Hello!
Did you know that May 1 is the deadline for *two* blogests? Charity Bradford's baking one is the first one I heard of, so that one gets to be put here above the other. Check out her blog; she's got some cool stuff to say. And hey, she's a marathon runner! Way to go!
Read the other entries and enjoy!
Then second is Lilah Pierce's last lines blogfest...a toughie! I love last lines, but how can I just give them away? I think I have a few, some rather nebulous (which is often how I like 'em), even more so because I am not going to offer much explanation.
Check out the other entrants, and again, enjoy!
~~Baking Blogfest~~
She cracked the eggs open so hard, the white spattered onto her hand, and the yolk broke before it left the shell. She didn’t care. Nor did she care that a piece had broken off the shell. It wouldn’t kill him.
She stirred and scraped, turning up the heat, turning it down, turning it up again. She watched as the eggs scrambled, the white blending with the yellow. As they began to turn brown.
She swore, and pulled the pan off the burner, almost dropping it—she swore again, under her breath, so he wouldn’t hear her. Damn him. That she still cared she might wake him, when she was busy trying to serve him.
The eggs were done. She popped some bread into a toaster, and bit her thumb as she waited. It popped, and she gathered the slices, burning her hand. She slathered butter on, and the first piece split in half. The second was more sturdy, and she continued on, toasting more, buttering them.
She dumped the eggs into a bowl, put two rows of toast out on a plate, put it all on a tray. She looked at the clock. It was eight. In the morning. On a weekend.
She hated him.
She carried the tray upstairs. Had it been before, she would have picked out fresh flowers in a vase. The eggs would have been creamy and delicious.
But that had been before, and this was now. So she marched down to where he was, sleeping in the bedroom. She cleared her throat loudly. He didn’t move.
“Wake up!”
He jumped, and she stood over him, threatening, the tray firm in her hands.
“I was sleeping.” And now he was whining.
“I was, too.” The tray was heavy. Didn’t he understand?
He looked like he was about to roll over. "I didn’t tell you to get up.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sit up.”
"Yes, sir."
"I didn't tell you to talk."
He chuckled a little. She dumped his food down in front of him, burnt eggs, bits of breaded butter, a sad little empty cup she had forgotten to fill with orange juice.
“Happy Anniversary. Now eat your damn breakfast.”
~~~~~~Last lines-1~~~~~~~~~~
There was a lot to say, but Sallie didn’t, and neither did he. They sat, mere inches away, and stared at the sky, and breathed together.
For just a few minutes.
~~~~~~~2~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night, there was still no bread or eggs in the house, and Liz told Derek that she was breaking up with him. She didn’t give him a reason, and he didn’t ask for one. He packed up his belongings, whistling as he did so, and he moved out the next day.
Liz wondered what it was like to be in love and to have someone be in love with you.
It was Monday.
She was the other woman.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Body Language blogfest
A quick draft of a short story I thought up years ago..this gave me a chance to work a bit on something new! Anyway--here it is, rough and tumble, and ready for Harley D. Palmer's body language blogfest! Go check out the other entrants!
(Update to add link!)
__________________________________________
Amy had been talking to someone, but she turned, her skirt swirling, and then she saw him. She stared, and he did, too.
She cocked an eyebrow, tilted her head in that way he used to like. Like she was issuing a challenge.
Okay, so maybe he had stared too long. He nodded, and took a step toward her. Maybe he should say something. Or not. It was all so awkward. He lifted his hand in a sort of wave, then let it drop back.
She looked amused. She twisted back and forth, crossing her arms behind her back, gripping her elbows. Just like always.
An elder woman pushed past Tyler, shoving him further even more. He glanced over at Amy; she grinned, and stepped forward as well, opening her mouth.
A wrinkly-faced man interceded, and she turned toward him, dropped her hands, and twitched her skirt back and forth.
“Hey, Ty?” No one called him Ty. He glanced at her; the girl, her cousin’s daughter’s friend’s whatever who was patiently serving her term as attendant, chuckled nervously. “Lana said to forget the sandwich, she’s not hungry anymore. Too nervous.” He nodded mutely.
"She wants you to go and fix the flowers on the pews, though. She’s very nervous about them, I guess. She hasn’t stopped talking about them yet!”
“I got ‘em. Tell her not to worry.” The girl smiled, and he took three steps back, then entered the sanctuary—away from Amy.
(Update to add link!)
__________________________________________
Amy had been talking to someone, but she turned, her skirt swirling, and then she saw him. She stared, and he did, too.
She cocked an eyebrow, tilted her head in that way he used to like. Like she was issuing a challenge.
Okay, so maybe he had stared too long. He nodded, and took a step toward her. Maybe he should say something. Or not. It was all so awkward. He lifted his hand in a sort of wave, then let it drop back.
She looked amused. She twisted back and forth, crossing her arms behind her back, gripping her elbows. Just like always.
An elder woman pushed past Tyler, shoving him further even more. He glanced over at Amy; she grinned, and stepped forward as well, opening her mouth.
A wrinkly-faced man interceded, and she turned toward him, dropped her hands, and twitched her skirt back and forth.
“Hey, Ty?” No one called him Ty. He glanced at her; the girl, her cousin’s daughter’s friend’s whatever who was patiently serving her term as attendant, chuckled nervously. “Lana said to forget the sandwich, she’s not hungry anymore. Too nervous.” He nodded mutely.
"She wants you to go and fix the flowers on the pews, though. She’s very nervous about them, I guess. She hasn’t stopped talking about them yet!”
“I got ‘em. Tell her not to worry.” The girl smiled, and he took three steps back, then entered the sanctuary—away from Amy.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
These are a few of my favorite things...
I was reading Jon Paul's blog yesterday, about famous author's favorite books, and started to post an essay in response to his question: What are your favorite books?
As I told him, I have a list of favorite colors, and I keep adding to it--so there's no way that I could choose just one favorite book!!! No way! But the question has come up before, and there are a few I remember, off the top of my head, that I almost always think of, when I think of favorites. Some are best categorized by author, some are not. But here are some of my faves.
"To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee--I don't know what it is about this book, but I think it has me in its spell, even though it's been years since I read it. I loved it then, and without remembering why, I love it now.
"Harry Potter" series, by J.K. Rowling--I've loved Harry Potter for a long time. I think sometimes that she has given me inspiration, actually.
"Stardust," by Neil Gaiman, and incidentally, "The Graveyard Book" ... oh, and let's just toss in "Anansi Boys." Probably my very favorite ones of his many books, though I enjoy and love everything he's written. Talk about inspiration!
Agatha Christie--she is pretty much the only mystery writer I read. She's so prolific, too! I have loved everything of hers that I've read. Especially the stand-alones--those are really my favorites, of hers.
O. Henry--the first story I read of his was "The Gift of the Magi," and as much as I like that one, I think it gets overdone. He is a really fun writer, though, and I love all of his short story collections.
Isaac Asimov--let me clarify this by saying, not everything! But I do enjoy his short stories--and have you read the Norby the Robot series? *Love* that!
"Mary Poppins" by P.L. Travers, and "Mr. Popper's Penguins" by Richard and Florence Atwater, are books that my dad used to read to me at night, and have always been really special to me. On the same note, he also read all three of the original trilogy of Star Wars books (based on the movies, of course, with pictures from the movie). While I can't claim them as favorites, they were also special.
"Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh" by Robert C. O'Brien. OK--have you read this book? Seriously. Read it. It won a newberry award in the 70s. I should preface this with a statement that I was in love with mice when I was little. But even if you aren't, this is absolutely fantastic.
"Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad--So, I like a wide variety of books. Have you ever seen Apocalypse Now? I haven't, but from what I understand, this is what it was based on. Most of my classmates hated reading this book, and I can't say I blame them...but the symbolism was so exciting, and the ideas so dark and twisted, that I spent a lot of time enjoying it. Go figure.
"The Most Dangerous Game," by Richard Connell. What a twisted concept! But I love these off the wall ideas that make it in literature. This deserves its spot here.
Which leads me into works by Shirley Jackson. (The Lottery among them.) My aunt thought these were twisted, as well--and they are. But such strange ideas! At least they're only words, here.
There are more--ones I'm not remembering off hand--but these are the first ones that pop into my head when trying to make that "favorite" determination.
So, what about you? What are your favorite stories/authors/books?
As I told him, I have a list of favorite colors, and I keep adding to it--so there's no way that I could choose just one favorite book!!! No way! But the question has come up before, and there are a few I remember, off the top of my head, that I almost always think of, when I think of favorites. Some are best categorized by author, some are not. But here are some of my faves.
"To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee--I don't know what it is about this book, but I think it has me in its spell, even though it's been years since I read it. I loved it then, and without remembering why, I love it now.
"Harry Potter" series, by J.K. Rowling--I've loved Harry Potter for a long time. I think sometimes that she has given me inspiration, actually.
"Stardust," by Neil Gaiman, and incidentally, "The Graveyard Book" ... oh, and let's just toss in "Anansi Boys." Probably my very favorite ones of his many books, though I enjoy and love everything he's written. Talk about inspiration!
Agatha Christie--she is pretty much the only mystery writer I read. She's so prolific, too! I have loved everything of hers that I've read. Especially the stand-alones--those are really my favorites, of hers.
O. Henry--the first story I read of his was "The Gift of the Magi," and as much as I like that one, I think it gets overdone. He is a really fun writer, though, and I love all of his short story collections.
Isaac Asimov--let me clarify this by saying, not everything! But I do enjoy his short stories--and have you read the Norby the Robot series? *Love* that!
"Mary Poppins" by P.L. Travers, and "Mr. Popper's Penguins" by Richard and Florence Atwater, are books that my dad used to read to me at night, and have always been really special to me. On the same note, he also read all three of the original trilogy of Star Wars books (based on the movies, of course, with pictures from the movie). While I can't claim them as favorites, they were also special.
"Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh" by Robert C. O'Brien. OK--have you read this book? Seriously. Read it. It won a newberry award in the 70s. I should preface this with a statement that I was in love with mice when I was little. But even if you aren't, this is absolutely fantastic.
"Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad--So, I like a wide variety of books. Have you ever seen Apocalypse Now? I haven't, but from what I understand, this is what it was based on. Most of my classmates hated reading this book, and I can't say I blame them...but the symbolism was so exciting, and the ideas so dark and twisted, that I spent a lot of time enjoying it. Go figure.
"The Most Dangerous Game," by Richard Connell. What a twisted concept! But I love these off the wall ideas that make it in literature. This deserves its spot here.
Which leads me into works by Shirley Jackson. (The Lottery among them.) My aunt thought these were twisted, as well--and they are. But such strange ideas! At least they're only words, here.
There are more--ones I'm not remembering off hand--but these are the first ones that pop into my head when trying to make that "favorite" determination.
So, what about you? What are your favorite stories/authors/books?
Monday, April 19, 2010
Sweet, sweet sunshine!
It's a deliciously beautiful day, today. I want so badly to go running outside--literally, with my arms wide open and my head tilted back to feel the sun, like I did when I was little, alone in our backyard. It would be so bright that, with my eyes closed, I could see dark red, no black, and I could see spots when I opened my eyes.
I want to go out right now, but I am a working gal, now. (Four jobs, technically, though three are part time. Oh, and I tutor Latin once a week, as well.) And tonight, I teach a class at our local YMCA, so that will cut into the evening hours, as well.
I love to be doing things, and to be busy, but it's days like this that make me want to play hooky. I looked ahead at the weather for the week, and lined up everything I'm doing alongside the schedule. When can I go ride my bike again? (I took it for a spin the other day, and even got to ring the bell! I love my bike.) When will I have time to go for that once-a-week jog I'm trying to make myself keep up with?
It cuts into writing time, too, when you get so busy. That's what happens to me, every so often. Then I wish I didn't have to work; that I could spend every day doing what I want, reading, studying languages, writing, jogging, dancing, gardening, cooking, and I suppose even some deep cleaning, because *someone* would have to...
That sounds busy, too, doesn't it? And then I remember--but wait! What about choir? And what about--
Some people have gambling problems. Perhaps I have a busy-ness problem. But I seriously have a hard time imagining not doing much for more than a day at a time...if that much. Even with the sun shining.
I can still run around outside over my break, I suppose. I can still find time to enjoy the sun. Even if it means sitting on my front step to eat my supper.
I want to go out right now, but I am a working gal, now. (Four jobs, technically, though three are part time. Oh, and I tutor Latin once a week, as well.) And tonight, I teach a class at our local YMCA, so that will cut into the evening hours, as well.
I love to be doing things, and to be busy, but it's days like this that make me want to play hooky. I looked ahead at the weather for the week, and lined up everything I'm doing alongside the schedule. When can I go ride my bike again? (I took it for a spin the other day, and even got to ring the bell! I love my bike.) When will I have time to go for that once-a-week jog I'm trying to make myself keep up with?
It cuts into writing time, too, when you get so busy. That's what happens to me, every so often. Then I wish I didn't have to work; that I could spend every day doing what I want, reading, studying languages, writing, jogging, dancing, gardening, cooking, and I suppose even some deep cleaning, because *someone* would have to...
That sounds busy, too, doesn't it? And then I remember--but wait! What about choir? And what about--
Some people have gambling problems. Perhaps I have a busy-ness problem. But I seriously have a hard time imagining not doing much for more than a day at a time...if that much. Even with the sun shining.
I can still run around outside over my break, I suppose. I can still find time to enjoy the sun. Even if it means sitting on my front step to eat my supper.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Jamie love
It's official. I'm in love with Jamie Oliver.
Yes, the Food Revolution guy. Here are my main reasons as to why:
He's British, and so has one of the most fantastic accents in the world. IMO.
He's British, and he calls the girls on the show "Sweetheart" and "Love" and all sorts of terms of endearment.
He's British, and so when he calls the guys "Brother," it sounds like he's saying "Brotha."
Have I mentioned that he's British?
He can cook, and thanks to his cookbooks, I am becoming a slight/light/working at it gourmand. I think.
So, I have two of his cookbooks, and I'm so impressed. Never before would I have dreamed of touching fish with my bare hands. Fresh(ish) fish. And rubbing anything into the flesh was a no no. Nor would I have thought of putting broccoli or cauliflower into my mac and cheese (made with feta and cheddar, and rice noodles). Nor would I have thought of making lemon dressing, and mixing and matching salad toppings.
Jamie, you totally rock.
I think that when the baking blogfest rears its head, I will have to dedicate it to Jamie.
Edit: Picture added to appease Amalia.
Yes, the Food Revolution guy. Here are my main reasons as to why:
He's British, and so has one of the most fantastic accents in the world. IMO.
He's British, and he calls the girls on the show "Sweetheart" and "Love" and all sorts of terms of endearment.
He's British, and so when he calls the guys "Brother," it sounds like he's saying "Brotha."
Have I mentioned that he's British?
He can cook, and thanks to his cookbooks, I am becoming a slight/light/working at it gourmand. I think.
So, I have two of his cookbooks, and I'm so impressed. Never before would I have dreamed of touching fish with my bare hands. Fresh(ish) fish. And rubbing anything into the flesh was a no no. Nor would I have thought of putting broccoli or cauliflower into my mac and cheese (made with feta and cheddar, and rice noodles). Nor would I have thought of making lemon dressing, and mixing and matching salad toppings.
Jamie, you totally rock.
I think that when the baking blogfest rears its head, I will have to dedicate it to Jamie.
Edit: Picture added to appease Amalia.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)