Super Excited!

Coming home and ordering pizza was one of the most relaxing things I’ve done for myself today outside of creating my olive monster. Then I learn that I REALLY get to write a guest post on an art blog. Details coming soon but I’m OVER THE MOON to be given the opportunity to do it. THEN I was checking stats and noticed that one of my referrers was Discover. Umm…HUH? After Discover ended the topics I thought that would NEVER appear again.

I had a short response and thought it wouldn’t make a difference. There were so many awesome responses and stories. The question was, ‘What if you could do anything?’ My insignificant answer, short and to the point, ‘Heal what has been broken.’ There is so much turmoil in the world and within me that these were the only acceptable words that could barely scrape explaining what I would do. But, Y’ALL! (insert excited EEK here). I’m the 6th response down!!!

With everything going awful and these two positive moments happening on the same day is a renewal of determination and grasping confidence again. Just wanted to share and toot my own horn for a bit. EEK! And now I’m going to get some much needed rest.

Bummer…Spamming Hopes SUCK!

I allowed myself to get excited for a second when I received an email to be a guest blog author for a certain blog. I should have known that it wasn’t legit! First, I didn’t follow the blog nor did it follow mine. As you, my readers, know that I post photos, some artwork, my Havamal study, short stories,  and journal stuff (like weight loss and this post just to example a bit) and nothing really to do with the subject matter of this blog. I have been wanting to guest post on other blogs, submit short stories, you know to gain some confidence and exposure. This wasn’t it. This was a big ol’ slab of SPAM!

I checked out the blog when I noticed that it doesn’t have any of my interests posted or even in the same genre of things I like. When asked what would be given for my time the reply was, gratitude and free hosting.’ WTF! I already pay for mine and I have tons of posts and readers that follow me and I follow them some of which I feel are great blogging friends. Why would I write for a no-name blog that barely has 5 posts?

My excitement went to feeling like guest writing/blogging will never be a goal that I’ll meet to screw it…moving on. Has anyone else experienced this type of spam?

Future’s Past

I know I know…I’m SUPER behind. I had such bad writer’s block today and then this happened. I tried keeping it short and may revisit for edits but here is my Friday story. Now for my 365 Day project.


Another girls night out and it was Polly’s turn to choose the activity. She was tired of the club scene and getting hit on by random guys. She didn’t care for going to the movie and show events because either the food was bad or the show. Polly didn’t have an artistic bone in her body so she loathed the drink and paint events that her friends would drag her too. Polly realized that most of the activities they do on lady’s night out involved alcohol. She and her friends were all moms and craved an adventure but she felt that they settled for mainstream hum drum ‘mom’ activities. Not tonight.

Polly was the black sheep of the friend group but she’s been that since they were all in high school. She was the quiet nerd copywriting for the school newspaper and her friends were cheerleaders or popular. She was even the last one to have a child. Her fiance got cold feet and left her before they could even stand at the altar. Her friends were supportive but she knew they judged her and her parenting which is why she only really hung out with them on their lady’s night. She wasn’t reclusive but she didn’t seek out socializing. Now that her daughter was a teen it was easier for her to see her friends a few times a month without worrying about a babysitter.

Her night to choose and tonight it wasn’t going to be her go-to usual midnight matinee at the local theater. She planned out a psychic reading for all of her friends and a ‘blackout dining’ experience. She has always wanted to do both of her choices but never spoke up but tonight something was different. She felt braver. The other 5 women showed up ready to go and she knew that as long as there was booze involved somewhere they would be game for whatever she suggested. The girls walked in after a brief tap on the door and a ‘yoohoo’ yodled inside. Polly greeted them and quickly told them, ‘Ladies, I have a unique night planned for us. First, we will be getting a psychic reading and I’ve reserved 2 hours for all of us to be read then we will be having a blackout dining experience.’ The other’s quietly stared at her and then the chatter of acceptance and hopeful what-ifs filled the space.

The girls arrived at Madame Quinn’s parlor promptly on time even though the carpool of women got lost twice. One by one the women went behind the black velvet curtain to have a future told to them while the others peruse Madame Quinn’s shelves of knick-knacks and herbs gossiping about whether or not Quinn was a fake and the fortunes were true. Polly was the last to disappear behind the curtain to an unknown future. ‘Sit down dear.’ Quinn motioned for Polly to sit across from her. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Polly stammered. ‘Just relax and place your hands palm up on the scarf.’ Polly slowly put her hands on the scarf as instructed and Quinn gently cradled her hands around Polly’s. ‘You’re not like your friends. You appreciate the soul of things and live in moments. You shouldn’t worry about your daughter so much. Her future is everything a mom can ask for her daughter.’ Polly relaxed. ‘You have many pasts and this conflicts with your future. Your several futures.’ Quinn said slowly and squinted her eyes at her hands then met Polly’s eyes. ‘What does that mean?’ Polly asked. Quinn continued,’ You have a love from your past that you keep missing in each life. You continue to miss him in the future.’ Polly slid her hands out of Quinn’s and slumped back crossing her arms, ‘I had a man that I loved and he left. The love of my life is my daughter.’ ‘Child, the man that left is not the same from your past. He doesn’t know he’s looking for you. But you need to see. You need to be aware of your body. It will tell you if you listen. If and when you find each other futures change from lifetime to lifetime.’ Quinn said gripping Polly’s wrist, ‘Just listen.’ Polly stood and thanked Madame Quinn, paid for the services and tipped. All the girls loaded up in the van and headed to dinner. Polly could see Quinn standing outside with a hand cupped to her ear.

The women arrived at the restaurant where they were blindfolded and given instructions that they will be aided by the staff that has night vision goggles and guide your hands to plates and glasses. The women stumbled as they were lead to their table and no matter how hard Polly tried her there wasn’t any light for her eyes to make adjustments too. Everyone except Polly ordered a spirited drink whereas she opted for water. The meal was already preplanned so there were no menus just the drink order that needed to be placed. The women talked about Madame Quinn and what their futures held for them and when Polly was asked she replied, ‘I need to listen to my body.’ Giggles then the conversation was interrupted by the waiter, ‘I will be coming around on your left and placing a plate in front of you. Once the plates are placed I will guide your hands to the plate and the silverware is on your right.’ Polly’s hearing was overcompensating for the loss of sight. She could hear the plates being set on the table and her’s was last. She could hear hands being guided by the waiter with the sound of fabric scrapping against the table cloth.

Polly could feel the waiter on her left and her body temperature dropped. Her hair raised on her arms and she could feel a magnetic pull on her chin and look up in the darkness and she swore she saw the outline of a man. Polly whispered, ‘Thank you,’ as he guided her hand to her plate. The touch sent an electric pulse to her heart and instead of skipping a beat she felt a pang of sorrow. She could hear him walk away and wondered if he felt what she did. The women ate and chatted but now Polly was distracted and offered the occasional, ‘yup’ and ‘really’ in the conversation when warranted. The meal ended and the waiter guided the women to the hostess area where Polly could feel the pang in her heart as the waiter bid them goodnight. She was quiet on the way home and snapped out of her quiet mood when the vehicle pulled up in front of her house. They said their goodbyes and squealed about how they haven’t had this much fun in a long time. Polly quietly entered her house, kissed her daughter’s sleeping forehead, and went to bed.

Polly tossed and turned all night with dreams of a faceless man and woke up late. She decided to go to the coffee shop by her house. Waiting in line she could feel the pull and pang. Her mouth went dry and she could hear a familiar shuffle even over the noise of the coffee shop. She turned and looked directly in the eyes of a man behind her. She noticed his breath quickened and he swallowed hard. ‘Do I know you?’ Polly asked. ‘You looked at me the same way last night. I was…’ Polly interrupted, ‘Our waiter.’ He nodded, ‘I’m Zack.’ ‘Im Polly.’ Coffee orders were placed and they sat talking like they had known each other for years. Morning turned into afternoon and they were talking into the evening, ‘I need to get home,’ Polly said sadly. Zack gave her his number and they made plans to make plans. Polly watched Zack walk away and it felt like she was losing something important.

For weeks the pair talked and grew closer together. A couple of years passed when Zack asked Polly to be his wife. Her friends were bridesmaids and her daughter the matron of honor. She could feel something crushing her from the inside and thought it to be wedding nerves. ‘It’s past time to say our vows,’ Polly told her daughter and feared that she was being left again. ‘Polly, I need you to come with me.’ The priest motioned for her to follow. The walked down a long hallway that was behind the main room where she was met by two officers. She already knew the bad news and zoned out the man telling her about the wreck. She sat on the floor surrounded by white fabric but all she could feel was emptiness. After the church was cleared and she changed out of the dress she wandered around the city where she found herself in front of Madame Quinn’s parlor. Quinn was waiting outside for Polly and wrapped her in a warm embrace. Polly began to cry and yell, ‘WHY!? I found him! I listened just like you said! What the fuck Quinn?! What did I do wrong!’ Quinn took Polly’s hand, ‘My dear child, I told you many futures. This future wasn’t the one that was meant to be. Your soul now recognizes his. It will be easier next lifetime. Go home, raise your daughter, grow old, you’ll marry a man that will keep you company and you will be surrounded by your children and grandchildren. Your soul will now remember what to do and who to recognize. A future’s past only foresees a soul’s constant.

Fates Dread

I had such a difficult time with this story. There is so much more I want to add and write but I have to get ready for work and if it’s any longer then it’s no longer considered a short story. I strayed from the normalcy of Norse mythology and wanted to dabble a little in romance and fate.


Even at night in the comfort of darkness, Asta felt uneasy. She had a gift and honed it over the years. A völva is respected, feared, and regarded but Abigail couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. She was feared more than anything as her beauty was still intact but she accepted the solitude as it was her path in life. She paced with nervousness and rubbed her sweaty palms on the back of her linen gown. She thought about tossing her runes and thought perhaps not and knew it wasn’t her time to be taken from the earthly realm.

She could hear the wind pick up outside as if helping her dread come to her door. The candles flickered on the tables in her room and the fire roared a little louder than it should for being in a hearth. Asta sat at her weaving and began to work on her blanket when she lost herself between the threads and hand motions. She could see a man walking away from bodies, sword in hand. With every footstep, she could hear thunder and feel the steps vibrating through her. A feeling of emptiness consumed her but was rescued from it with a banging on her door.

She opened the door to find a young child looking up at her. This was not her usual seeker of truth. She knelt to his level but he said nothing. ‘I’m Asta. Would you like some stew?’ The boy didn’t answer but took her hand. Not to lead her but to show her. The moment he gripped her hand she was taken back to the bloody field. This time the man was walking to her and not just in her direction. When the boy let go of her hand she was standing in the field behind her home and in front of her was the man from her visions.

Asta finally spoke, ‘Gulbrand.’ She said in a knowing timid whisper. He stepped closer to her, ‘Asta.’ They knew each other’s names without knowing one another. He took her hand and the final scene was revealed when he kissed her cheek. The moment his warm rough lips touched her smooth cool cheek she was taken back to the field. In a tent of red fabric, she sat in a chair cradling a full term belly rubbing the soles of her feet on furs that covered the ground. Gulbrand entered and washed his hands and face before kneeling in front of Asta. He cradled the unborn child looking up at Asta and smiled. The field of bodies was a cost of protection. Then Asta was shown the same field where Gulbrand was playing with a young boy. He was the same child at her door, her future son.

Then it was darkness and dread and willed its way back to her. Gulbrand, as if reading her mind, ‘Don’t fear your fate. Our saga began the moment your vision revealed me. Our paths were chosen by the Gods. Our son is destined to be the future of man.’ Asta knew more than Gulbrand. Their son is may be the future of man but also ends the futures of others. That was the dread she felt.

Twittering Tales #119: Seer’s Sup

I haven’t participated in one of these challenges by was inspired by the Kristian to give it a go. This was a refreshing exercise and enjoyed it. If I can remember to do these I think they would be great to elaborate on for my longer stories on Fridays.


She sat quietly beside her cauldrons as they cooked the evening’s meal. No one visits a seer like herself unless it’s crucial. In the flames that danced under her supper, she saw pain, laughter, and heartbreak. She looked up at the new desperate stranger. ‘Sit. Sup then answers.’

280 Characters

Soup Pot

I was super inspired by the book that my husband and I have been searching for the past 2 weeks. My grandmother’s ‘reference’ cookbook. I have a great idea but will post about that later. Here is my short story Soup Pot (word count 229).

“2 cups water, check,” Amy called out ingredients as she poured them into her grandmother’s pot. What better way to feel her grandmother around her by cooking her soup recipe in her soup pot? She swore her grandmother’s soup had healing powers.

After hours of gently simmering it was time to serve. She ladled spoonfuls into a soup bowl and sat with a box of crackers. Instead of her first bite taking her back to the days they spent in the kitchen it was just soup. It tasted fine and was very satisfying but not what she had expected. Amy read the recipe again and every ingredient was in that pot. She stared at the soup, stared at the empty kitchen, and stared at the recipe.

All Amy could do was gently blow on her soup and cry. Unknowingly a tear fell into her bowl and with her next bite a warm began in the pit of her stomach and worked its way to her limbs. The kitchen took the nostalgic warm hue and she heard it. Amy heard the voice of her grandmother.
‘A recipe, cricket, are just words on a paper of food thrown in a pot. It’s the love you stir them with that makes the dish so good. Cook with love. That’s the one ingredient you can’t put into words or buy of a shelf.’

Productive 1st Week

I can’t begin to say how proud of myself that I am with the first week of the year. Unfortunately, I may not be able to keep to the schedule today due to outside obligations. This morning, I got up early and read the book that the kindred is covering for the book club meeting. Heroes of Asgard is a short book and easy read because I’ve heard these stories and variations from different sources. The Kindred is also supporting each other in their healthy choice of lifestyle. I’ve already been working with Weight Watchers and decided to participate to help lose the pesky 20lbs that just can’t be dropped. For this week I’ve participated in and accomplished the necessary goals with the kindred and learning journey not to mention my own personal (not daily) study of the Havamal. Oh, I even did my time on the treadmill.

The 365-Day project has been awesome and shitty all at the same time. I can take an awesome picture one minute and WTH was that photo the next. The Skillshare class helped a great deal and I have a couple more that I want to watch. The best part is that they are all short and cut right to the chase so I can learn, try, and grow through a swift transition. Trying to remember all the tips and tricks is what I need to try harder at. Maybe making my own notes or flashcards to carry will help like little-reminding nods. I think my favorite photo is from day 4. The puddle experiment was scary to try but I’m glad I did. I’m glad I stepped out of the car. I have a horrible feeling that today’s photo won’t be all that great because of the events I have happening today.

The short story that I wrote made me feel good. It was great to write something other than the journal entries, weighing-in, or Havamal study. I already have an idea for the next one and hope that I can keep it short.

My comic…Oh my! All I can say is that the app I found took longer for me to draw with than doing it by hand. My goal was a simple stick figure comic to bring a little chuckle but it was lacking. I can either watch the tutorials or go balls deep and do it by hand. If I’m going to do that I need to stop by the store and either get a small sketchbook or a grid composition. I did find my Wacom tablet and pen in the garage so I’ll try my next one with that.

How did your first week of working towards goals pan out for you?  I’m going to work damn hard on making sure I get a photo for my 365-Day project. Happy Sunday everyone.

 

Becoming Small

Today is the first step towards writing more and keeping it within a reasonable word limit. I have lost my interest in writing with everything that has been going on in life so once a week I get to sit down and go outside my comfort zone, find new characters, explore new worlds, or find some poetic justice for any insecurities I may have. I left my comfort zone for the first story. Maybe I could branch into a type of romantic erotic writing or maybe I’m setting myself up to fail at another goal. For now, I’m happy with this.


It happened gradually over time. Not overnight, not even over a month. I never noticed laying next to him at night wide awake wondering if we are still in love. Am I still in love? It seemed like decades since he has touched me in the loving way a man touches a woman. Lack of human intimate touch can make one feel small. How small one feels when looking at love from a distance.

Through snowy days, we talked like a couple rather than siblings. The feeling of smallness began to wane until one night we broke from our mundane routine. At first feelings of butterflies nervously fluttering around gave way to a passion that neither of us had felt in a long time. Still, underneath a loving embrace, I became small. It didn’t happen overnight, not even over a month. It happened that night. Feeling loved, alive, feminine, desired, and beautiful. How wonderful it is to be small under the emotions of love.


Word Count: 164 Word Count Goal: 50
Story: Jo © thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com
Picture Credit: Burlington Ontario Artist, Sarah Leckie

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