Witches and Goblins and Ghosts, oh my!

Well Mom has fallen asleep on the couch and no one has posted a writing prompt so I guess its up to me. In honour of Halloween today, the writing prompt is: Witches and Goblins and Ghosts, oh my! (Even though Halloween is one of my least favourite holidays for those reasons.)

Happy Writing!

NaNoWriMo

Who's going to participate in NaNoWriMo this year? For those who don't yet know, November is National Novel Writing Month, only now that the movement has exploded world-wide, it really should be InNoWriMo. For 30 days, November 1st to 30th, participants are invited to write a new work of prose fiction. Everyone who makes 50,000 words is a winner. Winners get 50% off of the fabulous fiction-writing software Scrivener that is available for trial download at http://literatureandlatte.com/

Winners also get to print a certificate that tells them how wonderful they are. If you donate $10 to the folks who run the fun, you get a halo. And they call you a cherished friend.

You can register for the fun at nanowrimo.org and they'll send you daily pep talks, count your words as often as you like, commiserate with you in your unshowered, manic misery which will probably become acute about Nov 25. So far as I know, they don't yet have support groups for families of nanowrimo participants, which is a sad thing because I think some of my family members may be wishing they had a support group this month.

Yes. I am doing nanowrimo this year. So is Sarah. Meg did it last year and will be participating in writing frenzy but since she will be working on her longstanding work of fiction, she can't exactly call it nanowrimo. But that's okay because we'll still be racing each other for word count. "We" meaning Meg and I. Not Sarah. No-one races Sarah if they care about winning.

Lizzie is going to cheer us on. And do math.

Meg has pretty much finished next month's math already, so she won't have to do math.

I will still have to do cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc. Or my family will need more than a support group.

Maybe Lizzie wants to be apprentice mom for a month. Does apprentice motherhood count as homeschooling? Meg says it counts as CALM.

It's Not My Fault My Room's a Mess

My Dear Mother:

It is not my fault my room is messy. Therefore, this solitary confinement is entirely uncalled for and utterly disgraceful.

It all started when we moved into this house. I told you I couldn't share a room with Kayla. I perfectly recall informing you that she would mess up the room and I would be the one who had to clean it up. You assured me it would not be the case and I magnanimously relented.

You may be assured, Mother, that I will never be believing you again. Imagine my horror when I returned from my stay at Elizabeth's house and found my room in such disarray! Can you really believe that my packing set it in such disorder? Though Kayla may say that she has not touched my things, I am positive that she is culpable. You should have seen the look on her face when she saw me walking in this morning.

If you seek to remain in my good opinions, I pray you will reconsider and set Kayla the job of cleaning instead of me.

Your Aggrieved Daughter,

Rachel Savannah Lewis

No prompt today

We're behind and doing math. Back tomorrow.

Dear Diary...

You don't have to use the words. The painting is the prompt.

The dance was fabulous. It's past two in the morning and I really should be in bed, but I'm not the least bit sleepy. I think if I could stop the bumble bees and butterflies that are buzzing and dancing in my middle, maybe then I could sleep.  But I don't want them to stop. Who needs sleep, anyway?

Johnny was there. On leave for a whole week. Yes, Johnny... the monster who used to dip my braid in his inkpot and leave mice in my desk. Johnny, who teased me about my stutter -- back when I did stutter, which was just about anytime he was around. Johnny, who smelled bad, teased worse, and had a roguish grin that used to madden me because it made me like him when I wanted so badly to hate him.......

I'm stopping there. Don't like the rest of it. Should have just jumped to the end...

And imagine this:  I thought I despised the boy. But all I needed was the way he looked at me tonight and the things he said to realize that I've never despised him. All along, all I ever felt was a longing to love.

Why not buy fish?

This is Lizzie's suggestion. Because she went into a brother's room yesterday and found a dead fish decomposing in its fish bowl. I guess the boys were waiting for a chance to hold a funeral?

Dear Dad,

I'm writing because you said I'm not allowed to talk to you about it anymore. Fine! I won't talk. And I won't even mention the magnificent creature the Braxtons are selling for 1/3 of what you would pay anywhere else. No exaggeration. I checked on the internet. But I'm not even going to mention that.

What I am going to mention is what you wouldn't let me say last night when you turned off my light and closed my door in the middle of my sentence.

I don't want a fish! I don't want an aquarium full of fish. I don't care if aquariums are good feng shui. I want a pet, Dad. Not a centerpiece.

Fish aren't pets. You can't talk to them about your problems. Well, I guess you can, but they can't hear you. They just swim around stupid. If they look at you, they stare with those unlinking goggly eyes and then you feel either stupid or freakish.

Oh, and you have to take them out of the bowl every week and clean it. So you have to catch them with the fish net and the second you pull them out of the water, they start thrashing around like they're dying. And they might be -- if they thrash enough they'll throw themselves out of the net and land on the floor before you can get them safely into the glass of water you have sitting there. And then you have to chase them all over the floor with the fish net and they get covered in fuzz and hair. And finally, you figure out that you have to pick them up with your hands. So if you're lucky and you didn't accidentally step on them and they're still alive, you scoop them up with both hands, (one hand doesn't work cause they're slimy and wriggling) and if you get them safely into the glass, then you can go throw up. That's emotionally scarring, Dad. Not what I want in a pet.

No, fish were never meant to be pets. They're meant to swim free. Who knows how much it hurts them to be pulled out of the water. They sure look like it hurts.

Okay, so maybe you can get a whole aquarium with a filter and you don't have to clean it. But they're still not pets. They're still clued out and stupid.

I want a pet I can touch (without throwing up). Don't you remember what those studies said?

I don't want fish.

Jana

To Sleep...or Not

Inspired by Meg's post the yesterday and the fact that I got approx 1 hr of sleep last night. Stayed up til 6:30 writing script for the Bridge Awards this Sat night. The Bridge Awards you ask. Never heard of them? Didn't know they were the most prestigious awards event in North America... Maybe in the world? That would be why I would be writing the script. Wry and tired smile.

So now I will write for 1/2 hour and then I will try going back to bed.

To sleep or not to sleep; that is the question:
Whether tis wiser to abandon care,
Renewing strength in sweet oblivion,
Or see that tight-wound state of mind forbids
Refreshing rest, then sally forth fatigued
And daft, inept but diligent. Forsooth!