Dear Mom (Mommy),

It’s been ten years. Ten years ago, this week, you turned 42. I don’t remember what we did for your birthday. DId you like it? Was it special? In fact, I probably was not even there. I was at the university going to school, hardly aware that it would be the last birthday we would celebrate. Did you know then that you’d remain 42 forever?

A decade is a monumental amount of time to be absent. I lived through my twenties. Jacob and Maddi spent their teen years without you.

Ten years. In ten years I’ve lived in another country, traveled to more. I biked around an active volcano, bungee jumped, and went on many road trips. In the last ten years, I became a teacher. Like you. I bet you never thought I’d want to follow your footsteps. I even got a Master’s degree. Ten years is so much time. Maddi went to nursing school. Jake is almost out of college.

In another decade, ten more years without you, I’ll reach your eternal age. What will I have to show? A handful of accomplishments and a room full of milestones. But you’ll miss those too. Because, you will remain forever 42.

The world keeps moving, minutes tick, hours ache, and we live. A blink, and the time has passed. But there is something missing, and each year it is becoming more difficult to remember. Your voice. Your Yell. Your laugh.

Ten years. Although your life ceased a decade ago. You’ve never really gone. You are the ink in my pen, the shadow in my step, and the beat in my heart. So, for the tenth year continuing, happy 42nd birthday. You are in my soul. Everything that I achieve is because of you.

I love you always,

Your Daughter (Me)

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NaNoWriMo Boycot

For awhile now I’ve been asking myself what is the meaning in all of my writing. It seems as though all the ideas I have been brainstorming as of late are senseless, meaningless. And, then I just did it. I boycotted National Novel Writing Month. The one month when I was supposed to spend the whole month working diligently on one of my many novels, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t see the point. I have so many that I want to write, yet they all seem like nothing. That they will never be worth one good story, whatever that story is.What is that story? Where is it? Why am I boycotting writing in hopes that a story will come to me that is worth writing about? My whole notion seems senseless. Yet, here it is December 5th, and I have once again been writing for a little over a week now. But the writing is nothing of consequence. Where is the passion? I need something to once again threaten me and give life back into my words. I cannot say that boycotting a whole month devoted to writing novels is the right choice, though I feel like a book worm is making it’s way through my brain and eating my words as I type. I only hope that my inspiration returns once more, renewed and refreshed.

Into Writing

I desperately wanted to be one of those writers that could impress with their humorous anecdotes. I wanted to have intricate, witty banter woven into my prose and poetry. But then,

my pencil broke,

my paper ripped,

I turned fourteen and my grandfather died.

The darkness began to creep in at first; just a shadow in my heart. A few years later my aunt had a routine surgery and forgot how to draw her own breath. She left too. The blackening shadows began wrapping their tendrils through my ventricles and choking my words.

A month later, my mother had a migraine, closed her eyes in the hospital and didn’t remember to open them. Little by little as death clenched its arms around me, the shadow in my heart extended into my extremities.

Now my words breathe life into paper through a haunted soul, escaping death’s reaches.

Still, humor evades me.

Unfairy Tale Pt. 2

Not only was Darkarrow inhabited by the most contemptible of creatures, but humans lived there as well. Revolting, abominable humans who did appalling deeds. Yet, this is the way everyone liked the kingdom of Darkarrow. In fact they became more detestable when things were decent and good. Darkarrow had been ruled many years by a repulsive, not so evil sorcerer called Dracun. It’s safe to say, he was getting old, actually ancient. Dracun often forgot where he put his magic staff or his crown.  There was the particular situation where he forgot to scare children in the villages. (This was supposed to be a weekly duty of the ruling sorcerer.) It was a nightmare. His advisor, Marvo was frustrated. These were the days, when Dracun spent his time transforming chickens into vampire bats, that Marvo would go for a walk.

Marvo really was a horrible guy. He hated everything and everyone. When he had first come to the castle, Dracun was a gruesome sorcerer. Now, he was a feeble old man who was loosing his touch. They should be finding dragons and curses to ravage the kingdom. Instead, he is dancing with vampire bats in the great hall. It was disgusting. Marvo walked through the Forest of Stench. He looked up, the faeries had even lost their luster, that one seemed cheerful. Was another spreading faery dust? What was happening? He would have to do something.

Unfairy Tale

It has been awhile since I have written anything. For this, I am sorry. I have been in a foul mood as of late. And thus, begins my decent into a spiral of loathsome and dark tales. The following is an excerpt (really its the beginning) of a short fairy tale I am working on. I hope you enjoy. ~ dreamersrapture

Once upon a time, there was an enchanted land disconnected from our own world. It had the ordinary things one might expect of an enchanted land, magical creatures, talking trees, sorcerers and elves. But, these were of a fearsome sort. Different from the lands of the bedtime fairy tale, this was a world of dark enchantments. It was called Darkarrow.

The beasts that roamed Darkarrow were evil in nature. Faeries would flit from forest to sea spreading misery on everything they happened by. Centuars would roam somber through the Forest of Stench, miserable, and fight anything that crossed their path. The Goblins were perhaps some of the worst and trickiest creatures. If one stumbled into their traps they would rot there, or if one was lucky enough to be found, they would be cooked for dinner. (This was better than starving to death and then rotting.) The other beasts were more foul and horrid, therefore, shall not be mentioned.

Jack & Lucy

“Jack, the Witch is coming. Be very quiet.”

His face was stone cold, not even a twitch of a muscle. She pushed Jack over a little, “Hide under the bush.” She leaned over protecting Jack from sight. “The Witch will come for you, and then she’ll put a spell on you, so you’ll never wake again, ” the girl whispered in his ear.

She held his hand down, “Stop moving. You don’t want that to happen do you?” His eyes, dark as coal, stared straight ahead not giving anything away. She shoved a chestnut curl from her face, and looked up just in time.

“Jack! Look out! The tree is collapsing!” The girl pushed Jack rolling with him from harms way. “The Witch will surely have heard us, Jack. We’re no longer safe.” The girl’s pudgy hand brushed aside dirt and leaves, “We need a new hide out.”

A voice came from the distance, “Lucy, lunch is ready!”

“Jack it’s the Witch! She is going to eat us!” There was scuffling and then a great shaggy mane could be seen from the entrance of the girl’s hide out. “The beast has come to drag us down to be cooked. Look at his dirty paws and great big teeth. Our end has come Jack. We must escape.”

Lucy scrambled from under the hideout pulling Jack at her heals. They left in their wake a mess of collapsed sheets, blankets and chairs littering the ground. Skidding by a large sheep dog who seemed unconcerned by the events. Lucy ran smack in a tall woman walking up the stairs with same chestnut curls.

“Ahh! The Witch, The Witch, she got me!!! I’m going to sleep forever.” She promptly pretended to faint in her arms.

The woman peered closely into the little girl’s face, “I will put you into a deep sleep and eat all of your lunch.”

“No! It’s my lunch!” Lucy said as she snapped awake. She tugged on Jack, let’s go get some food.

Jack didn’t budge. He was staring at Lucy from the top of the stairs with his coal black eyes, a somber look on his face. Lucy turned to look at why Jack wasn’t following her and she screamed. In her hand a small brown paw dangled lifeless.

“Mother! Mother! Jack! His arm!” She pelted full speed to the fluffy bear sitting at the top of the stairs and cradled him in her arms.  “Don’t you worry Jack, mother can fix you right up. I won’t leave your side.” Lucy hugged him firmly. Gingerly, she led him down the stairs to where lunch and a hospital bed awaited Jack, her faithful companion.

First Day of Winter

November twenty-second, winter settled in my bones. Twigs crackled under my feet like my brittle bones in this damp chill. A cacophony of birds has taken shelter in a hodge-podge of trees. I myself had found refuge under a meek looking pine. The rain cascaded down.

Camping, came to mind. Wet pine and tree. The melting marshmallows over poping red-yellow fire. It had been a few years, but the memory was still fresh. I had seen her then.

I stood up into a puddle-turned-lake, my shoes soaked through. Socks becoming a soggy, squishy mush on my toes. The one day a year my mother would come to visit, and I was a squeaky, squashy sopping mess. I tucked my hair into my hood lifting it onto my head. Darkness settled over the city casually, extending its fingers cloud by cloud, star by star until a light dusting of blackness blanketed my way home. I hoped she would show.