Monthly Archives: July 2012

Tupperware Monster

There’s a Tupperware monster living in my house. I haven’t seen it yet, but I know it’s there. He’s crafty and sneaky, always staying out of sight, and though he never leaves a trail, there’s evidence alright.

The other day my cabinet was organized and full, every plastic container stacked and piled, lids nestled safely away for easy reach. A container for any need. Then, I leave it alone (I can almost swear that I do) until the time comes that I need to store some leftover food. A container, yes! A Tupperware cap, no need for me to worry because, in my mind, I have a stack. A full cabinet with items all organized and clean. Then, I take a look and things are not at all as they should be.

The shelf is in disarray, the containers a mess. Where I thought there were many is, actually, a lot less. What happened to them and where did they go? I didn’t use any – at least, not that I know.

The Tupperware monster, right, that’s it! Must have come in and have us the slip. Monsters get quite hungry, you know, and for them the best food is ‘Tupperware to Go’.

So I buy another pack, and this time label it: Do Not Touch. Hopefully the monster can read, I gave him far warning so he better heed! I come back the next day and it’s still the same. Containers are missing, their tops too. Sigh in defeat and for storage make due.

There has to be something that can be done, because buying Tupperware all the time is just no fun.

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Posted by on July 28, 2012 in writing


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Heat and Creativity

The heat is messing with my creativity.

Every time I start to write all i can visualize is my characters panting in the hot heat. I tried to think of what my characters would be doing at this exact moment and the answer I got was “getting out of the heat”. Usually, when I have a repetitive thought in my head, I choose to write about that. Doesn’t have to be be main stream along with my current idea – it’s okay to side step and write other things – but I can’t even seem to do that at the moment.

I tried that and this is was the result:

“It was too hot to move. It was too hot to think.”

That is where the brain shut down.

Now, normally, ideas and words would be flowing from those two short sentences and creating something grand and perhaps even a bit comical but now? Oh no, i can’t think of a thing. Funny how i can’t think of anything for that and yet the words for this post are flowing out of me like water. That’s what I like to call ironic.

It has been awfully hot here where I live, the kind of hot that makes a person want to strap a block of ice on top of their heads. The sun has also been very bright, I’d venture to think that the sale of sunglasses and sunblock has shot up through the roof. Can you imagine it?

“Hey there! Hey there everyone! Sunglasses and ice block caps on sale! Right here! Get them while you can for the ultimate protection against the heat!”

The only downside would possibly be how fast your inventory would melt. Though, I suppose, lining your business cart in liquid ice or whatever it is that keeps things frozen (I never said I was knowledgeable in this area, I’m a writer, not a scientist) would help to solve that problem. Then again, I suppose the product would have to cost a pretty penny for you to be able to afford to line your cart with liquid ice. Hmm.

On the side of random writing something about someone who is dying in the heat could lead to a rather interesting short tale. Maybe I will run with this I can feel the wheels turning already.

But first I need to get cool.

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Posted by on July 19, 2012 in writing


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So, as I promised, here is the prologue of my story.  The strange thing is that my story doesn’t have a title yet – aside from ‘Prologue of the Past’ – but  I know that it eventually will.  I’m going to put some of the Prologue here, and the rest linked under the “Stories” section – let’s see if I do it right.  Enjoy!  I’ll post more of the story as it’s written. 

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Dark and foreboding clouds of black and red blocked out the sun for miles in every direction and the smell of death and blood hung thick in the air. The sounds of metal slicing through tender flesh like water, and the desperate cries of mercy from slaves, drifted up along the battlement walls and found their way to the ears of the cloaked figure that stood there.

A gust of wind blew across the mountain plains whipping out that heavy thick cloak and revealing a female figure in dark twisted armor. Three long spikes, like claws, protruded from the left shoulder and a necklace of dragon’s teeth hung around the neck. Her hair, dark and almost devoid of any color was tied back. Not an inch of flesh on her was left uncovered, even the mask that she wore hinted only at brown underlining her startling silver eyes.

She had been coming to the walls for six days now waiting for the return of her Black Guards. Days ago a runner had came to her tent with news of six Elvin scouts lurking about at the base of the mountain. They must have been more renegade elves coming to rescue their captured companions.

Two months ago the Commander had found and captured a group of twenty elves that were trying to sneak over Mount Deovi, where the Shadow army was stationed, and create a safe passage through to the captured city of Valenough – the once capital of Elvin magic.  Immediately the Commander issued forth the Black Guard, their mission was to seek out and capture the elves and bring them to the base. All but one had been captured.

This land, the mountain range that surrounded the once great city of Valenough and all that laid behind, it all belonged to the Shadow now, rightfully taken from the Elves eighteen years ago during the War of Power. The Elves were the only creatures in this world, aside from the Shadow, whose legacy was one of great magic and the Shadow wanted it.

It was during that war that Talos, the Shadow Overload, and his army battled against the elves and their magic, killing the King and Queen and claiming the magic for his own. During the war many of the elves were killed or put into slavery. However, a group of elves, with the help of the Elvin Assembly, escaped and they scattered off throughout the lands, lying silent and hidden as they regained their strength in hopes of one day returning to their lost kingdom and taking back the magic that is rightfully theirs.

Now one of those elves was lose on the mountain and had avoided capture for six days.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the sounds of someone approaching up behind. People knew better than to come up to close without permission, so when she turned she saw one of her Black Guards standing at the ready a few feet away from her, his dark cloak didn’t stir in cool mountain air. His voice was raspy as he spoke. “Commander, we have captured the elf.”

Curious to know what happens? View the rest here! 

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Posted by on July 13, 2012 in writing


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Moving forward

“You’re only as good as your last worst line.”

That’s the thought that kept running through my head tonight as I sat looking at the prologue to a story I wrote a couple years ago. Well, to say ‘wrote’ may imply that it’s done, when the truth is that it’s far from seeing any type of finish. Though maybe I’ll ignore that because I did write the Prolouge, and it’s done.

Herein lies my problem, I’m even second guessing my own commentary. Insane. I keep thinking about that line ‘….last worst line.’, and now it’s haunting me. I’ve written so many personal things over the years, who’s to say which was the worse? I know I have them, but I don’t think anything I’ve recently done is bad. It may be a bit blasé, but I don’t think it’s bad.

Here’s another one: ‘You are your own worst enemy’ and, right now, that’s a critic.

One of my hardest things to do, as a writer, is to stop thinking that what I write isn’t good. Even when I’m excited about a scene or character that comes up there’s a small voice in the back of my head wondering if I did enough, could I have done better; and maybe just one more read. I need to learn to ignore that voice, maybe not completely but to the point where listening to it doesn’t cripple my efforts to move forward.

Progress and motion.

Let us not forget vulnerability and the desire to be accepted. No one wants to be remembered for doing something bad – except, of course, the stranger people. When you write for the world to see you’re saying “Here I am! I’m letting you into a special part of me.” The time that passes by after that announcement is full of both dread and expectations, wondering what others will think of us. But again, that’s not something we should worry over.

I’m going to worry, but what I will try is exposing myself by putting up the prologue tomorrow.

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Posted by on July 12, 2012 in writing


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