This week's Indie Ink challenge came from Grace and was a link: http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/9660178280/ambedo. Check out the dictionary; it's fascinating! For the challenge, I added to the final paragraph of my antagonist description.
I looked at Grandpa sitting silently across the small table from me. “Do you want some more eggs?” I asked him.
“No.”
“More juice?”
“No. I’m fine.”
I considered him for a few moments. Grandpa’s eyes were hidden under his large, bushy, gray eyebrows. His wiry gray hair stuck out here and there; it was time for another haircut. His old brown sweater consumed him. Grandpa looked at me and smiled faintly, but I could tell this was one of his more difficult days. Grandpa was still adjusting to the changes the past year had brought him: a physical decline which necessitated the use of a wheelchair and kept him from going out of the house as often as he liked. Driving had been especially hard for him to give up. I understood completely. I treasured my independence as much as Grandpa valued his, and the thought of losing so much of it horrified me. While Grandpa and I were thankful that he had not declined much mentally, it sometimes seemed like a cruel joke of fate. He knew exactly how much he was missing out on, and on his bad days this knowledge seemed to mock him just as his thick head of hair did in the mirror, sitting atop that thin, wasted body.
Grandpa caught me staring and jerked into action, picking up his plate and rolling himself to the sink. After putting his plate in the sink he went into the living room and switched on the television. As he moved I watched the wheels of his chair spinning…spinning…in my mind’s eye the wheels continued to turn, like custom rims...flashing sunlight…abruptly reflecting, turning the light away…gathering shadows…going nowhere…circling…was this really the best situation for Grandpa? Would he be better off in a place with more people and activities to interact with? He fights adamantly against the idea of moving out of his home, the home he shared with Grandma for 37 years and in which she passed away. I’m sure he wants to die here, too. But what if he’s already dead?
Showing posts with label Indie Ink. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Indie Ink. Show all posts
Monday, September 5, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
panning for gold
Here I am again. Third time’s a charm? I hope so. My shoes are killing me. Oh no – did I remember to cut the tag off of this dress? Will I find anyone worth a second look? Hang on; who’s that?! Oh, he’s the moderator…aaand…yep - he’s married. Of course. Oh terrific – Jay’s here again. I sense a desperate need for a bathroom break coming on right about the time he reaches my table…and here we go……yikes. Does this guy dress like that all the time? What was his name again? Oh good, there’s the bell; time to meet someone new……Come again? You sell custom-made socks? And you’re wearing a pair now- oh. Okay. Yes, they look very comfortable and stylish; maybe you should take your leg off the table now…thank God, the bell……this one doesn’t look too ba- hey buddy, my eyes are up here……I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mole quite like that before…...this guy, on the other hand, should date a mirror. He’s been talking about himself for five minutes! And again the bell. Surely in this stream of testosterone flowing past me there’s at least one hunk I could take home……oh, here’s Jay…I wonder if I should get my hair cut? Maybe shoulder-length with some bangs? Molly got her hair cut like that and it’s really cute…I wonder where she had it done…maybe– what? Time’s up already? So long, Jay……EUREKA! Who’s this Adonis? And why on earth is he speed dating when he could be- wait, what? Did he just say he lives with his mother?......Haven’t I talked to this guy already?……Do I look like I’d want to play World of Warcraft with you?.…. Is it over? I guess so.
Sigh. Another bust.
This week my Indie Ink challenge, "panning for gold," came from an artist named Amy at 3 to 9 Travels. Go check her out! I challenged Mare at Destiny is Deafening with, "A stranger approaches you on the street and says, 'I had to do it; I had no choice. Help me!' Be sure to read what she makes of it!
Sigh. Another bust.
This week my Indie Ink challenge, "panning for gold," came from an artist named Amy at 3 to 9 Travels. Go check her out! I challenged Mare at Destiny is Deafening with, "A stranger approaches you on the street and says, 'I had to do it; I had no choice. Help me!' Be sure to read what she makes of it!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Battle of the Sexes
Travis looked at me. “Sarah,” he said, “please go see if there’s any coffee left.” I glared at him from the conference table and refused to budge. I was so tired of playing his games. I gave him my look, the one where I raise my left eyebrow. He stared back. I opened my mouth; I decided to let him have it this time. “Just because I’m the only-“ He cut me off. “Please don’t be insolent. You’re the newest member of this Fellowship, and that means it is your responsibility to take care of the menial tasks the rest of us don’t have time for.”
Travis was very smart. He was always reminding us of this. He loved words, and he especially loved hauling them out and holding them above us like a mother bird feeding her chicks, passing out one word at a time, believing we were not only dependent upon him for nourishment but actually reaching out and squealing for it.
I stood up. “Stop being such a jerk!” I said. “I’m not going to do your chores anymore! You said I would be an equal partner, and instead I get all the jobs no one else wants! Go get your own coffee!” At the table, the other group members looked at me in shocked silence. I didn’t care. “Can I speak to you in my office, please?” Travis said to me in a low, angry voice. “No,” I said. “You can talk to me right here. I’m sick of this boys club!”
“You asked to be part of this Fellowship,” Travis said. “We did not invite you. I thought you were smart enough to understand that I’m the leader of this group and I make the rules. You follow them.”
Now I was mad. “That’s it!” I shouted. “I’m sick of you and your Fellowship and your stupid pink bracelets!” I took mine off and threw it at him.
“They’re crimson wrist bands!” Travis screamed back. “That’s how we know who’s a member! And the Fellowship’s not stupid!”
“Well the name sure is! Why can’t you call it a club like normal people?”
“Because it’s NOT for normal people! It’s for smart people! Which means you’re not in it!”
“Well if I’m not in it then it’s a dumb club!”
“FELLOWSHIP!!!” Travis hollered. His face was the same color as his stupid crimson wrist band.
“Fellowship marshmallowship!” I said. “Quit using big words just to sound smart! You sound dumb! Get your own stupid coffee!” I said as I kicked his juice box across the gym floor. “And here’s your MAIL,” I threw a pile of worksheets at him, “and HERE’S. YOUR. PHONE!” I threw a beanbag at his head, but missed.
Travis pointed at me and laughed. “You throw like a girl!” he said.
“You smell like a boy!” I shot back as I threw another beanbag.
Travis jumped. “You capricious little gnat!“ he said. “YOU were the one begging to be a part of this cl- I mean, Fellowship!”
“Ha!” I crowed. “You’re so gross even YOU don’t know what you are!”
“Take that back!”
“Make me!”
Mr. Watterson, our teacher, began walking quickly across the crowded school gym toward us. I knew he was going to ask Travis to “illuminate” our “conflict” for him. He always talked with Travis like that. Sometimes it sounded like they were speaking in code, and thinking about that made me madder.
“I QUIT!” I yelled before Mr. W. reached us.
“Good!” Travis yelled back. “You were right! It WAS because you were the only girl that I made you do all those things! Because I knew you weren’t smart enough to be a partner!”
“I AM TOO!” I screamed. I turned around and stomped all the way over to an empty corner and slammed myself down on the gym floor. Boys were so stupid. And I hated indoor recess.
My challenge this week came from Maren at http://supermaren.com/. Maren is a mezzo-soprano and one of Indie Ink's hosts! The challenge: "Use the following words in a story: crimson, fellowship, capricious, illuminate." Check out Indie Ink for more information about the challenge. Here are the other challengers' posts:
Travis was very smart. He was always reminding us of this. He loved words, and he especially loved hauling them out and holding them above us like a mother bird feeding her chicks, passing out one word at a time, believing we were not only dependent upon him for nourishment but actually reaching out and squealing for it.
I stood up. “Stop being such a jerk!” I said. “I’m not going to do your chores anymore! You said I would be an equal partner, and instead I get all the jobs no one else wants! Go get your own coffee!” At the table, the other group members looked at me in shocked silence. I didn’t care. “Can I speak to you in my office, please?” Travis said to me in a low, angry voice. “No,” I said. “You can talk to me right here. I’m sick of this boys club!”
“You asked to be part of this Fellowship,” Travis said. “We did not invite you. I thought you were smart enough to understand that I’m the leader of this group and I make the rules. You follow them.”
Now I was mad. “That’s it!” I shouted. “I’m sick of you and your Fellowship and your stupid pink bracelets!” I took mine off and threw it at him.
“They’re crimson wrist bands!” Travis screamed back. “That’s how we know who’s a member! And the Fellowship’s not stupid!”
“Well the name sure is! Why can’t you call it a club like normal people?”
“Because it’s NOT for normal people! It’s for smart people! Which means you’re not in it!”
“Well if I’m not in it then it’s a dumb club!”
“FELLOWSHIP!!!” Travis hollered. His face was the same color as his stupid crimson wrist band.
“Fellowship marshmallowship!” I said. “Quit using big words just to sound smart! You sound dumb! Get your own stupid coffee!” I said as I kicked his juice box across the gym floor. “And here’s your MAIL,” I threw a pile of worksheets at him, “and HERE’S. YOUR. PHONE!” I threw a beanbag at his head, but missed.
Travis pointed at me and laughed. “You throw like a girl!” he said.
“You smell like a boy!” I shot back as I threw another beanbag.
Travis jumped. “You capricious little gnat!“ he said. “YOU were the one begging to be a part of this cl- I mean, Fellowship!”
“Ha!” I crowed. “You’re so gross even YOU don’t know what you are!”
“Take that back!”
“Make me!”
Mr. Watterson, our teacher, began walking quickly across the crowded school gym toward us. I knew he was going to ask Travis to “illuminate” our “conflict” for him. He always talked with Travis like that. Sometimes it sounded like they were speaking in code, and thinking about that made me madder.
“I QUIT!” I yelled before Mr. W. reached us.
“Good!” Travis yelled back. “You were right! It WAS because you were the only girl that I made you do all those things! Because I knew you weren’t smart enough to be a partner!”
“I AM TOO!” I screamed. I turned around and stomped all the way over to an empty corner and slammed myself down on the gym floor. Boys were so stupid. And I hated indoor recess.
- A Lil Irish Lass challenges Amy: The Hands That Bind
- alyssa ammirato challenges Illogical Being: Junior & Me
- Amy challenges Head Ant: Bullied
- Barb Black challenges Jason Hughes: Four Horsemen, Three Gods, a Transgendered Devil, and Lazarus Under a Pear Tree…
- Binaryfootprint challenges A Lil Irish Lass: Glitter
- Blackbird challenges Dee: All That We Are
- Bran challenges Cope: Certainly the End of Something or Another
- Cope challenges Joelyn: It is Madness I Say
- D. R. Rux challenges transplantedx3: Faded Dreams
- Dafeenah challenges Mare: vengeance or justice or whatever
- Dee challenges K. Syrah: I’d Go Sailing
- Dili challenges Sir: Rain
- Disease challenges Random Girl: Hanging By A Moment
- FlamingNyx challenges Katri: The Mother City
- Head Ant challenges Mean Girl Garage: The Dinner Party
- Illogical Being challenges D. R. Rux: Idiots Amongst Us
- Jan challenges Blackbird: Mind Adventure Soundtrack
- Jason Hughes challenges Binaryfootprint: Hello Darkness My Old Friend
- Joelyn challenges Bran: Seriously, what the hell was I thinking?
- K. Syrah challenges melissa: Indie Ink Challenge
- Karla V challenges Disease: 7th Heaven
- Katri challenges Seeking Elevation: Indie Ink Writing Challenge
- Kerri challenges myplaidpants: Ordinary
- Lazidaisical challenges Jan: Ring
- Manju Vijayakumar challenges Karla V: The Witch
- Mare challenges FlamingNyx: Balance
- Mean Girl Garage challenges Tobie: Meanwhile In An Alternate Universe
- melissa challenges alyssa ammirato: Breaking Bread
- Michael Webb challenges Lazidaisical: Scraps
- Miranda @ My Eclectic Book challenges Tara Roberts: Better Now
- myplaidpants challenges Michael Webb: Young
- Random Girl challenges Sid: Indie Ink Challenge Week 2
- Runaway Sentence challenges Dili: Independence Day
- Seeking Elevation challenges xtinabosco: Grampa’s Memory
- Sid challenges Barb Black: Blank Canvas
- Sir challenges Runaway Sentence: Trouble & Woe
- Sunshine challenges Miranda @ My Eclectic Book: Wish Come True
- Supermaren challenges Kerri: Battle of the Sexes
- Tara Roberts challenges Sunshine: Hello Indie Ink Challenge Time Again
- Tobie challenges Dafeenah: Apocalypse
- transplantedx3 challenges Manju Vijayakumar: Why I Hated Mickey Mouse
- Wendryn challenges Supermaren: Creation
- xtinabosco challenges Wendryn: A New Breed
Monday, May 16, 2011
my god, my god...
One night last week I couldn't sleep and decided to skip around the net to see what I could see. I discovered the Indie Ink Writing Challenge. "Hmm," I thought, "This looks interesting. Participants pass around writing prompts and use the prompt they receive in a blog post that week. That sounds like fun." (Yes, that is how clearly I think in the middle of the night; why do you ask?) And, as I often do at that time of day, I signed up first and read more about the challenge second. "Oh crap. These people don't fool around. There's some really good stuff here." And so I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers, and prayed my prompt would be something like, "Once upon a time...." Instead, I got this from Random Girl:
"You lost your faith. How is life different now?"
Wow. So much for splashing around in the shallow end!
A loss of faith would be a loss of Love more than a loss of belief for me. Or a loss of the ability to sense that Love in any way. Without my faith I would have an indescribable ache, a terrible longing for God. Fear, confusion, and anger would be present at different times. But in the midst of this dark night of the senses or the soul I would choose to believe regardless of how I felt or what I understood. I have made that choice a number of times in the midst of depression. That choice does not make living a life without Love, or a sense of Love, any easier, though. Life would often be hell. But, when I had the strength, I would pursue God as relentlessly as he pursues me.
I've been writing notes and thinking about this for 24 hours, and I can already tell you it won't be done by the deadline Thursday evening. There is something more going on here.
In Clinging: The Experience of Prayer, Emilie Griffin writes: "C. S. Lewis wrote of a practice...that he called festooning. Festooning, Lewis explained, was taking a familiar prayer, such as the Lord's prayer, and elaborating it, adding one's own intentions on at various points in the prayer until this elaboration became a ritual unto itself."
I wrote and scrapped a few rough drafts before it dawned on me that a song I've been drawn to recently fits well with my evolving response to this prompt. As I read the lyrics of this song, several related things come to me: a book mentioned by a friend last week, a book that friend recommended to me 20 years ago, Psalm 22, The Song of Songs, the gospels, a book titled Clinging, a favorite book since childhood, and "Christmas Canon" by Trans-Siberian Orchestra (TSO). I am in the midst of weaving all of these things together before festooning it with my own thoughts, which I'm not fully aware of yet. And I will probably choose not to share those thoughts here. There are some things revealed in secret that are meant to be kept secret. But here is what I've processed to this point:
"Wuthering Heights" Kate Bush
Out on the wiley, windy moors
we'd roll and fall in green (your love is more delightful than wine)
You had a temper, like my jealousy
too hot, too greedy
How could you leave me (I looked for him but did not find him)
When I needed to possess you? (He's wild, you know. Not like a tame lion.)
I hated you, I loved you too (my God, I call by day but you do not answer,)
Bad dreams in the night (I call at night but I find no respite)
They told me I was going to lose the fight (all who see me jeer at me)
Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering (the Spirit blows where it pleases;)
Wuthering Heights (you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going)
Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, I've come home (my God, my God)
I'm so cold, let me in your window (do not remain aloof!)
Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, I've come home (my God, my God)
I'm so cold, let me in your window (do not remain aloof!)
Oh it gets dark, it gets lonely (my God! my God!)
On the other side from you (why have you forsaken me?)
I pine a lot, I find the lot (All night long on my bed I looked for the one my heart loves)
Falls through without you (I looked for him but did not find him)
I'm coming back love, cruel Heathcliff (before I knew it, my desire had hurled me at the chariots)
My one dream, my only master (in him I live and move and have my being)
Too long I roam in the night (all night long...I looked for the one my heart loves)
I'm coming back to his side to put it right (I shall seek my love)
I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering (Awake, north wind,)
Wuthering Heights (and come, south wind!)
Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, I've come home
I'm so cold, let me in your window
Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, I've come home
I'm so cold, let me in your window
Oh let me have it, let me grab your soul away (I held him fast, nor would I let him go)
Oh let me have it, let me grab your soul away
You know it's me, Cathy
From the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour. And about the ninth hour, Jesus cried out in a loud voice..."My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
Jesus, why have you forsaken me?
Vincent Van Gogh:
"'The Roots' shows some tree roots on sandy ground....I tried to put sentiment into the landscape...the convulsive, passionate clinging to the earth, and yet being half torn up by the storm, I wanted to express something of the struggle for life...in the black, gnarled and knotty roots."
Madeleine L'Engle, The Weather of the Heart:
You're supposed to do the knocking. Why do you burst my heart?...
Dear God
is it too much to ask you
to bother to be?
And suddenly, the veil of the Sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom, the earth quaked, the rocks were split...(Jesus' body was taken to a tomb). Meanwhile the women who had come from Galilee with Jesus were following behind. They took note of the tomb and how the body had been laid. Then they returned...and on the Sabbath day (the next day) they rested, as the Law required.
I slept but my heart was awake...
...he has fulfilled it.
"You lost your faith. How is life different now?"
Wow. So much for splashing around in the shallow end!
A loss of faith would be a loss of Love more than a loss of belief for me. Or a loss of the ability to sense that Love in any way. Without my faith I would have an indescribable ache, a terrible longing for God. Fear, confusion, and anger would be present at different times. But in the midst of this dark night of the senses or the soul I would choose to believe regardless of how I felt or what I understood. I have made that choice a number of times in the midst of depression. That choice does not make living a life without Love, or a sense of Love, any easier, though. Life would often be hell. But, when I had the strength, I would pursue God as relentlessly as he pursues me.
"Woman Weeping"
Vincent Van Gogh
I've been writing notes and thinking about this for 24 hours, and I can already tell you it won't be done by the deadline Thursday evening. There is something more going on here.
In Clinging: The Experience of Prayer, Emilie Griffin writes: "C. S. Lewis wrote of a practice...that he called festooning. Festooning, Lewis explained, was taking a familiar prayer, such as the Lord's prayer, and elaborating it, adding one's own intentions on at various points in the prayer until this elaboration became a ritual unto itself."
I wrote and scrapped a few rough drafts before it dawned on me that a song I've been drawn to recently fits well with my evolving response to this prompt. As I read the lyrics of this song, several related things come to me: a book mentioned by a friend last week, a book that friend recommended to me 20 years ago, Psalm 22, The Song of Songs, the gospels, a book titled Clinging, a favorite book since childhood, and "Christmas Canon" by Trans-Siberian Orchestra (TSO). I am in the midst of weaving all of these things together before festooning it with my own thoughts, which I'm not fully aware of yet. And I will probably choose not to share those thoughts here. There are some things revealed in secret that are meant to be kept secret. But here is what I've processed to this point:
"Wuthering Heights" Kate Bush
Out on the wiley, windy moors
we'd roll and fall in green (your love is more delightful than wine)
You had a temper, like my jealousy
too hot, too greedy
How could you leave me (I looked for him but did not find him)
When I needed to possess you? (He's wild, you know. Not like a tame lion.)
I hated you, I loved you too (my God, I call by day but you do not answer,)
Bad dreams in the night (I call at night but I find no respite)
They told me I was going to lose the fight (all who see me jeer at me)
Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering (the Spirit blows where it pleases;)
Wuthering Heights (you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going)
Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, I've come home (my God, my God)
I'm so cold, let me in your window (do not remain aloof!)
Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, I've come home (my God, my God)
I'm so cold, let me in your window (do not remain aloof!)
Oh it gets dark, it gets lonely (my God! my God!)
On the other side from you (why have you forsaken me?)
I pine a lot, I find the lot (All night long on my bed I looked for the one my heart loves)
Falls through without you (I looked for him but did not find him)
I'm coming back love, cruel Heathcliff (before I knew it, my desire had hurled me at the chariots)
My one dream, my only master (in him I live and move and have my being)
Too long I roam in the night (all night long...I looked for the one my heart loves)
I'm coming back to his side to put it right (I shall seek my love)
I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering (Awake, north wind,)
Wuthering Heights (and come, south wind!)
Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, I've come home
I'm so cold, let me in your window
Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy, I've come home
I'm so cold, let me in your window
Oh let me have it, let me grab your soul away (I held him fast, nor would I let him go)
Oh let me have it, let me grab your soul away
You know it's me, Cathy
From the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour. And about the ninth hour, Jesus cried out in a loud voice..."My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
"Three Crosses"
Rembrandt
Jesus, why have you forsaken me?
Vincent Van Gogh:
"'The Roots' shows some tree roots on sandy ground....I tried to put sentiment into the landscape...the convulsive, passionate clinging to the earth, and yet being half torn up by the storm, I wanted to express something of the struggle for life...in the black, gnarled and knotty roots."
Madeleine L'Engle, The Weather of the Heart:
You're supposed to do the knocking. Why do you burst my heart?...
Dear God
is it too much to ask you
to bother to be?
"We are waiting; we have not forgotten..."
"Christmas Canon," TSO
"Reach"
Robert Hodgell
(How it ends):
I slept but my heart was awake...
"Three Trees"
Rembrandt
...he has fulfilled it.
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