Can You Vague That Up For Me?

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Archive for the tag “Deelylah Mullin”

What would the title of my memoir be, and why?

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Please Note: If Kris Norris ever abandons me, this is how shitty my future book covers will look. *makes plans to bribe Norris with Tim Horton’s tea*

I feel like the “why” of this title can best be summed up by potential chapter headings comprised of things I’ve said in text messages.

1.) If I don’t answer for a bit, it’s because I’m driving home from the motherfucking store.

2.) I’d run away and join the circus, but I have no marketable circus skills. And also clowns.

3.) Yes…I ignored that little voice in the back of my head that said that person was batshit crazy. Again.

4.) Math is hard, yo.

5.) I cannot possibly people today.

6.) I’m sorry my cat hates you.

7.) Look, I just need some cheese.

8.) Is it wrong that I’m proud of my four-year-old niece for using “What the fuck” properly in a sentence?

9.) I don’t recall becoming a bigamist, but at the same, time, my brain has been nothing but cracks, lately. So…maybe?

10.) The hold music is static-y soft jazz. I am in hell.

11.) Excellent. I feel like the more people we have spreading the accelerant, the quicker it’ll be over.

12.) Filed under bad ideas: Don’t look at fabric you made your kids’ clothes out of. Especially not while you’re ovulating.

13.) I’m gonna need bail money. There’s a neighbor kid out there somewhere blowing a goddam gym whistle.

14.) But in Clue, aren’t you just supposed to murder people with the candlestick? Or are we lighting candles to celebrate afterward?

15.) I feel like we won’t be able to have our podcast if I’m in jail, though.

16.) I have zero of popsicles. And also zero of patience.

17.) Never look a gift moodswing in the mouth.

18.) I am a font of random information.

19.) Fuck that. I’m putting on my ruffle-butt undies and my ruffled bonnet. And we’re gonna go Pollyanna the fuck out of everything.

20.) ADD Powers ACTIVATE! Form of Squirrel!

That’s it for me this week, be sure to check out the other bloggers’ memoir titles. Jess, Jessica, Deelylah, Gwen, and Kellie.

Promptly Penned: Three More Days

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Prompt: Three more days of this.

I looked at the calendar.

January 17th, 2021. 

Three more days of this. Just three more days, and the nightmare would be over.

That’s it for me this time–short and sweet. Be sure sure read the other bloggers stories. Jess, Deelylah, Jessica, and Kris.

Flash Fiction #53 – The Room

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It’s time for another photo flash fiction, and I have a feeling this one is going to be pretty short–partially because of the idea I have, and partially because of the million and twelve things I need to accomplish today because I’ll be out of town all day on Sunday when I usually start writing these. I should also mention that this story was inspired by this picture in conjunction with another photo a friend texted me yesterday morning. So, Amanda…this one’s for you.

***

Amanda sighed as she headed toward the last cottage on the lane. There had been rumors that someone was living there after hours, and based on what some eagle-eyed teenagers from one of the local school tours had pointed out earlier that afternoon, she had a good idea of the squatter’s identity.

She stretched her neck from side to side as she walked, trying to loosen the perpetually tight muscles. Why had she thought managing a historical reenactment village was a viable career change? More importantly, why had she thought hiring David Mulder was was a good idea?

She supposed she’d fallen prey, much like the majority of actresses in the village, to the effects of the last residual bits of stardom that clung to him no matter how much shit he rolled in. She’d been stunned when the washed up television actor had shown up for the open casting call, and of course he’d nailed everything he’d read for–Washington, Jefferson, Madison. But he’d insisted on taking the smaller part of Paine. Said he didn’t want to be a distraction. And he’d smiled that crooked grin–the one that always seemed to reach his heavy-lidded eyes, and she’d hired him on the spot. She was a moron.

Pausing outside the cottage door, she lifted her hand to knock, but thought better of it. It wasn’t like this was someone’s private residence. Shaking her head at herself, she opened the door and immediately regretted it.

David lifted a teacup in her general direction. “Hey, bosslady.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. David Mulder, former star of various sci-fi shows and crime procedurals, was sitting, bare-ass naked, on the kitchen counter, holding a historical reproduction teapot and matching cup. The coordinating creamer was sitting in his lap. A half-eaten pizza was to his right, and an empty sandwich bag was next to his hip.

“I made tea,” he added unnecessarily.

“I see that.”

He blinked at her, a slow, lopsided smile lifting his lips. “Want some?”

Whatever the hell was in there would likely get rid of the tension she’d been carrying for months, but she said, “I’m thinking probably not.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Tossing back the contents of the cup, he poured himself another.

“We need to talk.”

He frowned. “Is this about Abigail Adams’ boyfriend? I didn’t even know she–”

“No,” she snapped, interrupting him. “And her name’s Brittany.”

“Right. Right. Brittany.”

She knew he wasn’t going to remember the name. “This is about the rumors that someone is living here after hours. And,” she added, her voice growing louder, “the weed growing in Benjamin Franklin’s garden.”

He frowned. “I was just going for historical accuracy.”

“Look. I gave you a chance. You’re gonna get me fired.”

“Pffft. Nobody’s gonna care about this.” He slouched against the wall and took another drink.

She sighed. “As soon as one of the parents from today’s tour group gets wind of your horticulture project, I’m jobless. And so are you.”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look at her, either.

“You can’t stay here after hours,” she continued. “You can’t grow weed here. And just to remind you, this is an education center, so this entire property is smoke free.”

“I’m all over that last one. I gave up smoking.”  He lifted his cup and grinned. “Makes a damn fine tea, though.”

She stalked over to him, grabbed his cup and gulped down the cooling liquid. “Put your fucking clothes on, David.”

That’s it for me today, be sure to check out the other bloggers’ stories. Jess, Deelylah, and Kris.

Top 10 Things I Avoid

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I think we all have things we avoid in life–at least, as much as we’re able. Here are a few of mine.

10.) Clowns. (I feel like this is pretty self-explanatory. They’re creepy AF.)

9.)  Wet paper. (I don’t know why, but it makes me gag.)

8.)  Large warehouse stores like Home Depot, Best Buy and Ikea.  (They stress me right out.)

7.)  Fluorescent lights. (They make me twitchy and give me headaches.)

6.)  Aspartame. (It gives me migraines.)

5.)   Cilantro. (Because it tastes like soap.)

4.)  Spicy food. (Because I have baby mouth.)

3.)  People who use others to try to get ahead in life.

2.)  People who refuse to take responsibility for their own actions (or inaction).

1.)  People whose version of the truth changes depending on who they’re talking to and what they want from that person.

So…what do you try to avoid? Be sure to check out the other bloggers’ posts to see what they avoid. Jess, Kellie, Deelylah, Torrance, Gwen, and Kris.

Monthly Goals Check-In: February 2017

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I can’t believe it’s the end of February. Though, I probably said that at the end of last month, too. Sigh.

Okay, so last month, I said that I wanted to:

Continue with whatever’s next on the Organized Home Challenge (Yep.)

Finish revising and expanding Mist and Stone. (Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.)

Progress on DN & EP (Nope.)

Finish 5 more pussyhats (I did!)

Progress on the other two websites I’m putting together. (Yep, and I added a third.)

Oh yeah, and start that damn yoga program. (I did it!)

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And I edited several novels, worked on my annual writing plan did a massive amount of cleaning and sewing, and I’ve been happily hanging out with Jess Jarman for the last  eight days! And we’re gearing up for a mini writing retreat weekend. Oh, and I’ve developed an unhealthy washi tape addiction.

Oh! And I finished a bonus goal – organizing my bedroom and altering the quilt I bought that lied about fitting a king size bed.

So, for next month, my goals are:

Finish revising and expanding Mist and Stone. 

Progress on DN & EP 

Continue with that damn yoga program and exercise program.

Update Writing Bujo

Put together Publishing and Promo Bujo

Knit 4 more pussyhats. 

Continue with whatever’s next on the Organized Home Challenge.

Finish at least two of the three websites. 

Complete all client edits. 

Complete all March blog posts. 

Okay, that’s it for me. What are some of your goals? Be sure to check out the other bloggers’ posts, too! Jess, Deelylah, Gwen, and Torrance.

Tips, Tricks, and Tools I Use to Organize My Writing

Putting me and the idea of organization together in the same sentence is optimistic at best. However, I’ve been trying to do better.

If you’ve been here for any length of time, you know I’m not a plotter. At all. That’s just not the way my brain works. And I’m also a very visual person. Pinterest is great for people like me. One of the things I like to do while I’m working on a story is create a image board. I look for images that either remind me of my characters or of the general situation they’ve found themselves in. I don’t necessarily plot according to the pictures I’ve pinned, but often, they do spur ideas. And if they do spur ideas, the boards are a great place to help keep track of them.

Here’s an example of a finished board for my book, In Bounds (aka Sportsball that released late last year.) screen-shot-2017-02-21-at-9-06-25-pm

And here’s an example of a board in progress for my upcoming book, Mist and Stone. 

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I also use bullet journals to keep myself on track with both writing and life in general. The daily #bujo keeps me on track with daily writing, editing, and life-in-general tasks. This is my daily journal with a sample daily task list.

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I’ll be opening an Etsy shop, soon (Granola Girl Creations) where I’ll be featuring custom made #bujo covers and other organizational supplies. 

I use the Piccadilly Essential Large Ruled Notebook. For me, it’s the perfect size, and the paper quality is great – even markers don’t ghost through the pages.

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Purple signifies writing related tasks, light blue is editing, green is family and personal stuff, and pink is health. As you can see, February has been a bit of a bitch in terms of getting stuff done. But, I’m pushing through. img_4223

This is my #writingbujo.

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I use this journal to keep track of story notes, character details, and progress. Since I currently have multiple series plus a number of stand alone books going, the #writingbujo helps me keep everything in a centralized location.

There’s not currently a lot of info on this story, but you get the idea.  Also, sorry about the shadowy pictures, but it was late when I remembered I needed pictures, and the lighting in my house suuuuuuucks.

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This is about it for me today, if you have any questions about my “process” such as it is, or if you’d like to order a journal cover of your own, lemme know. 🙂 And be sure to check out the other bloggers’ posts to see what kinds of tips and tricks they have–I know I will be. Deelylah, Gwen, Jessica, and Jess.

Flash Fiction #52 – Glycerin

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This month’s post was inspired by Bush’s Glycerin. Here are the lyrics and the video.

Thanks to Edna and her loathing of maraschino cherries, I rushed into room 406, bright red spots marring my scrubs and far later than I should have for the evening med round.

“Hey there, Hector,” I said as I cleared the threshold.

“Don’t let the days go by.” His voice sounded like a rusty tin can being opened–all metallic scrape and rasp–but he didn’t look at me when he spoke.

His words were so unexpected and startling, my hand convulsed around the styrofoam cup I carried. Water splooshed through the  now-cracked sides, wetting his paper-thin pajamas and the tiny paper cup of pills I held in my other hand, dissolving them almost instantly.

I should have been more worried about what the Sadie, the charge nurse, would say when she found out I’d screwed up the med schedule, but it was the first time I’d ever heard him speak. I’d been working in the head trauma unit for nearly four months, and he’d never uttered a word the entire time. He just watched the sharp angles of sunlight travel across the gray wall, slowly turning his wheelchair as he marked the progress. On overcast days, he just stared at nothing. Or maybe it was something. I wasn’t in his head, so what did I know?

“What did you say?”

He lifted his head and stared woodenly at me, blinking slowly, as if he were looking straight through me. This was more like the guy I was used to.

“Cathy?” And just as quickly, he changed again.

“Nope, I’m Dani.” I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and dabbed at his water-soaked knee. “I’m really sorry about this. I’ll get you some fresh PJs.”

His fingers, dry and papery, but still surprisingly strong closed around my wrist. “Could’ve been easier on her.

“On Cathy?” The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it. We weren’t supposed to engage about anything that had the potential to upset them, and the way his hand tightened around my wrist, I knew I’d just blown that directive.

“Tell her I’m sorry.” He stared into my eyes then his hand finally fell away from my skin. “I couldn’t change.”

“I’m sure she knows you tried.” I glanced at the clock on the wall behind his head. Shit. I was almost twenty-five minutes behind schedule, and I still needed to get him fresh meds. “I’ll be back in a few, okay?”

I needn’t have bothered speaking. He was already back to staring through me. While I waited for Sadie to sign off on a new med cup, I asked, “Hey, who’s Cathy? Hector mentioned her.”

Sadie’s eyes widened. “He spoke?”

“Yeah. Said he could’ve been easier on her or something.”

Sadie counted and recounted the pills in the paper cup. “Cathy was his daughter. She didn’t make it.”

 

That’s it for me. Be sure to check out the other bloggers’ stories. Jess, Gwen, and Deelylah

Wordless Wednesday – Winter Where I Live

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This winter has been weird, yo.

Normally, this is what winter in West Michigan looks like.

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The back of my house.

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My garage.

However, this year, there’s some weird shit going on. We’ve even had 50 degree days in February. This is not normal. This is what it looks like today.

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I just went outside without a coat on to take this picture. It’s like spring out there.

Check out the other bloggers’ posts and see what winter is like where they live. Gwen, Deelylah, TorranceKellie, and Kris.

Promptly Penned: Reliable Wi-Fi

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Prompt: “That’s what happens when you don’t have reliable Wi-Fi.”

 

Caleb squinted at the phone then looked up and did the same at our surroundings. He gestured toward a particularly dense area of forest. “It should be right through there.”

“We’ve been walking for hours. Are you sure you put in the right coordinates.”

He glared at me. “Yes. I’m sure. The Wi-Fi at the diner was shitty, but I’m sure these are the right coordinates.”

I glanced around. “I know the resort is supposed to be super exclusive and remote and accessible only by hiking, but this is ridiculous. What happens if one of their guests has a medical emergency? They can’t possibly be this far out in the middle of nowhere.”

“They have Wi-Fi–I’m sure they can get help if they need it.” Caleb hit refresh on his phone, then frowned, holding the device up in the air, clearly trying to get a signal.

“C’mon. Let’s just go back to the main road and head back toward that last little town we passed.

Still holding his phone up in the air, he ignored me and marched into the thick stand of trees.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering,” I muttered, following him. “It’s not like you’re going to get a signal now.”

He didn’t answer, but I really didn’t expect him to. My brother was nothing if not stubborn.

Another hour had passed by the time we stumbled across the log cabin that looked more like a large hunting shack than resort. I was pretty sure the blisters on my feet were bleeding, and I had to pee. At this point, I didn’t care what the place looked like.

Caleb pushed open the door and swept his arm to the side, motioning me in. Laughing in relief, I elbowed him as  I crossed the threshold, my brother close behind me. Turning, I glanced around the room, searching for a bathroom and stopped dead unable to take another step forward.

Every inch of wall space was covered in antlers. Antlers everywhere. Behind me, Caleb started humming the tune to Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. They cast long, grasping shadows wherever I looked. It was like we’d wandered onto a set for Hannibal

Peering more closely at the nearest wall, I swallowed hard. They weren’t all antlers. There were bones. So many bones. An icy chill ran down my spine as I continued to stare at them. Far too many of them looked human.

I grabbed Caleb’s arm and dragged him toward the door. “This,” I hissed. “This is what happens when you don’t have reliable Wi-Fi!”

That’s it for me this week. Be sure to check out Jess and Deelylah‘s stories, too!

Flash Fiction #51 – Red Cape

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I peered through a broken window in the once spectacular public museum. They were coming. Hooded cloaks and greatcoats hiding their identity as they walked along what had once been the portico to one of the most amazing libraries in the entirety of North America.

It was hard to believe that only three years ago this had been building had been full of life–full of students, professors, families, even tourists. Now, it was a shell. The books that hadn’t been destroyed by the oppressors for containing “treasonous content” had since been used by the homeless as kindling. And we were all homeless, now. Well, more of us than not. There was nothing left for us anymore. No jobs. No way to pay back our mountains of student loans for degrees we’d never use. We were all surviving as best we could.

In the basement of the library, searching for the blueprints for the subways and sewers, I found something else–something that had become our last hope. Shoved out of sight, under a desk in the staff area of the special collections room was a wooden packing crate. I pried it open with the tire iron I never let out of my sight. After society had crumbled, I’d learned the hard way that I could never let my guard down. Not any more.

Inside the crate was a single book–large, ornate, and very, very old. Not having read anything but the propaganda pamphlets the oppressors bothered to drop on us every few months, I couldn’t bear to burn the book. I shoved it inside my backpack and dragged the crate upstairs to burn.

Keeping clear of the oppressor’s foot soldiers and those who’d turn me in for a day’s worth of food rations, I read the book. It was nonsensical–a spellbook–but that didn’t matter. The symbols on the page became words and the words became images in my head. And the images birthed thoughts I hadn’t dared think in far too long. Thoughts about fighting back. Thoughts of resistance. They were so powerful, that were so intense, they hammered on the inside of my skull. They clawed at my graymatter. They slipped into my dreams until I woke, gasping for breath and my heart in my throat, repeating words I hadn’t realized I’d memorized. Repeating the Spell of Gathering. 

The woman in the red cloak stepped over the debris strewn across what had once been a beautiful mosaic floor. She glanced toward the others who’d gathered then approached me. “We’ve been waiting for your call.”

My confusion must have been clear on my face. She pushed her hood back. “We knew the book hadn’t been destroyed. And we sensed when it had been found–when you found it. But until you spoke the words, we couldn’t narrow our focus.”

Swallowing thickly, I pressed the book into her hands, not wanting to relinquish the words I’d come to depend on, but knowing I must.

She cradled the book to her chest. “Can you get us to the roof? ”

I nodded then turned to lead the way to the access stairs in the rear of the building. The woman in red followed me and her companions fell into step behind her. We climbed in near-silence, the rustling of fabric and the shuffling of feet the only sounds. In the darkness, I felt something that felt a lot like hope.

It was a hope I was afraid to examine too closely. Afterall, if the book was to be believed, I’d just summoned an army of witches to fight the greatest evil ever known–an utterly corrupt government led by an egomaniacal despot and his collection of  pet monsters.

As I led the witches out into the moonlight, the woman with the book smiled grimly at me and took my hand. That tentative feeling of hope grew a little bit stronger.

 

Okay, that’s it for me today. Be sure to check out the other bloggers stories, too. Deelylah, Jess, Kayleigh, and Kris.

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