Untitled #33

I am just not motivated to write a blog post.  It’s not that I’m not writing.  Honestly, I average about four articles/posts a month for Parachute and that pleases me greatly.  So, I have to ask myself, what’s the purpose of this particular blog?  Most of the time, these days, if you have a blog then you are trying to sell something.

I’m not selling anything.  Though, it seems that if I want to become a full-time freelancer then I need to sell my services.  God, doesn’t that sound dirty?  I have neither the inclination or the temperament to go forth and network.  Yes, I understand that networking nowadays isn’t all the bad, but then I would need to step out of my shell, wouldn’t I and talk to people.

I talk to people all day long in my job.  Most of the time it is various coworkers who I am talking to but sometimes, just sometimes I am talking to someone on the verge of taking that first step to changing their lives around.  And let me tell you that first step?  It’s a doozy.  We’re asking you to trust us with helping you change your life.  Not easy.

Oh, look.  I’ve gone off topic.

*___*

Anyway, I’m still here.  Lurking.

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Untitled #22

I’ve been an adult enough today.  I will throw in the towel and not post up a proper post. Tomorrow is another issue all together.

G’night, y’all.

Untitled #20: Randomness and Possible Run-on Sentences

It’s been in the back of mind that I haven’t written a proper post in…well, a long time.  I guess I’m going to try and fix that with an extra long and personal post.

Feel free to skip.  I’m going to verbally vomit all over this post.

I’m so very, very sorry.

Ready?

Continue reading “Untitled #20: Randomness and Possible Run-on Sentences”

Untitled #17: Slow/Fast Time

Seriously, where has my time gone?  This week has been simultaneously fast and slow.

Slow because it’s a work week.

Slow because I’m waiting for next week.

Slow because it’s only 5:09 pm and I still have a Board meeting to go to tonight.

Fast because it’s Thursday.

Fast because I have so little time to do so much stuff.

Fast because it’s July.

What.the.hell.

Seriously.

River Song’s Story.

Untitled #10

Yesh, I finish a month long writing challenge and then boom.  Nothing.

Writer’s block?  Perhaps.  More like laziness and/or stubbornness.  I mean, I’m not tamad (which is the only word that feels the best to me) or anything, it’s just that I don’t have any ideas.  I mean, I have a notebook stuffed with ideas…but really, nothing.

I was supposed to set up a writing meeting with some of my friends, but jeez, if I couldn’t get it together to at least set it up.

I don’t know.  Honestly.

Untitled #6: Creative Non-Fiction Writing Prompt

I needed a prompt. I chose this one.

Writing Prompt 1: A Story to Work With

In the space of a paragraph or two, jot down that family story (or any other true story) that you’ve heard over and over; if it’s a longer story focus on jotting down one part of it. Perhaps this is the story you’ve heard over and over while growing up, maybe is something you’ve heard others talk about, or maybe it is something you’ve experienced firsthand.

Jot it down. Do not worry about spelling, punctuation, or grammar: focus on getting the story on the page.

Feeling stuck? “I remember that story about _________ that mom/dad/uncle/my neighbour told me about _________.”

[Side note #1: Obviously, this is a true story. At least from what I can tell is a true story.]

I was always led to believe that my mother’s side of the family was larger, after all, my mother has a brother and a sister while my father has no siblings. Apparently, though there was a younger brother who died after being struck by lightning and a younger half-sister who died of lung cancer. Which one of my grandparents was married before? Was it my grandmother, the matriarch of the family or my grandfather, the solid (if a little quiet) one beside my grandmother? Obviously, I only knew my grandparents later in their lives after they left their country and came here to split their time between their daughters and occasionally their son back in their old country.

No one (and by no one, I mean my mother) talked about her (supposed) half-sister. Was she even her half-sister? Perhaps, she was a cousin? Some distant relative? I have no idea. My aunt has long passed and my mother is incredibly tight-lipped about…well, everything. I do remember the last time I visited them was her son teaching me to play the guitar. He had three fingers on the left hand but he still played the guitar quite well. He caught me staring at them one day – I was quite young – and told me that he had accidentally lopped them off while chopping wood.

I can’t get a straight answer out of anyone in my family it seems.

Don’t even ask me about my father. My father likes to tell anyone jokes/tall tales/lies to get a rise out of the other person. (Don’t look at me like that. Everyone knew he was joking…even if my mother still takes him at face value sometimes. He’s another story.)

I’m not even sure there was a youngest brother who died by a lightning strike. Are these tales that my imaginative younger me made up to pass the time in a country that I didn’t belong in? Were they real? I am approaching the age that the people who know will soon be gone. I could ask, but I already know the answers I be given…or really, the lack of answers I would be given.

I’m not even sure why the past seems is a tightly held secret. I know my parents grew up in post-World War II Asia. I know the hardships, the struggle. I just don’t know why it’s hard to talk about. I can guess, but they would only be guesses and the truth would, most likely, be much, much more complicated.

In Brief

  • I had briefly thought about participating in Blogging 201.  Briefly.  Every time a blogging 201 post comes across my page, I get a little pang of guilt.  But it goes away quickly.
  • I should have worn my down coat today.  The temperature is quickly dropping.  But I did wear my snow boots…so, I should be grateful for something.
  • Today is my annual employee performance review.  I suppose I will feel more nervous when the time comes.
  • The only commercial I had a problem with was the insurance one with the revelation that the kids were dead.  That’s not cool.
  • Tomorrow is Prompts Tuesday.  It would be awesome if someone dropped me a prompt.  Otherwise, it’s off to the internets I go.
  • The new phone I ordered is on back-order.  That’s not cool, mobile company.  Not cool at all.

Happy Monday, y’all!

Untitled #5

[Side note #1: Blood is talked about. Also, bodily functions. You’ve been warned.]

I can’t think straight today. Words escape me and I feel like I can’t get a sentence out. My head really really hurts too much. Is it a migraine? Oh, god, I hope it isn’t a migraine. I need to schedule an appointment with my chiropractor. There’s too much going on here at work.  I feel bad and not myself.  I want to go home. My tummy hurts.

*Blink blink*

Oh, wait.

Continue reading “Untitled #5”

Untitled #4

It started snowing last night, steady and silent, coating everything slowly but steadily.  It continued through most of the night, I am told, and covered everything in sight, lush and pristine, softening the city sounds to a quiet hush.

People bundled up, eyes peeking out, trudged past me on their way to work as I walked to my car, snow crunching underfoot steady as a heartbeat.

From the relative warmth of my car, I watched as more snow drifted down lazily.

I am told that more will be falling.

Tall trees bare no more with the fluffy snow perched on top like birds, everything a little bit eerie, a little bit quiet.  Lanky, rangy sentinels taciturn in their straight honor guard rows.

I drive past slowly and marvel.

Untitled #3: Writing prompt

Since, I’ve really already done The Daily Post‘s assignment for today, I thought I’d do a writing prompt

This one:

I am not a good person

In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.

Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.

Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

Write World

I am not a good person, I thought. I watched as my daughter skipped happily up the stairs to school. She waved one more time at me before joining her friends outside. She wore her favorite jeans (The one with the hole in the knee!) with her strawberry red t-shirt, her hair in a ponytail that was already falling out.

I’ll have to redo it when she gets home, I thought briefly before realizing that I wasn’t going to be there when Heather got home. At least she’ll have her father there. I laughed bitterly thinking about my sad sack of a husband. Too depressed to see our marriage was falling apart and too uncaring to do anything about it if he knew. Maybe it will be the thing that kicks him in the pants. Or maybe not. He has his friends and parents to help him through it. Heather will be strong enough to get through this.

I sat there in the car for a few more seconds until the first bell rang prompting the kids to shuffle into the school. Finally, I shook my head of the cobwebs gathering there and drove away.

No, I am not a good person

***

Good grief. How grim was that? Sorry.

As usual, this is a work of fiction.