Setting Scene and Keeping Positive

Even before I see that coy reminder about my blog in my inbox, I feel the restlessness that always accompanies too many consecutive days of non-writing. I feel that telltale tension in my chest and gut that signals to those creative pockets of my brain. I feel the stagnancy in every pore and it drives an almost biological need to write something, anything. In these recent weeks of so much unrest and worry, I have avoided the only thing that really keeps me centered. As a result, I find myself internalizing things or spouting off over dinner to family members who would honestly, really rather "read" how I feel than listen to my disjointed ravings. I tell myself, in the very least, at least I try to blog...even if I can't make a daily commitment, its good to have a place to go to prompts that challenge me and provide me some mental exercise.

"Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise"
Day 987 November 22, 2016
Prompt: Can you find a positive meaning in a negative situation or even in a word, such as revenge, mayhem, pain, etc.? Come up with your own examples, if you wish.

In these last few weeks it seems the world is mired in negative situations. I spent a great deal of time trying to find the positive meanings in things it seems, to no real avail. I have to resist the urge to disconnect from the news. It is hard not to get swept up in the mayhem in the wake of Trump's victory. It is hard to reconcile the division in this country, in my community, even in my own family. I try to take comfort in the fact that change can be positive, even as I wonder about half the country being marginalized. I try to find the faith in our new President-elect even as he and his surrogates speak of policies that I find abhorrent. I find I am failing quite often these days.


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DAY 1468 November 22, 2016
Do your storytelling instincts take you to environmental activism, a futuristic sci-fi universe, or an adventure in the wilderness? Or perhaps, to an apartment scene in which this news seems, for the time being, to have no bearing on the characters?

My storytelling instincts usually begin with a character or a feeling rather than any specific setting unless I'm writing for a prompt that calls for one. I do enjoy setting the scene in my fictional pieces, I think that's important to try to immerse your readers in the environment. I tend to be detailed in that manner particularly when the setting is unfamiliar. For example, I wrote a story about my experiences working behind the scenes at the local aquarium. I used sounds and smells as well as visual descriptions to provide the reader with as much of a vision of the setting as possible. I enjoy reading stories where I am transported to a place. James Lee Burke is one writer who I feel does this extremely well. Take this excerpt for example from his novel, Jesus Out to Sea:

“Then the sun broke above the crest of the hills and the entire countryside looked soaked in blood, the arroyos deep in shadow, the cones of dead volcanoes stark and biscuit-colored against the sky. I could smell pinion trees, wet sage, woodsmoke, cattle in the pastures, and creek water that had melted from snow. I could smell the way the country probably was when it was only a dream in the mind of God.”
― James Lee Burke,

That is pretty amazing-sauce if you ask me...love the way his words let me "see" the place, experiencing it across multiple senses at the same time. His stories are very character driven but his descriptive powers in setting the scene, place and tone of the his novels are simply unrivaled.

The Kiss..a working draft

Isabella Ranking sat alone on a cold stone bench contemplating the ruin of her life.  Even she had to admit that it was a little over dramatic, sitting alone in the almost rain by the ragged edge of the coast.  Still, as she watched the somber gray waves and the darkening skies, it wasn’t hard to imagine that her life was over. 

Behind her back, the impressive facade of Greystone Mansion rose up into the sky.  Five Stories of old New England elegance perched high on the prettiest stretch of coastline, Greystone had made the transformation from a once-upon family residence to the administration building of an accredited state university.  She had loved that building once. Today, Isabella could barely bring herself to look at it.  She felt it’s presence bearing down on her shoulders and knew she would no longer find any beauty it its dark windows and sharp angles of unforgiving stone.  

Isabella felt the wave of nausea hit her and turned her face into the wind to fight the sour fit in her stomach. She breathed deeply of the salt air. Her newly minted sense of super smell picked up the cloying scent of decay from the seaweed clumps rotting between the rocks exposed at the low tide mark.  She coughed and spit. The taste of rot was suddenly metallic in her mouth. Not for the first time, she found her hands folded protectively over her middle covering a phantom bump that was not yet visible. How had she managed to end up here? With all her ambition and drive?  She had been the first of her family tribe to go to college, the shining example to her younger siblings.  Isabella imagined the look of anguish on her father’s face when she told him she was dropping out, when she told him about the baby. She felt as if she was going to vomit and the urge drove her to her feet and into motion. 

She began walking the brick path that wound along the coast and through campus. She forced herself to keep moving while she wiped at the silent tears coursing down her cheeks. Fortunately the campus was almost deserted on this eve of the trimester break and she could pass unseen among the few students who raced about making preparations to leave. She was stalling, not ready to go home and face what was coming. She had briefly considered putting it off, she could go another few months without her pregnancy becoming too obvious. Isabella had quickly abandoned that plan. Her mother would take one look at her and know everything. It had always been that way.  Her mother had an uncanny ability to ferret out everything little thing her children had ever tried to keep hidden, especially her oldest daughter. 

Isabella had reached the door of her little red Subaru.  Heavy hearted, she pulled it open and sank down behind the wheel. She looked out over the sound before her.  White caps roiled in the choppy seas now mirroring, it seemed, the tempest raging inside her. She took one last, long look and turned the key feeling the car shudder to life underneath her.

Gold Medals and Black Nights

Last night was a difficult one. On nights like last night, it is the little things that make all the difference. The simplest gestures can bring the most comfort, like my husband coming upstairs to find me and give me a hug, wordlessly wrapping me in his arms for a few moments. Or my daughter, just about to throw a fit about wanting to eat her dinner in front of the television, taking an extra moment to register the look on my face and deciding instead to calmly walk with me hand in hand into the dining room. The little things my little family does to make my world a little lighter...make all the difference in a day.

"Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise"
Day 885 August 10, 2016
Prompt: What Olympic Event would you like to have a Gold Medal in?

I can answer this one without hesitation...Ski jump! I don't think there is anything more badass than rocketing oneself down a ramp at over 60 miles per hour for the sole purpose of launching into the air, traveling over 390 feet and landing, ON SKIES...with all your internal organs still in place. If I were to win a gold medal for such a thing, my supreme awesomeness would nevermore be in question!! 

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DAY 1366 August 11, 2016
The door swung open but no one was visible.... and?

The rain soaked stoop stood empty in the amber glow of the porch light. Alexia had hear the knocking, the rabid banging, only moments before. She had rushed from the kitchen, her hands still wet from the dishes and trailing suds across the wood floors and her heart pounding away in her chest, to throw the door open. Nothing. No one. She peered out into the night, looking for anything through the curtains of black rain. She stepped back, about to close the door, when she saw something. She stepped forward out onto the stoop, started down the brick stairs to the walkway. On the second step, lying half off the edge, was piece of waterlogged notebook paper. She gingerly picked it up, unfolded the wet edges and struggled to read the fading ink.

The first line she was fairly certain read only, "Tick Tock" in a narrow, neat script.

The second line was harder to decipher, the writing more obscured by rain damage. She brought the paper closer toward the light and tried again.

"Your Alice ran out of time." Alexia felt shock radiate through her body as the words swam into clearer focus.

She flipped the paper over but there was nothing more than the cryptic message bearing her late mother's first name.

"Your Alice", she read aloud again, the words settling upon her like a sudden chill.

Alexia found herself desperately wanting to be back inside her little house. She backed up the stoop, reluctant to turn her back on the night and fled inside, the paper clutched in one of her small hands.

Blue Whales and Wailing Banshees

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Day 879 August 4, 2016
Prompt: A girl sitting alone on a rock at the edge of the woods jumps when she hears...... You take it from here.

The wail came to her through the tangle of dark trees. Her ears registered the sound and her heart named it in the dark. The girl slipped off the rock at the edge of the woods. She back away, not daring to turn her back on the sound. The wailing rose up, a terrifying crescendo of agony, and it turned to gut into an icy pit. It seemed to thicken around her, become more than a sound. She felt it press against her, so cold and empty. It felt like talons had pierced her chest, sinking into the soft and vulnerable tissues of her lungs. She began to run backwards, racing away while keeping her eyes pinned to the black line edge of the forest expecting at any moment to see the hag emerge, gray and mottled, red eyes searching and screaming maw agape.

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Day 1359: August 4th, 2016
The prompt for today is:
If you were to live under the ocean, what would you look like? What would you eat? Who or what would you interact with? Paint a picture of your life under the ocean.

The behemoth broke the surface of the bay, rolling forward with the surf, an impossible blue in a dark gray sea. She expelled as she surfaced, sending spray in a foaming tower into the atmosphere above her. The miles had been endless as she crossed oceans to reach these temperate waters rich with food for the baby she carried. There had been moments in the journey that had been difficult. A close call with a tanker had left a raw and raging wound in her side. She had bled into the depths, an open invitation to predators that had stalked her. Their prey drive thwarted only by the sheer size of her. There was some comfort to being the largest living creature on the planet.

She suddenly felt the vibrations in the sea around her. She recognized the signature of an approaching school of fish. She was starving. She turned toward the food, feeling the baby stirring inside her cavernous body. She called on her remaining reserves and prepared to dive. She was soundless as she slipped into the shadows, a massive wonder of evolution.