Friday Fictioneers – They Lied

Photo courtesy:  Jennifer Pendergast

Photo courtesy: Jennifer Pendergast

They Lied

Word count:  97

Mary hated going through the connectors and walked purposefully down the center to avoid detection, focused dead ahead.  Abruptly, she caught sight of black movement: shadowed, intensified through the hazy plastic.  Mary froze; it was the first time she’d encountered one this close.  They were told that the material was impenetrable but how could it be when the thing was almost as big as the connector itself?  The bee grew larger, pressing its furry body against the side of the dome.  Mary, deadlocked with fear, watched in horror as it rip-stabbed through the wall with its proboscis.

Ever Present

Having been so preoccupied lately, or fatigued, or stressed to the point of tears, I had carved out no time for meditation.  There were moments to take a dip down but fleeting times they were:  At the beach, when I closed my eyes to become aware of the waves (I am water, not the wave) or the wisps of conversations of the people around us and the squeals of small children.  Certain sounds that some might think would not be conducive to meditation but it was really just about being in the moment.  Other times I took a few seconds to really take in the scenery.  Or sometimes I’d sink down into myself while folding laundry, or cooking dinner.  Just to sort of keep going.  To keep in touch with self.

I read this article a few minutes ago and I was reminded (again) that once you discover the deeply spiritual side of yourself, it can never be banished.  It is ever present, always there, like a Pandora’s Box for the good or a can of butterflies.  It can never be closed.  You may have to put it to one side for a while at times but you will heed the reminders it sends to you when you’ve neglected it for too long.

I came to the door of awakening in the Spring of 2012 but did not walk across the threshold until November 2012.  Since then, I’ve discovered in trickles more truths about myself, from big significant ones that can give a jolt like electricity to the little ones that make me smile and huff at the same time.

How content I feel today.  And smiling.  Safe and secure in the knowledge that it doesn’t matter what goes on in my world, from the lingering aches of the past that nudge my heart and poke my memories to the stresses of work and physical worries, I am ok.  I am doing just fine.

I am all I need.

I love my husband and my children with a quiet ferocity.  Well, truth be told, love for my kids is unconditional because they are part of me and I grew them but the love for my husband has faded in and out over the years.  This due for the most part to those outside factors and the usual marriage ups and downs.  I am growing and nurturing a self-love and it supersedes that.  It’s a powerful thing and without it, I couldn’t love my husband and much as I do these days.

Water Ripple

So with life calming down a bit, I am welcomed to myself with open arms and a beaming smile.

*****

 Here again, so nice to see you, how’ve you been?

Come child, sit a while and let go.

You are all you need.

For the stillness causes ripples

of loving kisses

for all you meet.

If it’s handed to you

Welly well well…doesn’t life take a sharp turn sometimes?  You’re like, “Whoa!  Where the hell am I and how the hell did I get here?”  You consider turning around but the wall has closed behind you like a Star Trek: TNG holodeck.

It’s not really a bad place to be, it’s just heavier and more than you thought it would be and are accustomed to.  And, it’s completely new to boot.

I’m used to being onstage you see, or perhaps in front (the one stint as Director was fun but not altogether taxing) and on the odd occasion in front of the camera.  But I have never been behind the camera.  Until now.

My title as Assistant Direcjuggler300tor on a short film involves much brainstorming and idea-making with the Director.  It’s probably a misconception about myself to think that I have nothing to offer, nothing of creative validity that would be useful.  It turns out that I actually do.  My brain works in just the right way and is geared toward this field so I have been able to let fly with some visions that magically pop up and which feed into another and another.

That said, when I’m called to a meeting with Director of Photography and Production Designer, I feel a little like an impostor.  Like a nervous juggler with a confident veneer surrounded by seasoned performers who need no falsity because their experience is plain for all to see.  I won’t give up, not only on moral grounds (having accepted the challenge and am in too deep to even think of dropping it all and walking away), but also because I know I can see this through to the end and be good at it.  I want to succeed.

Also, if we can pull this off (there are a lot of challenges) it’ll be a pretty cool film.

I have missed writing.  At times during the last couple of days, I think ahead to the last day of filming and relish the thought of putting thought to paper once again.  In the meantime, it’s back to production boards, excel spreadsheets of script breakdowns by every.possible.little.thing and gearing up for the first day of shooting.

Daily Prompt: Opposite Day. The photos…

I thought, ya know what, I’m going to post some photos anyway as an extension of the Daily Prompt:  Opposite Day.   It’s rare to find a family pic on here.  Nor do I put up pics of the things that make me laugh.

Today I will make an exception.

Cat memes crack me up:

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My kids.

She’ll be seven in September and he’ll be nine in a few weeks.  They are funny, loving, kind, bickering, fighting, pestering, adoring, hugging, cute, smart, forgiving, nurturing, caring, empathetic, lying, nose-picking, questioning, obeying, disobeying, fun-loving, spontaneous, adventurous, shy, polite, rude, loud, quiet, rambunctious, bored, enthusiastic and mine (and husband’s, of course).  We love them to bits.

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Daily Prompt – Opposite Day: A Piece of Poetry

From the Daily Prompt – Opposite Day.

What would the opposite be of the usual offerings here?  Most often, you will find flash fiction (a relatively new endeavor for me) or an entry regarding some kind of spiritual aspect/direction/query about life in general.

Mulling it over, it would be easy to share a photo.  But I don’t want to do that…I want a challenge today.  So I will attempt to knock up a piece of poetry.  Not my forte; I feel my poetry (much like my writing) is juvenile and often what I visualize in my head, translates very differently in writing.  So, here goes:

 

Like a thin veneer

Sheeting wide across the mind

Withholding tantalous words

And phrases, thoughts.

It’s all there, though squinted

beyond reach.

What will it take for the first sliver

to breathe through the sheet?

For the first magnificent expression

to slip through for me?

Then a burst, a torrent

And flood.

I shall bathe in the wordfall

And squirrel my pen

And write, write, write.

Oh, when?

 

Thank you, come again.

A first short(ish) story.

My first short story.

It comes in at just under 4,700 words, has been rejected once and since then, I let it stew for a while.  I revisited it today with more revisions and editing.  The style feels amateurish and juvenile but I give myself some slack since it was my first full effort.  I’m not altogether sure why I’m posting it here but something tells me that it’s ok to do so.

If you take the time to read it, I am incredibly grateful.  Any feedback, positive and constructive would be welcomed also.

Just Write.

rollerskate

I read This blog yesterday and felt the familiar “Yes!”  ohmygod, yes!

Ideas for stories pile up in my head, occasionally filtering through enough to enable a creative outlet and the start of some kind of story…be it flash fiction, a short story or who knows what else, how long or where it’s going.  Too many ideas up the wazoo and I am frustrated lately with the lack of propulsion.  My Springpad is filling up with unfinished work, stories that race great out of the gates but quickly lose steam.

After reading the above blog, I thought perhaps I had strayed too far from the point.  Taking advice too deeply to heart.  Holding tightly to the notion that no-one wants to read a life story because what might be fascinating for the writer, may not necessarily be so for the reader.  But, perhaps it’s all in the telling.

I have pieces and portions, events and happenings, some of which might shock or provoke tears or elicit a resounding mental “Bravo!” and so I began writing about a quick thing that happened many, many years ago.  After composing the story from two different angles, I’m astounded at how the memory has sprung to life… from a faded thirty-three years ago to now.  The colors are vivid, the characters leap from my mind, the touch of a person, the feel of the day, the utter dumbing numbness that encompassed me.  I have rarely given it thought over the years.  How surprising to find that it is all still intact but if you asked me what I had for dinner last week, I would falter.

It’s the kind of piece that makes me wonder what the people in my story are doing today.  Do they remember?  Do they remember me?

And, how can I trust myself to get it all down in such a way that it doesn’t resemble the page of a confused ten year old’s diary?  To bring it to life without going overboard on prose.  To simplify it.  To describe it in its stark, summer-filled way.

Take a step back and observe.

Much like the strong emotions in life – bearing witness as opposed to immersion in any event that invokes strong emotion, helps work it through.

Be honest and true to human nature, in all its ugliness and darkness.

Write.  Just write.