Archives

All posts for the month July, 2012

‘Nuff Said

Published July 31, 2012 by Ms. Nine

 

Stop me before I wet my pants.  That said, I’ve found the best words for transitioning ideas! Two simple words that when put together link ideas better than gold on a chain.  You want to know what those words are, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll reveal them.  That said, you can use them whenever you change paragraphs, shift thoughts, or need connectors.   Want to know the beauty of it? These words are all-purpose.  You can use two simple words for any transition! Yes, that’s right! Any.

That said, why would you use anything else? These two marvelous words will get you off the hook every time you move ideas forward.  Think of them as your personal avant-garde.

That said, I think I’ll put mine away.  I’ll bury them like treasure.  What, you feel cheated? But I gave them to you. That said, you can take them.  Do with them what you will.  Mine will be tucked away in a safe deposit box.

 

Happy writing! And thanks for dropping by.

 

Advertisements

When Mom Calls

Published July 30, 2012 by Ms. Nine

 

My mom called me today.  One of my uncles recently celebrated his 90th birthday.  I loved my mom’s version of the party.  After our conversation, I pictured the scene and drew out the memories of my uncles and cousins.  Home.

This post was buried in the archives.  It’s back in case you haven’t read it.

 

Nine Writes

I visited my hometown, a place I haven’t seen in years, to attend a wedding.  A day before the wedding, my feelings of nostalgia led me to the old neighborhood where I grew up.   How differerent it looked from the days of my youth!  It took days to untangle my emotions and wrap them up in words.

Here’s what I told myself:

What did you expect?  When you walked away thirty years ago, did you think you were the only one who would leave?  You thought home would always be there, didn’t you?  Well, things change.

Where you once lived, the new owners have installed wrought iron stairs leading to your old room on the second floor.  At the top of the stairs is a door instead of a window.  Two familites live there now.

As you walk the streets of your childhood memories, you notice the sidewalks where you learned to ride a…

View original post 282 more words

Published July 27, 2012 by Ms. Nine

 

This post about the writing process by writer A. Christine spoke to me. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did.

 

a. christine writer

First, you get an idea. It is bright and shiny like a quarter in a corner, and you run over and pick it up and gloat quietly in your head that you were the one who found it. You subsequently remember that there are lots of ideas out there that other people have picked up and will pick up, some of which look and sound an awful lot like the one you have in your hand. Damn that Collective Unconscious thingamajig!

Still, you like your idea. It excites you, so you keep it around, like a pygmy puff (Harry Potter reference – think a less reproductive tribble). It sits on your shoulder and occasionally reminds you that it’s there. It’s comfortable, and as the idea grows and develops into something more concrete, you start to get that persistent poke at the back of your brain that you need to put…

View original post 1,386 more words

 I would never…

Published July 26, 2012 by Ms. Nine

I would never post anything my kids shouldn’t read. In fact, my writer’s soul wants them to read my posts. I want to share my words with them like I did every day when they were little.  Now that they’ve grown, that desire persists.

“Thelma, did you read my post today?”

She chortles. “I didn’t have time today, sorry.”

“Sandy, what did you think of the post today?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t read it. Yet. I’ll read it later. I promise.”

“Marie, did you like my post today?”

“What post?”

I shrug off their indifference. I stop asking. You see, it doesn’t matter whether they read it or not, the story is alive. Permanently.

Today, the phone rings.

“Mom, I called to tell you I laughed when I read your blog story.”

And that, my friends, is why I write.

Thanks for stopping by! And keep your stories alive.

Kindling and Pinky Blood for 3WW

Published July 25, 2012 by Ms. Nine

3WW: hazard, cut, endangered

All you need to chop kindling is scrap wood, a hatchet, and a hard surface.  I have done it many times without endangering anyone.  Except once…

“Mom, m…m…ake a fire,” Thelma said through chattering teeth.

The stove, with its burned out coals, was as useless as an empty whisky bottle.

“Yeah, it’s freakin’ cold!” Sandy said, her breath forming icy clouds that hung over her head like speech balloons in a bad cartoon.

Freakin’?  I ignored her remark with a staccato of orders. “Marie, get some kindling. Sandy, feed the dog. Thelma, open the Spaghetti Os.”

They scattered like mercury beads in a broken thermometer.  I was about to take off my coat when I heard Marie yell, “Mom! The kindling box is empty!”  This was an informative yell, not a panic yell.  Mothers know the difference.

“I’ll chop some!”

“No! I wanna do it!”

“No, Mom! Let me!”

Unfortunately, the hatchet in any one of their hands could become a weapon of opportunity, a hazard; they’d threatened to kill each other once too often.

“Thanks, kids. But I’d better do it. It’s too cold out,” I said, going out the door.

The first pieces cut in four short whacks.  Just a few more…and… I saw blood dripping on the ground. At first, I was confused. Where was the blood coming from? I looked up at the sky. Was it raining blood? Is the wood bleeding? My God! It’s me. My blood. My pinky!

“Mom! What happened?” Sandy asked, watching me run to the sink.

“Just a cut,” I said.

“Let me see.” She bobbed her head around my body as I tried to hide my stumpy and bloody pinky.

She performed a quick medical assessment. “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll fix it. We’ll sew that piece right back on. Where is it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It must be outside.”

By now, the rest of the children were hovering. “Go and find it for me,” I said, shooing them away like flies on rotten meat.

Sandy returned with the ax, the tip of my finger still clinging to the blade. “Just stick it back on and hold it,” she instructed. “I’ll get some tape.”

“Tape? That’s not gonna work.  Mom, let me sew it.  I’ll get the needle and thread,” said Marie.

“Let me see what it needs first,” I told them.  But they had already scattered to search for medical supplies.  My hands shook as I took the tip off the blade.  Phew! I’m okay, I told myself. It’s just a little slice. It slipped from my fingers and swirled down the drain.

“Here.  I found some tape. Should we sew it first? I can do it. Thelma, hold the tape. Give me the needle and ….Mom? What happened?”

“It’s gone. Washed down the drain.”

Sandy’s shoulders dropped.  Marie and Thelma started crying.  I removed the blood-soaked rag and peeked at my pinky.  It was half an inch shorter.  I collapsed.

My husband came home to crying children, a cold house, and a bloody kitchen.   After absorbing the shocking tableau, he bandaged my finger properly and made dinner.  Without a word, he went outside and chopped a three-year supply of kindling.

The ax is still hidden away.  So is that tender slice of ego that slid down the drain with the tip of my pinky…

Thanks for stopping by!

“Liking” Whores

Published July 24, 2012 by Ms. Nine

When I read my favorite blogs in my reader, I confess, I sometimes just click the like button. Is that bad? I’m not making excuses for what one blogger calls “like whoring”, but some blogs take forever to load and some don’t load at all until I’m logged out of WordPress.   When this happens and I want to post a comment, I must log back in.  This nightmarish cycle continues when the page won’t reload.  What is going on?

To the blog writer featured on “Freshly Pressed” who ranted about how the “like”clickers were trolling for traffic to their own sites, your conviction to never do this is enviable.  I wish I could have commented, but your comments were closed.  Sometimes all we can do is click “like”.

So if I “like” your post and you have the feeling that I’m just a clicker, it’s not the case.  I’m finding it just too difficult to load your page.

If anyone has a solution for slow or no loads please share.

Thanks for stopping by!

Light as a Feather

Published July 23, 2012 by Ms. Nine

 

Just when I think I’m a goose feather in the wind, I wake up and discover that I’ve become the down in someone’s pillow.  I have no idea how this happens, but somehow my writing drifts in the wind and lands on somebody’s head.  Luckily, it’s light as a feather.

Thanks to Vikki for nominating me for the Illuminating Blogger Award.  I enjoy visiting her blog and  her perspective on writing.

The rules for acceptance are:

1. Visit and thank the blogger who nominated you 

2. Acknowledge that blogger on your blog and link back 

3. Share a random thing about yourself

4. Select five or more nominees and notify them on their blogs.

Copy and paste the award on your blog somewhere.


Here’s my random thing:  Once I taught mathematics to students in a psychiatric hospital.

Please visit these worthy blogs for inspiration and enlightenment:

Susan

Cyronette

Brian

Chris 

C. A. Husted

                                        

                                                   photo by kat@1bydesign.com

Thanks for stopping by!

 

Holy Terror, Batman!

Published July 20, 2012 by Ms. Nine

 

My thoughts and prayers are with the victims in Aurora, Colorado.

When you go to the movies, especially in 3D, you expect the characters to come alive before your eyes, to experience the film in a way that only the big screen delivers.  The action, the drama, the interaction between good and evil pop out at you, a source of marvelous entertainment.  For fans of the comic book genre, the plot and the action are predictable but nonetheless breathtaking.  Not life taking. Not real.

For Batman lovers in an Aurora theatre, a shooting scene in the movie mirrored a real scene when a gunman fired shots and randomly killed fourteen people, wounding at least fifty others.  The gunman’s motives, rationale, or whatever reason you can imagine, is unfathomable.

I wonder.  Why did he choose to be the villain? In his delusional state, did he expect to come face to face with Batman? Did he expect Batman to stop him? Unfortunately, Batman is not real.  But there are real victims here, some of them children.

Please reflect and remember them in your prayers.

Thanks for stopping by.

Addicted

Published July 19, 2012 by Ms. Nine

 

Blogger Addiction

I wonder if I’ll ever just write a post and forget about it.  Will I ever stop looking at the numbers? Will my heart stop skipping beats whenever the comment tag flashes? This blogging thing had infiltrated my brain wirelessly, silently, invisibly.  Deadly.  I spend more time writing my blog and watching my stats than I do writing my wip.  Bad.

And don’t mention the reader aspect.  I love to read other writers’ blogs!  I have books, real books, which are gathering dust on my nightstand, but the fascinating work of on-line writers is too compelling.  So I thought… What if I stopped for a week?  What if I tore myself away from the internet?  Would I wither away and die? Would I collapse?  Would I fall into a crevasse?  I can’t imagine the unthinkable.  How would I navigate the new world of writing?

I took the test and I’m 74% addicted.  It’s time to take action! So I tell myself to get faster at writing.  Multitask.  For today, my laptop is open for me to work on my wip and my desktop is open to my stat page.  I’m going to chart my progress.

Thanks for stopping by!

Don’t read this.  It’s too scary.  Addiction or Conviction?

Three Word Wednesday Knocks Me Out

Published July 18, 2012 by Ms. Nine

Today’s words lured out a story I thought had sunk to the depths of dead bottom.    3WW: feel, tangle, shade

She unwrapped herself from the tangle of sheets and bounded out of bed.  Today was her birthday!

“Did you get it, Daddy?”

“Get what?” he answered coyly, “This?” He placed a tiara on her head.

“Oh, Daddy,” she said, “No, the pony!”

“Oh, that. Go on, open the back door.”

Her father rented it for her birthday party.  The party guests clambered about her, a chorus of “Can I be next?”  Her father led the beast for each romp around the yard.  During the last ride, the pony bit his arm.  His face turned an ugly shade of crimson.  Instantly he reacted with his fist, a blow that knocked the stubborn pony on its ass.

Years later, she could still feel the tiara’s comb dig into her scalp.

Thanks for dropping by!

%d bloggers like this: