How can I possibly explain all of the cool things I have been discovering while do the writing thing of late? I mean, I have discovered that when you are seriously hungry and the words are flowing you can actually eat granola bars and things of this nature without having to actually stop the writing process. I have also discovered that each and every time you get to a very good or difficult part, your youngest dog must always, and I mean ALWAYS go outside just at that particular moment, and, about the time you get back into the necessary frame of mind you need said four-legged adorable critter must come inside so as not to miss the next moment this needs to occur. Yes, pets do help, even in their hinderances sometimes. Go figure.
So, yes, the absence has been quite productive, although I miss having a daily update here and posting of "The Sleepy Hollow Inn" and other nice things. Soon, though, everything will be close to being back to some semblance of normal. I just can't give you an exact date as to when it will be. Yeah, that's life. You know it is going to happen but you sometimes have no clue when it is going to actually take place. Plans. Pft. They really do attract monkeys with wrenches as a dear friend of mine says.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Friday, October 13, 2006
Hmmmmmm
| Your Wrath Quotient: 82% |
 You have the makings of a very evil dictator. If you don't want to go that route, you should consider anger management! |
Thursday, October 12, 2006
A Deep Shock
Have you ever truly considered just how short and unexpected life really is? My niece, Cathy, passed away suddenly on Tuesday, October 10th. She was in her thirties and had finally gotten hold of her life. I don't feel as if it was unfair for her to die. It is just a big shock. She was living her life and loving it; she was discovering new things about herself and others and time was before her. She dropped, collapsed at her parents' home and never regained consciousness. Life is fleeting, Dear Readers. It truly is.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Alexandre Dumas says...
"A person who doubts himself is like a man who would enlist in the ranks of his enemies and bear arms against himself."
– Alexandre Dumas
– Alexandre Dumas
Safety Deposit
Joseph Adams carefully lay down the package he had been carrying for the past twenty blocks onto the old kitchen table that had come down to him from countless generations through just as many countries and continents. Joseph let out a long, tired sigh. It was small, but it was heavy.
Joseph leaned back slowly and felt his back creak and crack loudly. Some tight muscle in the depths of his broad back relaxed. Part of him really wanted to forget about the entire business, but he had promised his mother and he wasn't going to go back on it now. You just don't go back on promises made to the dying, especially if it was your mother.
With another heavy sigh, Joseph pulled out a chair and slid his broad frame into it. He pulled the package wrapped in simple brown paper that had come from his mother's private box at the bank to him. Light brown twine had the paper tied onto the item it was hiding. Had his mother tied the paper so tightly? It was carefully done. The twine was equidistant in spaces and the knots were well-practiced butcher's knots. Emily Adams had worked at his father's side in the butcher shop for years.
"Don't leave him in that box, Joey," his mother had whispered. "Take him home. It's time for him to go home. Tell him I'm sorry."
There was a part of Joseph that didn't want to open the package. There was a part of him that was certain he should have left it in the safety deposit box. There was also this little nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he could take it back and not open it, forget it even existed and when he was an old old man he could go back and open it and he still wouldn't be lying to his mom.
"But that isn't what you promised her," Joseph muttered out loud into the still apartment.
Reservedly Joseph reached over to the counter (the kitchen wasn't that large, just ordered and organized) and retrieved a knife. Joseph cut each piece of twine without truly trying to think. Next came the brown paper. It was wrapped around the thing four times and tucked down onto the top and bottom. When it was exposed, Joseph took in a sharp breath through his teeth.
The red stone was just as he remembered. It held the figure of a young man in his late teens. His hair was pulled back into a long ponytail and his face was a mask of anger, hurt and defiance. The kilt he wore looked as if it was blowing in a gale, exposing some thigh, but not too much.
Joseph took the stone and placed it in the center of the doorway of the kitchen, knelt and kissed the top of its head.
A glow of brilliant yellow, like sunshine cascaded down over the statue and then back up again. Little by little it grew until a full grown fellow of rippling muscles, bracers, and a sword was almost wedged into the doorway. Slowly he moved. He relaxed and then, carefully stood. He spoke in the Old Tongue and was asking where Elvera was. Joseph felt his throat tighten. How was he going to tell Olf their mother was dead?
Joseph reached into his pocket and tossed a small stone to Olf, who caught it remarkably quickly despite having been exiled for almost a thousand years in stone.
"Where is Elvera-mother? Why isn't she here?" Olf turned and looked about him, then turned slowly, taking in the wonders. "What year is it?"
"Mother is dead. She died two days ago. It is October 31st, 2006."
"Two thousand and six?" Joseph nodded.
"Do we yet rule?" Joseph shook his head slowly. "Then why have I been released?"
"Because Mother wanted you to come home and begin the line again."
"She wishes me to conquer?" Joseph nodded. Elvera hadn't really said that of course, but that is what she would want. It was time for the Old Ways and the Old Ones to return. The Twenty-first Century was quite boring with its unending wars and its pauses into almost peace without truly attaining it. Joseph felt it was time for Olf to have his chance at bringing back the Old Ways.
Olf laughed then, long and loud. Joseph hadn't heard a laugh like that for centuries.
"Let Ragnarok begin!" Olf laughed. "Let it begin!"
"How?" Joseph asked softly.
"Don't you know, brother?" Joseph shook his head. "We kill Odin and then we go through each tribe and kill their leader, and then all fight and all die, except for those who do not die." Olf flashed his brilliant smile. "It is time the Isles return to their rightful place. Where is Arthur?"
Joseph slipped passed Olf carefully and walked to the other bedroom. He pushed open the door. Arthur had truly fallen from his greatness. There he lay with a whiskey bottle in his hand and a nudy magazine spread open on his chest. Instead of the sleek warrior there was now a pot belly and several months of beard growth upon his face.
"The might Arthur has indeed fallen," Olf said, suddenly beside him. Olf jumped, still very much the warrior, and landed squarely upon the snoring Arthur. He pommeled Arthur playfully, if somewhat roughly until he awoke. Odd how alliances were made and broken and reformed. It was even more odd how things worked out for themselves without too much interference from Mrrlyn. How would Mrrlyn react to all of this, Joseph suddenly wondered.
"Lancelot! Let's go get some food!" Olf rolled from Arthur who was laughing loudly and so hard his belly was jiggling. How long it had been since Joseph had heard himself called by that name.
"Alright, Mordred, let's go, but not like that. People don't dress like that any more, unless for special events."
Joseph leaned back slowly and felt his back creak and crack loudly. Some tight muscle in the depths of his broad back relaxed. Part of him really wanted to forget about the entire business, but he had promised his mother and he wasn't going to go back on it now. You just don't go back on promises made to the dying, especially if it was your mother.
With another heavy sigh, Joseph pulled out a chair and slid his broad frame into it. He pulled the package wrapped in simple brown paper that had come from his mother's private box at the bank to him. Light brown twine had the paper tied onto the item it was hiding. Had his mother tied the paper so tightly? It was carefully done. The twine was equidistant in spaces and the knots were well-practiced butcher's knots. Emily Adams had worked at his father's side in the butcher shop for years.
"Don't leave him in that box, Joey," his mother had whispered. "Take him home. It's time for him to go home. Tell him I'm sorry."
There was a part of Joseph that didn't want to open the package. There was a part of him that was certain he should have left it in the safety deposit box. There was also this little nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he could take it back and not open it, forget it even existed and when he was an old old man he could go back and open it and he still wouldn't be lying to his mom.
"But that isn't what you promised her," Joseph muttered out loud into the still apartment.
Reservedly Joseph reached over to the counter (the kitchen wasn't that large, just ordered and organized) and retrieved a knife. Joseph cut each piece of twine without truly trying to think. Next came the brown paper. It was wrapped around the thing four times and tucked down onto the top and bottom. When it was exposed, Joseph took in a sharp breath through his teeth.
The red stone was just as he remembered. It held the figure of a young man in his late teens. His hair was pulled back into a long ponytail and his face was a mask of anger, hurt and defiance. The kilt he wore looked as if it was blowing in a gale, exposing some thigh, but not too much.
Joseph took the stone and placed it in the center of the doorway of the kitchen, knelt and kissed the top of its head.
A glow of brilliant yellow, like sunshine cascaded down over the statue and then back up again. Little by little it grew until a full grown fellow of rippling muscles, bracers, and a sword was almost wedged into the doorway. Slowly he moved. He relaxed and then, carefully stood. He spoke in the Old Tongue and was asking where Elvera was. Joseph felt his throat tighten. How was he going to tell Olf their mother was dead?
Joseph reached into his pocket and tossed a small stone to Olf, who caught it remarkably quickly despite having been exiled for almost a thousand years in stone.
"Where is Elvera-mother? Why isn't she here?" Olf turned and looked about him, then turned slowly, taking in the wonders. "What year is it?"
"Mother is dead. She died two days ago. It is October 31st, 2006."
"Two thousand and six?" Joseph nodded.
"Do we yet rule?" Joseph shook his head slowly. "Then why have I been released?"
"Because Mother wanted you to come home and begin the line again."
"She wishes me to conquer?" Joseph nodded. Elvera hadn't really said that of course, but that is what she would want. It was time for the Old Ways and the Old Ones to return. The Twenty-first Century was quite boring with its unending wars and its pauses into almost peace without truly attaining it. Joseph felt it was time for Olf to have his chance at bringing back the Old Ways.
Olf laughed then, long and loud. Joseph hadn't heard a laugh like that for centuries.
"Let Ragnarok begin!" Olf laughed. "Let it begin!"
"How?" Joseph asked softly.
"Don't you know, brother?" Joseph shook his head. "We kill Odin and then we go through each tribe and kill their leader, and then all fight and all die, except for those who do not die." Olf flashed his brilliant smile. "It is time the Isles return to their rightful place. Where is Arthur?"
Joseph slipped passed Olf carefully and walked to the other bedroom. He pushed open the door. Arthur had truly fallen from his greatness. There he lay with a whiskey bottle in his hand and a nudy magazine spread open on his chest. Instead of the sleek warrior there was now a pot belly and several months of beard growth upon his face.
"The might Arthur has indeed fallen," Olf said, suddenly beside him. Olf jumped, still very much the warrior, and landed squarely upon the snoring Arthur. He pommeled Arthur playfully, if somewhat roughly until he awoke. Odd how alliances were made and broken and reformed. It was even more odd how things worked out for themselves without too much interference from Mrrlyn. How would Mrrlyn react to all of this, Joseph suddenly wondered.
"Lancelot! Let's go get some food!" Olf rolled from Arthur who was laughing loudly and so hard his belly was jiggling. How long it had been since Joseph had heard himself called by that name.
"Alright, Mordred, let's go, but not like that. People don't dress like that any more, unless for special events."
Thursday, October 05, 2006
News of Vitas
According to the website, fans are being asked to request his music through MTV, Music Box, and other places. For myself, I am going to do just that. To check out his music go to his site http://vitas.com.ru/klip_eng.htm and check out the videos there. This is one time when I really wish I could read Russian!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
The Sun Shines Brightly...
Sitting inside the library looking out at the bright sunshine and typing an entry for here makes me smile deep down inside even if I am not so much smiling on the outside.
Have finally arranged for rides to the library for three days a week. In that span of time I should be able to update quite a bit if everything goes well. And, honestly, I am working very hard at making everything go well.
Still, to say I "miss" the internet connection at my house is something that is beyond unbelievable and truly unexpressable to me. This is one of my greatest avenues of information and, yes, I miss it. I hurt for it almost, like a long lost lover's touch. I miss it as much...almost as much, as if I had run out of ink (which isn't going to happen for quite some time because of the bottles I currently have). Running out of ink would be horribly bad. Just as painful as if I had run out of paper.
But there sun is out today. It is shining right out that window about 100 feet away from me and it is wonderful. It is warm. It is that perfect autumn day you hear it sung about, read about...right out there. So what am I going to do? I am going to take my pen and notebooks and secure myself a lovely table by one of those windows and I am going to write. I am going to write without fear and without care, and I am going to enjoy the sunshine with as much glee as a giddy schoolgirl with her first crush!
Tomorrow I will be back with stories and poetry. Tomorrow there will be more to post beside just thoughts and ramblings of a sad, stressed out woman.
Have finally arranged for rides to the library for three days a week. In that span of time I should be able to update quite a bit if everything goes well. And, honestly, I am working very hard at making everything go well.
Still, to say I "miss" the internet connection at my house is something that is beyond unbelievable and truly unexpressable to me. This is one of my greatest avenues of information and, yes, I miss it. I hurt for it almost, like a long lost lover's touch. I miss it as much...almost as much, as if I had run out of ink (which isn't going to happen for quite some time because of the bottles I currently have). Running out of ink would be horribly bad. Just as painful as if I had run out of paper.
But there sun is out today. It is shining right out that window about 100 feet away from me and it is wonderful. It is warm. It is that perfect autumn day you hear it sung about, read about...right out there. So what am I going to do? I am going to take my pen and notebooks and secure myself a lovely table by one of those windows and I am going to write. I am going to write without fear and without care, and I am going to enjoy the sunshine with as much glee as a giddy schoolgirl with her first crush!
Tomorrow I will be back with stories and poetry. Tomorrow there will be more to post beside just thoughts and ramblings of a sad, stressed out woman.
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