POSSIBLE movie deal." or "We now have agents wanting to help sell your book!" ... you get the picture, I'm sure, but it all comes with a price tag. They won't do any of these things unless YOU pay THEM. Sure, it may not be much, then when you get to reading the fine print, it says pay this much MORE and we'll make SURE you are the first! Again, I say, U huh ...
I have even been contacted by several agents who say, "We would like you for a customer. We want to represent you and your work ... You're a great author! ... for a price."
When did agents start to charge people? I was told, no, a reputable agent doesn't charge until they sell your work, then they get a percentage ... fine, then where are they?
If I sound a little jaded, it's because I am. No, I have no rejection slips to hand because I sold my first book to first publisher that I sent it too. Was it a good deal, I don't think so. Yes, they did what they said they'd do, but now I'm bombarded by "offers" of more if I want to pay for them.
I say to them, "No, thanks. I'll just keep writing and looking until I find someone I think will like my work, then I'll start collecting reject slips. Until then, leave me alone.
Even when finally published I've noticed that publishers are asking the writers to take an "active" and "monetary" interest in getting the book published or bought, i.e.: you pay X amount and we'll pay X amount and get you published in no time.
Yet I've been told that the writer should only invest their time and talent, that a "REAL & HONEST" publisher will never ask for money. They will PAY YOU to publish YOUR work.
I have been contacted by so many different "Traditional" publishers who want to print and sell my work, but only if I am willing to PAY to have them do it for me. Something wrong with this picture?
Okay, if a TRADITIONAL publisher wants to publish my work, and they are coming to ME, why should I pay THEM to publish my work?
If it is good enough for them to want to publish what I've written, why should I have to PAY them? I thought publishers were supposed to take that risk on themselves.
Yes, I believe in my work, and I believe it will sell. Why? Because it is not your everyday type of story. How many write about the deaf or deaf relations in a hearing world?
That being said, I once more ask, "If my work is good enough to catch your attention, why should I have to PAY YOU, to publish it?
Publish America is one such publisher that bills itself s a "Traditional Publisher that pays its authors for their work." Uh uh, yeah, right.
Then why am I constantly bombarded with things such as "We will walk your book over to Disney and present it for a POSSIBLE movie deal." or "We now have agents wanting to help sell your book!" ... you get the picture, I'm sure, but it all comes with a price tag. They won't do any of these things unless YOU pay THEM. Sure, it may not be much, then when you get to reading the fine print, it says pay this much MORE and we'll make SURE you are the first! Again, I say, U huh ...
I have even been contacted by several agents who say, "We would like you for a customer. We want to represent you and your work ... You're a great author! ... for a price."
When did agents start to charge people? I was told, no, a reputable agent doesn't charge until they sell your work, then they get a percentage ... fine, then where are they?
If I sound a little jaded, it's because I am. No, I have no rejection slips to hand because I sold my first book to first publisher that I sent it too. Was it a good deal, I don't think so. Yes, they did what they said they'd do, but now I'm bombarded by "offers" of more if I want to pay for them.
I say to them, "No, thanks. I'll just keep writing and looking until I find someone I think will like my work, then I'll start collecting reject slips. Until then, leave me alone.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Life in the Slow Lane
I stopped the car and stared out the window at the stars above. Several twinkled with laughter and life, and I had to wonder, "Is there life out there? Are they looking at their stars and wondering if this is all there is?" I shook my head and chuckled at myself. If life is out there, especially intelligent life, why would they want to come here?
The sight of a falling star gave me pause, and quickly I made a wish. Releasing the breath I didn't realize I was holding, I slowly opened the car door and climbed out to breath in the velvety softness of the night air.
I paused to listen, and found my hearing was muffled by the echo of the car noise. I stood in place and willed myself to relax, my hearing slowly returned.
Crickets called from the grass as frogs screamed from surrounding trees. Overhead cam the sound of fluttering wings. "Night birds," I thought.
Suddenly, I thought I could make out the words the night creatures were calling, "Go back, go back! Go away, go away!" I felt the hairs on my arms and head rise. An uneasy feeling ripped through me. "DANGER!" "RUN!"
I yanked on the car door, and momentarily thought I had locked myself out, but the third try made the door pop open. I threw myself inside the car and locked the doors. The pop of the lock calmed me and I laughed at the sudden fear that had overtaken me.
The sight of a falling star gave me pause, and quickly I made a wish. Releasing the breath I didn't realize I was holding, I slowly opened the car door and climbed out to breath in the velvety softness of the night air.
I paused to listen, and found my hearing was muffled by the echo of the car noise. I stood in place and willed myself to relax, my hearing slowly returned.
Crickets called from the grass as frogs screamed from surrounding trees. Overhead cam the sound of fluttering wings. "Night birds," I thought.
Suddenly, I thought I could make out the words the night creatures were calling, "Go back, go back! Go away, go away!" I felt the hairs on my arms and head rise. An uneasy feeling ripped through me. "DANGER!" "RUN!"
I yanked on the car door, and momentarily thought I had locked myself out, but the third try made the door pop open. I threw myself inside the car and locked the doors. The pop of the lock calmed me and I laughed at the sudden fear that had overtaken me.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Diabetic?
ekay, the doc told me I was a diabetic, how he know? ONE time I have high numbers, all others are in normal number range. I think the last test was after I consumed way too much sweet stuff cuzz mum was in a sweet cooking stage. I can resist anything but sweets, so I'm just going to wait it out and see.
He's told me so much conflicting stuff that I'm not sure what to believe. I get tired of being told to "eat this, not that". You're getting older and the body can't handle the calories or carbs or.... so freaking what!
I'm losing the weight and I feel fine. I'm tired, but since I work for myself I expect to be tired.
I think I was doing better before I started to go to doctor.
I hate doctors and their "I know better than you," attitudes.
To hell with all of them.
He's told me so much conflicting stuff that I'm not sure what to believe. I get tired of being told to "eat this, not that". You're getting older and the body can't handle the calories or carbs or.... so freaking what!
I'm losing the weight and I feel fine. I'm tired, but since I work for myself I expect to be tired.
I think I was doing better before I started to go to doctor.
I hate doctors and their "I know better than you," attitudes.
To hell with all of them.
Monday, June 6, 2011
My Take on today's books and maybe a tad bit more.....
In reading one of the many blogs I follow I have come to the conclusion that people will be people, regardless of age rank or serial number.
Kids will read what kids read, sometimes all the censorship in the world won't help.
You can wish for happy-ever-afters, or dark, what happened to? books. Some will like them, some will not.
Taste and tasteless go hand in hand. Just as one person thinks "treasure!" another thinks, "Trash!".
So, where does that leave us? Same place we started.
I've noticed that some of the people blatanly against books like "Chronicals of Narnia" or "Hobbitt" or even "White Gold Weilder", might have read and enjoyed such books as children or youth or YA.
Where, or when, did thier views become scewed? Why did they decided that "Disney" is bad for children, or "Tom Sawyer" become racist?
Did you enjoy these as kids, and if so, why did you suddenly change your views? What makes it okay for YOU to have enjoyed the Disney movies, or children's books, but not for your children, or someone else's children.
Who made YOU Master over what today's children read. OKay, so you can choose what your kids read, but not someone else's.
Don't tell me what I, or my kids (assuming I have any) can or cannot read. That's as bad as telling me I can't pray, or say the Pledge of Allegiance with "Under God".
You do your thing, I'll do mine. Don't tell me what I can or can not do. Don't push your ideas off on me, and I won't push mine off on you.
I don't know where you live, but I live in America, where I have the freedom to voice my OPINION, and to CHOOSE to listen, or not, to you.
Don't tell me you're right, and I'm wrong. It doesn't matter in the long run. We all have our ideas, dreams, hopes and will to pick and choose.
I'll choose what I want to read, and leave you to do the same. I'll decided what my kids read, but don't presume to tell me what I will let them read.
If you think YA is too this or too that, then leave it be, but don't presume to tell me how right or wrong it is.
That's MY opinion, and I'll stand with it.
Kids will read what kids read, sometimes all the censorship in the world won't help.
You can wish for happy-ever-afters, or dark, what happened to? books. Some will like them, some will not.
Taste and tasteless go hand in hand. Just as one person thinks "treasure!" another thinks, "Trash!".
So, where does that leave us? Same place we started.
I've noticed that some of the people blatanly against books like "Chronicals of Narnia" or "Hobbitt" or even "White Gold Weilder", might have read and enjoyed such books as children or youth or YA.
Where, or when, did thier views become scewed? Why did they decided that "Disney" is bad for children, or "Tom Sawyer" become racist?
Did you enjoy these as kids, and if so, why did you suddenly change your views? What makes it okay for YOU to have enjoyed the Disney movies, or children's books, but not for your children, or someone else's children.
Who made YOU Master over what today's children read. OKay, so you can choose what your kids read, but not someone else's.
Don't tell me what I, or my kids (assuming I have any) can or cannot read. That's as bad as telling me I can't pray, or say the Pledge of Allegiance with "Under God".
You do your thing, I'll do mine. Don't tell me what I can or can not do. Don't push your ideas off on me, and I won't push mine off on you.
I don't know where you live, but I live in America, where I have the freedom to voice my OPINION, and to CHOOSE to listen, or not, to you.
Don't tell me you're right, and I'm wrong. It doesn't matter in the long run. We all have our ideas, dreams, hopes and will to pick and choose.
I'll choose what I want to read, and leave you to do the same. I'll decided what my kids read, but don't presume to tell me what I will let them read.
If you think YA is too this or too that, then leave it be, but don't presume to tell me how right or wrong it is.
That's MY opinion, and I'll stand with it.
Friday, January 21, 2011
New site
Been over at the new site putting up some stories and stuff. Kinda like it better'n this one, but I'm going to keep this one, too.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
New web page
I've set up a web page for my book. I like it, and it is easy to use!
Try weebly.com and tell them PJ sent ya!
Try weebly.com and tell them PJ sent ya!
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Blog or No Blog?
I'm beginning to think I am wasting my time with this blog. No one but myself and a friend ever comment, so, what's the big deal?
Writer's block is no longer a problem. I've figured out how to break it and get back to writing! LOL
But, is the blog worth it? I dunno.... I'll think on it a bit more before I decide.
Writer's block is no longer a problem. I've figured out how to break it and get back to writing! LOL
But, is the blog worth it? I dunno.... I'll think on it a bit more before I decide.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Now What?
Okay, class is over for this semester. Now, what to do with myself until next semester? Guess I'll keep writing and bowling and sketching. Oh jolly fun.
Work first, then feeding the critters, then me and if any time is left over, I write. Sounds like a plan to me!
Christmas is around the corner and I haven't bought many gifts. Haven't finished making them, either. Just too tired. Dern dogs fight, bite and just plain don't want to co-operate! AAAAaaaargh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Frustating with a capital F! Well, could be worse, could not have the businesses and even worse, be working for someone else! NOoooooooooo!
Well, back to the old grind.
Work first, then feeding the critters, then me and if any time is left over, I write. Sounds like a plan to me!
Christmas is around the corner and I haven't bought many gifts. Haven't finished making them, either. Just too tired. Dern dogs fight, bite and just plain don't want to co-operate! AAAAaaaargh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Frustating with a capital F! Well, could be worse, could not have the businesses and even worse, be working for someone else! NOoooooooooo!
Well, back to the old grind.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Where Am I in My Writing?
Hmm, where am I in my writing and where do I want to go with it?
Well, let me see. Where am I? I believe I am at an empass. I really have no idea where I am, except, well, nowhere. The "want too" is no longer there. I feel like an empty vessel. Dry; hollow, with cobwebs clogging the entrance to thought, and old dry leaves clogging the drainpipe.
Maybe it is because I am trying too hard? Or could it be that I really have run out of things to write about? But, no, I have many stories to tell. Some are funny, some maybe thought provoking, but all rolling around inside me. It is just that something is blocking their passage from memory, to paper, or rather, to keyboard and screen.
Perhaps one day, hopefully soon, the blockade will break and memories and stories will once again come forth freely, like they have before. But, until that day, I will wander aimlessly thru the portals of mind and thought, waiting and watching, until the dam breaks.
Another question to ponder is "Where do I want to go with my writing?" Well, I really am not certain. I want to grow as a writer and eventually become a well known name in the literary circle of famous authors. I really do not care if I am ever recognized, although that would be nice, but rather, just hear people mention my name with that breathless wonder of awe.
Who knows, though, where I will end up in the world of writers. Wherever it is, I am certian I will obtain some form of contentment .... at least until the next fit of writing comes along.
Well, let me see. Where am I? I believe I am at an empass. I really have no idea where I am, except, well, nowhere. The "want too" is no longer there. I feel like an empty vessel. Dry; hollow, with cobwebs clogging the entrance to thought, and old dry leaves clogging the drainpipe.
Maybe it is because I am trying too hard? Or could it be that I really have run out of things to write about? But, no, I have many stories to tell. Some are funny, some maybe thought provoking, but all rolling around inside me. It is just that something is blocking their passage from memory, to paper, or rather, to keyboard and screen.
Perhaps one day, hopefully soon, the blockade will break and memories and stories will once again come forth freely, like they have before. But, until that day, I will wander aimlessly thru the portals of mind and thought, waiting and watching, until the dam breaks.
Another question to ponder is "Where do I want to go with my writing?" Well, I really am not certain. I want to grow as a writer and eventually become a well known name in the literary circle of famous authors. I really do not care if I am ever recognized, although that would be nice, but rather, just hear people mention my name with that breathless wonder of awe.
Who knows, though, where I will end up in the world of writers. Wherever it is, I am certian I will obtain some form of contentment .... at least until the next fit of writing comes along.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
EYES DECEIVED
Draygonia stood between the trees, looking out at the meadow, and sighed at the creature she saw. It was an old gray horse with green stains on its side where it had been rolling in the new spring grass. The town's folk had told her there was a vicious unicorn living in the woods around the village. She had come at their summons and spoke her price to rid the village of the nuisance. They had readily agreed. The village Witch had given her a charm to use against the magical creature. She frowned as she remembered the soft- spoken words the woman had told her,
"See not with your eyes, Child, but with your heart and soul. For only then you will see the true danger that awaits you!"
The horse moved in an arthritic way, its joints swollen, and its coat dull with age. The teeth, she noted, were worn almost to nothing. He had trouble tearing the grass with them. A small breeze ruffled the tangled mane and tail.
Suddenly, the head came up. She blinked at the sudden change in the animal. Instead of a tired looking horse she saw a snow-white creature with a single horn adorning its forehead. At the tip of the horn shone the sparkle of a diamond. Silver and gold wrapped itself around the horn in a spiral that caught the light of the sun and reflected it blindingly into her eyes. Its hooves were of silver, and golden shoes adorned his feet.
"Oh, ho!" she thought, "A clever way to disguise yourself! Keeps unwanted hunters from coming after you."
The unicorn raised its muzzle into the wind. Soft snuffling could be heard, and then a strange light came into its eyes. The unicorn reared in excitement; sweeping its gaze around the clearing.
She nodded to herself, "It figures, a stallion on the rampage, probably looking for a mate."
She whispered the spell to the charm that the witch had given her. As she felt it take hold she stepped out from the trees. A beam of sunlight caught her; forming a halo effect around her. The stallion called his pleasure at seeing her. She pranced and danced in front of him for many minutes before walking towards him slowly.
"I hope this charm works," she muttered to herself.
The stallion stretched his muzzle to her, their noses almost touching. She stared at him and searched for the amulet that would normally hang around the horn. At first she could not see it, and started to panic.
"Where is the amulet?" she asked herself. The sudden movement of the stallion’s head let the sunlight pass between them; she saw it. It appeared to have a double image on it.
"Of course it does, dummy, it hides him from the hunters!" she chastised herself.
Slowly and carefully she raised the hand that held a silver dagger with two spheres on its hilt. The stones glowed softly as she neared the horn of the stallion.
He snorted and backed off. He became suspicious when she had not responded to him as her earlier dance suggested. Realizing her mistake she gave a quick squeal and flashed her tail at him. He relaxed and returned to sniff at her. She winced as he nipped her playfully along the shoulder, and she squealed again, this time in true reaction. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse of attention she swiftly flicked her wrist causing the amulet to fall from the stallion's horn. Too late, he realized the danger. He lunged at her, knocking her down.
For some reason the words the old witch spoke to her rang in her head. She closed her eyes at the sight of two silver and gold hooves rising above her as the stallion reared in anger. From behind closed lids she saw the true images on the amulet.
"Great Mother! What had she gotten herself into?" She rolled instinctively to the right and heard the hooves hit the ground where, just moments before, her head had been resting. Still reeling from the sudden discovery, she rose and ran. Behind her came sounds of pursuit. The stallion called, only the sound was changing. It was more a cross between a bugle and a roar. She turned and froze in place at the sight that came to her eyes.
A red-gold haze surrounded the unicorn stallion. His back split as long leathery wings unfolded, his feet changed into claws with long nasty hooks on the end. The unicorn's neck stretched, his fine boned head elongated, and the single horn split, becoming two. The sound she now heard was definitely a roar.
No longer thinking coherently she began to draw three inter-connecting circles at her feet. As each one was completed she sang a quick ward. She stepped into the middle of the center circle, dropping the transformation spell, and watched in horrified fascination as the charging creature came towards her at an unbelievable speed. As he charged, the transformation became complete. In place of the unicorn was a very huge, very angry, dragon.
She groaned," Please, Great One, let this humble servant live to see another day!"
The dragon flapped his powerful wings and flew over her. He roared his challenge in a sulfur laden voice, "Who dares defy me? You are nothing. Where is my true challenger?"
Searing anger burnt its way through her," I am your challenger, and your death, Worm from the pits of Hell!" She raised her fist and began to chant one of her many spell songs. Before she could finish, however, the dragon flew over and sent a great trail of fire at her. She fell to her knees as the heat engulfed her and the grass outside the circles caught fire. She staggered back to her feet and defiantly raised her voice at him, "Did you think me so stupid, you arrogant beast? You can not harm me while I stand in this place!"
"So, fire will not harm you there? Hmm," the dragon hovered above her, then turned and climbed into the sky. Soon he was just a small speck, but that speck quickly grew as he came at her at a great rate of speed. She watched and tried to figure out his strategy. Closer and closer he came, until she thought he was going to ram her into the ground by the sheer force of his body. Instead he fell straight then suddenly unfolded his wings and back peddled, causing a high wind to blow debris and smoke at her. She coughed and choked, her eyes were streaming tears from the acrid smoke. She did not realize she had stumbled from the protection of the circles.
She tripped and fell. The dagger and amulet flew from her hands and landed several feet away. The dragon roared his triumph and reached for the amulet. As his huge claws encircled the objects he felt a searing pain course its way up into his body. SILVER! He should have realized. In his anger he had not even thought about how she had gotten the amulet. He dropped the items and rushed for the girl. She rolled along the ground and dodged in among the trees. The dragon did not leave his precarious perch over his precious toy. He would have to figure a way to get the two objects apart. As he pondered he quickly forgot the girl. He could only concentrate on one thing at a time. She hid among the trees watching the dragon. No wonder the old witch had tried to warn her. She must have suspected this type of treachery. Dragons, she had been told, quickly tired of their games and would often forget what they were originally angry at, or else would just give up when it seemed they could not win. This particular one, however, would not give up! The dragon roared his rage at being unable to get at his treasure! With a mighty thrust of his hind legs he became air born.
His eyes glowed red-orange, smoke and flames slipped from between gritted teeth.
"Where are you!" he roared. "Come, finish the challenge! Look, I have left the trinkets for you to claim. Come forth, woman-girl." He circled higher and higher.
She moved through the trees trying to get as close to the items as possible before leaving her shelter. She knew better than to try and outrun the creature. Carefully she judged the distance between her, her protective wards, and the dagger, still wrapped with the amulet. She peered into the sky, but was unable to see the waiting creature. She knew he was there, she could "feel" his watching eyes. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, counted quietly to ten, then dashed from her cover. From overhead she heard the dragon roar. She did not dare look up, for if she did, she was dead.
Reaching the dagger she grabbed, dropped and rolled. The dragon passed over and she heard claws clack shut just inches from her body. She jumped and ran for the wards that she could see still glowing in the fading light.
"Oh, Great Mother," she thought, "I'm running out of light!"
Her wards were barely out of reach when the dragon caught up with her. She heaved one last time with her legs and jumped for the circles. Landing just short, she quickly scrambled into their safety.
The dragon lost all semblance of control. He raged at her, blew fire at her and twice knocked her from her feet. He rose into the dying light and prepared for a final assault on the girl. Below him he saw her raise her hands to the setting sun.
In her left hand she held the two crystals from the dagger's hilt. In her right was the dagger and amulet. The dragon knew the spell. He roared in outrage. She must not be allowed to finish the spell!
She prayed there was enough sunlight left. Holding the objects over her head she began the chant that would destroy the dragon:
DRA--GOON,
DRA--GON,
DRA--CORN!
THY POWER HAS PASSED!
THOU ART NO MORE!
PASSING AS THE LIGHT OF DAY,
PASS YE NOW, TO HELL'S RED WAY.
LIGHT WILL STRIKE, THE DARK WILL FLEE,
THESE OBJECTS ARE NOW ONE WITH ME!
A lone beam of light passed under the dragon and struck the two crystals. A red beam passed from the dagger to the amulet and then bounced from the silver up to the raging dragon. As the light touched him he turned and tried to flee, but the power from the spell and the setting sun was too strong. Smoke curled from his shining scales and fire danced along his back. Everywhere the magic touched caused a shriveling of scales, and flesh to burn. He fell to earth as fine black powder. The dragon was gone.
Her arms ached. Her body was cut and bruised, but still, she stood. As the sun passed from sight a sparkle caught her eyes. Looking down at her hands she saw, that where the two crystals had been, was a single large, blood red ruby. In the center of the stone was the mark of the Guardian.
The stone and the mark meant only one thing, she had been chosen as the Guardian of the Dragon's eye.
"How," she wondered aloud, “will I manage to live a thousand score years and not re-live this day?"
"You will never forget."
She spun around. Before her was the village witch.
“How come you here, alone?" she asked.
The old woman chuckled, "Look not with your eyes, Child, but with your heart."
She frowned then closed her eyes. She willed her mind into calm, and waited. The image before her was the same as the woman standing before her, only much younger. In her hand she held the Dragon's Eye.
"You were the guardian?"
"Yes, my child. And like all guardians before me, when my powers grew weak the dragon returned. Only the next chosen could have handled the dagger as you did."
"How did you know?" she asked.
" I knew of you long before your birth. Take the eye. Do not return to the village. I wish that I could journey with you, but these old bones will soon go to rest. The old woman turned and faded into the shadow of the trees.
Draygonia pulled a silk bag from one of her many pockets and placed the eye into it for safe-keeping. With a flip of her long red hair, she turned and left the clearing, never once looking back.
"See not with your eyes, Child, but with your heart and soul. For only then you will see the true danger that awaits you!"
The horse moved in an arthritic way, its joints swollen, and its coat dull with age. The teeth, she noted, were worn almost to nothing. He had trouble tearing the grass with them. A small breeze ruffled the tangled mane and tail.
Suddenly, the head came up. She blinked at the sudden change in the animal. Instead of a tired looking horse she saw a snow-white creature with a single horn adorning its forehead. At the tip of the horn shone the sparkle of a diamond. Silver and gold wrapped itself around the horn in a spiral that caught the light of the sun and reflected it blindingly into her eyes. Its hooves were of silver, and golden shoes adorned his feet.
"Oh, ho!" she thought, "A clever way to disguise yourself! Keeps unwanted hunters from coming after you."
The unicorn raised its muzzle into the wind. Soft snuffling could be heard, and then a strange light came into its eyes. The unicorn reared in excitement; sweeping its gaze around the clearing.
She nodded to herself, "It figures, a stallion on the rampage, probably looking for a mate."
She whispered the spell to the charm that the witch had given her. As she felt it take hold she stepped out from the trees. A beam of sunlight caught her; forming a halo effect around her. The stallion called his pleasure at seeing her. She pranced and danced in front of him for many minutes before walking towards him slowly.
"I hope this charm works," she muttered to herself.
The stallion stretched his muzzle to her, their noses almost touching. She stared at him and searched for the amulet that would normally hang around the horn. At first she could not see it, and started to panic.
"Where is the amulet?" she asked herself. The sudden movement of the stallion’s head let the sunlight pass between them; she saw it. It appeared to have a double image on it.
"Of course it does, dummy, it hides him from the hunters!" she chastised herself.
Slowly and carefully she raised the hand that held a silver dagger with two spheres on its hilt. The stones glowed softly as she neared the horn of the stallion.
He snorted and backed off. He became suspicious when she had not responded to him as her earlier dance suggested. Realizing her mistake she gave a quick squeal and flashed her tail at him. He relaxed and returned to sniff at her. She winced as he nipped her playfully along the shoulder, and she squealed again, this time in true reaction. Taking advantage of his momentary lapse of attention she swiftly flicked her wrist causing the amulet to fall from the stallion's horn. Too late, he realized the danger. He lunged at her, knocking her down.
For some reason the words the old witch spoke to her rang in her head. She closed her eyes at the sight of two silver and gold hooves rising above her as the stallion reared in anger. From behind closed lids she saw the true images on the amulet.
"Great Mother! What had she gotten herself into?" She rolled instinctively to the right and heard the hooves hit the ground where, just moments before, her head had been resting. Still reeling from the sudden discovery, she rose and ran. Behind her came sounds of pursuit. The stallion called, only the sound was changing. It was more a cross between a bugle and a roar. She turned and froze in place at the sight that came to her eyes.
A red-gold haze surrounded the unicorn stallion. His back split as long leathery wings unfolded, his feet changed into claws with long nasty hooks on the end. The unicorn's neck stretched, his fine boned head elongated, and the single horn split, becoming two. The sound she now heard was definitely a roar.
No longer thinking coherently she began to draw three inter-connecting circles at her feet. As each one was completed she sang a quick ward. She stepped into the middle of the center circle, dropping the transformation spell, and watched in horrified fascination as the charging creature came towards her at an unbelievable speed. As he charged, the transformation became complete. In place of the unicorn was a very huge, very angry, dragon.
She groaned," Please, Great One, let this humble servant live to see another day!"
The dragon flapped his powerful wings and flew over her. He roared his challenge in a sulfur laden voice, "Who dares defy me? You are nothing. Where is my true challenger?"
Searing anger burnt its way through her," I am your challenger, and your death, Worm from the pits of Hell!" She raised her fist and began to chant one of her many spell songs. Before she could finish, however, the dragon flew over and sent a great trail of fire at her. She fell to her knees as the heat engulfed her and the grass outside the circles caught fire. She staggered back to her feet and defiantly raised her voice at him, "Did you think me so stupid, you arrogant beast? You can not harm me while I stand in this place!"
"So, fire will not harm you there? Hmm," the dragon hovered above her, then turned and climbed into the sky. Soon he was just a small speck, but that speck quickly grew as he came at her at a great rate of speed. She watched and tried to figure out his strategy. Closer and closer he came, until she thought he was going to ram her into the ground by the sheer force of his body. Instead he fell straight then suddenly unfolded his wings and back peddled, causing a high wind to blow debris and smoke at her. She coughed and choked, her eyes were streaming tears from the acrid smoke. She did not realize she had stumbled from the protection of the circles.
She tripped and fell. The dagger and amulet flew from her hands and landed several feet away. The dragon roared his triumph and reached for the amulet. As his huge claws encircled the objects he felt a searing pain course its way up into his body. SILVER! He should have realized. In his anger he had not even thought about how she had gotten the amulet. He dropped the items and rushed for the girl. She rolled along the ground and dodged in among the trees. The dragon did not leave his precarious perch over his precious toy. He would have to figure a way to get the two objects apart. As he pondered he quickly forgot the girl. He could only concentrate on one thing at a time. She hid among the trees watching the dragon. No wonder the old witch had tried to warn her. She must have suspected this type of treachery. Dragons, she had been told, quickly tired of their games and would often forget what they were originally angry at, or else would just give up when it seemed they could not win. This particular one, however, would not give up! The dragon roared his rage at being unable to get at his treasure! With a mighty thrust of his hind legs he became air born.
His eyes glowed red-orange, smoke and flames slipped from between gritted teeth.
"Where are you!" he roared. "Come, finish the challenge! Look, I have left the trinkets for you to claim. Come forth, woman-girl." He circled higher and higher.
She moved through the trees trying to get as close to the items as possible before leaving her shelter. She knew better than to try and outrun the creature. Carefully she judged the distance between her, her protective wards, and the dagger, still wrapped with the amulet. She peered into the sky, but was unable to see the waiting creature. She knew he was there, she could "feel" his watching eyes. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, counted quietly to ten, then dashed from her cover. From overhead she heard the dragon roar. She did not dare look up, for if she did, she was dead.
Reaching the dagger she grabbed, dropped and rolled. The dragon passed over and she heard claws clack shut just inches from her body. She jumped and ran for the wards that she could see still glowing in the fading light.
"Oh, Great Mother," she thought, "I'm running out of light!"
Her wards were barely out of reach when the dragon caught up with her. She heaved one last time with her legs and jumped for the circles. Landing just short, she quickly scrambled into their safety.
The dragon lost all semblance of control. He raged at her, blew fire at her and twice knocked her from her feet. He rose into the dying light and prepared for a final assault on the girl. Below him he saw her raise her hands to the setting sun.
In her left hand she held the two crystals from the dagger's hilt. In her right was the dagger and amulet. The dragon knew the spell. He roared in outrage. She must not be allowed to finish the spell!
She prayed there was enough sunlight left. Holding the objects over her head she began the chant that would destroy the dragon:
DRA--GOON,
DRA--GON,
DRA--CORN!
THY POWER HAS PASSED!
THOU ART NO MORE!
PASSING AS THE LIGHT OF DAY,
PASS YE NOW, TO HELL'S RED WAY.
LIGHT WILL STRIKE, THE DARK WILL FLEE,
THESE OBJECTS ARE NOW ONE WITH ME!
A lone beam of light passed under the dragon and struck the two crystals. A red beam passed from the dagger to the amulet and then bounced from the silver up to the raging dragon. As the light touched him he turned and tried to flee, but the power from the spell and the setting sun was too strong. Smoke curled from his shining scales and fire danced along his back. Everywhere the magic touched caused a shriveling of scales, and flesh to burn. He fell to earth as fine black powder. The dragon was gone.
Her arms ached. Her body was cut and bruised, but still, she stood. As the sun passed from sight a sparkle caught her eyes. Looking down at her hands she saw, that where the two crystals had been, was a single large, blood red ruby. In the center of the stone was the mark of the Guardian.
The stone and the mark meant only one thing, she had been chosen as the Guardian of the Dragon's eye.
"How," she wondered aloud, “will I manage to live a thousand score years and not re-live this day?"
"You will never forget."
She spun around. Before her was the village witch.
“How come you here, alone?" she asked.
The old woman chuckled, "Look not with your eyes, Child, but with your heart."
She frowned then closed her eyes. She willed her mind into calm, and waited. The image before her was the same as the woman standing before her, only much younger. In her hand she held the Dragon's Eye.
"You were the guardian?"
"Yes, my child. And like all guardians before me, when my powers grew weak the dragon returned. Only the next chosen could have handled the dagger as you did."
"How did you know?" she asked.
" I knew of you long before your birth. Take the eye. Do not return to the village. I wish that I could journey with you, but these old bones will soon go to rest. The old woman turned and faded into the shadow of the trees.
Draygonia pulled a silk bag from one of her many pockets and placed the eye into it for safe-keeping. With a flip of her long red hair, she turned and left the clearing, never once looking back.
Dr. Tarpley and the Bois d'Arc Tree
Dr. Tarpley and the Bois d’Arc Tree
By P.J. Bedingfield
“…and we have plans to remove about fifty trees from this pasture…“Ms. Fields?”
I swatted at the hand that waved in front of my face and stared out over the pasture. In the distance I could see an older man standing beneath the spreading limbs of an ancient tree. He was obviously speaking TO the tree while waving his arms about. He seemed excited and bounced around like a little boy chasing a squirrel.
“Who is that?” I asked, jutting my chin towards the man.
“Hmm? Oh, that’s just Dr. Tarpley. He’s practicing his lesson on the tree.”
I looked at my short, stout guide, who was sweating profusely, and chuckled.
“You mean he lectures the tree before class?” I shook my head, then swiped the long brown bangs from my eyes and continued to watch Dr. Tarpley’s antics.
My guide shrugged, “He’s currently studying the Bois d’ Arc tree. I guess he will be lecturing to a group of tree huggers this afternoon.”
“Isn’t the Bois d’ Arc bash coming up?”
“Y-y-ye-e-s-s-s, I think it is. This weekend, I believe.”
I nodded and headed toward the man under the tree. As I approached I noticed he was dressed in nice dark slacks, dark blue dress shirt, and a blue tie. His voice rose and dropped as he spoke; hands waving in exaggerated gestures as he made a point.
“The Bois d’Arc wood is used in furniture making, as braces for homes, and sometime jewelry. Some woodworkers carve statues, or totems, in the wood of the Bois d’ Arc….” He stopped and watched me approach.
“Please, continue. I’ve often wondered what good these trees are. Most people just knock them down and plant deciduous trees, or conifers.
“Yes, I know. But this tree is rather impressive, and most folks don’t know what all it can be used for in everyday life. It has a great place in history, as well.
“Will you be attending the Bois d’ Arc Bash this Saturday?”
“Yes, I’m planning to attend. Will you be speaking?”
The gentleman nodded his head and began to speak excitedly about the upcoming weekend. He turned back to the Bois d’ Arc. He was once more talking to the tree, having dismissed us from his mind. Once more he began waving his arms to make a point and bounce around. Watching him made me tired. For an older man, he was pretty spry.
I looked around, letting Tarpley’s voice rise and fall around me. During his pauses I could hear the birds singing and feel the wind combing my hair. With a final look at the older man, I turned to my guide and motioned for us to leave.
“We aren’t cutting any trees. This is a bird sanctuary, not a housing development. Birds need trees, and this looks like a good one.”
I walked away, leaving my guide with his mouth hanging open and sweat dripping from his nose. I grinned, as I walked away, thinking, “I hope I’m that spry at his age…
By P.J. Bedingfield
“…and we have plans to remove about fifty trees from this pasture…“Ms. Fields?”
I swatted at the hand that waved in front of my face and stared out over the pasture. In the distance I could see an older man standing beneath the spreading limbs of an ancient tree. He was obviously speaking TO the tree while waving his arms about. He seemed excited and bounced around like a little boy chasing a squirrel.
“Who is that?” I asked, jutting my chin towards the man.
“Hmm? Oh, that’s just Dr. Tarpley. He’s practicing his lesson on the tree.”
I looked at my short, stout guide, who was sweating profusely, and chuckled.
“You mean he lectures the tree before class?” I shook my head, then swiped the long brown bangs from my eyes and continued to watch Dr. Tarpley’s antics.
My guide shrugged, “He’s currently studying the Bois d’ Arc tree. I guess he will be lecturing to a group of tree huggers this afternoon.”
“Isn’t the Bois d’ Arc bash coming up?”
“Y-y-ye-e-s-s-s, I think it is. This weekend, I believe.”
I nodded and headed toward the man under the tree. As I approached I noticed he was dressed in nice dark slacks, dark blue dress shirt, and a blue tie. His voice rose and dropped as he spoke; hands waving in exaggerated gestures as he made a point.
“The Bois d’Arc wood is used in furniture making, as braces for homes, and sometime jewelry. Some woodworkers carve statues, or totems, in the wood of the Bois d’ Arc….” He stopped and watched me approach.
“Please, continue. I’ve often wondered what good these trees are. Most people just knock them down and plant deciduous trees, or conifers.
“Yes, I know. But this tree is rather impressive, and most folks don’t know what all it can be used for in everyday life. It has a great place in history, as well.
“Will you be attending the Bois d’ Arc Bash this Saturday?”
“Yes, I’m planning to attend. Will you be speaking?”
The gentleman nodded his head and began to speak excitedly about the upcoming weekend. He turned back to the Bois d’ Arc. He was once more talking to the tree, having dismissed us from his mind. Once more he began waving his arms to make a point and bounce around. Watching him made me tired. For an older man, he was pretty spry.
I looked around, letting Tarpley’s voice rise and fall around me. During his pauses I could hear the birds singing and feel the wind combing my hair. With a final look at the older man, I turned to my guide and motioned for us to leave.
“We aren’t cutting any trees. This is a bird sanctuary, not a housing development. Birds need trees, and this looks like a good one.”
I walked away, leaving my guide with his mouth hanging open and sweat dripping from his nose. I grinned, as I walked away, thinking, “I hope I’m that spry at his age…
Hear My Voice
Hear My Voice By P.J. Bedingfield
When you look heavenward,
Think of Me.
When you hear an eagle cry,
Hear my voice.
When colts race across open fields,
I’ll be there.
When the day passes from dawn to dusk,
I will guard you.
As the river travels swiftly to the sea,
I will lead you.
For of all my children,
YOU are most blessed.
Your kind words are a gentle breeze
On my ears.
Your gentle ways are a beacon
To my flock.
You are loved in as much as
You love.
Your days are without Number.
Go softly, My child,
LIVE, in peace.
When you look heavenward,
Think of Me.
When you hear an eagle cry,
Hear my voice.
When colts race across open fields,
I’ll be there.
When the day passes from dawn to dusk,
I will guard you.
As the river travels swiftly to the sea,
I will lead you.
For of all my children,
YOU are most blessed.
Your kind words are a gentle breeze
On my ears.
Your gentle ways are a beacon
To my flock.
You are loved in as much as
You love.
Your days are without Number.
Go softly, My child,
LIVE, in peace.
Friday, October 1, 2010
What Happened?
What Happened?
By P.J. Bedingfield
Red, black, blue, green. The colors swirled together. Mostly, it was black, with a little orange thrown in; then blessed, blissful nothing. A soft moan floated through the darkness. A blast of pain, bright light, noise! Oooo, hurts!
I waved my hand at the light. “Go away!”
“Come on, be still, you’re bleeding all over my nice clean scrubs!”
I knew that voice. It was familiar, but it was just too much trouble to concentrate. I let go and floated back to the darkness.
“She okay?” I heard someone asking.
“Doc said it was touch and go for a while, but she’ll heal and be back to harass us in under a month.”
I know those voices, but why couldn’t I place them? I sighed. The sound of material rubbing against material floated to my ears.
“Where am I?” I asked the voices.
“Shaman General, on the base. You’re gonna be okay. Just rest.”
I opened my eyes and saw a large, heavyset man standing beside the bed. A look of concern rippled across his features before being replaced by a hard, stone-like expression.
“Did anyone get the name of that truck?” I asked. I reached up to touch my head, but the man stopped me and placed my hand back on the bed.
“Wasn’t a truck, girlie-girl. Was a couple of punks, but they won’t be bothering you, or anyone else, again.”
“Oh yeah, did I knock ‘em for a true loop?”
“The man grinned, “More than a loop, I’m afraid. You still haven’t shown me how you do that little trick of yours.”
His name came to me in a flash. I felt relief wash across my mind as memories flooded my brain.
Two young guys. One white, one Hispanic; pulling a knife; demanding money, or credit cards. I refused and the fight began. I don’t remember much after the first punch. I remembered a bright flash of light followed quickly by red flooding my vision.
The next thing I know, I’m lying on this bed in a hospital on some base in who-knows-where.
I look around and spot the other person in the room. I know him, too. Jay Knall, District Super from D.C.
“What’s up? Why both of you here? Mike, did I go off the deep end again? Am I in trouble, again?” I worried my bottom lip until I tasted blood.
“Nah, nah, you’re okay. You were provoked. Jay here is just checking up to make sure you’re okay.” Mike rubbed his hands across his bald top and looked anywhere but at me.
“What happened?” I asked.
By P.J. Bedingfield
Red, black, blue, green. The colors swirled together. Mostly, it was black, with a little orange thrown in; then blessed, blissful nothing. A soft moan floated through the darkness. A blast of pain, bright light, noise! Oooo, hurts!
I waved my hand at the light. “Go away!”
“Come on, be still, you’re bleeding all over my nice clean scrubs!”
I knew that voice. It was familiar, but it was just too much trouble to concentrate. I let go and floated back to the darkness.
“She okay?” I heard someone asking.
“Doc said it was touch and go for a while, but she’ll heal and be back to harass us in under a month.”
I know those voices, but why couldn’t I place them? I sighed. The sound of material rubbing against material floated to my ears.
“Where am I?” I asked the voices.
“Shaman General, on the base. You’re gonna be okay. Just rest.”
I opened my eyes and saw a large, heavyset man standing beside the bed. A look of concern rippled across his features before being replaced by a hard, stone-like expression.
“Did anyone get the name of that truck?” I asked. I reached up to touch my head, but the man stopped me and placed my hand back on the bed.
“Wasn’t a truck, girlie-girl. Was a couple of punks, but they won’t be bothering you, or anyone else, again.”
“Oh yeah, did I knock ‘em for a true loop?”
“The man grinned, “More than a loop, I’m afraid. You still haven’t shown me how you do that little trick of yours.”
His name came to me in a flash. I felt relief wash across my mind as memories flooded my brain.
Two young guys. One white, one Hispanic; pulling a knife; demanding money, or credit cards. I refused and the fight began. I don’t remember much after the first punch. I remembered a bright flash of light followed quickly by red flooding my vision.
The next thing I know, I’m lying on this bed in a hospital on some base in who-knows-where.
I look around and spot the other person in the room. I know him, too. Jay Knall, District Super from D.C.
“What’s up? Why both of you here? Mike, did I go off the deep end again? Am I in trouble, again?” I worried my bottom lip until I tasted blood.
“Nah, nah, you’re okay. You were provoked. Jay here is just checking up to make sure you’re okay.” Mike rubbed his hands across his bald top and looked anywhere but at me.
“What happened?” I asked.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Photo
See the photo on the upper left corner? That's the book I wrote and published.
You can order it thru Amazon.com or Half Price books or any other reputable book seller or store.
Basically, it's about a deaf child and a hearing family. Buy and read and drop me a line on what you think about it.
Book two will soon be available!
You can order it thru Amazon.com or Half Price books or any other reputable book seller or store.
Basically, it's about a deaf child and a hearing family. Buy and read and drop me a line on what you think about it.
Book two will soon be available!
Pele's Revenge I
She felt the desecration. Part of her was being taken away. The anger flares in the darkness and a small spark ignites a flame of vengeance. The anger grows. Fissures appear.
Pressure builds and begins pushing upward. The pressure pushes harder, moving rock and earth from its path. Heat builds as well, adding to the pressure, ready to ignite. Stone and minerals melt in the heat; forming pockets of molten rock and glowing magma. All creep ever upward.
The ground begins to shift and move aside. Tremors cause cracks in the Earth's crust and steam begins to vent into the outer surfaces. Large clouds form over the openings, bringing with it the stench of sulphur and other gases. The air becomes heated and noxious.
A low, ominous rumble, a slight quiver in the Earth's surface sends people scrambling for safety.
Pele is awake and very angry..........
Pressure builds and begins pushing upward. The pressure pushes harder, moving rock and earth from its path. Heat builds as well, adding to the pressure, ready to ignite. Stone and minerals melt in the heat; forming pockets of molten rock and glowing magma. All creep ever upward.
The ground begins to shift and move aside. Tremors cause cracks in the Earth's crust and steam begins to vent into the outer surfaces. Large clouds form over the openings, bringing with it the stench of sulphur and other gases. The air becomes heated and noxious.
A low, ominous rumble, a slight quiver in the Earth's surface sends people scrambling for safety.
Pele is awake and very angry..........
Pele's Revenge-Intro
Pele (Goddess of the Volcanoes)
When visiting the volcanoes, you must respect Pele, the goddess of the volcanoes. Her historical name, “Ka Wahine’ai hona,” means the woman who devours the land. Pele was both respected and feared. Hawaiian legends assert that Pele, who often appears as an old woman caused earthquakes by stomping her feet and eruptions by digging into the ground. While Kilauea Volcano was erupting in 1960, many say they saw an old lady with a dog walking on the eastern coast of the Big Island. She was said to have traveled door to door begging for food. Many people ignored her except the Kapoho lighthouse keeper. He invited her in and gave her food and the lighthouse was spared from the fiery lava. Everything else around was destroyed. Many still honor her to this day by providing her with offerings such as ohelo berries or gin just, to make sure she spares them from harm.
When visiting the volcanoes, you must respect Pele, the goddess of the volcanoes. Her historical name, “Ka Wahine’ai hona,” means the woman who devours the land. Pele was both respected and feared. Hawaiian legends assert that Pele, who often appears as an old woman caused earthquakes by stomping her feet and eruptions by digging into the ground. While Kilauea Volcano was erupting in 1960, many say they saw an old lady with a dog walking on the eastern coast of the Big Island. She was said to have traveled door to door begging for food. Many people ignored her except the Kapoho lighthouse keeper. He invited her in and gave her food and the lighthouse was spared from the fiery lava. Everything else around was destroyed. Many still honor her to this day by providing her with offerings such as ohelo berries or gin just, to make sure she spares them from harm.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Late night
Here it is, a Friday night and I can't sleep, so what do I do? Play on the computer, of course.
Seems an overfull tummy can indeed keep you awake. I finally fed my fish craving, rather, over fed it, I should say. Then really overdid it by having a sticky bunn afterwards. Sure was good at the time, though. Have no one to blame but myself.
I made a pig of myself and now I am paying for it. LOL Sigh..........Good thing it's just me and the animals.
The wind is playing with the wind chimes. Can you hear them? "Ting, ting, ting" musically calling to the dark. "Ting, ting, ting" Won't you come and play?
The moon is sliding by on silent wings while stars play peek-a-boo through the clouds. A break in the clouds and look! Streaking across the sky, leaving a curving line of light that slowly fades away. Quick, make a wish!
Thank goodness for automatic draft backup!
It's quiet now, even the dogs have fallen asleep. Listen, I hear them calling again!
"Ting, ting, ting" Perhaps it is the special sound of fairy wings as they scatter the morning dew across the ground and in the trees.
A passing car brakes the quiet, but only briefly. Above the buzz of a motorized contraption I can hear the elusive call, "Ting, ting, ting"
Do I dare answer? Should I follow thier trail into the night? Would I vanish from this world and emerge into the ethrall?
"Ting, ting, ting" The call is strong, sad and compelling. My mood is becoming meloncholy.
I feel a weariness overcoming me. My eyes are heavy with sleep, yet still I hear the elusive call, "Ting, ting, ting"
I give myself a mental shake and try to bring myself back to more solid ground lest I travel wearily into another realm and never return.
"Sleep, perchance to dream" Yes, sweet dreams. Happy dreams. Dreams of friends and fun. Dreams of travel, of coming home.
I slip into the darkness, mind an empty slate. Velvet blankets me as muscles, long used and tired begin to relax.
What is this rambling thought but that of a person up too long and tired beyond that of endurance.
I answer the call at last. "Ting, ting, ting" I drift into sleep.
Goodnight, my friend, for parting is sweet sorrow, but tomorrow, perchance to dream.
Seems an overfull tummy can indeed keep you awake. I finally fed my fish craving, rather, over fed it, I should say. Then really overdid it by having a sticky bunn afterwards. Sure was good at the time, though. Have no one to blame but myself.
I made a pig of myself and now I am paying for it. LOL Sigh..........Good thing it's just me and the animals.
The wind is playing with the wind chimes. Can you hear them? "Ting, ting, ting" musically calling to the dark. "Ting, ting, ting" Won't you come and play?
The moon is sliding by on silent wings while stars play peek-a-boo through the clouds. A break in the clouds and look! Streaking across the sky, leaving a curving line of light that slowly fades away. Quick, make a wish!
Thank goodness for automatic draft backup!
It's quiet now, even the dogs have fallen asleep. Listen, I hear them calling again!
"Ting, ting, ting" Perhaps it is the special sound of fairy wings as they scatter the morning dew across the ground and in the trees.
A passing car brakes the quiet, but only briefly. Above the buzz of a motorized contraption I can hear the elusive call, "Ting, ting, ting"
Do I dare answer? Should I follow thier trail into the night? Would I vanish from this world and emerge into the ethrall?
"Ting, ting, ting" The call is strong, sad and compelling. My mood is becoming meloncholy.
I feel a weariness overcoming me. My eyes are heavy with sleep, yet still I hear the elusive call, "Ting, ting, ting"
I give myself a mental shake and try to bring myself back to more solid ground lest I travel wearily into another realm and never return.
"Sleep, perchance to dream" Yes, sweet dreams. Happy dreams. Dreams of friends and fun. Dreams of travel, of coming home.
I slip into the darkness, mind an empty slate. Velvet blankets me as muscles, long used and tired begin to relax.
What is this rambling thought but that of a person up too long and tired beyond that of endurance.
I answer the call at last. "Ting, ting, ting" I drift into sleep.
Goodnight, my friend, for parting is sweet sorrow, but tomorrow, perchance to dream.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
The Tickling Muse
I can feel it. A small tickle, light as a feather's touch at the back of my mind. A story is forming, quietly knocking to be released. Not yet fully formed, but already taking on a life of its own, ready to spring from the mind, fully formed and ready to spread the wings of imagination.
What has triggered the Muse to life? I do not know, but I feel it growing, and wiggling and slowly but steadily worming its way out to the light.
What is it about? I have an idea, but do not wish to state its intent until it is ready to burst forth onto the scene.
Until then, I feel the Muse awakening. Life is forming, growing and taking shape. It tickles the fingers as they dance across the keyboard. Fingers that once held a pencil that traveled over snow white paper covered in red and blue lines......
It comes, not as a thief in the night, but as a whirlwind, blowing the cobwebs away and bringing light into the dark.
Yes, I feel the Muse a tickle, tickle, tickling.....
What has triggered the Muse to life? I do not know, but I feel it growing, and wiggling and slowly but steadily worming its way out to the light.
What is it about? I have an idea, but do not wish to state its intent until it is ready to burst forth onto the scene.
Until then, I feel the Muse awakening. Life is forming, growing and taking shape. It tickles the fingers as they dance across the keyboard. Fingers that once held a pencil that traveled over snow white paper covered in red and blue lines......
It comes, not as a thief in the night, but as a whirlwind, blowing the cobwebs away and bringing light into the dark.
Yes, I feel the Muse a tickle, tickle, tickling.....
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