Can You Vague That Up For Me?

Bronwyn Green's Random Thoughts

Archive for the tag “Jessica De La Rosa”

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

triple banded

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

promptlypenned

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.

The Worst Place I’ve Ever Been Stuck – What Happened

Suggestion: If you’re reading this post and are stressed out by current events, I suggest skipping to the last paragraph where there’s a link to something just weird enough to be distracting and possibly amusing. 

So, this post…I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and I’ve been having trouble narrowing my focus. Look…I have a lot of options for an open-ended topic like this. There have been a lot of places I’ve been stuck that have super sucked, and I could blog about them, but honestly, I’m in a shitty place right now, and maybe it just feels so bad because I’m in the middle of it? I don’t even know anymore.

The place I’m stuck right now sucks ass. I’m currently stuck in a near-continual loop of almost paralyzing fear. The months prior to the election, I’d have a political/policy-related nightmare once a week or so. Since the election, I’m having nightmares multiple times a week–sometimes a couple times a night, and well, they’re all variations on a theme. A very orange-y nightmarish, rights stripping, nuclear code having theme.

The fear doesn’t go away when I wake up, either. I think of all of the horrific, soul-crushing scenarios that could possibly happen to the people I love, to the people I don’t know but who are far, far more vulnerable than they were even a month ago. I constantly come up with new and terrifying scenes to torture myself with, and let me tell you, my imagination is fucking vivid. I never used to have panic attacks, but boy howdy, I sure do now.

So, I guess the worst place I’ve ever been stuck is my own mind…and what happened? I don’t know. It probably involves using more inhalers than I should and fighting harder–both my own imagination (which if it’s not going to help me write books needs to sit down and shut the fuck up, already) and the things that are going on in reality.

Okay, so this wasn’t the most cheerful or uplifting post. I apologize. As what will hopefully be a peace offering and distraction, I thought I’d share an older post about the time I was trapped at the tire place with the guy who was telling me his life story and also quizzing me about John Denver, the Rocky Mountains, and the UP. That wasn’t a great place to be stuck, but in retrospect, it’s a fuck of a lot more fun than here. I almost miss that dude.

Be sure to check out the other bloggers’ posts: Gwen, Kellie, JessicaDeelylah, and Paige.

Dear 2016, You Can Fuck Right Off

So, this post is meant to be the annual look back at 2016 and a look ahead at goals for 2017.

15621843_10154957609539203_6152349202604051134_n

I think Helen Mirren said it well. For me, this year has pretty much sucked endless ass–particularly on the professional, cultural, social and political fronts. But for the sake of this post (and my mental health) I’m just going to focus on my own professional issues.

The short version of this post is: I feel like I’ve failed miserably on the professional front and I hate everything.

Here’s how everything shook out.

I’d planned to write 5 books and 36 pieces of flash fiction.

I wrote 36 pieces of flash fiction, 3 short stories, and  1 book–1 book that I dearly love. And then? I was stupid enough to release it four days prior to what may have been the most contentious, awful election in all of U.S. history. Way to think that through, Bron.

I’d planned to write all 76 scheduled blog posts.

I actually did that – plus 35 more for a total of 111 blog posts. So, that was good.

And Jess and I did start our newsletter, finally. So, that’s good, too.

So that ended up being:

Writing: 89,471 words

Blogging: 77,482 words

Client Editing: 1,431,892 words

That’s a far cry from last year, but it’s also not zero, so…

And to be fair, I don’t hate everything. But I do hate the stress, anxiety, depression, and fear that have been my constant companions for the last 12 months. I’m usually a fairly positive person, but worry and grief over world and cultural events (as well as a few personal ones) have made that more than a little difficult.

15697899_10158020247080078_8263140852823532585_n

But, ultimately, my family and friends are safe and sound and whole and mostly well, and for me, that’s the most important thing.

So, my goals for this coming year are:

Get a handle on the negativity that’s seems to be plaguing me.

Do what I can to affect positive change in the world–even if they’re only small things.

Write day and night like I’m running out of time.

How about you – what are your goals?

Be sure to check out the other bloggers’ goals: Gwen and Jessica.

Promptly Penned: Too Late

Promptly Penned

It’s the last Promptly Penned of the year – yeah, I don’t know how that’s possible, either. Here’s the prompt, and my story’s down below.

It’s odd how life is rarely about those big important choices, but hinges on the small stupid choices you didn’t even realize were choices until it was too late.

 

Pink or blue?

Chocolate or vanilla?

Wheat or white?

Cake or pie?

Apple or cherry?

The waitress stopped at my table and pulled a handful of those little non-dairy creamer containers from the stained pocket of her apron and dropped them on the table–the plastic and liquid rattling strangely against the formica.

“I’ll be back with your pie, hon.”

I forced a smile. “Thanks.”

Coffee or tea?

Cream or sugar?

Dumping five of the little creamers into my coffee, I watched as the clouds billowed upward, swallowing the inky darkness.

Paper or plastic?

Pencil or pen?

Right or left?

Diet or regular?

I reached for the Sweet ‘n Low then changed course and grabbed the sugar container instead.

As she walked away, my dad came in from outside, his rig parked at the far end of the diner’s parking lot. He leaned over and kissed the top of my head before sliding into the molded plastic bench across from me.

Top or bottom?

Up or down?

Happy or sad?

It’s odd how life is rarely about those big important choices, but hinges on the small stupid choices you didn’t even realize were choices until it was too late.

“What’s so important that you wanted to talk to me in the middle of a haul, Abby-girl?” he asked as he glanced over a plastic laminated menu that had a sticky-looking jam smear across the front.

I shrugged. “Can’t a girl just want to spend some time with her dad?”

His eyebrows rose ,and he looked at me over the top of his menu.

Cash or credit?

Good or bad?

Boys or girls?

I took a sip of my still too-hot coffee and scalded my tongue. Quickly gulping the metallic-tasting tap water, I tried to cool the burn and figure out how to approach it.

“Abs?” he asked. “You okay?”

I closed my eyes. “Kevin and I broke up. I’m pregnant, and Katie and I are getting married. We don’t want anything from you, except for you to be there.” My words left me in a rush, and I cracked open my eyes.

He nodded once then turned to the waitress who was wiping down the counter. “When you get a second, hon, I’m gonna need a lotta  coffee–black. Oh, and all the coconut cream pie you got.”

She nodded, and he turned back to me. “Okay, how about you start at the beginning.”

That’s it for me this week, but please be sure to check out Jessica and Kris‘ stories.

Promptly Penned: The First Line

Promptly Penned

Prompt:

Use the first line of a nursery rhyme as the first line of a dark narrative.

Side note before I begin this prompt. I was researching nursery rhymes and realized that most of them are plenty dark on their own without my help. Like Goosey, Goosey Gander is apparently about killing Catholic priests who were in hiding when they refused to convert, at Henry VIII’s insistence, to the Church of England.  Also, I recognized a vast majority of the nursery rhymes (including Goosey, Goosey Gander) from my own childhood. And my mom wonders why my short fiction tends to be on the darker side. Gee, mom…I can’t imagine why. I wonder why on earth that would be. *gives her the side-eye*

Okay, so here’s the story. (You’re welcome, mom.)

“Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross,”

The sounds of children’s voices echoed through the valley–high and sweet, lilting through the chilly autumn air. Girls and boys rose from their beds or left their evening chores, shambling dazedly out into the dusty road, and turned toward the emerald green hill rising in the distance. They dragged hobbyhorses and poppets behind them as their song carried hauntingly across the land.

“To see a fine lady upon a white horse.”

The children plodded forward, eyes fixed unseeingly on some the middle distance, unaware or uncaring as their parents called to them, their cries becoming increasingly more desperate. Pitious. Attempts to tug or carry the young back into the houses failed. Even the smallest of the small were able to pull free of their parents’ frenzied grasp. They stood watching, shivering in the cold, their breath puffs of steam. The children didn’t shiver. Nor did their breath cloud the air.

“With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,”

Every house in the village stood empty of children, save those too young to climb from their cradles. But they sang their own mournful song, longing to join their sisters and brothers as they marched onward toward the green hill in the distance. The hill they’d been warned away from time and time again. The hill where none of the village folk would tread. The hill, it was whispered, would swallow a person whole. Perhaps none in recent memory, but it had happened, and so the warning remained.

“She shall have music wherever she goes.”

Parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles followed behind, weeping  and helpless beneath the purple dusk that crept across the sky. At the head of the procession, I looked back at my new charges from atop my snow colored steed and smiled. Turning in my saddle, accompanied by the delicate jingling of bells, I led the children forward as twilight cloaked the land drawn toward the hill by the scent of sweetmeats and warm puddings, fruits and ale cakes.

Whispering the spell to lift the glamour, the side of the hill opened, spilling golden light on the ground, forming a pathway to lead the children forward.  Raucous music drifted out into the gloaming, the rhythm twining around the procession and urging it closer. As the music took hold, the lethargy that had claimed the children lifted and they began to dance as they made their way into realm beneath the hill, heedless of the cries of their parents. Centuries have passed since we’ve had fresh blood.

Be sure you check out the other bloggers’ stories. Deelylah and Jessica.

The List (yeah, that one)

First off, before I jump into the post, I want to introduce you to our newest and final member of our blogging team: Deelylah Mullin. She’s an author, editor, and all around nifty person. I think you’ll like her, too!

Now, on to the post.

Remember that episode of Friends where they all had a “freebie” list of five celebrities they could sleep with without it being considered cheating by their significant others? Welp, we decided to make our own lists.

As it turns out, this is harder than I would have expected. I mean, there are metric fuckton of attractive humans out there. Well, attractive and talented. And intelligent. There’s something about that combo that just works for me. Add in funny, and it’s all over.

Now, these are in no particular order, because unlike some people, *gives Jess Jarman the side-eye* I don’t play favorites.

Aidan Turner

8c90cd0cda964097751aafb99965b999

Colin Morgan

Eoin Macken

Hugh Dancy

 

Nope. I don’t have a type. I have no idea what you people  are talking about. Seriously. Move along. Off with you. Go see who the  other bloggers fancy.

Torrance

Paige

Jessica

Deelylah

Jess

Gwen

 

What I Hate About Writing

writer-cat

I’ve been trying to write this post for a while, now. But every time I look at the title of the prompt, I get that song, What I Like About You by The Romantics, stuck in my head, and then it’s there for days.

I really hate that.

Anyway, here are some things I also hate about writing, in no particular order.

  • When the words won’t come. That feeling of staring at the cursor and watching it mockingly blink on my empty page.
  • Imposter Syndrome. Feeling like any past success I’ve had was nothing more than luck, and that I’m not a “real” writer, and someday, everyone will know. 
  • When I’m writing to meet a deadline and I get all kinds of plot ideas or bits of dialogue for a different story.
  • When other obligations get in the way of writing.
  • When I get all up in my head and second guess myself about the anything to do with the my current project.
  • When I get on a roll riiiiiiiiiiight before it’s time to go to bed. (Yeah, I know, I could stay up later, but that pretty much makes me useless the next day.)

I’m sure there are more things I hate about writing. But I don’t hate writing. It’s truly one of my favorite things. In fact, I’m gonna go do some right now!

Be sure to check out Jess, Jessica, and Torrance’s posts to see what they hate about writing.

Promptly Penned: Pencils Down

Promptly Penned

Prompt:

In school, tests started with a class bell and ended with a “pencils down”, outside of school things weren’t so well defined.

 

This is a continuation of this story, but I’m pretty sure this will stand on it’s own if you don’t feel like going back and reading the other.

 

In school, tests started with a class bell and ended with a “pencils down”, outside of school things weren’t so well defined.

Like now, for instance. Things were so poorly defined, one might call them vague.

Or murky.

Perhaps hazy was better.

They were definitely pear-shaped.

And egg-splattered.

Bailey was positive that this had to be some sort of test from the universe. Why else would have mistaken her neighbor’s car for her stupid replacement roommate’s car? Why else would said neighbor–said ridiculously hot neighbor–have caught her throwing eggs at his car like she was some kind of twelve-year-old delinquent if it wasn’t a cosmic test? And she was pretty sure she’d failed. Miserably.

She waited until she heard Jack’s feet on the stairs and the sound of his door closing up above. It was a lot later than he usually came home on a weeknight. She hoped his change in schedule wasn’t somehow due to her trashing pelting his car with raw eggs.

Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs and knocked on his door. She could make out the sounds of mumbling and a creaking floor behind the door. Neither sounds helped her nerves at all.

The wooden door flew inward so quickly, the motion startled her, and she almost dropped her apology.

Jack looked at her, his face almost impassive except for the hard tilt of his lips. “Can I help you? If you needed to borrow eggs, I’m fresh out, too.”

She lifted the plate of cookies and muffins she’d made. “I wanted to apologize. I thought I was throwing eggs at Aaron’s car.”

Jack just stared at her.

“I suggest you and your boyfriend figure out a better way to work out your issues. Otherwise innocent bystanders end up smelling like rotten eggs by the end of the day from sitting in egg that managed to hit their seats through the open windows. It was a bit distracting for my students and my colleagues.”

Bailey closed her eyes and groaned. “I am so sorry. Also, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my roommate’s idiot brother who’s subletting her room while she’s in Paris.”

“Let me guess, he’s not paying rent or any bills? Eating all your food?”

“You’ve heard the yelling, huh?” She sighed. “I’m sorry about that, too. Aaaaand this morning I discovered that his friends thought it would be great to steal my laptop, TV, and DVD player. I kinda snapped.”

Jack’s lips twitched. “If it’s any consolation, you’ve got a great arm.”

He surprised a laugh from her. She offered him the plate again. “I should give you these and let you get on with your night. I really am sorry.”

He took the plate and paused. “You’ve had a really shitty day, too . You wanna come in for a beer? And whatever smells so good under the foil?”

Have a beer with the hot neighbor or go back downstairs and deal with Aaron? Allison couldn’t get home back from France soon enough. “That would be great.”

He backed inside and she remembered the other thing she had for Jack. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.

“What’s this?”

She blushed. “A book of gift certificates for the carwash. Just in case.”

 

Be sure to check out the other authors’ Promptly Penned posts.

Jess

Jessica

Kris

Dear Future Me

Dear Future Me,

I have so many things to congratulate us for.

First off, good job not only getting rid of the toxic people in your life but also keeping them out. I know that probably hasn’t been as easy as you’d would have liked. We have a long history of not being able to say no to things.

Show me how to say no to this. Show me how to say no to this.

Oops. Sorry. Song break. I assume song lyrics are still taking up about 97% of your available brain space? Anyway, good job on learning to say no to bullshit.

And while we’re congratulating ourself (this whole verb tense and pronoun thing is tricky) on accomplishments, great job keeping up with that whole exercise/yoga program thing. Whatever it is you’re doing, keep it up. I’m guessing, since you’re me, you still hate sweating, but suck it up, it’s good for you.

And nice job knitting all those sweaters and mastering socks. I mean, from where I’m sitting, i’m only just getting to the neckline of my first sweater, and those socks I started on retreat this year can go fuck themselves. But I’m sure you’ve got that all sorted by now.

Oh, and well done finally finding that balance between writing and life. I’m sure that by now you’ve figured out how to successfully balance our busy as fuck daily life with that backlog of books we have plans to write.

You did do that, right? Right?!

Look, I’m trusting you to get this figured out. Because right now? I’ve got nothin’.

Sigh.

Anyway, if you haven’t gotten the above shit sorted, for the love of god, woman, get on that. I’m going to be catching up to you soon, and I’d prefer it if we both had a lot less stress when I get there.

See you on the other side of the war,

Present Me

 

Be sure to check out Jess, Gwen, and Jessica’s letters to their future selves.

Other posts in this series – Dear 16 Year Old Me – We Need to Talk

Post Navigation