The Path of Continues On

There are certain experiences that provide you with perspective. Then there are still more that provide you with a wall to crash headlong into and then figure out if you've learned anything yet. No perspective that's immediately discernible. Well, that is unless you count the throbbing headache you've got when it's all said and done. 

There also seems to be a decent amount of irony that comes with life. I know, you're probably thinking 'well no sh*t Sherlock, where are you going with this?' Follow me for a moment. 

Within the last two weeks, I've had some personal revelations and some global tragedies effect my life and the lives of my family members. There is nothing that provides you with more needed perspective than having your security questioned and your life thrown so far off track, you can't see the damned thing anymore.

There was no warning. There were no flashing lights or signals. 

The last two weeks have changed me. I've cried openly, I have believed that there is good in strangers, I couldn't take it anymore, and I carried on. I've lost an amazing friend to unnecessary events. My sense security has been compromised. But I carry on. 

The situations have also taught me a lot about myself as well. My capacity to care, my limitations, and my ability to recover. 

I can breathe again. Maybe not easily just yet, but I did pause in the fresh air and simply appreciate that act. 

I will carry on. 

For those of you that do read me regularly, I will be picking my schedule back up this week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday will be new blogs. I will spend the interim building up my reserves of fiction and getting back to the 'me' that I used to know. 

With hope, 

Jessi

Purgatorio-io-io

The door clicked open to a grey room, awash in the less than pleasant feelings of uncertainty and doubt. The winds were fierce but still unable to move anything around them. Stagnation took hold of everything that entered here and held firmly to them without a care as to why they were there. Seraphina took a deep breath and walked forward into the fog. People wandered to and fro not really making any sort of effort to get anywhere. Others remained in one spot watching an invisible television with all the memories of their life playing before them, twisted by time and the unreliable memory of those long gone from the material. Sera looked down at the file in her hand.

“Illiah Skylark” she said softly pulling the first paper aside to reveal a photo of the girl 20 minutes prior to her untimely death. She was pretty in a kind, gentle, unassuming manner. Hopefully this one would be easy to find. Looking up from her paperwork, the cherub frowned.  Most of the souls before her were fading into the background of the realm. Not everyone that was here was necessarily bad or good. Sera pushed a curl aside and looked about once more before taking a step forward. She walked quickly and quietly through the crowds of people, hunters instincts taking over. It was coming back to her more quickly than she had expected. To tell the truth, it had been 50 years since she had done this. She expected that all that time to make a difference in her abilities but, this… this was good. Maybe she wouldn’t return to the material yet. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. She stopped and looked towards the horizon. A woman, shorter than most, was walking towards her. She glanced down at the picture in the dossier and nodded.

“Illiah?”

“Yes?”

“Hi. My name is Seraphina.”

“Are you hear to bring me to heaven?”

Seraphina shifted uncomfortably. “No… I’m from the soul reassignment bureau. We’re bringing you back to life.” She smiled, hoping that’s all she would want to know right now.

“How long has it been since I died?”

“According to your file, 40 years. “ Sera said sifting through the papers in the file. “Why don’t we head back to the bureau and we’ll begin the process of acclimation to the material and you’ll get to know the persons life you’re stepping into.”

“I’m not being born?” Illiah frowned and sat down on the materializing chair. She looked up towards the newcomer with doubt and fear. She had wanted to go back. The material was a world she could remember fondly. The fear was deep seated from her death. The man that had killed her remained in the forefront of her mind. The material is where he was. 40 years though. Maybe he was dead? She had watched the trial as a ghost, wandering around the court room but he went free. There wasn’t enough evidence to hold him…

It was a cold stereotypical day in the northwest: rainy, cloudy, dark and dismal. The court would assemble in a little over an hour. Illiah paced up and down the streets of in front of Hope Point Court House waiting. ‘I’m dead, I’m dead, they can’t see me. I should get closer. Maybe they’ll have pulled up…’

Illiah ran towards the courthouse just as the frenzy of media coverage got there and began flashing their cameras  at the lawyers and the defendant. She pushed through the crowd easily enough(simply phased through) and saw her husband for the first time in nearly a week. He looked different. She remembered him as caring and, right up to the point where he strangled her. Her hand went to her throat, trying to protect herself from the feeling of suffocation again. The man who had loved her, now looked towards the doors of the court house, failing to hide his satisfaction with the situation. It had been nearly 2 months of trials and deliberations, upon whether or not he was guilty of the strangling death of his beloved wife. He had cried on several occasions in front of the jurors claiming to miss her terribly. Each time he tried, Illiah screamed to no avail. For a brief moment her ghostly wails were strong enough that it sent a chill through the courtroom, causing all assembled to question; for a moment, his sincerity that day. Illiah was sure she was wasting away watching these proceedings. Every day she left the courthouse sure that the next day they would bring in more people to testify against him, yet everyday she was let down by the prosecution’s lack of evidence. It wore away last nerves and today… today she was sure he would be sent to jail or set free.

“All rise” The judge, jury and parties were seated and the jury was sent into deliberations. A little over an hour later, the jurors re-emerged looking solemn. Illiah waited with baited breath for their decision. 

“We the jury find Richard Skylark, innocent on the charges of murder in the first degree.”

            Richard looked at his lawyers and smile, patting one on the back on the way out. He walked past his wife’s ghost, and out the doors into his new found freedom. Illiah would never forget the look on his face. Never.

            Sera looked at Illiah who seemed to be in a trance like state, similar to all the other souls surrounding them at the moment. ‘What is it like group remembrance time or something?’ she thought gathering the strength to try to pull Illiah out of it. Her face had contorted into an angry snarl, and her entire body had tensed up in the chair. Sera was actually scared of pulling her from whatever memory it was that was causing her to be this upset.

            “Umm….. Illiah?” No response. “Illiah…Illiah!” She raised her voice to a sterner tone, taking the girls hand in hers and squeezing.

            “What?” Illiah blinked a few times and shuddered remembering where she was again. It was always hard coming back from the dream like state of remembrance.  She looked about frantically, half expecting to see her husband standing in front of her.


             "I'll kill him."

A Time for...

I opened a button on the top of my starched white button down. Sitting on the steps of the funeral home, I starred silently past the floods of people wafting in and out. I had no idea who they were but it didn't matter. They didn't know me, either. I pulled a long, thin, black cigarette from a pack in my purse and lit it, inhaling deeply. The sugary sweet puffs of smoke passed over my lips and seemed a welcome, minor relief in the sea of death and condolences that was washing over my reality. I cracked my neck and finished the cigarette, putting it out and waiting until it was cool enough to pocket. Non-smoking areas tend to frown on cigarette butts on the lawn. I stood there for a moment, starring at the door.

I could go back in. I guess that's what I should do. Go in and tell her 'I'm sorry' for the 700^th time of the night. Hug her, tell her everything is going to be ok. It won't. It never is, though it never was either.

I could turn around and walk to the car. What would I do? Drive. Drive all the way back to work, back to an empty house, or back to somewhere I haven't discovered yet, but will feel familiar. I could go to the ocean. But then again... nah. Too cold.

I could stand here. Not doing anything but greeting people with sad smiles and empty welcomes. I wouldn't have to go back in until they began to close out for the night...

I sigh instead of any of the alternatives. I'm so tired. I pull another cigarette out, lighting it. The habit hasn't been easy on my lungs but damned if it didn't give me a minute or two to breathe during situations like this. I smile, uneasy at a couple people leaving the funeral home. One older woman stops and stares. I stare right back. Neither of us are sure what to say, but we both know that somehow it wouldn't be enough anyway.

“Were you close to her?”

“No. I'm here for her mother.”

“Ah... Thank you.”

“It's not enough, but we all do what we can.” I say softly. My words trailing off as I stare at the ground. I can't hold her gaze any longer. Her eyes speak to the sadness of loss too easily. I took a deep breath and a drag of the cigarette, hoping the ensuing silence would send her on her way. I look back up and she's smiling softly,. Her own eyes cast downward. She's fragile. That much you can tell. Brown hair with silver streaks, beginning to creep through. The black she's clad in seems to engulf her, much like the rest of us.

“You're young. I hope you never have to do this.” She says, her voice is soft but knowing. I nod, taking another drag from the cigarette. I walk forward, unannounced and hug her, arms wrapping around her shoulders. I don't know her, but she needs a hug. That much you can tell. Her shoulders shake breifly and she hugs me back, albeit a bit weakly. I smile and take a deep breath as I step back, hoping it id something. She smiles, albeit a bit weakly. Her husband takes her hand, smiles politely to me and she crumbles into a puddle of tears. I frown. This would be the pattern if I remain out here...

Time to go back inside...  

Between Genius and... Genius! A response to Goggles and Lace's Writing Prompt

“You're kidding right?” I growled into the communicator and shook my head, wavinga hand at one of the gremlins about my lab. He was holding some sort of paperwork, but quite frankly, I didn't care. This investor bullshit is not for me. “Fine. We'll have a prototype up and running within the next couple of weeks. I'll need more... Yes. Send a shipment ASAP. And not ASAP as in 'as soon as you please'. The traditional version of the acronym will do just fine.” I hung up before more demands could be made of me. I appreciate rich idiots like one enjoys ditzy blond play things. As long as they're sitting looking pretty and not speaking, it's 'all good in the hood'. I sighed and ran a hand through my ever increasingly longer hair. I should get a hair cut...

“Master!” I sighed. These little genetic manipulated mutations might have been a mistake...

“What?!” I snapped, squeezing the bridge of my nose. I was told once it fights oncoming headaches. Whoever said that was a fucking liar. The gremlin coughed and stood as straight as it could in front of me, thrusting paperwork at my free hand. I took it, bringing the yellowing papers up to my face for a closer look. It was plans... Plans I hadn't drawn up. I adjusted my goggles and peered closer at the papers.

“I made a few adjustments... With Mistress Annie's help...” His voice was raspy and sounded like that of an overworked child. High pitched and seeking approval while having this annoying undertone of whine that shot through me like nails on a... well you get my point.

“Ahh.. Annie was here today was she?” That girl was becoming too smart for her own good. I always advocated killing the girl. But no! Now she was attached to me.

I grumbled as I walked over to the wall of switches and levers. I left the decoy wall there for funsies. Felt like every mad scientist lab should have one, and what the hell, the gremlins love it. A mirror hung at eye level off of a piece of rawhide. I checked it thoughtfully, needing a moment to inspect myself before heading upstairs. Adopted child or not, she tended to be upset when I came upstairs looking like I haven't slept in 3 days... or had it been 4? Who knew at this point. The sun doesn't reach down here anyway. My eyes looked sunken in and closer to black then my dark brown eyes ever should. Pale. Sickly, she'd say. Healthy, I'd argue as always. No chance of skin cancer in the dark. Should tie my hair back. I stretched out my hand and a gremlin deposited a brush with a piece of string on the end. Perfect.

“Thank you Cedric.”

“Eyown, master.” I looked down and it was in fact. Cedric was taller. Less heavy around the middle. Also less likely to snap at a moments notice. I nodded.

“Apologies Eyown. Cedric was just right here.”

“ 'E got hungry. Went out to yard to catch dinner.” I chuckled as I tied my hair back.

“Very well. You should eat too. Go run along. I'll be back after I take care of Annie.” He nodded and galloped off towards the gate. That's two.. where was... Ah. I looked in the mirror more carefully at the pipes that led to the generator. Hanging upside down was the tallest of the bizarre little creatures, sound asleep. I nodded and stepped to the side, pulling the one functional lever on the wall, revealing my lift. It was a solid piece of steel with only two levers. One to go up, and one to go down. And it only went between my lab and the false fireplace in my bedroom. I took the lift, looking around the lab once more for good measure. Two of them outside and one snoring. And nothing out of place. Good enough to stop for dinner.

I opened the door to my chamber to see Annie, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Father.” Her voice was as flat as her stare. Over the glasses, and stern. I sighed and brought a smile to my lips.

“Yes, dear. How was school today?” I walked over and hugged her gently, though there was no physical response from her.

“I didn't go.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I already know everything they can teach me. I showed Mrs. Boudain how to correct her nuclear fission equations. She's kinda dumb.” I had to chuckle. Mrs. Boudain had invented half those equations, and the other half she stole from her late husband. She never could get those ironed out quite right. It was at that point she had turned to villanry, deciding that if her late husband, Mr. Theodias Boudain was dumb enough to get himself killed saving the world, she'd better be on the side that lived longer. Villanry it was. “Why do I have to go?” Her voice cut through my thoughts and I stopped looking down at the 12 year old.

“Because I said so.” The fall back answer for every lame parent there ever was. I was quickly becoming one of those.

“Seriously? How about a real reason?” She blew her bangs out of her freckled face as the took to the marble banister, sliding down expertly. I walked quietly down he stairs starring at her while I thought.

“Because. You could be the smartest little child there ever was, the strongest little girl, or the most evil, however, you can still learn a thing or two about humanity within those walls.” I raised a brow, pulling a small pair of spectacles out of my pocket, and replacing my goggles with them. She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, letting her shoulders fall in an overly dramatic fashion.

“Humans suck” She said slouching further as she crossed her arms.

“That may be true Miss Annie, but that's not up for debate. You're going to school tomorrow, even if I have to have Cedric bring you.” She wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out. “Then it's settled.” The door gong sounded, a series of smaller bells going off through the hallway. “Go set the table, I need to answer this.” I had been expecting someone. Annie frowned and nodded, slumping off towards the dining room. I turned, footsteps echoing down the ornate hallway. I should invest in carpeting... though I feel I come to that conclusion every time I walk the halls. I pulled a lever by the door and stood, watching it swing open slowly. A woman stood before me, leaning against the doorway, holding her side. A slight smirk graced her features as she stepped through the door way, dropping her pack. She was a tall girl, blond hair and striking blue eyes, but that wasn't why she was interesting to me. She opened her pack, wordlessly handing me a couple of brass keys on a chain. From that very same pack came a brass box.

“Good.” I smiled and took the box under my arm, turning to head back to the dining room. “Clean up upstairs. Dinner will be ready in five minutes.” I heard a soft whimper. I turned, eyes set ina glare over my glasses. She stood up as straight as she could and nodded. I turned and continued my trek.

“Was that Anya?? What'd she bring you?? Is it that? What's in the box?” The child's eyes and ears missed nothing, a wonderful and also wholly loath-able attribute. She pried at my arm in an attempt to release the box from it. I shook my head and slapped her hands lightly.

“I thought you outgrew this stage years ago.” I muttered and placed the box down on the table, sitting in front of it. It wasn't ticking, so the mechanism was deactivated. A plus. The keys in my hand fit into two locks on the box perfectly. The lid popped open with a soft hiss. Annie jumped behind me and looked over my shoulder as I pulled the piston from within it. Small, much smaller than the box itself, but none the less the part I needed. There was some miscellaneous crud in there as well, including a few specialty bolts for the dragon automaton I was tinkering with in my spare time.

Anya reappeared, now dressed more formally, bandages wrapped tightly around her waist and ribs. She smiled softly at Annie, who ran to her and hugged her, a bit too tightly. Anya gasped and Annie froze. “I'm sooooo sorry Anya!” She signed quickly as well as said it, backing off, a bit surprised. Anya nodded and patted her on the head signing “It'll be alright little one.” She bowed her head to me and sat down.

One of the help appeared around the corner and brought a tray with three meals piping hot on them. He was the only one that could cook around here. Might as well make use of it.

“Let's eat.” I smiled to the girls. For that one moment, life seemed normal. Projects underway, deadlines to fulfill, a girl set straight again, and one recovering from a successful mission. Sometimes it's good to be evil.  

Inkwell Recap for 8/01/2011 : A Guest Speaker

Good Monday All!

Hello and welcome to the first Inkwell Recap in a .. month or so. That's partially my fault, with being completely and utterly creatively exhausted with my attempts at the first attempt at Camp NaNo eating up all that my muse could offer, and it wasn't enough. That is to say, my first months' attempt failed completely and utterly. That however is neither here nor there. This is about what went down at Inkwell tonight.

Zack, one of our younger members, and easily one of the more talented, offered his views on the writing process and his helpful tips, along with the writing exercise I'll provide you with at the bottom of this entry. His advice was insightful and above all gave all the writers permission to suck. Look, this isn't new advice, but to someone, somewhere it's actually fairly radical. The ability to let yourself suck in order to get your first draft out is something that not a lot of writers allow, or even let themselves do. Below is the video to the Vlog Brothers entry by Maureen Johnson, a well known author in the YA Genre.



In addition to this bit of insight, he offered a writing challenge that has been deemed one of the hardest to do given the subject matter and the delicacy with which it has to be handled. With that being said, I leave you with the classic T.S. Eliot/John Gardner writing prompt.

This exercise is quite possibly the most difficult, demanding and important exercise a writer can ever do. The poet and critic, T. S. Eliot, coined the phrase “objective correlative” to designate what he believed was the most important element in writing: Rendering the description of an object so that the emotional state of the character from whose point of view we receive the description is revealed WITHOUT ever telling the reader what that emotional state is or what has motivated it.

The late John Gardner, recognized in his lifetime as the leading creative writing teacher in the United States, developed the following exercise for students:

A middle-age man is waiting at a bus stop. He has just learned that his son has died violently. Describe the setting from the man’s point of view WITHOUT telling your reader what has happened. How will the street look to this man? What are the sounds? Odors? Colors? That this man will notice? What will his clothes feel like? Write a 250 word description

Respond with your flash fiction in the comments section if you feel so compelled. This was my response.

I sat, cell phone dropping from my hands in perceived slow motion. I had no strength. Nothing left within me to propel me forward; to get me to care about what was going on. The air was silent and the music that played a continuous theme to my life seemed to come crashing to a halt, jumbled up behind the last sentence I had heard. A screech filled the deadened air and I looked up, seeing a bus pull towards the curb. I glanced to my side at the man sitting with me on the bench. He was saying something. What I couldn’t tell, but from the lip movement, he seemed to be asking if I was ok. I shook my head; in a sort of gesture I could hear him. His ragged gloves hand, gripped my shoulder and I looked to where the cell phone had fallen. I went to go pick it up and someone handed it to me, their cool blue eyes meeting my own. All at once, the noises of the day to day world came rushing back. The cars, the voices of the people around me, and my wife’s voice on the other end of the cell phone, seeing if I was still there. It had started off like any other day, and now the world seemed to have settled into cooler shades of black and grey. The concrete seemed darker, and the bus that pulled up in front of the stop wasn’t its normal vibrant blue. The sour smells of the city, seemed more pungent. The sky had clouded over, shadowing all that surrounded, as if to echo my mood. The whoosh of the doors to the bus opened with a gust of air, blowing what was left of my hair backwards.

“All aboard, last stop approaching” The shock of the moment seemed to wear off and in that moment I simply cried. Collapsed onto the bench and cried. This street would be forever changed.

Written in the Stars

We sit quietly on the edge of the porch watching the stars twinkle in the distance. I look over and you're smiling, softly, to yourself, what's going through your head I don't know. It doesn't matter for once. I let my fingers slide to your hand and squeeze gently, just reminding you I'm there. The stars the sparkle down at us, showing us the future in their cryptic flashes of light. I just want to know what it's like to be out there.

I let out a long breath and smile, feeling the warmth in my heart growing, encompassing my chest. I feel an arm drape over my shoulders and pull me close. My head rolls to the side, looking at you, letting your deep blue eyes search through me. I don't know what they find, your gaze is still a mystery to me. I feel like it's one of those things that won't ever change, regardless of how long I know you. You lean forward closer and capture my lips in a soft kiss, causing a smile to; once again, erupt on my face. I return the kiss and pull back just far enough to rest my head on your shoulder. I want to tell you how amazing it is, that someone could make me smile again, like that. My smile betrays me, as I don't even notice it happening again. We haven't spoken in a few minutes, but so much has been said in that silence.

The clouds pass and I pull myself closer, snuggling into your shoulder, wrapping my arms around you. I don't want this moment to end. It's amazing to find someone you have so much in common with. The universe is funny that way. From a chance meeting, you can find someone that simply makes you smile every time you're with them. So far so good. I'm still smiling, and in my mind this moment will remain as perfect as I've seen it.

It's these little moments of serenity that get me through. I know we parted on a bad note, but... I just want you to know that I love you, Eijin. I'm joining up with an experimental program. Hopefully it will help bring you home. If not, then I'll die trying to get to you.

From your love,
Aurona

P.S. If you're reading this, then I have you back. If not... I'm still searching. Soon. Soon you'll read this. I promised myself that.

Another Piece of My Camp Project : In the Invasion

Outside the office building and the buildings of all the domed harbor city, the world had turned a murky gray green color. Ships hovered over the domes and the regal looking aliens took stock of the city. So many ships clouded the skies over the world that no one could see the stars as they approached at night. Aurona awoke to the unsettling sounds of concrete crumbling. She managed to stand though wobbly in her efforts. Her legs seemed to be collapsing beneath her... She looked around. Craig, the man with the red framed glasses was coming to, as she felt the building shift.

"Shit... Craig!" She lurched forward to grab him and reached for his hand. "Come on... We have to get out of here." Craig's head lolled to the side and came back around, focusing on Aurona.
"Aurona..." He said questioningly, his eyes forcing their own focus back. His glasses were missing, somewhere. He frowned and reached up for where Aurona's hand should have been. Aurona grabbed him and pulled him up, looking out the window. Not an option. She turned towards the stair well and pulled the still recovering man after her.

"Let's go!" She yelled, her own heart beginning to ran as they ran through the smoke filled building. Her body took over in adrenaline rush and took the stairs. Just a little more. Just a little more... she convinced herself and booked it out of the building, still dragging the six foot tall man behind her. She ran to the parking lot across the street and collapsed in the open area, taking a moment to catch her breath. Craig collapsed, throwing up about four feet away. His stomach was still not with him. She frowned, trying to hold her own bile back. "Stop it..." She groaned and managed to at last up looking at the building. The building she'd come to call a second home was now crumbling in front of her. The building was burning , chunks of it falling away at a time. Her hands went to her forehead as she forced herself to try to figure everything out. The sad truth was that none of it made any sense. She figured it never would either. She smiled, not knowing what else to do. She pulled her ell phone from her pocket and dialed her apartment. Craig was starting to come to, to the fullest extent of the word. His head was reeling and the nausea was beginning to clear up. His head started to settle, and the pain,... oh god the pain. He sat up and looked around, seeing Aurona sitting there, rapid fire typing numbers into her phone.

"Dammit."

"Aurona..."

"DAMMIT!" Aurona threw the phone and pulled herself up, going after it defeated at the childish outburst. "We have to get to my apartment."

"Don't you think there are more important things to get to... Oh... Eijin." He sighed and followed the raging little woman down the street. It was near two miles to her apartment but she wasn't showing any signs of stopping or even slowing down. Craig frowned and followed her. What the hell else was he going to do? He pulled out his own cell phone and started to dial to his own apartment, and then stopped realizing that the only one at his apartment was his cat. Time to call Mom... now if only he could see the numbers...

Aurona's brow furrowed and she squinted, forcing the oncoming tears away. She had to make sure Eijin was OK. Just make sure she was OK. Just be able to hold her. She took a deep breath and continued, looking behind her briefly to see if Craig was following or not. It really didn't matter to her, honestly. He was however, talking to someone on the phone. His own eyes looked flooded with tears. She turned away and started to run, she wouldn't be able to get there fast enough otherwise. She coughed after a minute or two and had to stop. All those years of smoking seemed to catch up with her all at once.

"Why the fuck did I ever think it was cool?" she growled and coughed heavily.

"Come on." Craig had caught up and was offering her his hand. Aurona frowned and shook her head, standing straight up again, forcing herself forward. The worst part about any of it, assuming you leave out that the world was just attacked; was that Craig was the one stuck with her at the end of the city. Out of all the people in the damned office building. Her voice was on the verge of breaking so she remained silent, in an effort to appear unphased.

The truth was that the girl was scared. Hell who wouldn't be? The woman had just seen her office building taken out like a pile of scrap paper. She frowned, standing and pointing towards her apartment.

"Let's just get there. I need to know Eiji is OK." Her statement trailed off as she remembered the fight from earlier. The ever persistent issue seemed so far away at his point. She frowned and walked forward. Craig nodded, a little put off by the kind gesture being so deftly dodged.

The building looked untouched, like a few around it. Just the signs of battle around the neighborhood, papers tossing in the wind, eerily like every bad scifi/horror movie ever produced. Aurona shuddered and looked up at their second floor apartment, the lights in their bedroom still on. She breathed a small sigh of relief and walked up to the entrance, pushing the front door open. The same gas smell that had filled the office, filled the hallway.

"Shit." She broke into a run up the stairs and looked on the open apartment door with dread. The baseball bat was missing from it's spot next to the refrigerator. Rushing into the apartment, she found nothing. Eiji was gone.

"What the fuck?!" Aurona pulled out her phone and dialed the woman’s cell one more time. The tin-y and unwelcoming voice of the automated operator picked up again. She pocketed the phone again and looked up to see Craig in her doorway, holding a baseball bat. She started and then realized it was the one that was next to the fridge this morning. "Where did you get that?" She said shocked at her own voice sounding so hoarse.

"It was on the balcony..."

On Writers Block and Having It

There comes a time in every writers life, where all the inspiration in the world could come and slap us straight in the face and it still wouldn't help. 'There it was! The greatest idea your muse ever put in your lap...' *silence* '...and there it goes'.

The terrible truth of the matter is that the wall that slams down between our imagination and our fingers is crippling. It seems that the disconnect itself is the very thing that will sap away our life energies. Ok, maybe it's just me. Running a writing group and writing your next great novel takes time, energy and creativity, all of which leave when writers block hits.

Because pictures of cats on the internet fix everything...

Now I've written seminars on how to ease the strain of writers black, delivered a few dozen from it's grasp, and routinely try to find ways to spur on others muses; even when my own is out of the office. Today and the last week or so has just not been one of those times.

Come back later this evening for a bit of fiction, that has been a long time in coming...

~Jessi

A Time for Silence

Why is that through all the social networking, all we can think about is relationships?
Sometime, just sometime, I'd love to see someone proclaim
“I broke up and I'm OK with being single!”
But wait, that too is about relationships
My social chatter is mostly noise confused and garbled
trying to push past the inanity of life
while failing miserably in my humble attempts
I 'like' peoples statuses and leave snarky remarks
I see people that I know will never, ever be good together
go through the ups and downs
and they expect me to go along for the ride.
This coaster only has room for two,
And
I'm not you so please step inside with your significant other
There are times when I cry for you
There are times when I laugh at your mistakes
I say “I've told you it'd never work”
and you threaten to strangle me every time
The truth is
I'm tired of seeing you all hurt
I'm tired of picking up pieces
the pieces with which you'll make the same mistakes
again
and again
and again.
I'm tired of being right
I'm tired of being wrong with my personal life
I'm just... tired
I want to be happy.
I want you to be happy to.
But for once, can't we just be happy
by ourselves?
No.
Because then we'd have no need for facespace and all the rest
We need others.
And we need to be wrong.
But I'm sorry I'm not 'like'-ing that new relationship status.
Call me callous, call me cruel
but when I pick up the pieces again
I'll try really hard not to say
“I told you so”

Dear 16 year old me.

Dear 16 yr old me,
Hey. How's 11th grade treating you? Awful I know. Still thought I'd ask. You haven't graduated from high school and college is still two years out. Grandma has just passed on. Princess will die soon, so give her a hug for me, please. But it gets better! That's the good news. The other bit of good news? You're going to be amazing. And I say that with a bit of perspective. You're 25 now, realizing that you're old, and looking at your little sister who just turned 18. She survived so far! It's practically cause of celebration. No death via sodium intake.

So here's the deal. High school wasn't easy and college doesn't get any easier. As a matter of fact, it just gets harder. You're going to have one of the hardest years of your life. And I truly mean that. I could show you the scars, but you need to experience them to grow. Out of freshman year, you realize that you're strong enough to live through the depression. You start to see that that quirky guy you met in Japanese civ, is going to save your life. Better yet? He's going to become one of your best friends. No really. We're still friends. Even after you kiss him and realize it's a little weird. Don't forget to compliment him on his skills. It's only polite.

Kit is still our best friend. She's gone to FL now, and it broke our heart. But she had to go, sadly. Soon enough she'll be home though. When? I don't know. But she will be home. She's been friends with us for 13 years now. Crazy huh?

You have friends that love you. You have guys that are amazed by you. They think you're beautiful, something we never thought would happen, right? Mostly for some uh, more physical reasons but that's neither here nor there. By the time you get here, you'll have experienced, love, loss, tragedy and joy that no one can ever take from you. You'll have been engaged, and so close to being married. And then you'll make the decision to end it. Because in the end, you're not the one for him. And trust me, there's more than the initial reasons.

These people change everything about you. They challenge you, they make you stronger, and you love them more for it. They're going to make you angry beyond belief, and push you until you think you're going to break. And they show you in the end, who you really are.

You start an amazing writing group with your best friend. And the support system that you create there for others is invaluable. Not only are you helping keep the creative spirit alive and well in the community, but you're writing. Just like Gram. Ok maybe gram didn't write about mutants, fate, death and coffee.

So life will get harder. But you have to know that even when you're sitting on the floor of your dorm thinking it's the end, you will get better. Honestly. And even though I know you'll never see this, I know someone who knows a 16 year old, soon to be 16yr old, or once was 16 will. Depression is a very real thing and needs to be addressed head on. So please always remember to be kind, hug often and laugh even more than you think your sides can take. Have one drink too many once in a while and lay in your best friends lap, listening to a good conversation. And just remember. You're going to be amazing.

Love,
Me.

Exercise 4 from Goggles and Lace: A Different Perspective

(I should preface this by saying that this particular scene was incredibly difficult to write but, yes, it really did happen, though certain dialogue etc that i was physically not present for has been fictionalized, obviously. I wish I could have written something else, but this is what leapt to mind.)

"I'm doing the right thing." I sighed and pushed a blond lock of hair backwards from my face. I looked in the rear view mirror of my car. The cruiser was right behind me as we pulled up to the ivory colored house. On the outside everything looked so tranquil. So normal. I took a deep breath and got out. Officer Flannigan nodded and patted me on the back. I rang the doorbell.

"Just a minute" I sighed and my hear drops. They don't know I'm coming yet. I'm always nervous at these things. But it's for the best. I have to keep telling myself that otherwise I'll end up second guessing. I can't afford that here. I glanced at the driveway anxiously. Her husband wasn't home. Maybe it would be easier.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Peterson" My rehearsed lines seemed to literally fall out of my head as I looked at the woman, holding her 6 month old little girl. I coughed and stepped into the house, Officer Flannigan behind me.

"What's going on?"

"Based on the evidence, from your neighbors, doctors, and what I've observed here in your home, I'm coming to collect your children and bring them to foster care, pending a trial."

"What?!?"

"Please. Get the other two children and have them pack some clothes." I looked past her to see the eldest of the children sitting on the stairs. I smiled at her and I was met with the hatred I'd only seen out of grown adults. I reached out to her in vain and she bolted up the stairs, slamming her door.

"I don't understand!" The mother began crying and making mention of something but I could have cared less about her. Her case file had her diagnosed as manic depressive with mild adult ADD, a lifetime of verbal and physical abuse from her deceased father, and a laundry list of other issues. Besides, I've honestly heard most excuses before. As with all my cases, I was far more concerned with the children involved than the parents. I looked over to Officer Flannigan and he nodded, heading upstairs to go get the little girl. The middle child, a boy of 4, was already downstairs, playing quietly, a giant bruise on his forehead, from what they claimed was an accident at church. The mother was packing the two younger childrens' clothes. Officer Flannigan reappeared with the eldest under his arm. She was crying. I had to look away. The mother was yelling but at this point I had almost completely blocked her out. The rest was a blur...

We made it out to my car, the children packed into the back seat, their bags in the trunk. I looked up to the rear view, starring right back at me was the eldest. She starred at me defiantly. She would get over this... Move onto a better life, with a family that treated her well.

"Do you have anything you want to say, Jess?"

"You're a bitch."

Failure and its Inherent Sexuality

The idea of failure is something that has lingered for too long on many of our minds. Whether it's failure at a story or failure in a relationship, or whatever; we've all experienced it. And it an be completely and utterly heart breaking. Then there are some who are better than the rest of us that an find happiness in their misery. They come out of the shit pile looking fresh and clean; generally with a book deal chronicling their experience with that failure. While I'm certainly not the first to think this it's something that's been on my mind almost as often as the idea of failure.

I'm 25. I work as a middle manager at a retail chain. I have a degree from the Umass school system in Writing Rhetoric and Communication. How do I not have a job I can look at and say, "You know what Jess? You've done well."

I'm 25. I -had- a fiance. It was the sort of thing I could have easily continued on with and continued the pattern set down by so many before me, my parents included. They were happy for years. I remember that. But they've always resented each other. I remember that too. I can't set myself up for a life full of resentment. He'll be a good man for the right woman, I know it. I was not that woman however.

I'm 25. I live at home with my parents because my job doesn't pay me enough to pay back my student loans and to move on with my life.

I'm 25. And fairly lost. The GPS doesn't seem to be helping.

On the flip side...

I'm 25 and I know my self worth. I know for a fact I'm worth more than what is being given to me. And it isn't because of the self esteem parenting that so many people were raised on. The belief that we're all special snowflakes that can "save the world". I don't think I am. But gods be damned if I'm going to let that stop me from trying to one day be a wife, mother, and successful author.

I'm 25. I have a great family. Not only biologically but I'm incredibly lucky in the fact that I can't count on one hand all of my close friends. There are many I trust and keep around me as closely as I can.

I'm 25. I run a writing group that feeds and maintains the creative spirit in the community. Sadly my partner in this is in FL, but we continue on, not in spite of her absence but because when she comes home, she'll have another home to return to. The creative spirit is something that should never falter even within the confines of a modern world. One word: magic.

I'm 25 and I'm lost. But damn if I'm not having fun finding my way.

Remember: Even if your life isn't going as it's planned out in your head, remember that you have made a difference in your world. Even if it's a microcosm you did it. The road you're paving is there for a reason, so why is it?

Failure is a very sexy notion in the modern vernacular and while I could go on for a long time on the subject, I'm going to instead link you to a good blog post on it. I was surfing the internet at 4 in the morning, and found this Why is Failure so Sexy? by Tim Stevens. He's a minister somewhere and while some of his posts are a little heavy handed, I thought this one was very well written. Check it out.

Namaste,
Jessi

Next time on A BA in BS: The importance of editing as demonstrated by reworking a recent blog post.

On Inspiration

Hello all,

First off apologies are in order for my absence for the last week. It's been a little rough emotionally here and there. Then there's work. And my lack of inspiration in general. However these are more excuses than anything else. Bottom line: I'm sorry.

So now that that's out of the way, all the writers that read me should head on over to Goggles and Lace. The link will take you right to her weekly writing challenge for this week. I'm actually going to be attempting to take it after a shower and the coffee and B vitamins hit my system. Her writing exercise this week focuses around removing adjectives from your descriptions. Not ALL. Just most of them. In the end this sadistic little exercise will force you to rework your writing so that you find other ways to describe scenes than just the adjectives oft overly used. (ha see what I did there? No? Ok fine.) So if you're feeling a touch masochistic, and would like to improve your writing; do so.

So my question to you for the day is: Where do you find inspiration? Comment below or even better get to writing!

Namaste,
Jessi

Post Script: I'm also trying to throw together an official updating schedule. Should be up by the end of the weekend. =]

Frontiers of the Mind Pt. 2

Some people look in the mirror and see themselves. Lately I've seen a shadow of my old self; blackened eyes, the hollows in my face deepening, the look behind my eyes...

I shook my head and cracked my neck.

"Proximity detectors indicate a ship to our starboard." The voice of Sylvia, the computer, snaps me back to reality. I look at the mirror and see my face once again, the way everyone else must see me. I look frightened and sweaty.

"Disgusting..." I mutter and turn to head out the door to the cockpit. "What have we got Sylvia?"

"Alliance vessel closing in. Destroyer class."

"Are they on an intercept course?" I raised a brow and looked at the visual. No one I had pissed off recently...

"Yes."

"Open hailing frequencies." I sigh and rub my temples, trying to rack my brain as to why the fucking intergalactic military vessel would want anything to do with me.

"This is Captain Gustav Scarbaid of the U.S.S. Intrepid." A voice rang through the small cockpit and I started laughing. Son of a bitch.I shook my head and waved at the camera.

"Ahhh Gussy. What the hell. Sure. First human contact in months and it has to be your ugly mug. What can I do for you?" I flourished and bowed, mocking his position and title. I hated the man but he did bring me enough suicide missions that I should have been dead 17 times over... at least. His face contorted into a sneer and I heard a chuckle in the background. My grin widened as I stood back up and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Adorable as always." He managed through gritted teeth.

"Just for you, baby." I winked. "Now really... What do I owe the honor of this little visit."

"The alliance could use your services." His voice was slowly retuning to normal as he straightened up in his seat. I frowned.

"Never just a 'I was concerned about you...' or anything like that."

"Quite frankly George, if I never had to see your blasted face again I'd be quite pleased."

"Awww you wound me Gussy."

"Just shut up. I'm transporting you over here. We'll discuss this in my office." The video feed cut out and i rolled my eyes. The guy used to be able to take a few pokes better than this. Asshole must have tightened up over the years. that or the stick the Alliance has shoved up there got bigger.

"Hold my calls, Sylvia" I said and stepped onto the telepad. I closed my eyes and I was on the bridge of a much nicer ship, four guns pointed at my chest. "Do you greet all of your guests so warmly? No wonder this place is the talk of the galaxy." I mused and Gustav frowned, motioning to a guard. They all stood down as I handed over my blaster. He gestured to the office off the bridge. I followed and took a seat across from him.

"Something to drink George?"

"No thanks. Foreplay was never my thing. What's going on?" I was antsy suddenly being shoved aboard a ship full of people. I could feel some sort of dark claws pulling at my brain, looking at Gustav as prey. Snap the neck, cut his tongue out, kill him quick and take over the ship... but what about the others... I shook my head and blink my eyes a couple times. Gustav looks at me incredulously and sits down, watching me closely. 'You want to see something, bitch boy?...'

"You're the only agent we've got left capable of puling off a quick assassination."

"No."

"I know your feelings on killings..."

"Then you shouldn't have brought me aboard." I stood, cracking my neck. "I told you I retired."

"Ah yes, the noble assassin gone to pasture."

"Watch your tone." I growled and turned away from him. If I looked at him any longer I was likely to kill him.

"Look. Do this and you won't have to work for quite a long time. We'll offer you a place on the ship, get you to your location and offer you counseling afterward. As it stands we have one of the best medical teams in the Alliance."

"No go. I've been through Alliance 'counseling'. I'm better off getting a good whore and talking to her." I snarled. I turned around and Gustav seemed to back down a little. 'That's right back down. Do it or I'll rip out your heart and show it to you...' "son of a bitch..." I growled. I couldn't help these damned thoughts...

"You don't really have an option George."

"How do you figure?"

"After your last outburst, you owe us. If you remember correctly, we saved you from yourself out of your last mission. Hell the Alliance shouldn't be paying you for this one at all. Never mind being offered every comfort given to officers." I pursed my lips together and looked to the floor. All I could hear was the blood in my ears, the rush of it through my veins and the steady thumping of my heart. I closed my eyes and took a couple deep breaths.

"Fine. Keep your men away from me." I said shaking my head. "But I want my blaster back."

[...to be continued]

Frontiers of the Mind Pt. 1

An out of tune G-Chord floated through the cool interior of the spaceship. I sighed, fiddling with the archaic piece of musical equipment. I smiled at the character of the Gibson and looked around me at the cold machinery, with a frown growing more prevalent on my features. It'd been 6 months since I'd seen a human settlement and the loneliness was starting to cause my mind to do unpleasant things to me.

"Approaching Alpha Epsilon Theta, George." The computer's voice was the only voice I'd heard in a long while. I stood, putting the guitar over my shoulder, and heading to the cock pit. I would call it a bridge but honestly it's barely big enough for me to pace in. I ran a hand through my hair and sat down in my worn leather chair, looking at the screen.

"Are we within visual range?"

"Yes, George. Should I open hailing frequencies?"

"Yes, audio and video please." I waited patiently. No video feed popped up but a grainy auto response popped up from the colonies computer.

"Apologies, traveler. Presently the colony is in a state that would be considered unwelcome to visitors. Please continue on." I raised my brow and leaned forward. The message popped on again and I shook my head. There was a Scyntilian Plague that spanned the system but I was hoping this colony would have been removed enough to land. I sighed. Another few days alone. I stood and walked to my room. The door quietly opened and shut behind me. I wish I was back on a planet or something where doors slammed. I was so frustrated about the loneliness.

I took off my Gibson and tossed it onto my bed, walking to my mirror. My face has changed; and more than just my facial hair. It had thinned, and my hair looked bushier. I smirked. My pale green eyes still stood out as the best feature on my face. I took a deep breath and frowned. My last moment with someone had been a bad one, yet I craved the interaction. At this point I would kill for Angela to be here, cussing me out, like the drunkard she is. I punched the counter, feeling the cheap stone crack under my fist. I grimaced and pulled my fist back, looking at the blood begin to ooze from the wound.

"George, do you-"

"Shut it Sylvia." The computers voice feed ceased and I sighed,alone again. I grabbed a towel and wiped my knuckles. The blood was the only reminder i had left that I was human.I went to my bed, and picked up my guitar. I struck the chords, softly at first, humming to myself. Her favorite song. I sang the song with a heavy heart and mind full of decay. I wouldn't be able to do this much longer...

The monster was beginning to win...

[...to be continued]

Monsters...

"There's something magic in speaking to the sky. I don't talk to God. I never have. Oh I'm sorry? Should I? Yes yes. Lets. Where to begin. Dear God this is Margie. So... If you're all knowing and all powerful and up there watching over us... Why the fuck did you let me get turned into this exactly?"

"..."

"See? That's why I don't talk to the big man upstairs. One of his little ants turned into something more. And now I want a cigarette. Fuck you and your suggestions." I smiled watching her rant. Margret frowned and flipped me off but took my lighter anyway. I took it back from her and flicked the little plastic button, letting a flame be born. She took a harsh drag and exhaled the smoke with a forceful sigh. She was thinking. I could tell. Normally this would be the point in the silent conversation where i put my arm around her shoulders and told her everything would be OK. But I knew what was coming.

"Can't we run away?" There is was.

"No." I answered stoically and looked over to her.

"Why? We've run before. We can do it again! Hell, if we wanted... we could go to hell and it's be more hospitable to our kind than this...." Deep breath in and "GOD FORSAKEN place!" her yell attracted the stares of a few people. She growled and the hair on the back of her neck seemed to stand on end. She snarled again and spit her cigarette out. I shook my head and pulled out my harmonica.I started breathing softly over the holes, drawing Margret's attention back to me. She narrowed her eyes at the one man frozen in his place. I looked up from the silver instrument and raised an eyebrow at him. He seemed to come to and walked away, though still a little fearful. Margaret sat back down and fumbled with her pack of cigarettes. She took a deep breath. I watched her shoulders rise and then gradually lower. She put on a pair of sunglasses to hide her scared, sad glances about her. Her entire body was shaking, trying to hold back the change. Now, I thought to myself; now is why I'm here.

"Breathe."

"Easier said than done."

"It'd be easier if you didn't smoke."

"Very funny."

"I thought so." The pregnant silence that followed left me feeling uneasy. I seemed to freeze up in place when her violet eyes fell on me. Even through the sunglasses I could see them. Her mouth was drawn tight, her eyes large and watery. My hand extended, as if on its own, and I stroked her jaw gently. She relaxed slightly and a tear graced her right cheek.

"I can't keep doing this." Her voice was airy, and filled with something I heard too often from her. Remorse.

"You can't just stop being you." This is where she said 'You're right' and would mull over it for some time before admitting to herself that it would get better. She would stand and walk away towards the moonrise. I sat and waited, words I hadn't said yet, just sitting on the edge of my lips, waiting to come pouring out. But instead she looked at me. Those damn eyes...

"Yeah I can. I can just... stop." A bolt of lightning raced through me. She pushed a silver bullet into my hand that had been on her cheek. "But I don't want to do that to you." I collapsed, my arms wrapped around her so fast i don't remember anything but the flow of tears from my eyes. I couldn't ell whether they were happy, sad, or understanding.

"You're not a monster."

"Yes. I am."

"No you're not. And that proved it."

"It proved I can't let you fend for yourself." She let out a sad, sarcastic laugh.Her hands were shaking a bit less now. She pulled another cigarette from her pack and looked up at me. I sighed and pulled out my lighter again, flicking the flame alive once again. She lit her cigarette. I punched her in the shoulder..

"Hey!"

"Oh don't start. You deserved that, bitch."

"Hey with the language. Watch your fucking profanity around me. I'll have you know I'm a lady." She laughed. It wasn't sad. It was a genuinely happy laugh and it rang clear in the early twilight.

The Rose

The rose fell in seeming slow motion as I stood over the grave site. Underneath my feet, the casket was lowered and her body would be trusted to the earth. I stood there, starring stoically into the ground, watching the pale pink coffin slowly become enveloped with dirt. I stood, accepting hugs, but eyes never leaving her. I promised they would never look on anyone else the same way, on our wedding day. I refused to leave. Eventually even the strongest of my friends cried and had to leave, and I stood alone, with the grave crew. They stood waiting for me to leave. I looked up and let a small, meaningless smile pass onto my lips as I turned to leave. My heart had never felt so heavy, not even on the day she had passed. I turned, tears welling up as the crew put the backhoe into motion and began the actual burial process. I made it to my car and sat back in the driver’s seat, glancing over at the passenger’s seat taking a deep breath.

“You’re going to have to learn how to live past this, love…” She said smiling as we had gotten the prognosis for her condition. She was going to die. I had cried for at least ten minutes just sitting there with her. I was crushed. All the best doctors and the procedures couldn’t change the inevitable. My beautiful, wonderful wife… She would be gone from me in a years time… I remember looking deeply into her eyes. They were dark green that day, strong enough for both of us, and caring enough to show me that love would carry on, past the grave. She held me close as I cried, completely and utterly crushed under the weight of the world.

That feeling was with me again as I crumbled in on myself, crying again. I cried until I didn’t think I could cry anymore. Then there was nothing. Numbness took over as I drove home. Her eyes set in my memory forever. That moment that she had held me up and made me realize that I wouldn’t regret a day of my life with her. I couldn’t help but smile a little as I fell onto my spot on the couch, pulling up a blanket. I hadn’t slept in our bed in days. It just felt wrong. This had become my temporary bed, and the dog was starting to get more use out of the bed than I was. I was trying in vain to forget about the moment she had passed. The moment she looked at me, her eyes no longer that dark emerald green, but instead a cloudy green; and said, ‘I will always love you Ben’. And then her eyes closed. And I will never see them open again. Damn it. And here I was thinking I wouldn’t be able to cry anymore…