You say that I’m a savage

I think  that you think that I

love too strongly

that I grieve like a wild thing

that my anger is terrible to behold…

You say that I’m a savage but

I would rather be a savage than

to be a cold, half- dead whatever it is

that you are.



Silver Bullet

It’s too sunny to go out right now, and I hate heat. That’s what I tell myself but I’ve been laying in this position since this morning and it was probably actually nice out before noon.
The truth is I’m wasting my summer away like I made someone a bet that I’d be the best summer waster the world has ever known.
I didn’t by the way, bet someone, I mean. If I had done this though? I would’ve won by now. Such is my level of awesomeness in regards to emptying my time stores without actually accomplishing a damn thing.
I think the fact that we have time stores just annoys maybe I’m rebelling against society or the fact that my family at least will never run out of time. Honestly though, I’m just a spoiled rich kid whose boyfriend is out of town til next month. Nothing’s really ever felt important enough to me to make me care about it though…not even him.
I have a few girl friends that I could call but I know that they’re still pissed at me for blowing them off the last time they wanted to go shopping.Shopping is boring and my closets are so full they’re throwing clothes up at me whenever I try to take something out. I laugh to myself at the idea of having a bulimic closet.
I’m bored now though..bored enough to sit up and possibly even stand up.
My head spins telling me that I’ve made this movement way too quickly so I sit again and ignore the pull to just lie back down again.
I stand again, this time much more slowly, I  wait and there is no dizziness this time so I walk over to my window.
The crazy lady next door is emptying out her garage, literally pulling out bags and bookcases and lining one side of the driveway with them. It’s so hot that I can feel the heat coming in through the glass at me like an angry hiss and I shake my head wondering why on earth someone would actually choose to be out in it.
Ms. Simmons is her name and she pulls out one last box now, opens it and then rubs her head full of curlers so roughly that a few fall out of her hair and onto the ground. She looks back to her garage and then back at her collection of things and then walks the the very beginning of the line and starts looking into the bag there, pulling things out and laying them on the grass.
Huh, I think, wonder what the bag has lost. She looks frantic but kind of funny in her silver bedroom slippers with pink pom pom dotting the toes and a matching robe of some sort of synthetic and slinky material. It’s around four o’clock you’d think she’d have put some actual clothes on and then tut at myself, let her not wearing Rainbow Brite  jim jams cast the first stone and all that.
A screeching car catches my attention and the speeding silver car turns my head to follow it. The car drives into Ms. Simmons drive way at an angle to avoid the line of junk and a tall guy in a suit steps out.  The guy is raising his arms at her and she starts to shake her head. He’s angry now I mean I can’t hear them but I can tell angry when I see it, he’s all puffed out chest and pointing a finger into her chest, she looks like she’s crying.
I’m getting angry now, I mean I don’t like Ms Simmons, she’s weird and nosy and is always knocking on our door for no good reason, but heck if some guy  is going to get away with making her cry in broad daylight.

It occurs to me to maybe call the cops or something.  I look down at my bedside table looking for my cell phone but I don’t see it. It should be there because I actually charged it last night so I look behind the table and see it there between the table and the wall. A slamming door draws my eyes upward before I can reach it though and I think that maybe I won’t need it anymore-the guy is getting back into his car.
That’s actually a relief because I wasn’t honestly up to dealing with any of this. Not the call to the cops, not them questioning me about things later.

I go ahead and fetch the phone out anyway and then look over at Ms. Simmons again. She’s just standing there wiping eyes and her nose with her hand then her forearm. I think about how small and vulnerable she looks in that instance and a pang of guilt washes over me. She looks up then and noticing me at the window picks up a hand and waves at me. I lift my hand to wave back  right as I see a silver flash of something run into her, back up and then drive away.


Stacey closed her twitter app and opened facebook, she closed that to open tumblr.

She scrolled down to see if she missed something…

No, she had seen it all before.

Stacy threw the Ipad down on the bed in frustration, tears formed in her eyes that she couldn’t explain.

She had one last look and noticed an image she hadn’t  before,

“Who is HappySmilingPeople?”she wondered.

She clicked on the icon and was sucked into the screen.

When she opened her eyes she was flying over fields in a zeppelin somewhere.

She smiled with an exhilaration never known before.


100 or maybe 101 words of flash fiction brought to by the lovely Madison Wood‘s picture prompt for Friday Fictioneers this week:

Join them it’s fun. a nice break from WIP’S that might be frustrating you (okay me) right now. 🙂

*Edited with help from the lovely Lindaura .

June Sunshine Award

I got given the June Sunshine Award today by NMNPHX!

This is something both lovely and hard to comprehend….but I am a firm believer in no takie backsies so it’s mine now and I’m keeping it. Also I have the ability to pass on ten more awards of this sort to ten other bloggers who I think are full of awesome. (I don’t think I can give one back to NMNPHX, but I would if I could because she fits the criteria.) Please visit the blogs I mention at the end of this post plus NMNPHX, you will happy that you did.

The June Sunshine Award  is similar to the Versatile Blogger Award, but better because I have one of these now but I don’t have the other.

If you’ve received this award there are a few little rules you should follow. I’m not saying that if you don’t follow them a large angry bear will knock at your door or anything……but why take that chance right? Also this isn’t a threat people, I don’t even own a bear I’m just saying that’s how the universe works and stuff. Probably.

Here are the rules for the award:

  • Include the award’s logo in a post or on your blog.
  • Answer 10 questions about yourself.
  • Nominate 10 other bloggers.
  • Link your nominees to this post and comment on their blogs, letting them know they have been nominated.
  • Share the love and link the person who nominated you.
To start, here are 10 questions and answers about myself.

What is a real fear you have?  Driving and attempting to drive scare the pats off me. It has to do with………..well I’m not really sure what it has to do with but it’s really inconvenient. Also, people screaming “Look out you’re about to hit that car” or “Watch out, there’s a ditch” every time they give you driving lessons does not help. Why would you give someone driving lessons on an actual road with people or ditches anyway? It’s irresponsible. Also, I have horrible side vision.

As a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up? A writer and then an artist with an actual gallery exhibit.

What are some of your hobbies? Reading, writing, blogging, painting,drawing, sewing felt fairies.

What hobby would you like to start? I’d like to take up kick boxing again- I took a few classes in my twenties and I remember really liking it.

If you could tell people anything, what would be the most important thing to say?

Don’t be afraid to make mistakes and don’t forget to find the lesson from them when you do make them.

Name one item from your “bucket list”? Someday I’d like to attend the Glastonbury Music Festival.  Thankfully I crossed off SXSW a few years ago.

What’s the best prank you’ve pulled off?  Nothing, nada- I’m a big goof and end up laughing my head off whenever I’ve tried to prank someone.

What book are you planning to read next? Scott Nicholson’s Creative Spirit. I’m reading Write Good or Die right now and he’s one of the contributors so I’m interested to see what his writing is like.

Coffee or Tea?  Coffee but if I’m stressed or sick I like tea. Mint tea with milk or black tea with lemon.

Lemon Torte or Chocolate Cheesecake?Okay, I’ve never tried either of these but I’m going to go with Lemon Torte because I’m crazy for anything lemon. Chocolate is good too but I like my cheesecake New York style and plain.

My 10 Nominees are:

1. My Write Side

2.Madison Woods

3. Nikki and the Novel

4.Kelly Graham, Artist

5.Twinkle, Twinkle

6.Tracey Fetcher King

7.Bridget Straub Author, Artist, Mom

8.Dayo Benson



It’s almost here..


I spent this week reading a little on the craft of writing and trying to make some sort of outline. That didn’t really happen and I plan to start writing at midnight sooo we’ll see how that goes. 

I at least have a better idea in my head about Goal, Motivation and Conflict.

I mentioned this to my writing group and they probably think I’m a huge nut but I honestly didn’t know what writers meant when they said that they read a lot of craft books to help them write better. I thought, okay that’s neat I guess that crafting helps relieve stress or something?

I now know what they meant. And yeah, I feel a little silly now. 

But you live you learn right?

Happy Writing y’all. 🙂

Camp Nano

I’ve signed up,it’s offical. For some reason I need not only a goal to make time for writing,but a public goal that could lead in humilation if not completed or something.
(I also think I need meaner friends though, because y’all were all way to easy on me when I didn’t complete Nanowrimo.)
I’m completely kidding on that last part,I’m a complete and utter weenie when it comes to meaness directed at myself.
But I still want concrit if it’s helpful,I promise you.
Ugh,that’s horrible- ignore all of that except the starting Camp nano part.
The story is something I thought of while working with my writing group and inspired by pinterest. Consequently  I’ve tried to stay off pinterest until I done more than with this project. The problem with me is not finding ideas to write, it’s the sticking it through and doinv something with the ideas.
Another problem is that I ramble in blog post,sorry.
The story is called Techie war and while I had written a start to that story I never went futher than that and have now decided to write a new beginning.
I’m told it’s a dystopian novel and even though I never knew what that meant before I was told that, I agree.

Several things have happened to make it a different world than we live in now. The first of these is a Hacker Bombing. A group of Hackers caused bombs to go off across the world but mainly in America, there was no real reason for them to do this besides wanting to prove that they could pull it off. There will be a twist concerning this at the end of the story but for now assume it was all ego-inflated Hackers. (I’ve probably said too much.) These bombings caused several groups who were already weary of how technologically reliant the world was becoming to separate from the majority and form their own community. Think Amish but not really religious- there will be religious people in this group, actually several types of religions, but the group itself just wants a return to a more natural lifestyle. They make their own clothing, they live off the land- they’ve formed communities off in parts of England and Ireland somewhere. (I’m calling them Waldorfs for now.)  The Techies are the majority and after the bombings they embraced technology more but with one exception, internet use is now highly controlled, regulated and watched. All media, art and even clothing have to be sanctioned. Most things in Techie world are manufactured and the separating of the two groups has led to Techies snubbing anything natural and instead only using mostly synthetic, manmade objects. The second thing that has happened most recently when this story takes place is a small (very small) uprising of college aged rebels trying to shut down the government’s main computer. This has led to even more regulations and distrust of anyone who has Waldorf sympathies or is artistic or nature loving. (As the techie and Waldorf communities have continued growing there are now grievances between how much land each should be allowed, obviously the Waldorfs want more land to grow their food and lifestock but the techies outnumber them and have begun wanting to take over the land that the Waldorfs own and refuse to sell.

Main Characters:

Diana Greaves- wife of Basil, mother to Cynthia and stepmother to Andrew. She is American and was a well-known artist before the techie wars

Basil Greaves- multi billionaire head of GlobalTech, a technology empire which has grown substantially since the start of the techie wars (Techie wars; name given to what led to the bombings and the separation and disputes between the Waldorfs and the Techies, think cold war- it’s not an actual ongoing battle or anything) He is English, extremely controlling and a little cold but always polite.

Andrew Greaves-Basil’s 13 year son from a former marriage

Cynthia Greaves- Basil and Diana’s 6 year old daughter

Arthur Burke- longtime friend and associate of Basil, good friend of Diana

Tessa Miller-Green- Diana’s mother, a seamstress and artist who works in fabrics

Simon Green- leader of the Waldorf community, Diana’s stepfather

All I truly hope from Camp Nano is to get writing done on a more regular basis and to get this story started, I know what I end up with may be a hot mess but I’m hoping to be able to gleam something from it.

Will you be doing Camp Nano this year?


The summer when I was ten years old my sister came home from the mental hospital. She had been in there for eight months already and my mother wanted her home with us. So she had her discharged against doctor’s orders.

It wasn’t a big deal- this is what I was told. In fact the whole happenstance of my sister even having been in a mental hospital was treated in the same way. She had been resting, that’s all, she’s not crazy, and her blank, glazed over eyes and slack mouth which refused to form words were just something to ignore.

I had hated that place and our Sunday visits to it. My mom would leave me in the common room where patients who were better off would roam freely and she and my dad would go fetch my sister for a visit. It wasn’t a visit though really, they’d wheel her out in a chair and she’s stare at us or rather through us while my mother talked on and on about what we had been up to that week. Mom would glare at me if I didn’t try to talk to my sister too. So I’d mumble something about my week and then I was allowed to go back to looking out the windows that faced the parking lot and dare someone to see me. They never did, the windows were the kind that let you look out but don’t allow anyone see you- but I’d try anyway. I thought that if I could focus on the guy crossing the street hard enough maybe he would look up or if that failed maybe I could make him trip or something.

I didn’t really want anyone tearing up their legs on pavement, mind you, it was just a diversion, and it was an escape. I hated the way everything around me felt sterile and yet dirty. The whole place smelt of Clorox and underlying sickness and sometimes I held my breath until the point where I had to gasp for air which only made the smell flood through my nose all at once.

But the summer my sister came home wasn’t that much better. She was off all of the drugs that kept her in a permanent stupor but the wordlessness had given way to the speech of a five year old. She even took to calling me big sister and following my mother wherever she went, holding on the end of her skirt. She was afraid of the dark now and shrieked through the night until she was finally able to go sleep. And I was made to play dolls with her when my mother needed a rest.

My mother found us a big tub of Barbie dolls at a garage sale for our play dates. It was so bizarre to be forced to sit in a room with this stranger, this eighteen year old in pig tails who giggled and then stomped if I didn’t giggle back. It was surreal and even the ten year old me knew it wrong.   But my mother seemed so happy about it all, happy to see the two us playing together. She was so happy to have her daughter home again so we all pretended that all of it was normal. And I hoped that it would pass soon so that I could go back to really being a normal kid again. That hope was like something that shimmered from afar, something to cling to for someone who just felt very scared and alone in the whole situation, someone who felt like her feelings must be strange when everyone else seemed like all was alright.

But I was never really able to feel normal again.