Forging ahead with fictional endeavours: ~ Write a life on a page and hurry not to its grave; abhor not the coming age, for eternal is the next page. ~ Read what you will, I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I do writing.

Posts tagged ‘Blogging 101’

I need more hours in my day.

No rest for the wicked. I always wondered about that idiom. But I’m certainly not finding time recently. I’ve had to go down to Brisbane twice since I moved up here. 600km trips to see specialists. Oh What fun. Gladstone lack many medical facilities because of it’s rural nature. I even had to go to Rockhampton (2 1/2 hour drive) for my routine MRI because the local MRI unit can only be used for emergency purposes (or if people can afford to shell out $180 that medicare won’t cover). I’m also starting voluntary positions with the Rspca and Welcoming Intercultural Neighbors INC. (WIN). I’m trying out as an Adoption Officer for the former and a Reporter for the latter. Both should be interesting experiences and it will be good to have some work to do again. I’ve also gone ahead and jumped into the crazy pool by applying for a Master’s of social work. Full-time. I will be testing my brain function on soooo many levels with this work load. Any hour work requirements I have to almost double to account for inability to concentrate/memorise and fatigue. -_- If there is any wickedness here, it is my own inability to sit still. Then there are these two hairy babies.

ladymaxiecutieThe dainty, little Border Collie is Charley, and the big, boof-head is
Max. I’ve been helping look after them since I moved in with my grandmother. They require generous walks and lots attention. I have to be careful these days, because they know where I sleep. IF I try to hide around walk time they sit outside my window and whine loudly!

Charley is a 12 year old lady, and is very timid. She was runt of the litter and my Aunt snowwhiteadopted her with her big, bully of a sister, Pepper. Charley has always been dainty for her breed and that make it easy for other dogs to pick on her. Even my sister’s tiny chihuahua has her cowering in fear. When I moved in, she would hide in the background because Max would constantly push her out of the way when pats were being given. She’s a lot more confident now and surprisingly excitable. Her favourite spot is sleeping under someone’s chair. When bush walking she always trots back to check on me and if Max dares to come over while she’s getting pats she now snarls. She has show herself to be possessive and easily gets jealous. She is a little bit deaf but even in hearing range she can be a little bit cheeky and does naughty things frequently.

maxieMax is 8 but still acts 8 months. He’s used to being babied and has no qualms about pushing his way in for pats. He even expects me to go over and pat him while he’s lazying around. He’s a big dog, and causes himself issues because he’s very excitable and has a tendency to jump up. For some reason he thinks touching his ears is an invitation to play-fight so it’s impossible to get any medication in. He loves playing with his tyre-chew toy, gambling about and lazing in the sun. He has always been far better behaved then Charley. He’s really a big sook and wants to be friends with everyone.

Tribute to insomnia

Stays up all night

though exhaustion makes

every fiber

phase in and out.

Have to control

and

negate

insomnia to sleep

everynight.

My sleeping pattern is right out of whack; it has been for a while now.  It’s never a good sign. 🙂

Inspiration mechanics

fishyA fish

A deep sea mission
A leviathan
A sapient species born of water
A coral sea expedition
A reef exploration
A thriller with piranhas

But sometimes
A fish is a fish.

It’s been a quiet few weeks from me, I know.  Usually it’s 5-8 posts a week based on various prompts I’ve seen but I’ve felt somewhat uninspired lately.  I took that feeling a produced a poem.  Where there’s a will there’s a way.  I think it’s time to cut back on postage so I don’t burn myself out this way.

Watching

cat

So much for a day off!  It somehow evolved into a week. Anyway, this one is for Visdare; I think it shows that a week only made me a little rusty.  I’m going to have to think about getting a posting schedule going – with post scheduled in advanced so I can take weeks off but keep this thing active.

“Is the cave safe?” The woman asked as she shushed her child; her spear aimed into the dark opening. Their leader nudged the pile of bones with his leather boot.

“Old scat and aged bones. Cave smells of dirt. Safe enough for the night.” The tribes-people nodded, and made camp; weary and starved from the winter trek south. Soon enough she perched by a small fire watching their meagre hunt roast while the others searched for more in the cold-stripped landscape. The nomads remained unaware of the ancient being watching from the dark. Only the mother felt the prickling of her neck, stealing suspicious glances into the cave. When she spotted the eyes reflecting firelight an unspoken agreement was forged: Safety for the child.

Vanish: Get’s out even pride.

tie

This one inspired by the photo prompt from Picture It and Write.  I was trying a completely different character from usual – self-absorbed, narcissist with a fixation on clothes I could never comprehend.  Not sure how well I’ve done. It’s weird what fundamentals you find are basic to your own character while writing others.

Conway liked clothes. The sensation of fabrics, the fit of perfectly tailored outfits; the enhancement of his image through careful selection. Conway had a look for every occasion and for each a selection of fashionable attire. Today he wore a suit that reflected the themes of his sister’s, Candice, nuptials. Conway straightened his tie examining a job well done; given the dull attire he was forced to work with. He fancied himself the perfect Venus fly trap; Candice’s wedding wouldn’t be too boring. Then his older sister, Constance, messaged him.

Constance: Ex bailed. Need u 2 watch kids 4 ceremony.

Conway: No. Get mum 2.

Constance: u r only 1 not in ceremony. B gud uncle 4 once!

Conway: Not gud with kids.

Constance: keep them aliv + out of trouble

Conway’s personal hell broke loose the moment he entered the church. Co-opted into childrearing, he was at a loss to deal with a devious three year old while a baby left drool and spit-up over everything in range. By the end of the evening he ended up covered in conspicuous and offensive stains that not even the most skill dry-cleaner could remove.

Ordinary ties

ordinary

A short poem for Visdare.

One little elephant

Ran while his clan

Died.

Instinct sought safety,

New home,

And family ties.

Rare human kindness.

Years without fear.

Occupational hazards

Microsoft Word - Supernatural Survival Skills

This one is based on the prompt from Mayhem Monday.

There was a time when Camilla thought the luminous, full moon was beautiful. It felt graceful and mysterious. Then she saw what lay on the dark side of the moon, and Now it made her twitchy. Camilla paced; fortieth security check of the night now complete and heading for her forty-first. If the neighbours chanced to look in her barred windows when the moon was full they would no longer wonder if she were crazy. They would know. If they saw how Camilla rocketed into her closet, bolted it shut at the mere clang of a garbage can hitting the pavement they would have her committed. She clutched at crosses and rummaged through her arsenal for every silver bullet she owned. There was only one neighbour she could trust at times like these. Justin Bateman.

Justin lived to her right. He was a staunch non-believer in the supernatural. At least until she set a starving succubus on him for hanging inverted crosses on her door. She had rescued him from his willing entanglement with the demon when he admitted there was a slim possibility the demon would, indeed, suck out his soul. From that point on he acted as an unwilling lackey rather then risk any other encounters with Camilla’s ire. Camilla slammed herself into a chair she had stored in the closet for occasions such as these, pulled a gun across her lap, and dialled his number. Wedging the phone between her shoulder and cheek, she methodically loaded her gun while she listed a string of names she wanted to call Justin as he took his sweet time to answer the phone.

“My God! What the hell do you want?!” Camilla was too focused on her task to care about the grating tone of his voice. “You need to check outside my house. Something knocked over the garbage cans.”

“Why would I do that? Surely you can manage something so simple on your own.” Camilla cocked her gun, imagining it was aimed at Justin’s head. “Tell me, Justin, what happened the last time I did an external perimeter check on a full moon?” Justin let out an exasperated sigh.

“You became a lunatic, filled a stray dog full of silver bullets, and set Mrs. Crabsky’s cat on fire. Why the hell did you do that, I’ve always wanted to know.”

“Never trust a black cat on a full moon. As for the dog? Full moon – shoot first, confirm later. Now, then, who would you rather face: a) a werewolf or b) an irate monster hunter with an itchy trigger-finger who lives next door?”

“…I’ll take my chances with the strays.” A few minutes of tense silence later, he was back on the line. “Camilla, are you sure you killed the old bat’s cat?” Fear had knocked the annoyance out of his voice. “Yes; ethanol and flames tend to be quite efficient.”

“Then why is it in your trash nibbling on rotting chicken?” Camilla dropped the crosses in surprise.

“…I’ll be out in a minute. Seems the old crone really is an Old Crone.”

In search of new means.

change the tools

Writing in a vacuum

I write fiction, yet constant procrastination causes contradiction.

It’s become a right addiction but friction causes dereliction.

No definable progress is stressful,

Never knowing if depiction is successful

Blogging cures the constrictive affliction that limits my diction.

spoongebob

Foe.

Procrastination.

Makes three hours out of one.

Progress hampered.

butterflys

Start again

The writer wrote. Wrote, wrote, wrote some more. Type; edit. A few changes. A few more. The novel got no closer to complete. No matter what was written, the prose seemed incomplete. Her judgement critical; no longer unbiased, bogged down by eternal reconstruction. No progress could be made.

With a kick in the pants, a decision was made. She would start smaller, and see where the results took her.

old dog

Blogging 101

Blogging for beginners

Logged enough practice

Of experience I have plenty

Good?

Good enough?

I still can learn

New tips and tricks

Gall to believe I’m better?

1 way to learn

0 – reasons not too.

1 way to find out.

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