Saving Daisy - An Auron Short Story

Lily and Lavender are on a mission to save their sister Daisy from the goblins, but Lavender is annoyed with her sister for getting caught, again. When they find her, Lavender comes up with a way to have fun, but it lands all three of the fairies in danger of being dinner.   

Lily and Lavender fluttered their wings, propelling their little bodies across the fields of the Froelic shore. The fairies crossed the mouth of the river and dove down into a game trail through the forest’s thick underbrush. In the distance, goblin barks marked their destination. They followed the sound along the winding trail; their wings’ lights lit the brambles and bushes that covered the dark forest floor.

“Do you think the goblins really have Daisy?” Lily asked her sister Lavender as they popped out of the rabbit trail near the top of a gulley. “What if she’s just lost? Or found some root to eat and forgot to come home?”

“I’m sure they’ve got her. Daisy is always getting herself caught because she’s not careful,” Lavender answered. Her sweet tinkling voice did nothing to hide her true feelings about rescuing her sister. “And she’d better not have been eating root, she promised she wouldn’t when she was going out by herself,” she muttered, irritated. It was obvious that she didn’t want to be looking for her sister; she would’ve rather been starting her own trouble with the bulbous, grimy goblins in the forest. Lavender was glad that she only had two sisters to keep track of or she may never get to have fun.

“She just gets distracted,” Lily said, defending her younger sister.

 “The goblins are getting better at catching us. We’ve got to watch out for their traps,” Lavender said and pointed to a snare the goblins had placed for that very purpose.

 “It’s hard to pay attention,” Lily said, as the sisters approached the gulley where the goblins’ bonfire was being held. “They make the best parties to ruin.”

“But to have the most fun, you have to not get caught,” Lavender replied, shaking her head in disappointment over her sister’s one track mind. Her short brown hair shimmered around her head from the shaking. “If you two stay out of trouble, we don’t have to spend time looking for each other and we’ll have more time to play,” she added. Lavender looked serious, scolding, as she spoke to her sweeter sister.  

“Do you see Daisy?” Lily asked. They flew to the top of the hill around the gulley. Tall trees lined the rim giving the fairies good cover. Fairies were small, no more than ten inches tall and they used their size to their advantage.

Lavender and Lily landed on a high cedar branch so that they could see everything.

Lily looked down through the branches. “They’re disgusting,” she whispered, even though there was no chance of being heard over the creatures barking. She straightened and smoothed her long blonde hair, as if just looking at the goblins would make her less pretty.

Lavender nodded with equal disgust while she preened herself. The goblins danced around their fire, flailing their stick like arms and legs. Their bulbous bellies shook as they hopped; their long, pointed ears flopped around their bald brown heads.

 “There she is,” Lavender said. She pointed to a secluded area of the gulley where a fairy with dark brown hair covering her face was dangling. Daisy was suspended by her left leg, her arms and wings were bound behind her back. Her right leg hung limp, probably exhausted from being held upright for so long. She’d been missing for a day.

Lily slapped a hand over her mouth to keep the frightened scream inside her. “What’ll they do with her?” she asked in a whispered panic. Her wings beat slowly as if they were only waiting for her brains permission to fly. The glow was faint, but in the darkness of the forest, it would still be seen.

“Stop your light,” Lavender hissed. “They’ll catch us all and then we’ll really be in trouble.” She glared at Lily who looked as though she might start to cry.

“You’re no fun for this,” Lily remarked, a slight quiver in her voice. She wished that Lavender would stop being so short about Daisy getting caught. It would be more fun if Lavender was in a better mood.

“I’m just trying to get us all out of here alive and you’re being careless,” Lavender snapped back. She didn’t like being called no fun; a fairy never does.

“What will they do with her if we can’t get her?” Lily asked, refocusing on why they were there in the first place.

“They’re probably planning to eat her,” Lavender answered, pointing out the fire and the large animal roasting on a spit. There were smaller skewers resting against a tree, perfect size for tying a fairy on.

Lily shook her head slowly in disbelief; worry filled her blue eyes with small tears. “Let’s go get her,” she whispered. There was a note of pleading in her tone.

Lavender sighed. There’s no time for crying, she thought. Lily always worried and the worry would distract her. Lavender tried to focus, to come up with a plan that would save Daisy and keep Lily from getting into trouble.  Lily needed specific instructions and she needed Lavender to give them to her. “You will go carefully down to where she is hanging and untie her. Try not to fly,” Lavender said.

Lily nodded one time.

Lavender continued. “I’ll go into the gulley and distract the goblins so they won’t see you. Meet me back here as soon as you can. I’ll watch for you if I can.” She was pleased with her plan; it enabled her to harass the goblins and it would make the whole ordeal much more worthy of her time.

The instructions were clear. Lily nodded her head and then took to leaping between tree branches until she was directly over where her sister was dangling. She landed gracefully on each branch; there was no movement.

Lavender waited until she couldn’t see Lily’s blonde hair trailing through the trees any longer. She didn’t wait to see how Lily would get to Daisy. She was ready to go and crash this goblin celebration for no good reason at all. The malign Lavender flew straight down from the tree beating her silky wings fast so that her light would shine brighter. Squatty necks turned squashed faces to find the source of the light. Angry barks erupted around the gulley when the goblins’ recognized their only real enemy. Fairies had been tormenting goblins for all the years that Froelic existed and neither seemed to care to put an end to it. It was as if they really enjoyed the cat and mouse game they played.

The thrill of danger rushed through Lavender as she dipped low, darting through the tips of the flames. Goblins barked and leapt to grab her but she easily dodged their spindly fingers. She didn’t understand why her sisters and other fairies had such a hard time with this. The trick was to stay out of their reach and to let the ecstasy have control.

Lavender circled the fire and then looked at her sisters. Daisy was no longer dangling but it seemed that Lily was struggling with getting her wings untied. They both looked panicked, but they were working hard at the strings. Daisy would have to be able to fly; fairies aren’t strong enough to carry each other, regardless of the nothingness of their weight.  

Lavender took advantage of her sisters’ need for more time and made another dip down over the bobbing heads, barely out of the reach of the goblins fingers. Some of them leapt to try and catch her feet. This was closer than Lavender usually allowed herself to get. She knew she was being careless but she was really enjoying herself. This was the best rescue she’d ever made, she thought as she darted around the goblins heads, pulling at the fur on the ends of their ears.

She looked around for her sisters again but they weren’t where Daisy had been tied up. She spotted them as they made a quick flight to the branches. Lavender circled the fire once more, and toppled the goblins roasting meat into the flames when she crashed into it at full speed.

In the branches, Lily and Daisy watched in awe as Lavender expertly evaded the leaping, barking, grabbing goblins at her heels.

Goblins chased Lavender still jumping and reaching for her. Their barks blocked out the sound of her tiny heart racing as she flew as fast as her wings would carry her.

“Go!” she shouted as she got within earshot of Lily and Daisy. “Get to the river!” 

They did not hesitate before leaping off the branch and flying through the trees with careful precision. They dodged and swerved around the trees, thick as they were in the deep parts of the forest. Lily and Daisy did not look back to see if Lavender was still behind them but the goblins sharp barks continued so they assumed their sister was still there.  

"We're almost there! They won't follow us across," Lavender shouted, confirming her presence. She sped up her wings and buzzed past her sisters. The goblins were still following the fairies lights but they were getting further and further behind. Lavender knew they wouldn’t catch up now, but thought it would be fun to see them try.

The tree line broke at the edge of the river and the fairies crossed the cool, calm water. They stopped on the opposite shore and turned to watch as the goblins broke out of the underbrush. A few of them didn't stop soon enough and splashed into the river. Goblins couldn't swim, they could only thrash and splash around wildly.

Nearby water fairies came to the surface. To add to the chaos, they splashed and squirted more water at the goblins. The water in the goblins’ faces made it even harder for them to reach the shore. They grabbed and reached for each other, trying to stay on top of the water.

Lavender, Lily and Daisy stood on the shore of the river, laughing as the goblins climbed out of the water. Their grimy bodies were now streaked with clean and the fur tufts on the ends of their ears hung limp. They looked even more ridiculous than usual. The water fairies stopped their splashing to join in the laughter. The goblins disappeared back into the forest, grumbling and grunting in their own way with the shreds of their dignity dragging behind them.

The three fairies, having accomplished their task and had a little fun, gathered themselves and flew back across the meadows to their shoreline home in the tall yellow grass. Lavender decided that she'd definitely made the best of this rescue. The three sisters giggled and chattered all the way home, excited to tell the other fairies all about their adventure with the goblins.

Peter Pan Complex

There are dozens of different ways to learn a version of the story of Peter Pan and I'm fairly certain I've taken in most of them. But until this week, I'd never actually read the book and learned the story as J.M. Barrie intended. I'll never know what took me so long to read it; it was an absolutely wonderful page turning adventure and I learned a lot about myself in the process.
The story happens as it's been told and retold before. Wendy, a young English girl, is happy in make believe worlds with her brothers until Peter Pan, a young boy who refuses to grow up, comes to get his shadow out of her nursery. He finds out that Wendy knows stories, she knows what happened to Cinderella, and he wants her to come to Neverand with him to tell stories to them all like a mother. Wendy agrees after she learns to fly, along with her brothers to the second star on the right and straight on 'til morning. Peter is arrogant, selfish and he says "I want to always be a boy and have fun." And he does. The Lost Boys, Wendy and Peter have adventures in Neverland until Wendy decides that it's time for her and her brothers to return to their own mother. Peter acts like a brat, like the eternal child that he is, but eventually, everything works out as promised by the author in the beginning of the story.
Mothering is a huge theme in this book. Wendy is charged with the task of being the mother to Peter and the Lost Boys. Wendy's own mother plays the part of a caring and nurturing woman who has a kiss that Wendy can not have. In fact, only Peter Pan can have Mrs. Darling's kiss.
Peter's rejection of mothering, but affection for Wendy creates most of the inner tension of the story. He wants so badly to be loved and cared for, but his free spirit and his immense pride keep him from really giving anyone a true look at him. He's a wonderful boy, full of life, but he's sad about his fate. He has no mother of his own and doesn't remember ever having one. He loves Wendy but eventually loving Wendy means that he has to grow up which would be worse than death. He wants to always be a boy and have fun.
It's a wonderful adventure, one that's easy to read, but surprisingly deep. The author tells the story the way a story teller with no pages to reference does - it's very conversational and I find this to be one of my absolute favorite ways to read a story. It's even possible to find yourself clapping to save Tink's life. I never had the urge to clap while watching Mary Martin go on about her little fairy. (Although "Finding Neverland" had me believing in fairies)
It seems strange to think that a story about a headstrong, selfish, cocky and overly brave little boy would have such a deep impact on a "grown" woman but it really did. We've heard of men having a Peter Pan Complex, wherein they refuse to grow up and act like an adult in spite of their age. They're irresponsible, temperamental, cocky and sometimes downright fantastic to have. But after reading this book, I think there might be a female version of the Peter Pan Complex too.
It was Mrs. Darling who pointed this out to me. She is sitting in the nursery with her children and thinking about the name she's been scrubbing from Wendy's mind. (Our mother's scrubbed our minds when they tucked us in at night so that we could sleep. Now I know why it's so important.) Although she knows that she doesn't really know who Peter Pan is, she believes that she might and she feels that she's seen his face in the faces of some women with no children. This was the point for me when I thought that maybe, just possibly, that might be why I still feel like a girl, not at all like the grown up that I am. There're a lot of things about my lifestyle that aren't very grown up, but I'm of the grown up age and yet I don't consider myself to be a woman; I'm just a girl in my heart. I've just recently celebrated my 30th birthday but I forget all the time that I'm old enough to buy beer. It's great that age is truly just a number to me and I don't know how I've gotten this lucky. But is it possible that part of the secret of eternal youth, of refusing to grow up, is not being a mother? If so, I think its great because I always want to be a girl and have fun. There are millions of mothers out there already, doing a fantastic job and enjoying it and I'm grateful to them. As for me, I'll enjoy this eternal youth and hope that my body will keep up.
Oh the cleverness of me.

My Thoughts on Airport Security

There's been a lot of talk about the TSA and their heightened security measures lately. I've read articles about people being subjected to aggressive searches for no apparent reason. And it's for our own good.

I find myself mixed about the situation. On the one hand, we get to feel slightly more certain that there aren't any bombs or weapons on the plane, but on the other we are allowing ourselves to be subjected to potential violations of our personal spaces. It's as if the need for safety has increased so much that people are allowing themselves to be subjected to these extreme searches.

I did some research. I wanted to find out what the TSA says about the potential security screenings that a traveler may be put through. I did find a rather informative link about how to get through the line faster and another about the possible baggage screening. They even included  a tip regarding extremely personal items in your carryon. How thoughtful of them.

But what I didn't find was the information about what goes on during a personal screening; only that one could happen. Interesting. I had some questions. How would I be selected for this screening? What would I be required to do? What would happen during the screening? These are things I'd sure like to know. And Google doesn't know either, in an official sense.

I'm not curious about the answers to these questions because I intend to smuggle some illegal item aboard the airplane. I want to know because I want to make sure I shave my legs and not wear holey panties. These are the things a non-terrorist worries about. And if I was a terrorist, I wouldn't care that they're going to search me. I was probably given orders that I should detonate if I'm caught anyway. DUH! And any other non-terrorist person who might consider taking some sort of weapon aboard a plane for some non-political/religious reason probably won't use it anyway because we're just not that into dying.

And as for who gets selected: to make this security measure of a strip search effective, every traveler should have to have one. I'm not saying I think it's a good idea, but what if I'm selected and not carrying anything while Little Miss Bomb in Her Bra is boarding the plane? What a wasted effort. Now, I'm held up for no reason, the staff of TSA is bothered with my boring search, and the bomb will still go off as intended. It's ridiculous.

Maybe it's the airlines that are forcing the TSA into making the security so extreme so that people won't be afraid to fly. Now there's an idea. I think they should just make it less expensive. And these security checks are being paid for somehow.

But for some reason, we want more security at the airport. We feel like we can stop bad things from happening to us if we get the bad guys and girls before they can act out their plans.  It makes sense. Other bad people have gotten on planes and done terrible things in the past and if there's anything we know as earthlings, it's that history does repeat itself.

But when it comes right down to it, it's not just the bad guys and girls  that we have to worry about. What if something awful happens to the pilot, somehow? Or the air traffic controller misses a beat and two planes collide? These are the risks we take every time we get on a plane, whether the passengers have had their genitals checked or not.

Overall, I think the increased security is ridiculous, but it's something that has become necessary in some cases. I don't think that the TSA is going about it the right way and I do think they ought to inform passengers about the process a lot better than they do.

Air travel is the safest way to go because, let's face it, the pilots are getting pretty damn good at keeping the planes up and out of each other's way. Even the Hudson crash ended well, all things considered. Now, if we can stop hating each other as human beings, we can all travel nicely like people did before some assholes stole some planes and destroyed one of our greatest cities and thousands of lives. Until then, I'll just be glad that I can't afford to travel and wait for the world to be a better place.

Books vs. eReaders

I love books. I love the smell, the feel, the sound of books. Books have always been an important part of my life. I remember going to a bookstore when I was very young and thinking, "This place is special. This is where the stories live." Since I've always wanted to be a story teller, a writer, I was completely taken by the place. I still am enthralled with bookstores. But times they are a-changin', and we're moving into the electronic age. I'm sure years ago there was someone who was still in love with the record store, hated the mp3 player and vowed to always feel that way who are currently re-buying their favorite albums from the iTunes store because of the convenience and the decline of the record store. And like record stores, bookstores are disappearing, starting with the small and precious ones. There's a new book in town: the eBook and its unwittingly malevolent counterpart, the eReader.
I was hesitant about ereaders because they don't have any of the things I love about a book, apart from the story. (When I say hesitant I mean I damn near refused the idea.) A few friends of mine had tried them and said good things, but I wasn't convinced. To me, it seemed that it would feel like holding a piece of plastic, cold plastic, and there'd be no pages to turn. I would just click. It was too different from what I loved. I wouldn't be able to carry it in my back pocket like I did with Still Life With Woodpecker and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. It was a machine, not the simple gathering of paper that books have been since the beginning of books. (They've really never evolved, except for their bindings.) Then, something different came along. This one had a soft back, not like the rigid plastic I'd seen so far. Said to be more like a book, the Kobo made me reconsider my rejection of this technology.
Borders carries the Kobo and being a fan of bookstores, (this chain satisfies me better than most) I was happy to go into the store and touch it. It wasn't there at first, but eventually, they built an entire display of ereaders right in the middle. Okay, I thought, maybe this technology isn't some monster made up by Amazon.com. Maybe this is actually something other stores are supporting too. And then I read a lot of articles about ereaders and ebooks and how they are starting to take over the market. And then the idea of publishing my short stories in ebook format comes to my mind. Okay, it's not that bad after all. I read a book on my computer and although it bothered my head after a while - stark white pages with dark black type can really tire the eyes.
And then I got to touch a Kobo. It doesn't feel like a really worn in paperback by any means, but it reminds me of a hardcover novella in it's weight and texture. It's one handed reading, which is excellent, and it sits on my knees just like a hardcover book does. Also, I don't have to worry about losing my place because it automatically bookmarks my page for me. And the cover won't ever get bent, I hope, because I'll never have to hold it wide open to read the inner edges. (Some books are too thick to be made into trade paperback.)
The Kobo isn't expensive and from what I've seen, it works about the same as the other ereaders out there. I like that the wi-fi is easy to set up and the download speed is decent for a gadget. It comes with 100 books already on it; titles like Great Expectations, The Iliad and Emma. Another neat trick: when it's powered off or in sleep mode, the cover of the book displays on the screen. It's pretty nice, not bad for grayscale really. I'm reading The Source of Magic currently, and I'm enjoying the experience.
So now that I'm swayed, does this mean I'll abandon my bookstores and stop buying paperbacks? No way man. I still love books so this means that I'll be buying the ones I really like more than once so that I have a real version and a portable version. Because although my Kobo does fit in my back pocket, I'm more comfortable keeping it in my purse and I'll be getting a case for it soon. It's delicate, but I can put more books on it than I could ever hope to get into my purse, by a long shot. In the end, I end up supporting both formats, which makes me happy.

Connected Through Story

I recently read an article about ways that parents connect to their teenage children. I remember being a teenager, it was rough. My mom grounded me for a month because I skipped school and with as much school as I'd missed, I got off lucky. She said no phone, no friends, to school and to home and that was it. And if I missed a class, that teacher would have caller her. As far as 15 year olds go, I was exceptionally miserable. And because I was miserable, and incredibly bored, I had no choice but to connect to my mom. We became what I call best friends. I had no problem with it at all.
But as I got older we spent less time together. We ended up in different towns after a while. We talked on the phone about our going's on. She'd come to visit me when she visited my other siblings. Everything was fine, but there wasn't the common ground that we'd shared before. I had to find something. So I read Twilight. I know, blah blah Twilight blah blah. I forgive you if you stop reading now, but I hope that you won't.
I read Twilight and because I liked the basics of the story (There! I said it!) and I love me some vampires, I recommended it to my mom. She read it but she didn't like that "the little girl has to die." I valued her opinion and went on with my day. We both finished the series. Then, a friend at work recommended that I read Charlaine Harris' Southern Vampire Mysteries. I love vampires and I devoured this series. My mom did too. And now when we talk on the phone, we have something to talk about other than our jobs and her busy dogs. So thanks to vampires, Charlaine Harris (and Stephenie Meyer too, I suppose), I have a better friendship with my mom as an adult. And because I'm adult I can say bad words sometimes and not get scolded. But not too bad.
Now, we're reading different book series and recommending them to each other. I feel like we're doing good things for each other, reading together, and we always have something un-mundane to talk about. If you struggle with connecting to your parents, or feeling a friendship with them (which is excellent to feel as an adult), I definitely recommend finding a book series and reading them together. It's wonderful.

How to Not Drive Like an Idiot

I don't proclaim myself to be the best driver on the road.  Goodness knows I've had my fair share of oops moments.  But I do make sure to stick with a few basic principles that I believe have kept me and the other drivers and passengers on the roads around me safe as possible.  I think that if we all obeyed at least some of the same principles, we'd have much less traffic problems, less road rage and possibly, on a very wide scope, a less grumpy world because everyone is getting to their destination on time.  
Principle #1:  Pay attention to what is going on around you, always.  You should know what cars are near you when you're driving.  You should also have your next ten seconds planned out so that you don't have to make erratic movements and possibly cause a crash.  It's simple.  Pay attention and use your mirrors for their intended purpose. 
Principle #2:  Don't tailgate.  Not only is it dangerous, it makes most people feel like they're being bossed around or bullied.  These same people generally won't be inclined to do as you're trying to force them to do and may even do the exact opposite, quickly and without warning. I guarantee that it will take longer to get there when your car is stopped in the car in front of yours' trunk. Solution? Stay back, wait to pass.  Flip them off as you go by if you must, but don't ride their bumper because most people won't let you bully them in their car.  We feel invincible in them.  
Principle #3:  Use, but don't abuse your turn signals.  Turn them on before you turn, shortly before.  I think there's a one hundred foot rule.  Whatever it is, I'm certain that it isn't eight miles ahead of time though.  So, if you hear it clicking or binging or whatever sound it makes, be sure to obey it or turn it OFF.  
Principle #4:  The speed limit is there to say how fast we're allowed to go.  Let's get as close to that as possible or pull over so that other people can.  If the sign says forty five, go forty five, maybe even a little faster if you're feeling daring.  But be safe.  And remember, police men have a quota and the faster you're going the more points you're worth.


Thanks for reading.  Drive safely.

Megamind Review

I consider myself a connoisseur of comedy. I enjoy comedy in most of its forms, the only exception being poop jokes or gags involving bodily functions. I like funny movies, funny books and funny people. This weekend, I wanted to quench my thirst for hilarity with Megamind. I was successful.
Megamind is a super hero story that takes place in a made up city, called Metro City. Megamind and his nemesis Metroman battle for control of the city and the love of fans. Of course, good always wins over evil, so Megamind comes close to winning some of their battles but Metroman is always the overall victor; until Megamind finds a way to actually destroy Metroman during a routine news reporter kidnapping. Now with Metroman out of the picture, Megamind is free to do what he pleases with the city and its inhabitants. And he does, along with the help of his creature friend, Minion.
But eventually he gets tired of running rampant because there's no one there to stop him or throw him in prison or even fight with. He's bored. He decides that he needs a source of good so that he can be completely evil again. He comes up with a plan to make life more interesting to him. Meanwhile, he also starts to woo the reporter, Roxanne, that he's so fond of kidnapping. That's what the movie is about. I'll leave the rest up to you to see.
The general theme of the movie is the constant battle of good and evil, like most superhero movies. This one varies from the norm a little bit because Megamind, the supervillain and self-proclaimed over lord, discovers that he can't be sufficiently evil without someone to do good against. It's like Batman and The Joker: The Joker tells Batman that he can't kill him, won't kill him, because he's too much fun. And we all know, deep inside, that Batman won't kill The Joker because he's not a killer. Megamind feels like The Joker would have if he'd actually been able to kill Batman. The movie is based on this paradox of good and evil needing each other for their own existance.
I truly believe that Will Ferrell is funny down to his very marrow. I know that not everyone appreciates his humor but I truly do. That being said, I think that Megamind is Will Ferrell at his most pretentious, most appalling, most self-righteous, and most perfect. It's what I imagine Ron Burgundy to be if he were placed in the future and had super powers, and better manners. Megamind is cocky and ignorant. (In one preview we see him answer a cell phone with "Ohlow" instead of "Hello".) He changes words to make them sound more fierce, or villainous, like Metro City becomes Metrocity (think atrocity). It's funny and charming. Also, the animators did a great job of putting Will's emotions and expressions into Megamind. If Will were blue, cerebrally unbalanced and extremely skinny, he'd look just like Megamind.
David Cross is the voice of Minion, Megamind's companion and servant. Minion cares for Megamind in many ways. Minion also helps Megamind plan evil things because they're evil doers. I think that I understand that it's usually Minions idea to kidnap Roxanne, voiced by Tina Fey. Minion is another one of those characters that you want one of for yourself because he's resourceful and so damn cute.
Tina fey was her usual eloquent and loquacious self. She's the brains of the outfit, regardless of what anyone he interacts with thinks. Jonah Hill becomes something other than himself and Brad Pitt isn't in the movie much, in spite of how the previews make it seem.
The humor is enjoyable and well paced. I laughed out loud many, many times. There's also a lot of humorous dialogue so we don't really have to watch the background in fear of missing something funny. It did feel a little long for about five minutes, but that may have been my bladder talking. I definitely recommend Megamind. Four out of five stars easily.

Happy Birthday, Car.

Today is my cars tenth birthday. I bought it on my 20th birthday. (You do the math.) I was thinking about the day I bought my car. I got my first speeding ticket that day. I couldn't believe my Jeep actually went over 55 miles per hour. And what kind of cop writes a ticket to someone on their birthday? I also remember that day because I remember thinking about how long my car would last. They call them cheap cars, maybe they are, but Plymouth Neon is doing just fine. I didn't think I'd be driving it ten years later. But then a lot of things are different than I expected them to be ten years ago.
I don't have kids. When I was married, which I'm also not anymore, I thought I wanted to have kids. It didn't work out, but I'm not sorry about it. I have pseudo stepsons and I think they're awesome. Plus, being a part time semi parent means that I get the freedom of not having kids too. And I still get a super boyfriend. I win all the way around.
I don't own a home or drive a mini-van or sell Avon. YAY! All but the homeownership part. Don't get me wrong, the apartment rocks, but I want a backyard so bad. Someday.
I still write, every day, about everything. That's something that I'm never going to change. And I think I'm further along in my writing career than I thought I would be. And I've read a lot of really good books.
I think it's all in our heads, this whole "age is a bad thing" idea. I feel like I'm doing all right, for my age. In fact, I may be a little behind in some areas. And that's okay with me because I don't want to be a grown up. So turning thirty isn't that bad. I'm still just a girl in my heart.

Plagiarism

There's been a lot of talk on the social networks about plagiarism today. It all started with a Cook Source Magazine article that was written by someone not associated with Cook Source and not paid for their work. Emails were exchanged between the writer of the article and the magazine. The email from the writer is an angry email, as it should be, and Cook Source's reply is even worse.
There are a few things very wrong with the reply. The first thing being that the internet is public domain. It's not. Anything I post on the internet is mine. Anything you post is yours. That's how it works.
The next bit goes on to talk about how this sort of thing happens all the time. And it does. It's called citations. As long as I give credit where credit is due, I am doing the right thing. Granted, the article writer's name was credited for the article, but she was unaware that her article was even going to be used.
This leads us to the third terrible thing. The reply tells the author that she is lucky to have had her poor work edited at no charge. Now forgive me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that if I write an article and I edit it to the best of my ability, I can then sell it to some interested party. This interested party will not ask me to pay for the edits they've made. And regardless of my editing abilities, I will not be charged for the editing that is performed after the work has left my hands. They're paying me for the story, the subject matter and the voice that I write in, not my grammatical perfection or spelling wizardry.
I would be flattered, honored, probably even cry from joy if a magazine or some other source wanted to use anything that I've written, and I would even be honored to do this for free. I would also want to know that my work was being published. This to me was the worst thing that Cook Source did to the article writer. She had no idea.


Anyway, that's just my thoughts on plagiarism. I hope that my work makes it somewhere that people will see it, someday. As for now, I'll keep an eye out for pieces of mine that I don't know are out there.

November Colors

who are you,little i

 

(five or six years old)

peering from some high

 

window;at the gold

 

of november sunset

 

(and feeling:that if day

has to become night

 

this is a beautiful way)

-ee cummings

 

I went out today to take pictures of the leaves changing colors and it made me think of ee cumming's poem, probably because of the way he describes the colors and the way that the days come to an end in November. I love to take pictures of scenery and critters. I'm fortunate to live near many excellent picture taking locations. We went to a park, the largest park in the city, and we fed the squirrels and took pictures of the trees in their different shades.

This is why I love my home town.

The wildlife is friendly enough to share a bag of munchies.

 

And the trees hang on to their leaves for as long as possible, even when they turn for the winter.

 

And the sky stays blue, once the fog burns away.

 

It's not a big fancy city, just a really big town, and I call it my home. I probably always will. And someday, I hope to own one of the houses over looking this park. But that's another day.

Hiding – A Short Story

This is based on a writing prompt from Writer's Digest: Monday Matchup - The Ringing Phone This was a fun one. I hope you like it.

"Whitley, Morrison is calling," the robotic voice said, jerking me out of my alcohol induced sleep. I sat up quickly, too quickly. My head began to throb as I tried to focus on the clock. I grabbed the sides of my head with both hands, holding onto my short brown hair as if it helped. It was definitely day time, the sun was blinding in my eyes.
"Whitley, Morrison," the robot voice repeated.
"Stupid phone," I muttered. "An awful thing to wake up to," I added. It was new, I didn't realize it spoke until the first time I received a call after I installed it. It spoke instead of ringing. I tried not to let it be creepy.
"Whitley, Morrison," the phone said again.
"Why is he calling me?" I said to myself before I pressed the answer button. "Hello," I said, my voice still clogged with sleep.
"Emma?" the voice on the other end asked, a note of urgency in his tone.
"Yes, Morrison. What's up?" I asked. Who else would answer my phone? I thought to myself.
"How'd you know it was me?" he asked, thickly.
I'm not the first person in the world with caller ID, I thought. Maybe he figured I hadn't bothered to look because of the grog in my voice. The talking phone thing was still fairly new.
"I have caller ID," I said, a little sharply. "Why are you calling me?" I asked again, slightly annoyed at being woken up. The throbbing in my head was increased by the suns light streaming through my bedroom window. Mid day morning after is the worst, I thought.
"Have you seen Rachel?" he asked, with the same urgency in his tone. He sounded worried.
"I thought she was with you," I said. I swung my long legs, still in the snug jeans I'd worn last night, over the edge of the bed and put my feet on the soft carpeted floor. My pedicured toes curled out of habit. I realized I had no shirt on and wondered where it might have gone.
"Do you remember what happened last night?" Morrison asked.
I stood up, steadied myself carefully, then sat back down. I looked at the floor around my bed. A pile of tissues and the empty cat litter bucket I used for a garbage can were next to it. My missing shirt was there too. The bucket and shirt had been used for bad things. "Ugh," I said into the receiver. "I just saw what I did."
"Yeah, you weren't doing very well," Morrison said, a smile in his voice. "I hope you're okay now," he added with much less humor, feeling guilty for finding pleasure in my misery, I'm sure.
"I feel like hell, actually," telling the truth. He'd woke me up, now he was going to get to handle the hangover. "But what happened with Rachel? Where is she?" I asked, getting back to the reason he called. It just felt inappropriate to chit-chat with your best friend's boyfriend and I didn't want to talk about how I was feeling. Ignoring it worked best for me.
"You were still downstairs, you were talking with Chad about some claim you filed and how you're sure it's bogus," Morrison said, rambling.
"I remember the case, and talking to Chad," I said. "It's coming back to me." I remembered what was happening around me last night as I sat on the edge of my bed hunched over and hurting. "You and Rachel were by the back door, having a talk. She looked pretty mad," I said.
"It was a misunderstanding," Morrison interjected.
"Of course." I forgot to turn off the sarcasm.
"You know what happened, Emma. You saw what really happened. It was nothing," Morrison pleaded with me. He sounded as if he didn't believe that I knew there was nothing happening between him and Caroline.
I did know what really happened and it was nothing. But I didn't get a chance to tell Rachel it was nothing because I was enthralled with Chad. He's trouble, I'm sure of that, but he's great to talk to. "I know," I said, ready to get on with it.
"She screamed at me," Morrison said.
"I think I remember the scream." I closed my eyes and remembered the sound of Rachel's wretched wail; she is the queen of temper tantrums. She does it when she can't have her way or isn't the center of attention. It makes her a difficult best friend, but she shines so brightly that it's something I'm able to overlook. Like a beautiful child.
"I hate it when she screams at me," Morrison added. I could almost hear the regret in his voice. I thought it was insane that he was actually blaming himself for her temper, but then I remembered that it wasn't my place to worry about. Rachel and Morrison had been having their up and down relationship for many years. Who was I to comment on it? I found that I was glad that Morrison felt comfortable coming to me with this dilemma. It meant that he was willing to make things work with Rachel, no matter how difficult she was. He came to me for help in dealing with her, instead of giving up. I was glad that he was willing to take on that challenge. It was exhausting for me.
"I know you do," I replied. And I did know. I'd seen Rachel scream at him before, and every time she did it, he'd leave. She didn't learn. But Morrison loved her, so much, he always forgave her after one of her childish fits.
"I left her at your house," Morrison said quickly, as if he felt guilty. "Maybe she's still there?" he asked, hope squeaking through his guilt.
I stood up again, steadier than I had been, and walked out onto the large landing of my second floor. I checked my two empty bedrooms on the other side of the staircase and found them to still be empty. "She's not in a bed," I told Morrison as I went downstairs into my living room. "Or on the couch."
I peeked out my windows and looked around my yard. The sun was shining bright but I knew it wasn't warm. Not on the first of November. "She's not outside, her car isn't here," I said.
"She left her car at my house, we took my truck. Her car is still here." Morrison sounded more worried. "Where else would she be?" he asked.
I thought about it for a moment. "Was there anyone else here last night that might have taken her home?" The scary movie watching get together I'd planned had turned into an all out party. Lucky for me, I had considerate friends. They left only minimal trash in my living room and my front door was locked. I was relieved that I wouldn't have to clean up a disaster site. They left things in good order. Not that my house was particularly fine, but it was mine and I tried to take care of what I had.
Morrison was quiet for a long time. "There were a lot of people. I guess I'll call them," he said, clearly disappointed. "Let me know if she turns up, okay?" He had more hope in his tone.
Where would she turn up? I asked myself as I looked around my home. "Okay Morrison. I'll call you if I hear anything. Maybe she walked home, have you checked over there yet? She has caller ID too, you know?"
"Ha, thanks Emma," Morrison said dryly, picking up on my jab. "I'll talk to you later. Bye."
"Okay." I hung up without another word. "Not big on problem solving, are you Morrison?" I said to the receiver once I was sure it was off.
Checkers, my kitty, came out of her hiding place at the top of the stairs. She made a nest behind the plant I kept on the landing. It was full of shiny objects, like my tweezers, along with a blanket she dragged in there and a small stuffed bear that I think she believes to be her kitten. Checkers stopped on the fourth stair, so that I could reach her without bending down. She could sense the misery hanging around me, probably judging by the mess of my hair. She knew me so well.
"Good morning, kitty," I said, reaching out to pet her orange and black calico head. She pressed her head into my hand. "Have you seen Rachel?" I asked her, knowing how silly it was and not caring. Checkers tipped her head at me.
I went into the kitchen and made coffee as quietly as possible. There was no one but me to disturb but I was still not ready for noise. My head was pounding and it hurt to keep my eyes open more than a little bit. For the first time that I could remember, I was glad that I'd ground too many coffee beans the previous morning so that I wouldn't have to use the grinder then. The sound and the effort of the simple machine would have made it seem like coffee wasn't worth it when I knew that it was the cure for the ache in me. Before long, the smell of the lovely dark liquid filled my kitchen. The whole house was quiet, except for the sucking sound that the coffee pot made as it pulled the last of the water to the filter. I sat at the kitchen table, enjoying the silence. Even the world outside was muted.
Checkers jumped onto the table, bad manners be damned. I never broke her of this habit because I don't mind. I don't eat at my table anyway. She smashed her head into my forearms and face, waiting for me to quit holding my head up and pet her properly.
The coffee was done. I poured a cup and tottered into the living room, dropping myself onto the couch. Checker's hopped up next to me and settled on my feet. More quiet surrounded me as I sipped my coffee. My head stopped pounding in almost the same instant that I took my first sip.
In the next moment, Checkers jumped, startled, back to the floor. Her tail was puffed.
"What is it, Checkers?" I asked, wondering what had suddenly spooked her. I listened, barely breathing.
A cough, something like the cough of someone being sick, came from upstairs. "I checked the bedrooms, who's in there?" I said to Checkers. She was already checking it out; slinking up the stairs and investigating in her curious feline way.
I reached the top of the stairs and looked into each room, walking around to the other side of the beds to make sure I hadn't missed someone. The cough happened again. It was coming from above me. Checkers and I looked at each other. "The attic?" I asked.
I went into the smaller bedroom and pulled the string to bring down the folding ladder into my attic. I hadn't been up there in months. It's one of those rooms I had forgotten about, really. Checkers watched me unfold the ladder and climb up. It was dark up there, only the light shining through the vents, but I could see enough to know what was there. And someone was there. They moved, coughing again, leaning over the edge of my papasan chair and puking into a box.
"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, unable to recognize the person in the chair and not caring because they were vomiting on my belongings.
The person sat up straight. The sun shined through a puff of matted blonde hair and told me who it was immediately, even just the silhouette. It looked like a halo on a shadow. "I came up here when Morrison left because I wanted to hide," Rachel said. She had the sound of someone who had just finished evacuating their stomach, the breathy, panicky sound.
I was relieved it was her but still really annoyed that she'd puked in my things. I decided to drop that part; she obviously felt terrible enough on her own. "He's worried about you," I said, no sympathy in my tone. "Why'd you hide?" I asked, softening a little bit.
"Because I was embarrassed. I screamed at him again, in front of everyone, like an idiot," Rachel said, sadness dripping off her words. "And I'm sorry that I did it. He doesn't deserve it."
I was still standing on the ladder to the attic, but my knees were a little shaky from my condition and my best friend's words. I couldn't believe what Rachel was saying. She'd never been sorry for any of her actions in her life. "Maybe you should tell Morrison you're sorry," I suggested. "He's called here looking for you."
"Why? He should just tell me to go away," she said with a pitiful sniffle. "I know nothing happened with him and that nasty Caroline. But I get so mad…" Her small hands were balled into fists.
"Tell him," I said. "He loves you, Rache."
"Yeah," she said in the way that meant she knew he loved her but she didn't see why. Her head hung in misery. I was sure she felt as awful as I did, if not worse.
"Can we come down from here? It smells like puke," I said.
"Yes. And I'll clean up my mess."
Rachel stood up, hit her head on a rafter, then wobbled her way down the rickety ladder. I wondered how she was able to get up there in the first place, as inebriated as she was. We went into the kitchen and I poured her a cup of coffee. Checkers followed us and joined us on the table.
"You should call Morrison," I said, handing Rachel the phone. She looked like hell, mascara streaking her cheeks and lipstick smeared around her lips. Her hair was matted into a large rats nest in the back, all over like a blonde bubble around her head. I didn't envy her having to brush it on normal days, it's incredibly curly, but today it would be even worse.
She looked at it for a moment then took another big drink of coffee. "Okay," she said, then dialed the phone. Tears filled her eyes when she heard Morrison's voice.
I picked up my coffee cup and my kitty and went into the living room. I sat on the couch, enjoying the quiet, except for the sound of my best friend sobbing into the phone in the other room. I didn't worry; I knew she'd be okay. Maybe her humility would do them good. And maybe her disappearance was exactly what they needed to be able to finally find each other.

Anxiety

I found a writing prompt that I like so I decided to give it a go. It's an exercise in showing vs. telling emotions. I think I did all right.
The first part of the exercise had me write a poem but it wasn't very good, so I left it behind. This is the finished result of Socialpolitan.com Writing Prompt: Emotion Expressed


Anxious I stand on the rear of the stage, next in line to speak. My eyes stay down, not willing to see any of the people around me. I twitch and fidget under their eyes already; I'd cower if I actually had to look at them. The thumping of my heart in my ears is out of sync, racing and slowing. It's the only sound I can hear. The rest of the orators are a blur in my ears, I can only think of my own words. But I can't hear my own words over the sound of my heart.
My body is hot. I wonder if the people around me can smell my nerves. Another wave of heat rushes over me because of this thought and then my worry is doubled. I try to inspect myself, focus on my own smell, but I'm too distracted by the heavy perfume of the woman standing three people behind me. The heat around my collar cools itself as I breathe deep, in and out, slowly through my mouth because my nose is completely congested from the dust in the back stage.
The hair on my head starts to tingle, making me want to scratch. I have to resist, to try and keep still, so as not to distract the watchers. I keep breathing. My mouth is dry, stale like the coffee and cigarette I had before I took my place in line. I swallow, the sticky feeling staying in my throat.
The drumming in my ears quiets enough for me to hear the applause. It's my turn. The nerves can go away, there's no need to be anxious. This is what I love.
Calm rushes over me. I can hear every sound around me; the clicking of my shoes on the stage is the sharpest and sounds solid. My head is held high, I meet the audiences' eyes. The smell of the oak podium and the pages of paper fill me. The podium is cool under my hands. I sip a bottle of water to wash the nerves out of my mouth. Before I begin my speech, I remind myself that I'm only anxious because I'm ready.