Unanticipated power

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

I grew up shy, quiet, tongue-tied and longing for something more, although I could never put what I wanted into words. I was just a girl who winced at having to get up at six thirty a.m. to make it to Home Class on time. Nobody who saw me imagined my larger-than-life thoughts. I was an average looking girl wearing acceptable looking clothes, who dreamed of something more than an idiot boy who wanted to snap the strap of my training bra.

I lived an everyday girl’s experience. I ate chocolate shakes when my lunch money ran low because they were only seventy-five cents. I ducked my head and tried not to care when girls prettier than I was called me names–brace face, metal mouth, pizza face. I’d accepted from early on that I just wasn’t the type of girl who was going to fit in, although I’m not sure when I first had the thought. I think it became less of a pain the older I got because surely things happened for a reason. Suffering had to have a point; feeling like an uninvited devil’s imp from hell had an end, right?

The books I read made me feel I wasn’t alone. There was hope. There was an optimistic sort of ending. There were lessons to be learned with the characters I fell in love with–characters who struggled with peer pressure, Multiple Sclerosis, death and parents who were divorced. Those stories written by Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary and Carolyne Keene saved my life. I can’t even properly communicate the power of those stories and the characters who influenced me–I just know that it happened. I was humbled and taken-aback by how much I seemed to connect with these characters; they weren’t real, they were just someone’s imagination on a page.

Why did they have such power over me? How did they influence me so much? Was I nuts? Did I have my head too high in the clouds like people said I did?

Maybe. Always maybe.

Once I learned how to read, that was it. Reading was all I wanted to do. And then I decided I wanted to do what those writers had unwittingly done for me–to save a life. When you’re young, awkward and not at the top of the popularity chain, characters like Deenie, Nancy Drew and Marcy Lewis helped keep my soul strong.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone that I wanted to do the same thing for others some day…if I could. If I had the strength, the perseverance, the dedication. But nobody seemed to understand my need to write while other kids my age were outdoors living it up. I didn’t even understand it myself. My flag of self-esteem was never high, and wanting to write made me feel more conspicuous and embarrassed.

I tried to ignore the odd glances older people gave me, the embarrassment I felt about it when my teachers caught a whiff of my desire (was I doomed to be a freak forever?), and the utter incomprehension of my friends and family. Maybe it was teen-aged angst in action, not that it matters. It was almost enough that the feelings strengthened me at the same they ostracized me.

What I do know is that at twelve years-old, when I was in the sixth grade and wrote my first story for a teacher’s review (The Lucky Charm, which totally sucked jumbo-size eggs), I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to be God on paper. To make a positive difference in someone’s world. To give back what I had been given.

Because words can save a life.

Chili Heat by Carrie Williams

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Chilli Heat was released by Black Lace in February. I recently received a copy and read it on a trip. The story is based on an English mother and daughter, though none of the book takes place in England, starting on a plane (actually, starting in a bed, but that’s the prelude) and staying in India for the rest of the book.

Taken from the blurb;

An erotically charged story set against the exotic backdrop of modern-day India. Let down by her traveling companion, Nadia Kapur reluctantly agrees to take her recently divorced mother, Valerie, on her trip to India. However, her mother turns out to be anything but a conservative presence. As the two women explore India’s most exotic locations, it is Valerie who experiences a sexual reawakening and Nadia who is forced to wrestle with her own inhibitions and repressed desires.

I started to read this book at 5am after a sleepless night. Probably not the wisest thing, as the style the book is written in is something I am unused to. First person perspective always puts me on guard, as I can rarely get in the same frame-of-mind as the central character, and I have not found something in present tense that has been anywhere above terrible. Both combined offers the reader little distance from the events unfolding, and there is also a tenancy to tell the reader what happened instead of showing (which happened on several occasions in this book) yet it works. It takes a bit of effort from the reader to adjust, but I for one enjoyed the challenge. Carrie Williams pulls off the combination with minimal confusion, though I still prefer to read from third-person past.

The point-of-view changes from chapter to chapter, between mother and daughter. The characters have little distinction except for sexual preference which is regretful but, as they are mother and daughter, I’m not sure how big a difference there can be. The reader gets to experience events through both a youthful virgin and a mature mother. The contrast of this is enhanced as they explore their sexualities and part company. It is very realistic in the sense that Nadia is unsure of herself and Val, the mother, is questing to ‘make up’ for her sparse love life with her ex-husband by shagging pretty much constantly.

I feel the nervousness of Nadia is overplayed, as is the desperation of Val. I don’t understand how a Nadia thinks she has to be either straight or gay, and not bisexual, which is frustrating. All through the first half of the book, I felt like giving the girl a slap. The mother is better written, though still not someone I feel a connection with. However, I did enjoy the character’s interaction with the minor characters. They are vibrant with their imperfections, each unique and seem hold their own life-force, a treat to read.

The journeys the two women take are interesting to follow, mixed with charming glimpses of India and its fluxing economy that make me curious and consider visiting the country myself, even though I’m a born-and-bred Brit and dislike extended periods of heat. Nadia prefers the rural side of the country, where the mother stays in five-star hotels. The landscape isn’t as richly described as it could be, but it is a lovely if vague backdrop.

The sex scenes are gritty for the most part, with none of the florid language of mainstream erotica – and yet the author seems to be fixating on three of worst words in the whole of the English language. Peel, palpate and snatch. The overuse of them sets my teeth on edge. Despite this, I love the author’s boldness in the various carnal acts played out by the characters and I enjoyed these scenes greatly.

I found the book finished far too swiftly and quite neatly, like a Hollywood romance. The mother returns to her ex-husband to restart their relationship and the daughter finds love in an unlikely short period of time. I would have liked to have Nadia find someone less safe or at least female (what? I’m bias!) and for the mother to not run back home to her ex, as I feel that degrades the freedom she gained and obviously enjoyed. Overlooking the neat ending, I did close the book feeling satisfied. I give the book three stars out of five.

What To Do When Stress Rears Its Head

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Four Simple Tools Anyone Can Use

Those of you who have read my blog recently, know that I was stranded in Minnesota a few weeks ago. I want to share some of the tools that kept me calm and able to function to the best of my ability during this experience.

Tool the First: Morning Pages

First, Morning Pages. I know I’ve talked about these before, and quite honestly, will probably do so again. Morning Pages are from Julia Cameron, in her book The Artist’s Way and others. They are three pages of longhand writing, done in the morning. (Hence the name, nu?) They are many things, but most of all they are NOT writing.

Huh?

Nope. Not writing. They just happen to be written, but they are emphatically not writing. In fact, writers will find them the hardest. The rest of us who aren’t writers will find them easier. Feel better now?

The genius about writing morning pages is that they are just three pages of writing, done in the morning. They can’t be done wrong. If you wrote three pages, you did them right. If you did them, then they’re done right. This is sort of counterintuitive to us left-brain Westerners, but it’s true. Just three pages. Longhand.

Think it’s got to be harder than that?

Try something for me. Pause from reading this essay (but you’d better come back to it! ~shaky finger~) and go grab three pages of paper. Could be lined or not, doesn’t matter, as long as it’s 8.5” x 11”. Now write. Just fill up that paper. When you get to the bottom of the third page, stop.

There. You did it right.

Feel good? Uh-huh. That’s all there is to it.

Why am I harping on Morning Pages?

Morning ages are a method of moving meditation, sort of like walking. Like sitting Za-Zen, they bring us into the moment where we meet the moment, and ourselves. This may sound kind of hokey, but it’s true – it’s easy to be in the moment when you’re writing, because writing IS in the moment. You can’t write later, or in five minutes. If you’re writing, you’re in the moment. It’s a “now” activity. It’s sort of hard to let your mind wander when you’re writing longhand, because then your pen tends to stop and you’re no longer writing.

When I was stranded, one of the only ‘creative’ activities I could do was writing my morning pages. I couldn’t even fill up the endless hours while I waited for news of my doomed car with any actual creative writing – I was too tense. I just managed to do my Morning Pages, and stay present.

I kept the television off during this time, as an added method of staying in the moment and being present.

Tool the Second: Walking

Another tool I used was walking. That’s right, just putting one foot in front of the other. Nothing more profound than that. The town I was stranded in had a lovely lake in the center of it that the tow truck driver passed by when he took me to the hotel. I was able to find it from my hotel and wandered over there in the evening. After that, I was able to return to the hotel, much more centered in my body. I didn’t do anything more strenuous than walking, looking at trees and the little tree-dwelling creatures that were by the lake. Several cheeky squirrels and a family of ducks kept me company, as did a man walking his mother in her wheelchair and several afternoon joggers. It’s amazing how much one slows down when one is walking.

Tool the Third: Bathe, Thou Stinky One!

Another tool I used was a bath. Is this a tool? If not, it should be. “Noony’s Guide to Enlightenment, Chapter Four.” (No, I haven’t written it yet.) But seriously. Sitting in water is an excellent way to relax. Something about the water is grounding (or is that, wetting?). Regardless, it helped me feel comforted, miles away from my family and friends, stuck in the middle of nowhere. (Well, to be fair, the residents of Winona probably don’t think of their town as “nowhere.” But I digress.) Bathing is an easy way of getting present. I’ll give you a little secret – you don’t actually need any bath soup, either. Just water. It might be odd the first time you try it, it was for me anyway, but having bath oil or bath salt or bath sugar isn’t required. Just hot water.

If you dislike baths, try sitting in the tub or shower with the water beating down on your head. That’s another way to get present.

From a magical perspective, water is one of the four Aristotelian elements, and as such, extraordinarily powerful. Even if you don’t go in for that kind of “hokum,” water can be very helpful to the grounding and relaxing process. Why do you think spas have hot tubs for use by patrons before their massage?

Tool the Fourth: Breathing

Breathing was the final tool I used. Duh, right?

I’m serious! Breathing is very underrated, particularly by Westerners. How are you breathing right now? Chances are, very shallow, little breaths that hardly fill up your central cavity. If that’s the case, try something. Take a nice, big, deep breath that fills your belly up so much, your tummy distends. Now hold it for a second or two, then let it out. Press it all the way out of your body like you’re pressing water out of your laundry. Now do that two or three more times. Chances are, your fingers and toes will start to get warmer. That’s the blood flow increasing all the way to your extremities. This is very healthy, and means that you are getting into the moment – which is where your power is.

Tie Them All Together With a Cute Little Bow

We have all the power and strength we need to handle life’s challenges, but we shortchange ourselves and ignore our power. We cannot access it anywhere except in the moment. And the only way to get into the moment is to get into the moment. (Which is sort of a silly thing to say, but nonetheless true.) We spend so much time elsewhere – reading books or watching time-filler television. (You’ve seen my rant on Americans and television, right?) Well, these four simple tools can be used right where you are, and don’t require any special equipment other than a pencil, paper, and shoes – things most of us are fortunate enough to have in our possession. And if you can read this, then you can breathe. If you can’t breathe, then I can’t help you.

So, go forth and power yourself into the moment. See what kinds of problems and challenges you can surmount by doing so.

What is a Best Seller?

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In an effort to increase my market knowledge, I delved into this topic headlong and found it particularly daunting. Here I’ll sum up what I’ve found, and perhaps ‘de-mystify’ it for you some as well.

The question that led me on this journey was ‘what does it mean to have a ‘BEST-SELLING’ book?’ and ‘what does it mean to be a BEST-SELLING author?’

First off, both are relative. Technically, if Author A publishes through small press B which only publishes 10 titles, and theirs sells 20 copies, whereas the other nine sell 2-3, they are a BEST-SELLING author of a BEST-SELLING title. Best selling where, according to whom, and compared to what are the questions one could ask following Author A’s “Best Selling” claim. (The same goes for ‘Award-Winning’ . . . it’s all relative, and it can all be a means of hyping an author or title.) There are plenty of smaller magazines and editorials that make their own lists, specific to genre, etc. And sometimes, those are more realistic. After all, in a small genre, you can’t expect to outsell a widely-appealing summer beach/airport read one could pick up at Walmart – that doesn’t mean it’s not a best seller or a success, when comparing apples to apples.

Quick Disclaimer: From a marketing perspective, let me just say I totally understand the reasons for highlighting what you can when you’re selling your self, your brand, or your product (book). I’m not attempting to ‘de-bunk’ these claims, nor am I de-valuing them. I’m just callin’ it like I see it.

For simplicity’s sake, let’s forget the people who just claim ‘Best-Selling Author A’ without qualifying it, leave out e-books, and focus on the best-known BSLs (Best Sellers Lists): the New York Times, and USA Today. These are two examples of two different types of listings. Also note that there are ‘top list’ and ‘mid list’ rankings, unofficially.

General Note on reading these lists – you’ll see three columns of numbers:

The column in big print on the left is the title’s current position on the list. The blue column is last week’s ranking, and the red column is the number of weeks on this list. In this example, you can see the number 1 slot for fiction debuted this week at number one. Number four has been there, in the number four slot, for four weeks.

The NYT breaks out their best-sellers by categories based on Fiction/Non-Fiction and how the book is bound (trade paperback, hardcover, mass market paperback, etc.).

They supposedly put Children’s books on their own list in 2001, due to the raging success of the Harry Potter books, which they just couldn’t shake off the other lists. The ‘Children’s Books’ listing is now separated into ‘picture books’, ‘chapter books’ and ‘series’ – of which, Harry Potter is on its 191st week on the NYT . Anyhow, children’s books aside, there are 35 slots on each of these lists on any given week. Midlist starts around the #10 slot. (Publisher’s Weekly follows a system close to that of the Times, but only lists 15 titles, as opposed to 35.)

The USA Today list, on the other hand, lists all books, regardless of genre and format. The list has 150 slots reported per week. Midlist starts around the #25 slot.

So, uh . . . what qualifies as a NYT/USA Today bestseller?

*sigh* Relative. Relative. Relative. Book sales fluctuate, just like anything. There are slow times in the book market, just like any other market. And again – are you comparing it to other books in its ‘class’?

The only consistency seems to be that both of these lists rely on sales feedback from the major chain booksellers: B&N, Borders, Powell’s, Costco, etc. And, at a casual glance, they seem fairly consistent, if you consider the differences between the broken-out and non-broken listing.

You want a straight answer you say?

Hmm… it looks to me like a FICTION HARD COVER selling between 5,000-10,000 copies in a week will be on the NYT. Of course, a mass market paperback would have to sell more. A non-fiction title, perhaps less. And it also depends on the week. Say highly awaited series conclusion XYZ comes out in a week where there’s a lull, and the list is simply dominated by books that have been selling steadily in the 5-7K range for weeks, and XYZ sells 25,000 copies. Well, it takes the number one slot. But the same book coming out against ten other highly-anticipated books might fall into the middle of the list somewhere. It’s relative. And . . . truth be told, I don’t think the they really want us to know what determines a USA Today or NYT ranking. What it takes to earn your spot is a secret guarded closer than the recipe for Bush’s baked beans.

It depends on genre too. I remember reading a story about how a particular author’s publisher decided to market her book as romance vs. fantasy. Why? Well, a romance ‘best-seller’ sells through in the 40-50K area, where a fantasy ‘best-seller’ sells through with 10-15K copies.

Okay, what about a NYT/USA Today bestselling AUTHOR?

Heh. Sorry, relative again. Each publisher has their own rules depending on… who knows what … that determines when they will claim one of their authors is a ‘NYT Best Selling Author’. Simply making the list isn’t enough. They might require you stay on it for a minimum number of weeks, or hit a certain slot, etc.

In the end, of course, we also face the question: ‘Just because the masses like it, doesn’t mean it’s good’. Sure. True enough. But in some cases, the numbers don’t lie. (Who doesn’t have Harry Potter on a shelf somewhere?)

Some argue that the NYT and other lists mean nothing. After all, they don’t account for eBooks, or for what is selling in small independent ‘brick and mortar’ bookstores. Those have their own listings, which seldom resemble the Times.

Some other lists to look at which might sing to their own tune:
Amazon – Updated Hourly
Booksense (Independent Booksellers Only)

Long story short – a ‘Best Seller’ might be something to aspire to, but there are several levels of best sellers, and sales status according to limited (and in some cases skewed) surveys doesn’t necessarily indicate quality, or even popularity. Sadly, there are plenty of amazing authors and books who might have a very loyal following, yet never make the list, or never break mid-list simply because of poor timing, poor marketing, or some other crappy unfairness of life. Just because it says ‘bestselling blah blah blah’ on the cover doesn’t mean you’ll love it. I mean, plenty of people think Tide is the best detergent, but it makes me break out in hives.

Personally, I take the ratings with a grain of salt and rely on recommendations from people I trust, or my own gut instinct on an unknown title/author I want to check out.

And now that I know what goes into it – my dreams won’t be shattered if I can’t put those words after my name. They’re just . . . words. There are so many more interesting ones.

… Queen of the Underworld
…….. Chocolate Connaiseuse Extraordinaire
…………… Clive Owen’s Personal Sex Slave

Batman-The Dark Knight

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The new Batman movie has garnered many excellent reviews and in my opinion deserves all of their praise and more. The movie delivers on the clichéd ‘summer blockbuster’ action front as well as a deep character driven morality play, fraught with symbolism and tragedy.

In this new installment of the caped crusader, we find Bruce Wayne fighting crime in Gotham City. He is tolerated by the policemen for his help capturing criminals, but there is an unease about the mysterious figure whom some believe is actually just a new brand of bad guy. Even the public views him with distrust and suspicion, hence the name ‘The Dark Knight’.

Bruce wants to give up his nocturnal exploits to marry his beloved Rachel, a lawyer who is aware of his secret identity and refuses to be with him as long as he continues to be Batman. For now, our hero has given up her love to protect the city; it needs him and his special brand of justice to keep it safe.

Enter Harvey Dent- the new flawlessly moral, incorruptible District Attorney. His reputation for justice precedes him. Eager to find corruption where ever it may lie, he chases murderers, drug dealers and bad cops with equal fervor. He forms an uneasy alliance with Batman and Commissioner Gordon to bring a ring of mob bosses to trial, thus causing the press to name him the ‘White Knight’.

Bruce Wayne sees salvation in Harvey Dent. He feels he can put away his cowl and leave justice to the new DA. This leaves the city with a protector and him free to marry Rachel. The only problem is, Rachel is now engaged to Harvey, and the mob bosses are after her as retaliation against the DA. Batman finds he must continue to wear his cape and work with his rival for Rachel’s well being.

The Joker, a new criminal mastermind, surfaces against the back drop of the convoluted love triangle and Bruce’s internal battles about his identity and purposes. He is vicious and maniacal in a way that disturbs even the crime bosses of Gotham City, assembled to decide how to best protect their investments. He performs a ‘magic trick’, making a pencil disappear from the table in front of him in a particularly gruesome manner. Watch for this particular scene in the movie, I can guarantee the whole audience will give a collective ‘Ughhh’.

The Joker, brilliantly played by Heath Ledger who will no doubt receive a posthumous Oscar nod for this part, manages to confuse everyone. Why does he do what he does? He shows no signs of desiring either money or power as proved when he burns a pyramid of money as an unexpected way to kill a rival. It falls to Alfred, Bruce’s butler to name the Joker’s particular vice; he just wants to watch the world burn. Each time he kills someone, he tells a different story about how he got the tell tale scars on the corners of his mouth, giving him the garish appearance of a grin. He goes about killing, burning and causing mayhem with a vengeance that is reminiscent of Alex in ‘A Clockwork Orange’.

When Joker speaks he smacks and licks his lips in a distracting manner, his makeup is always smeared and smudged, suggesting decadence and decay. He brings a horrifying ‘joie de vivre’ to his work that is impossible not to stare at. In a particularly memorable scene that has him in a nurses’s dress, complete with white hose and shoes, he skips gaily down a city street, blowing up buildings in his wake with a remote control. The implied reference of ‘helping’ in the uniform of a care giver and the destruction of a previously imagined ‘safe place’ –a hospital, is poignantly ironic, not to mention disorienting in its absurdity.

This movie is aimed at adults, even though children and teens will flock to it and enjoy it. However, for those interested in the characters and their motivations this movie will satisfy those tastes as well. It remains true to the Batman mythos, and actually makes fun, in a ghoulish manner, of costumed Batman wannabees who try to help the caped crusader with his vigilante efforts. I’m not sure how the collective group of ‘fan boys’ will take that insinuation, but I’m willing to be they’ll be honored to be included. 🙂

Thursday Thirteen – 155th Edition

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Most of the contributors of the Writer’s Retreat Blog participate in the weekly meme, Thursday Thirteen, so every Thursday we link to the individual sites of each writer’s TT. Hopefully, this helps you get to know each of us a little better. This week we’ve got:

A.Cathernine Noon Thirteen Things That Have Happened

Eaton Bennett 13 Places I Want to Visit

Twilight

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When I was a girl dreaming about what my first (and only) boyfriend would be like, I imagined him larger than life. He was good looking, intelligent, witty and hopelessly and completely in love with me. I’d be endlessly fascinated by him and long to be with him when I wasn’t. Not because I didn’t have a life or outside interests, but because of something inexplicably more.

This boy I loved was dangerous and unpredictable–someone of mystery. He wasn’t evil, just slightly…tormented by the fact that he and I shouldn’t be together. The reasons why we shouldn’t be together varied: he was an alien from another planet; he was a ghost; he was an assassin sent to kill me; he had a crippled leg and didn’t believe he was lovable; his mother killed my older brother in a drunk driving accident and our families were enemies; he was actually from the year 3005; he had cancer and was going to die.

Whatever it was I made up to keep us apart, it was never enough to trump the all-consuming, powerful attraction and passion we felt for each other. (Yes, I know how corny that reads.) I had a lot of fun putting us through hell so the eventual capitulation would be all the more sweet, because that’s the key for me. In my fantasies, there had to be an element of hellish danger. I wanted it all. Excitement. Attraction. Mystery. Obsession. And one big gallomping roadblock. Reality didn’t make the cut. Who cared about realism? I faced reality just getting out of bed.

Why am I sharing this?

Because a book written by Stephanie Meyer has resurrected those feelings. The book is called Twilight and is about a teen-aged girl, Bella, who falls in love with a vampire, Edward. The story is told in first person narrative, which isn’t my favorite point of view, but after the first page or so, I didn’t notice.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face–it was hostile, furious.

Through Bella’s narrative, I feel how emotionally torn Edward is for feeling the way he does about her. He is attracted to her smell–to her blood–and to her personally, and finds the two desires impossible to reconcile.

Their romance, their ill-advised attraction that grows into love, is the driving force of Twilight, New Moon and Eclipse. Sure, she’s seventeen and he’s 104 years old (but will be seventeen forever), and although they’re both aware they can’t stay together, they can’t not be together. Edward’s entire being shrinks from the thought of taking away Bella’s mortality, but she can’t envision her life without losing it. And thus begins the push-and-pull of a romance that for me is the ultimate escapism.

Danger-fueled obsession. I eat it up and crave thirds.

This isn’t Buffy the Vampire Slayer. This isn’t Angel, The Black Dagger Brotherhood or Anita Blake. This is Twilight, a different kind of vampire-human romance story that comes with a conscience and sweet, gentle passion, the kind that squeezes my heart and isn’t letting go. Bella and Edward’s slow-burning love, the danger and torment it creates from all angles, is one of the most compelling stories I’ve read.

I love Meyer’s fast-paced writing, her thorough characterizations, and her well-thought out plots. I love her imagination. This is exactly the fantastical stuff my dreams were, and are again, made of.

How popular is this series? The movie comes out in December, and there are rumors that there is a second movie coming.

The last story, Breaking Dawn, comes out August 2. Guess what I’ll be doing that day?

And! Stephanie Meyer is writing a companion book to Twilight told from Edward’s point of view. It will be called Midnight Sun.

Her scent hit me like a wrecking ball, like a battering ram. There was no image violent enough to encapsulate the force of what happened to me in that moment.

In that instant, I was nothing close to the human I’d once been; no trace of the shreds of humanity I’d managed to cloak myself in remained. I was a predator. She was my prey. There was nothing else in the world but that truth.


Remember Bella’s thoughts about his hostile, violent stare? This is what Edward was thinking at the time. He came thisclose to killing her. Stephanie Meyer knows how to deliver what I, her reader, wants to know.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this strongly about a series. Thank you, Stephanie Meyer. Your beautiful characters rock.

Words in Context

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Another Wily Wednesday! What to do, what to do? I don’t know actually, going to “fly by the seat of my pants”, as the saying goes.

…some minutes later!

Words! I want to explore the color of words a little. Not only the color, but the texture, the feel and the different ways words paint pictures for us. Hmm, I am wondering if this is a little adventurous for me? Too late, already started, can’t stop now.

Months ago I grouped together words that alone might be innocent, but together are most definitely not. So, if your of a gentle persuasion, embarrass easily or are uncomfortable with words that intimate sensuality and the erotic, I apologise right here and now. Sort of!

My list

Ivory: makes me think of the palest off white color. The feelings I attach with this word are soft, smooth, innocent and something waiting to be touched, felt with the fingers, handled with care. Expensive items are made from Ivory, such as piano keys. Ladies combs used to be made from it in centuries past. Now it is illegal to hunt Elephants and sell it.

Flesh: we all have it. Thoughts about flesh can be completely clinical, it comes in all shapes and sizes, colors and ages. We don’t hang too well together without it.

Hunger: food is probably the first thing thought of with this word. But, how many different types of hungers are there?

Seeking: We all do it. We are all seeking happiness, fulfillment, excitement, pleasure, friendship. The list is a lot longer than what I have written here.

Tongue: impossible to talk without one, to lick your lips when they are dry or to taste the food we eat.

Wetness: the planet can not survive without rain, we need water for so many of our daily tasks.

Penetrate: your mind can be penetrated by thoughts and ideas. Our computers are being penetrated by viruses and hackers all the time. Injections penetrate the skin and so it goes on.

Climax: the obvious climax’s come at the end of a movie or a book.

Alive: we all have to be alive to be reading this blog. Nothing happens if we aren’t alive.

Secret: we all have them. We try to keep other people’s and often want to know other people’s as well.

Folds: I automatically think of fabric and picture the way a beautiful velvet gown would drape and the shade and texture a fold in that dress would create.

Eager: those of us that are alive, usually are eager to experience life, eager to move on to the next project. Eager to see someone, or finish something.

All these words stand alone as quite ordinary words, nothing unusual or exceptional about them.
But listed below, they take on a different quality and texture. Bringing different thoughts to mind, turning from the ordinary to the provocative and full of possibilities.

Ivory,
Flesh,
Hunger,
Seeking,
Tongue,
Wetness,
Penetrate,
Climax,
Alive,
Secret,
Folds,
Eager,

As you see, these words are no longer innocent, but have a totally different context. I am proposing a little challenge girls. A poem or a drabble using these words to paint a written picture and blogged here. For purely educational purposes of course. 🙂

Writing Prompt

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This awesome website provides fun prompts to do http://languageisavirus.com/writing_prompts.html

I decided no matter what I got, I’d stick to it and I was actually quite lucky. My prompt ‘Describe each of your friends, with no more than 10 words per person’

So, I’m describing my friends here….

Andi
Quirky, a bit mad but altogether alright as she is

Byz
The niftyest australian I’ve met, great humour makes me laugh

Dawn
Kind, bright and full of energy, she just blatantly rocks

Eden
A sherlocky tea muffin and completely loffley, she’s simply epic

Evey
Partner in crime in the creative lie game, she’s awesome

Gwen
Queen of writing, and always there to sort out problems

Jean
A lovely kind person who writes well, she’s utterly brilliant

Noony
She’s a mad muffin who is completely lovely to everyone

Some of the words aren’t exactly in the the dictionary but this was hard to write and I loff you all *glompsnuggles*

The Night Is A Harsh Mistress, Chapter 8

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

The Night Is A Harsh Mistress
by A. Catherine Noon

Chapter 8

Rachel sighed. She’d taken a break at a Borders just around the corner from the 7-Eleven. It had been fun to zone out and people-watch for a while, but eventually she got bored and wandered toward the exit, through the New Releases. As she approached the door, a quick footstep nearby was her only warning before a man jostled her.

“Hey!” she blurted.

“I’m so sorry,” a familiar voice said.

Rachel looked up into the handsome face of the man with the Porsche. That’s right, he’d said his name was Steve. Steve had clear green eyes, just like twin peridots.

“Oh!” she blurted out loud. Great, Raych. Real smooth.

“Well, if it isn’t Sara! Fancy meeting you here!” he said, eyes twinkling.

“We just keep bumping into each other,” Rachel said with only a trace of grumpiness. He had sharp elbows.

He sobered. “Can I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

Rachel hesitated. She glanced out the door at the waiting parking lot, and her empty car. She made up her mind and nodded. “Sure.”

He smiled again, flashing very white teeth, and she wondered if he, like Viktor, had them whitened, or if they were naturally that clean. He seemed unfazed by her scrutiny.

She got a Chai and he ordered a triple espresso. She blinked. Must be tired, or he had a high tolerance for caffeine. Given how high-energy he was, she wasn’t really surprised.

“So. What are you doing at Borders in the middle of the day?” he asked when they sat at a table near the window.

She studied him. “I just needed a break,” she hedged finally. “You know how it is.”

He chuckled and took a sip of his drink. “Indeed. I was here getting a present for my mother.”

He said it with no trace of embarrassment and Rachel was impressed. If it was a line, he was playing it well. He gets gifts for his mother, does he? Did he think that would impress her?

Grudgingly, she had to admit it did, at least a little. “That’s nice of you.”

He shrugged. “We’ll see. It depends what I buy.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “True.”

“I mean, she probably wouldn’t like a book on the history of cars, I don’t think.”

Rachel grinned at him. “Probably not.”

He grinned back, his face easy and open. His hair was styled neatly over his ears, just brushing his collar. A light brown, almost blonde, it made him seem younger than the wrinkles at his eyes implied he was. He took a sip of his espresso and studied her.

“You didn’t get anything?” he asked after a moment.

She shrugged. “Nothing really caught my eye.”

“What do you like to read?”

“James Clavell, some of Leon Uris, that kind of thing.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really? Did you read Mitla Pass?”

She nodded, warming to him in spite of herself. “I thought it was one of Uris’s best. What did you think?”

A half hour passed like lightening and then he set his now empty cup on the table a little regretfully. “I do need to get that gift for my mother. But, meet me for dinner?”

She blinked. “Dinner?”

“You know, after lunch but before bed?”

She felt herself blush and deliberately ignored the concept of ‘bed.’ “Dinner is good,” she mumbled.

“Okay. Tomorrow at, say, seven?”

“Sure.”

“Where shall I pick you up?”

She made a split-second decision. “Let’s meet there. How about Georgetti’s?”

He brightened. “That sounds good.”

They separated near where they’d begun, next to the New Releases. She floated out to her car. It felt like she’d had a triple espresso. The week was looking up.