Trifecta Writing Challenge 100

We are asking for a 33-word response to the following snippet:

The first time I saw. . .

Here's the catch: all of your 33 words must be one syllable each. - and this blogger's thought, Aren't Thesauruses great

www.trifectawritingchallenge.com   

The first time I saw a wild dream's truth,

I saw each yarn has a veil that shields the real facts that glare, begs to be freed, to yield a glance at the woods and not the trees.

No problem

My contribution to the Trifecta writing challenge - www.trifectawritingchallenge.com

Jeremy Miller stood at the corner waiting on the bus. It was getting dark, the wind was blowing. Pulling the drawstring to his hood, he saw the shadow. He didn't see a person. Walking casually closer to the shadow with a nonchalant whistle. Disembodied shadows, whatever, something logical was going on.

As he approached the shadow, he could find nothing that caused it and the shape did not change. Looking back down, the shadow moved. The bus was scheduled to arrive in five minutes. No other bus until midnight. Indecision, indecision, he followed the shadow.

The shadow seemed to walk a quickening pace. It crossed his mind, where was everybody. Lights were on in the downtown buildings. Traffic seemed to have stopped.

Pausing, Jeremy began to walk back to the bus stop. That's when he felt boxes tumbling, the shadow was gone.

Damn, I can't keep chasing shadows. Looking at his watch, listening, looking, there was nothing to be seen. Without reason, he walked back curious to see himself lying injured, then his memory came back. He had tripped on the pavement.

Breathing, coughing on saliva and small amounts of blood, right eye seriously injured, morning coffee dried on the pavement. He bent over, and fell into himself. Racked with pain, he opened his left eye to see the pimpled punk at the coffee shop he refused to tip, Anytime he thanked him, “No problem” rippled out of his mouth.

A law enforcement officer who obviously lifted weights made five of the youth who towered above the cop.

“I came out here for a smoke. My boss is going to be mad I haven't come back but I decided not to leave him”

“You did the right thing kid. I'll talk to your boss.”

He could feel his body being lifted onto a stretcher. Looking at the kid, he mouthed thanks. The first sound he heard since the fall that morning, “No problem.”

New Year's Resolution

Trifecta Writing Challenge is to make a three word resolution for the New Year.

www.trifectawritingchallenge.com

My entry is ----    "Oops, next please."


For those of you are regular readers, well for all I know you could be quite irregular all the time, I hope you have a great New Year and only look back at the good times with this past year. 2013 had a good ring to it. This goes for visitors too!

Sometimes the bad has its good points when you look back. It pushes us to think or do in ways we would have never thought.  Jumping out of the rut is better looking back than doing.

My older brother is developmentally delayed. He is becoming a grouchy old man when he meets any frustration. In thinking how I could break the pattern, I realized it will never happen. He has a fire within like all of us and we are blessed that he normally is of good humor.

Anyway, I have pulled out all the exotic teabags and put them in a beautiful clear glass serving dish with a lid. We have all resolved to drink hot tea every day this winter. With three weeks of winter a day here and a day there. We got to be on the ball to accomplish this. I've purchased a cheap camcorder with plans for a better one later. I hope to post the seasonal changes on occasion.

Candy Crush Overload

I sit and play the Crush about three, four times a day. The first couple of times I use all five lives, then I quit early the last time. Sometimes I am so wound up at the end of a life I play Papa Pear. It was boring at first, but it has an attraction almost as much as Candy Crush.

What pisses me off with myself is that I waste time doing it. No solace in seeing other professionals with hectic schedules forty to one hundred levels above me.

Surprisingly, there is wisdom in the sing song of the game. One of the impediment is a fudge spinner that slings fudge out and stops up the flow of play and of course you lose more quickly. For a little money, you can buy these bubblegum plugs to stop the chocolate. I have a rule, I pay nothing to play except for the thirty cents to go from one episode to another.

Like so much in life, ignore the crap and make the best of things. I suspect the game is made to win whether you play well or poor after so many tries. It is hard to get excited when you win when you realize it is designed to encourage people to buy money for power-ups and extended play on each game.

I remember looking at people at the Harrah's casino in Cherokee, North Carolina. Lots of cigaret smoke, strong exhaust fans, folks who are incredibly out of shape due to age and obesity staring into the machines as they hit the auto replay button. I'm baffled by the attraction but not critical as I see my computer puzzle games to be terribly similar.

Anyway, I am making progress on my screenplays. It has taken me forever to get restarted. The fear of
failure can be overwhelming. It's funny how playing a time wasting computer game has jolted me out of a rut.

I have done my Wonder woman pose for a minute tonight. A ted talk on NPR proposes that standing boldly for several minutes will rewire your brain to handle the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that life delivers.

Frank (4-14-1997 to 12-12-2013) - A damn good dog.

My little buddy Frank passed away Thursday. I thought it would be easy to take. He had gotten very old. He could not see. He could not hear. If he got to running down the driveway on a walk, I had to chase him down. Luckily, he couldn't run that fast.

His stiff, quick movements of his legs when he walked made me think of a gunfighter. And sometimes he was. He would tell the other dogs to move out of his way. I watched or placed him alone with the right dogs. Usually, I had to make my young dog Boduke stop hassling him. Duke would look at me like,"I want to but I won't." Two nights before, I had to chastise Frankie to leave Duke alone. Duke loved being protected.

Frank had a stroke. His best friend and partner in life, Lester who was a golden retriever mix had a stroke at 15 and passed within minutes. Frank was not as lucky. I took him to the vet to be put down. Frank was four months shy of turning 17. What tore at me the most is I knew he thought the vet would help him.

I don't know what happens we die. I think there may be an afterlife. When you have someone very close to you to pass, you get a "last goodbye". Whether they are real or imaginings, they feel real. My dad was fond of the "poo" boy. I hope he is there with all the other pets with my dad.

The funeral was quiet with just me and Duke. I dug the hole and laid a worn towel across the small grave. My family has come out for a few words with other pets. I guess it was too painful with Frank. I laid him on the towel and covered his body with the other and quickly covered him with Earth. I live in the country and so laid concrete blocks over his grave. Visiting opossums and like would disturb his small body.

My sister came out and said a few words. She was surprised I had finished so quickly. Duke watched me and he shivered when I put Frank in the ground. Daisy was surprisingly sweet to me. JoJo was acting very sad. You wonder what dogs comprehend. Louise has taken his place on the bed.

Anyway, life moves on. It's two days later and I still feel the sadness. I knew he was old, arthritic, had a collapsing trachea and did not have long. What I remember is him running through the doorway with the chihuahua's on the big bark festival walking in the front pasture. Rest in Peace sweet boy.

Ten points all beginning artists need to consider.

A picture of their family or pets, the need to have a roof over their head, something to eat or a really big payday are the motivations for some people in doing a loathsome job.

My main career was teaching school. It paid well for a woman and of course with depression era parents, I was schooled in getting a secure job. I had this desire to write from a young age.

The following article is food for thought.  My reservation is that teaching is a demanding job. Combine that with a family and you have very little time to clean the house much less artistic pursuits.

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/11/30/the-real-humanities-crisis/?smid=fb-share&_r=0

These are a few reasons why people can't make a living as an artist.

• There should be a bonus plan for films that are box office successes. The first year's revenue should trickle into bonus' for extras and bit players and crew. You can't make a movie without these peons.
• There are a few authors that have been financially successful with book a year deals. They have a new book prominently displayed for full price and last year's on the clearance rack. Getting an advance of about 2000 dollars is what most writers get.
• I go to several local theatres. Their productions rival much larger productions that I have seen at the Alliance theatre in Atlanta. 
• You have to sell a lot of prints and original paintings to pay the bills.

What I do know about being an artist can be summed up in these words of wisdom.

1. Get started. Don't wait until late in life. You may be dead or too old to pursue your passion. Many careers are a young person's game or you will never be good enough if you don't start.

2. Be realistic. You want to be a novelist. No you don't quit your job and start writing like they do in the movies. Read books about writing books. Read good novels. Read bad novels. Take any courses about writing you can. It's hard to be a good writer when you live under a bridge or your family is so sick of you not pitching in with the bills. Plus understanding working and living helps you write about the human condition.

3. Study your chosen field. If you want to be an actor or singer, you need to go to school. A quick acting class now and then is not enough. Go to school and get started. It's harder to break into the business as you get older. Day jobs are recommended. Couch surfing is not a good strategy and don't get so broke, you will do anything for a good meal.

4. Make a plan. If you are going to write, designate an hour you write whether it is garbage or the start of a bestseller. Know what you plan to do to reach your goals. Talking about it and daydreaming may be the start but it is definitely not the finish.

5. Patience is a must. All of your hard work could be a wreck. No one starts out wonderful. I've seen a play ruined by a boring actor; read a self-published novel that was an exercise in venting; complimented a print of a painting that was OK. Practice brings out the best in us all.

6. Decide what your goal is. Great works don't always get acknowledged and "50 Shades of Gray" pulls in millions of dollars. There is a reason why Las Vegas is lit up with a million lights and a museum barely can make payroll. Have you ever watched people playing the slots. Many of them old, overweight, smoking staring into the machine. It doesn't take much effort.

7. Live life as fully and responsibly as possible. An alcohol fueled story rarely makes sense. Family and friends are the essence of what is good about life. Work that boring day to day job to pay the bills. It's easier to create when your basic needs are met and your children are well.

8. Everything prepares you.  I read a person's account of what a wonderful place a retail giant was to work. They had worked there 9 months. For an individual hassled at year nine because you get tenured for retirement after ten years, that is more relevant.

9. Know when to reconsider your dreams. Much like very few athletes turn pro and work several years, the same is true for acting, writing, singing, painting.

10. Respect criticism. Whether mean spirited or just plain off-based, a criticism gives you the opportunity to reflect on your work and decide if it can be improved. Be gracious to criticism or you will never hear it from that person again. I had two students who were critical and vicious the first year I taught Chemistry. In short, my worksheets were impeccable and served me well in subsequent years.

In short, being an artist is worth your effort. I did not pursue a creative field and regret it. But not as much as I am glad I can support myself and take care of family members. Balance your dreams with a job.

Turnip greens, Thanksgivukkah eve and more

I'm taking a break. It's almost midnight. I wanted to do a little so tomorrow would run smoother.
Part of housecleaning involves looking at Facebook updates and checking my email periodically.

Earline, a woman I grew up with, could whoop up as much noise as the rest of us teenagers at Northside Baptist when I was a child. She now runs a tight kitchen. Her Thanksgiving meal is ready to roll out of the fridge and sideboard, sing, dance and put on a little show before calmly lying on the table for a perfect Norman Rockwell photo. I should have know she would have grown up into a trouble maker.

Then I remembered the large bunch of turnip greens and large bunch of mustard greens on the back porch.

Well I have been washing those greens for about two hours. The turnip greens looked clean but they had dirt. About 8 rinses did the job. The worse part was - bugs. Yes, little bugs. They could have come from my backyard. The weather is cool and I stored them on the back porch. However they are fresh from the store, $2.99 a bunch.

Bugs are a good sign. No pesticide. Bugs are disgusting if they find their way on your fork. No matter how much protein.

I thought to myself, all this Thanksgivukkah in the news. Those latkes sound tricky but are they as hard to prepare as greens. I know, an 82 year old woman put her recipe in the paper. Sooner or later, I'm going to make some latkes. I already know we are the sour cream folks. No apple sauce but I'm sure the ketchup will make it to the table. I've eaten a version of latkes all my life. A hillbilly version, my mom is from Southern Appalachia. It's a potatoe pattie fried in l--d which is decidedly not kosher. No wonder they have the lovely name, tater splatter.

My uncle was a Seventh Day Adventist and did not eat pork. He and my aunt lived with my grandmother who was a member of the Holiness church. My grandmother said you could talk her into anything but don't tell her to do anything. She served pork as often as she could. How dare they be too good for pork.

People often wonder what gives with pork, chicken and Southerners. It's simple. A cow was too valuable to eat. When it came time to butcher a cow, it was sold. Pigs have huge litters. A cow has one baby at a time.

Well back to latkes. I love the touch in the recipe where she prefers to use russet potatoes and she - No simple drumroll, we need the loud clang of cymbals. - dries the shredded potatoes with a tea towel. But mind you, not too much. I can imagine her poor daughter taking her to some small Southern town with a redneck Jewish grocery that has the right potatoes. This is the South and I am sure that store has existed if it does not exist today.

There will probably be a nostalgic NPR story sooner or latter about Soloman's Southern Fried Delicatessan having its doors reopened by a young couple from Poughkeepsie who want to revisit the past. I can see the young couple now selling the store after a few months, these senior citizens tell them so many stories of Sam Soloman and his family, they wonder if these people are zombies. Zombies that will kill you will stories that run on forever and always, I mean always end in a preposition.

Now I haven't told the scariest part of my greens cleaning. The mustard greens looked really clean. I cut off the roots and pull out a core to the group that looked brown and yucky. The I pulled stray roots and weeds. Weeds in your greens, even a bug on your fork pales to a weed. Then, spooky music please, I found a live ladybug.

Anyway, the dirt was horrendous. I have posted a white flag and they are currently soaking. Those expensive bags of chopped, just pour it in the pot and stew seem like such a good idea now. In the newspaper, a woman commented that it did not matter if the latkes came from the grocer or was freshly prepared. Right now greens from a can sound good to me.

Any way, its time for me to stop typing. It's past midnight. Those mustard greens are not going to clean themselves and I need to peel the turnips. Break a fingernail Earline. Wink Wink - Just kidding. Happy Thanksgiving and Happy Hannukah for those who celebrate. Have a blessed day.