“Don't You Know?” for #Loveuary Day Three

Ritu from But I Smile Anyway created the #Loveuary blog hop,  which feels like a perfect time to explore the next three chapters of my Star Trek: Enterprise  TnT fan fiction story, Love and Loss  – a hundred words at a time.

I’m using word prompts for each day, randomly gathered. If you’d like to add to the pool, list your choices in the comments – bonus points if they don’t sound especially like they’d fit a science fiction story. I love a challenge!

Prompt words appear in bold, and today’s contributors are credited at the end of the post.

“Don’t You Know?”

“Hoshi, that’s the most seductive dress I’ve ever – hey, what are you doing?”

“What does it feel like I’m doing?” Her laugh is rich and husky.

“Like you’re trying to defile the captain’s chair.”

“Well, it is forbidden territory. But that’s not really it, Travis.”

“Then what is?”

She smothers the question with a smoldering kiss. Her silk-clad body creates a vortex of desire he barely resists.

“Don’t you know?”

Travis shakes his head.

“Well, that’s a bit of a disappointment.” She faux-pouts, then moves her hand. He swallows his groan.

“Travis, you silly man, I’m trying to defile you!”

Will Hoshi succeed in her efforts to defile Travis?

Today’s words come from:

Braxin:

• seductive

• defile

• forbidden

• vortex

Jeremiah (my son, 15) :

• disappointment

Come on back tomorrow, and don’t forget to stop by and see Ritu, as well!

“I’ll Want That Back” for #Loveuary Day Two

Ritu from But I Smile Anyway decided to run a last-minute blog hop she’s calling #Loveuary, which feels like a perfect time to for me explore the next three chapters of my Star Trek: Enterprise TnT fan fiction story, Love and Loss – a hundred words at a time.

I’m using word prompts for each day, randomly gathered. If you’d like to add to the pool, list your choices in the comments – bonus points if they don’t sound especially like they’d fit a science fiction story. I love a challenge!

I’ll highlight the prompt words, and identify today’s contributors at the end of the post.

Oh, one last thing before we get to the story. Standard disclaimer applies. These stories are written for love, not for profit, and will always be shared freely. No copyright infringement intended.
 

“I’ll Want That Back”

Malcolm chuckled and wiped his eyes again. “Well, sir, I guess it’s just as well that I filched the photo, so I could copy it and show it to T’Pol when she gets back to the ship.” He pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to Jon. “I’ll want that back, sir.”

It was a holo-chip. Jon engaged it -

And was confronted by an image of a young, grinning Trip, circled by a spiraling, twisty Art Deco staircase, sitting astride what looked like an emu, and wearing a tutu, a feather boa – and sparkling blue fishnet stockings.

And that's it! I know there's got to be some kind of explanation for this, other than Trip just being Trip. But I'll confess that I don't exactly know what it is,  yet...and I think tomorrow will take us elsewhere, to an actual love story of sorts. 

Stay tuned for more details on the emu, though! 

Today's prompt contributors:

Braxin:

• Art Deco

• emu

Lise (my daughter, aged 12.5):

• sparkly

• blue

Seacook:

• fishnet stockings

There's still plenty of room left in the prompt pool, so jump in! =)

Come on back tomorrow, and don’t forget to stop by and see Ritu and the other posters, as well!

“Weren’t You Listening?” for #Loveuary Day One

Okay, so this is rather impromptu, but when something seems perfect, I tend to jump on it. And, so, when Ritu from But I Smile Anyway decided to run a last-minute blog hop she’s calling #Loveuary, it felt like a perfect time to explore the next three chapters of my Star Trek: Enterprise TnT fan fiction story, Love and Loss – a hundred words at a time.

I’m using word prompts for each day, randomly gathered. If you’d like to add to the pool, list your choices in the comments – bonus points if they don’t sound especially like they’d fit a science fiction story. I love a challenge!

I’ll highlight the prompt words, and identify today’s contributors at the end of the post.

And, standard disclaimers apply: I don't own them, or profit from them - I just love them, which makes them perfect to play with this month! =D

“Weren’t You Listening?”

“Sparkly blue fishnet stockings...” Malcolm let go of the shuttlepod controls, wiping tears of laughter away from his eyes. Jon thought about issuing a reprimand, but didn’t. He didn’t want Malcolm Reed reminding him yet again that he’d volunteered to play pilot and was “officially on leave, sir.”

But now Phlox was watching him with an expression that said a Denobulan lecture could be in the offing. Jon focused in on what the Tactical Officer had said. “...fishnet stockings?”

“Weren’t you listening, sir? Did you miss the holographic evidence?”

“Holographic evidence of fishnet stockings?”

“No sir. Sparkling blue fishnet stockings.”
 

Okay, that’s today’s post. What do fishnet stockings – excuse me, sparkling blue fishnet stockings – have to do with Star Trek? Well, we’ll have to see where this goes...I’m not exactly plotting this, or subjecting it to much revision, either!

Today’s words come from:

Braxin:

• focused

• holographic

Lise (my daughter, age 12.5):

• sparkly

• blue

Seacook:

• fishnet stockings

Come on back tomorrow, and don’t forget to stop by and see Ritu, as well!

No Matter: Sea Changes (Kifo Island Chronicles Volume 1) for WIPpet Wednesday

Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, a weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.We're led by the capable fingers and nimble mind of Emily Witt.

Hi there!

Things are settling down a bit here, as we all adjust to my Accomplice’s radically different work schedule. After working evenings for their entire lifetimes, he’s now at a restaurant that closes after lunch. It’s got him going to bed earlier, and the rest of us learning to accommodate that into our lives.

I’m also in the process of applying for part time work. I’ve been out of the workforce for a decade, to focus on homeschooling. That was necessary, in the beginning; the kids needed me. But, in the last several months, especially, they’ve both grown to the point where they like time to be home on their own, and that’s also a valuable skill for them to develop as they grow to independence. At the same time, I’m ready for a challenge, and I enjoy meeting new people and having an outside goal.

I’m thinking this may even help my writing, because it’s often true that having a more limited time frame to work within can help me prioritize what would be the best project to move forward.

And it’ll give us a bit of added financial resources after a lean several months, which, with two swiftly growing offspring with appetites to match, can only be helpful!

I'll also have a treat this month for those who enjoy my TnT fan fiction: Every day this month, Ill be participating in #Loveuary, over at Ritu's But I Smile Anyway. I'll have a tiny snippet of flash fiction to share.

But all that aside, we’re here today for WIPpet Wednesday, so let’s dive in, shall we?

We’re still with Ava Garcia in Sea Changes,  from my Kifo Island series.

Ava was a constant revelation during the writing of her story. Her struggle goes beyond the issue of whether people should be allowed to choose the manner of their death. She encapsulates my personal attitudes about how children deserve to be treated. It’s an honor to share her voice with you!

The Premise:

In advocating for a dying girl seeking emancipation from controlling parents, can an overburdened young woman and a lonely young man find a future together?

Note:

This passage has been rough-edited (trust me, you don’t want to see the muddled-beyond-hope original version! I’ll be creating a more structured revision plan once the 24 scenes pass through my local crit group (proceeding very slowly), and I’ve completed Holly Lisle’s How to Revise Your Novel class.

Your input is gratefully accepted, and might go a long way toward making this a better novel!

Context:

Ava just called her father “nobody” - in Spanish.

WIPpet Math:

• Today is February 1, 2017

• I used the digit of the day, for 1 paragraph.

No Matter

He got hold of himself enough to snarl, “I want to know what the two of you are up to, and I want to know right now.” The telltale muscle at the base of his lower jaw was twitching, and Ava heard his teeth grinding. If he was here, or she was there, she’d be on the floor for sure, no matter that she was sick.

Will Ava’s father unleash his fury?

How will Ava respond?

What does Donovan think of this exchange?

What happens next?

Next week, we may get more answers...

Want more WIPpets? Click the button below, and even add your own date-related excerpt if you're so inclined!

A Hawk for Peace: #JusJoJan Day Thirty-One

Welcome to Day Thirty-One – already the final day of Just Jot It January, where the theme is: “detritus.” It’s been a delicious adventure, and I want to keep on. I’ve even gotten this crazy idea to follow John Holton’s example, and blog every day this year. At any rate, I’ll be participating in Ritu’s impromptu #Loveuary, where I’ll be bringing back my favorite fan fiction couple, and letting them offer you a tiny little snippet of their stories each day.

And here’s the fun part:

If you want to be part of my fun, you’re welcome. All you have to do is lead me a word or words, and I’ll add them to the pool I’ll use as writing prompts for the month. Bonus points if you pick something that might not seem easily reconciled with a science fiction story.

If you add words, I’ll let you know when I use any of yours!

But enough about next month; it’s now time to finish out this one. The following was jotted in my journal at about 11:30AM today:

A Hawk for Peace

There’s a hawk inside the dove; a hawk for peace.

The above is the beginning of a poem...I don’t have the rest yet, but it’s taking shape within me, like a baby gestating in its mother’s womb.

I am a fertile seed, and the detritus of hatred, rage, and pride without merit are the rich soil I’m growing in.

Because there’s a power in despair, in seeing something happening that menaces and dismantles decency, and in knowing that there may not be a way to immediately stop it, or even to slow it down.

We know there will be fallout (and we hope it won’t be nuclear).

We know there will be human casualties – of body, mind, and spirit.

Kindness doesn’t enter this picture; the humane is subverted; it’s drowning beneath the slogans, rhetoric, code words, and lies.

Together, they form a thick sucking sludge that wants to tear away what is good and sweet and decent in us, and make it something other.

But we don’t need to become hopelessly mired in the muck…

Because that muck, that stinking waste already spewing forth?

It’s fertilizer!

All it needs are pockets of opportunity, hope, and potential.

I am a seed of humanity. And I am not alone.

We can plant ourselves thick in that soil.

Add some soaking rains of nurturance; the sunlight of warmth and fellowfeeling, and the attentive care of conscious intention.

From this excretment will grow something both beneficial and meaningful.

Suddenly Tangled Up In the Blue: #JusJoJan Day Thirty

Welcome to Day Thirty of Just Jot It January, where the theme is: “blue.”

Okay, I’m running really late – so late, it may be, on this penultimate day, the first time I don’t have my post, in some form, completed before midnight….but now, let me just say that I love blue...no, scratch that!

I am PASSIONATE about blue.

And today, when I took the Boyo for a vaccination and we had lunch together at my Accomplice’s new place of work, I saw some….and I’m sharing it with you, hopefully before midnight!

The Spear of Dichotomy for #MindfulMonday

It’s Mindful Monday again, and, with the current state of national affairs, I’ve been thinking about the value of life, and the perhaps unseen consequences of minimalizing people. This is largely stream-of-consciousness as I try to resolve all the thoughts and emotions running through my mind right now...

That’s a Vulcan koan. Of course, it’s not, really; I know that Vulcans are fictional. This koan was written by author Diane Duane in the novel Spock’s World. She’s as human as you and I.

Those facts make it no less true.

The current administration in America, and others elsewhere in the world, seem to be inordinately fond of casting all of us into the dichotomy of “us vs. them.”

“Them,” of course, is anyone who isn’t like “us.”

We’re being told that it’s okay, maybe even necessary, to treat “them” differently.

“They” aren’t like us, after all. They’re different.

Dangerous.

But…

Because they followed a different faith, four million people were exterminated in an attempt to wipe them off the face of this earth we all share. That wasn’t so long ago, and there are still people alive who somehow managed to survive those atrocities against humanity.

What did we lose, with those deaths? Aside form the suffering and anguish, and the results of the wars that accompanied it? What potential was lost, in the murder of four million people?

Who were they, and what might they have offered to the rest of us, had they lived instead.

• There were men who had careers and businesses before the extermination.

• There were women of learning, many of them wives and mothers; some of them pregnant or nursing.

• There were young people - newly adults, those about to be, smaller children, infants, and the yet to be born with all the potential of any generations of humans.

What did we lose, as a species, when a race and a faith and an entire race were targeted for extinction?

What great discoveries, medical advances, art, music, and joy was snuffed out, unborn or unrealized, among those four million lives?

We have some clue. We have survivor accounts, and the diary of one young girlwho might have become so much more than she was allowed to be, because, instead, she was made the Other. And for that she was forced away from her life, into hiding, then into torture and starvation.
 

We’ll never know who that young girl, or any other of that four million, might have been, if they’d been allowed to live their lives unimpeded.

We won’t know because these people were marginalized, made other, and murdered. Anne Frank was one life among many.

She was equally as human as you and I. She died because another human deemed her life to be without value. That human was elevated to a position where he could act upon his prejudices.

The current American administration is in its infancy, but it was clear before it began that the focus would be on cementing the “us vs. them” dichotomy. So far, it seems as though the “us” is a very narrowly defined group, and “them” is anyone else. It’s easier to belong to the first group than the second.

That’s the problem with this dichotomy. There will always be winners and losers, and those in power are not going to make sacrifices for those whom they’ve deemed of lesser value. They may not hesitate to deny basic rights, and they may orchestrate situations where they can do so. There may be reasons stated for this which seem reasonable, or even necessary. They’ll be defended. As long as it’s “them” and not “us,” there are people who will accept it.

But….

The problems with that is that, as noted above, it’s easy to become “them.” It takes very little to shift, and there might not be anything you can do about it, if it happens to you. But there’s more to it than this. It’s a question of decency, and humanity. If any people are minimalized or denied, then, in some sense, we all are. We’re poorer of spirit, and poorer in resources of the kind that can’t be renewed, because each of us is unique and irreplacable.

I’m going to leave you with some words from  my friend, Ren Allen.

Find more Mindful Monday here....
 

History in Brief....#JusJoJan Day Twenty-Nine

Welcome to Day Twenty-Nine of Just Jot It January, where the theme is: “history.”

History will teach us nothing….

That’s the first thing that popped into my head when I read today’s prompt.

The second thing was the fact that I’m currently listening to Alexander Hamilton, the comprehensive biography by historian Ron Chernow, and the book upon which Hamilton: An American Musical was based. Listening to the early years of our nation, it’s impossible not to draw certain parallels to our current reality, which will, one day, be history, as well.

The third thing is that today is an interesting day in my personal history, as well, as it’s my half-birthday. I stand poised on the point of being halfway through my forty-eighth year.

And that’s about all I have to say about history, so…I’m history!

Would You? With a Woodchuck? #SoCS and #JusJoJan Day Twenty-Eight

Welcome to Day Twenty-Three of Just Jot It January, where the prompt is: “wood/would,” https://lindaghill.com/2017/01/27/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-and-jusjojan-jan-2817/ used any way we wish. It’s also the Stream of Consciousness Saturday https://lindaghill.com/category/stream-of-consciousness-saturday/ prompt for today.

When I read today’s prompt, a tongue-twister popped into my head, but that’s a little too easy. So, instead, I thought I would share a few thoughts about (fire)wood, woodchucks, and other things.

https://flic.kr/p/e4up9a

Would you like that? Well, since I can’t hear you, guess I’ll knock on wood.

• I learned the tongue-twister listed above at age 5 or so.

• At some point soon after that, I went for a walk with my father. We explored the hayfield next door to our new home, and I twisted my ankle in a woodchuck hole. I asked my father why they were called woodchucks when they lived in holes in the ground. Even as a child, I would get frustrated by inaccurate wording. I thought groundhog was a far better name for the animal.

• It would be many years later, when I worked in Yellowstone National Park, that I learned that they’re sometimes also called whistle pig. As evidence of my personal paradoxes, I like this inaccurate name better than either of the others.

• We have a pair of woodchuck/groundhog/whistle pigs who reside in the woodpile outside our garage. The kids have dubbed them, interchangeably, Wiggy and Jiggy, for reasons that have faded into obscurity. We theorize they may have little Figgys, Tiggys, Liggys, and Miggys we can’t tell from their parents.

Well, that’s about it for now. Did you know my take on wood would turn out this way? I didn’t!

https://flic.kr/p/eaHEK7

His Hands Grow Brave: #WeWriWa #8Sunday

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors' Eight Sentence Sunday!

It's the weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! We've got a variety of genres and talented writers just waiting for you to come sample their wordy wares. Come read one, or all!

If you're inclined to share your own 8-10 sentence snippet, follow the link and sign up. It's a great community to be a part of! =D

As I type this on Friday night, I have to confess – I still haven’t visited any of my fellow Weekend Writing Warriors.* hangs head in shame * On the other hand, I am pulling this post together on Friday, at 8:30pm, rather than at 11:30pm on Saturday, so that’s something.

And, once it’s done, I’ll be answering comments, and making visits. Really. =)

In other news, my Accomplice has a new job, and has spent the week learning a new menu and moving forward in his small business plans – he’s getting close to finishing all the administrative details needed to launch his hot sauce business….if deliciously flavorful sauces are your thing, keep your eyes on this website, because I’ll have links once everything’s legal.

But I don’t think you came for hot sauce today, so let’s get on with the real reason you stopped by:

“Monday Morning Coffee” has been with me since I was sixteen. A local teenaged boy with schizophrenia wandered away from his family at a large outdoor event, and, several days later, was found, deceased.

From that story came this one – the connection might not be clear to anyone but me – but it’s there.

Context:

A young commuter has offered her coffee to a poorly dressed man who seems reluctant to accept a gift he hasn’t paid for.

His Hands Grow Brave

“You'll be doing me a favor, Jeremy.” I dare to wave the travel mug a little nearer, and he sniffs involuntarily. “My train will be here soon.”

His hands grow brave, and finally wrap around the mug, brushing my fingertips. His touch jolts me - it's undeniably and indefinably male. He sighs, and studies my face, our hands still touching. I make certain that Jeremy's grip is secure before releasing mine. Yes, that's the reason – so that the mug won't be dropped and the sweet drink wasted. Not because I don't want to end this touching, however accidental.

Will Jeremy enjoy the coffee?
Will he insist on paying?
How?
Will Rose make her train?

Any guesses you’d like to share?

“Monday Morning Coffee” was originally published in the 2015 edition of World Unknown Review,  edited by L.S. Engler.  Since I retain all rights beyond first publication, I intend to revise the story and add it as my own self-published library.

Want more #8Sunday? Here’s the link for you!

And now, a gratuitous plug for my favorite local coffee!

A Klingon Runs Through It: #JusJoJan Day Twenty-Seven

Welcome to Day Twenty-Three of Just Jot It January,  where the prompt is “incomplete,”  used any way we wish.

From today’s journal entry:

January 27, 2017 -

11:54 AM

Many of my dreams are incomplete; which sounds like a metaphor, and maybe it is…

My life is incomplete (at least, I hope it is!) Why should my dreams be any different?

They sometimes roll out in waves and overlapping themes. Sometime in the early hours of this morning, I adopted a large, white, smiling pit bull and named him “Klingon.”

Klingon kept running through other dreams. He was sweet and irrepressible.

He was, maybe, a combination of our beloved red pit bull mix, Corki, who died this past September 11, and Lise’s kitten, Ami, who is mostly white, sweet, and immensely irrepressible.

"Valuable, but Small": #JusJoJan Day Twenty-Six

Welcome to Day Twenty-Six of Just Jot It January, where the prompt is: “extraordinary,” used any way we wish. 

It often seems, in our globally-connected, sensation-seeking modern world, that a simple life isn’t worth much.

“I lead a small life,” Kathleen Kelly said, in You’ve Got Mail. “Valuable, but small.”

At the time I first saw the movie, I sympathized with that sentiment. I felt that, I, too, lived a small but valuable life, and, like Kathleen, I chafed and longed for something….

• More?

• Bigger?

• Flashier?

In short, I wanted to replace “valuable, but small” with “huge and extraordinary.”

I was much younger then, and there were many things I hadn’t yet learned. Like the way I would grow into this “valuable, but small” life of mine. How I would marry, and become someone’s wife. How we would travel the country, mile by mile, working in national parks, seeing other parts of it in the spaces between seasonal employment. I made friends from around the world, and across a range of diversity I’d never imagined, when I first saw that movie.

My horizons were wider, but I still found my life “valuable, but small.”

Then I became a parent. To my baby boy, I began as all things – maybe something more than a god. I was more than valuable to him, while he was gestating and then nursing.

I was essential, and enormous. I was almost the sum of his universe, although, as he grew, I shrank.

I didn’t see my own value to him, except in that perfect perspective – hindsight. I continued to think of my life as “small” but the value – it got buried in the mountains of things and concerns from having a small child -

And then, the mountains of grief and complexities that come with having a child who is alive, and one who is not – and then another who is. 34 months and a few days separate the ages of our eldest and youngest children. For many families, this is a normal space between planned children – but, for us, there is an empty space between – the space that can never be filled. It’s a small and valuable place, one that might have been occupied by a second, thriving son – but is instead the paradox with which we all live.

My living children are growing toward adulthood now. Our son is 15, and our daughter newly 12.5. I can see the end of their dependency, and so can they. After ten years focused on their homeschooling and upbringing, writing as the opportunity arose (which it didn’t with any measurable regularity until they were 8 and 5), I now have ample time for my own pursuits.

Soon, I will be taking a part-time job, and expanding my horizons again...because I feel that it’s time. The kids need that time, to be independent, to test themselves while they still have a parental framework and support system, and to prepare for their eventual, but not as distant as it once seemed, separation from that support system.

But I’ve learned something; something that means that it doesn’t matter if I never write The Next Great American Novel, or work anything more than simple service jobs (besides, I like people, and making them happy, so, if I’m going to work at anything besides parenting, spousing, and writing, it’s going to be exactly that type of job).

I’ve discovered that, very often, simply changing a single word can change the entire meaning of a phrase, and my perception of it.

I no longer agree with Kathleen Kelly. I’m not living a “valuable, but small” life. I’m living a “valuable and small” one!

And that’s what makes it an extraordinary one.

“Eres Nadie”: Sea Changes (Kifo Island Chronicles Volume 1) for WIPpet Wednesday

Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, a weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.We're led by the capable fingers and nimble mind of Emily Witt. 

Hi there! I’m getting to you late today...and if you’d like to know why, the simple answer is here.

Anyway, life’s hopping. New job for my husband...serious moves toward supporting ourselves with our passions for both of us, and the kids are growing right before our eyes….now, though, at last, I’ve got another snippet to share...

We’re still with Ava Garcia  in Sea Changes,from my Kifo Island series.

Ava was a constant revelation during the writing of her story. Her struggle goes beyond the issue of whether people should be allowed to choose the manner of their death. She encapsulates my personal attitudes about how children deserve to be treated. It’s an honor to share her voice with you!

The Premise:

In advocating for a dying girl seeking emancipation from controlling parents, can an overburdened young woman and a lonely young man find a future together?

Note:

This passage has been rough-edited (trust me, you don’t want to see the muddled-beyond-hope original version! I’ll be creating a more structured revision plan once the 24 scenes pass through my local crit group (proceeding very slowly), and I’ve completed Holly Lisle’s How to Revise Your Novel  class.

Your input is gratefully accepted, and might go a long way toward making this a better novel!
 

Context:

Ava speaks for herself.

WIPpet Math:

• Today is January 25, 2017

• I used the digits of the day, subtracting the 2 from the 5, for 3 paragraphs.

“Eres Nadie”

“Maybe that's because you don't make sense.” Ava snapped. Being too far away for his backhand made her brave, and maybe even stupid. His invasion of the peace she’d found here made her angry.

“Have you forgotten who I am, chica?”

“No, Papi. Eres nadie.” Ava wondered why she was playing with fire. Bad enough to call him nobody – but to do it in Spanish? Now she opened her eyes to stare at her father’s red, spluttering face, and it made her braver. “And there's no freak here, Dad. Just Donovan and me.”

How will Ava’s father react to her insult?

Will Ava push her luck further?

Will Donovan attempt to mediate?

What happens next?

Next week, we’ll learn a little more...

Want more WIPpets?

Click the button below, and even add your own date-related excerpt if you're so inclined!

Distraction: #1LinerWeds and #JusJoJan Day 25

Welcome to One-Liner Wednesday and Day Twenty-Five of Just Jot It January.

Today is a Day of Distraction – so many diverse things happening, so many wonderful things to read, and, from the kitchen, the tantalizing smell of a roasting chicken.

Limbo Lifting: #JusJoJan Day Twenty-Four

Welcome to Day Twenty-Four of Just Jot It January, where the prompt is: “elusive,” used any way we wish.

Limbo Lifting

Everything shifting and changing

Limbo lifting, schedule rearranging

Unsure and fumbling

Stumbling, bumbling

Inventing new rhythms

Varying our living

Elusive and exciting

Not sure why I thought to write an acrostic poem for today, except that it fits. I’ve been up all night, and might be up all day.

Why?

Those who’ve been reading here or at my WordPress blog might know that it’s been a leaner time here since mid-July. My Accomplice was released from a job he’d had for over nine years, so that the owner of the restaurant could hire his son. He found a new job in October, and, at first, he loved it...but, within weeks, he was seeing problems. When he’d been there less than a month, he had seniority in the kitchen.

The next week, they hired two new employees, and then two more, and my Accomplice was fired.

Restaurants can be rough places to work.

But now he has a new job at a small but well-regarded local restaurant – a restaurant where he’s wanted to work since the first time he ate there a year or two ago.

One little thing…he’s been working evenings for decades, and, today, on his first day, he had to be there at 5:30am – a serious adjustment for our largely nocturnal, homeschooling family.

Oh, and another thing. Late last evening, the storm that wreaked havoc and caused death in the South arrived here, bringing snow, ice, and sleet. Thankfully, we have Subarus – ancient, but extremely sure-footed.

I wandered off to do Other Things – namely, time with my most beloveds – and now it’s after 9pm. My Accomplice is home, and enjoyed his first day. More, if all goes well, the pay should be comparable to what he was making at his nine-year job.

After many lean months, a little elusive security would be most welcome!

Going Somewhere for #JusJoJan Day Twenty-Three

Welcome to Day Twenty-Three of Just Jot It January, where the prompt is: “compromise,” used any way we wish.

From my journal:

January 23, 2017 -

Yesterday, I wrote about contempt. Today’s prompt is “compromise,” and it’s been rolling around in my mind for hours now, with tattered pieces of thoughts attached to it.

I think in many ways, contempt makes compromise impossible.

Can true compromise exist in concert with contempt? (And could I find a way to use more ‘c’ words in a cohesively coherent sentence?)

I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.

I’m also thinking about what I don’t want to compromise:

• My family

• My children’s autonomy

• Joy

• Peace

• My voice

• My principles

• My convictions

I feel like all this is going somewhere, and it would be a mistake to try to force or rush the process.

So I’ll compromise with myself, and stop here.

Equality-Killer: #JusJoJan Day Twenty-Two

Welcome to Day Twenty-Two of Just Jot It January, where the prompt is: “contempt,” used any way we wish.

I thought I was going to write something different today, but then, instead, I jotted this in my journal, soon after waking:

January 22, 2017 -

Perhaps, on my father’s 77th birthday, it’s apt that I’m in the midst of an unfurling of revelation on how I’ll deal with interpersonal conflicts in my life, from this point forward.

I will begin with myself. Moving beyond myself before I’ve processed my own emotional content is irresponsible except in cases of imminent danger – and can actually prove explosive. First: I need to deal with what’s within me, or I risk treating the other with contempt.

And contempt does very little to resolve anything. As a matter of fact, contempt actually signals an unreadiness to resolve any situation from a position of seeking mutual respect – it says plain that I’m placing myself above the other.

It says that I’ve already decided that my own position has higher (or the only) value in all proceedings.

Contempt is an equality-killer.

**

Do you struggle with interpersonal conflict, too?

Have you held others in contempt?

Have you known you were contemptible in someone else's point-of-view?

Is there a better way?

I would love to hear your voice:

Thoughts, feelings, memories, respectful dissension?

The box below is for you - make it your own!

Raise a Glass to Freedom: #SoCS, #weekendcoffeeshare, and #JusJoJan Day Twenty-One

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you I’m not exactly sure why I chose that title up there. It could be as simple as the fact that Hamilton lyrics have been my constant if variable earworms since last spring, and this is the one that’s been running through my head since I first read the Just Jot It January  and Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt for today, “glass.” Linda assured us we could use the word as we see fit, or even use an object made of glass as our theme.

But I keep hearing Lin-Manuel Miranda’s plaintive, dubious little “Raise a glass to freedom,” right before he famously throws away his shot, and the mood feels – right.

So does this little post I wrote a year or so back, and titled “Schrodinger’s Glass” - you know, the one that’s always either half-full, or half-empty, depending on how you look at it, or your nature, or your current mood...because, really, it’s both.

I’m thinking I may not be making much sense, but that’s also kind of how I feel, right now, so maybe it fits. I’m a bit like shards of broken glass, and a bit like fine glasswork that steals breath away even as it inspires. I’m aware of the dangers of sharp-edged, jagged fragments, and yet I’m filled nearly to overflowing with the beauty and potential I see, the grace that moves through everything.

Once, I wrote a story where one character destroys a handmade water service gifted to another character. It was a thing of irreplaceable beauty – the maker had learned, practiced, and developed her skill in the art to honor the recipient and his family. The owner of the service carefully gathers up every shard, although they slice his fingers, and carries them a great distance, as treasured items. Later, he fashions them into a symbolic piece of art that gives them a new and deeper meaning.

I feel like that – like that’s maybe where we are, as a nation.

It’s possible that some don’t know it yet. It’s possible that the crashing and shattering happening now is music to some people’s ears, the dream they’ve held dearest to their hearts.

But for many, it’s the kind of shattering that sets you back, makes you re-evaluate…

I’ve been doing that, quietly, for over a year, now. Threads of different things braiding or weaving together, fraying, coming together again in a new form – and yes, I know I’m mixing metaphors here, but, somehow, that, too, seems appropriate.

I’m becoming something different- evolving. In Sequoia National Park,  so long ago that I wasn’t yet anybody’s mother who wasn’t feline, my Accomplice and I learned that the seeds of the giant trees need fire to germinate properly. There’s a scientific name for this, but that’s not as important, to me, right now, as that truth – the magnificent sequoia, which holds such majesty and tenacity as it stretches to the sky on a widely-flung, shallow collection of roots, springs from the destruction of its landscape. Only in the charred aftermath is it set free to fulfill its magnificent destiny, in the company of its scarred and surviving parents, who have the ability to withstand the flames.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you that this is how I feel, today...like there’s been a shattering, a scorching, a fraying – but that it hasn’t destroyed me, or the light of grace and mercy and simple, loving kindness in the world. I’m scarred, but still, I stretch, and soar, and grow…and I know that I’m not alone.

We are a strong forest, together. Will you grow with me, and find the beauty that comes after the flames?

Before you go, I will ask you if you have a story you want to share, or words of wisdom? Gouts of flame, torrents of sorrow, jolts of fear? Hope and a way forward that will embrace us all?

I’d love to hear from you. We’re all strongest when we have a voice, and use it to speak our truth. Please come back anytime you need to use yours, and, in the meantime, visit Diana at Part Time Monster Blog, and find some other places you can enjoy the #weekendcoffeeshare. 

The Press of Time: #WeWriWa #8Sunday

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors'

Eight Sentence Sunday!

It's the weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! We've got a variety of genres and talented writers just waiting for you to come sample their wordy wares. Come read one, or all!

If you're inclined to share your own 8-10 sentence snippet, follow the link and sign up. It's a great community to be a part of! =D

Just a quick note today: I’ve already written lots of words in lots of places this week, and I’d like to wrap up a few other things before midnight, when my “accounting” week ends.

I owe you all an apology: I’ve been lousy about getting around to folks or answering comments lately. I can’t exactly say why, except that I’ve been doing other things, and, when I look up, a truly embarrassing amount of time has gone by, but I just have these three other things I’m *soclose* to finishing, and then there are more ideas, more things to do and see, people to chat with, hug, laugh with, and love, purring cats, things to read, and…

I’m guessing you get the idea, and that it probably bothers me more than you, since I’m sure you have full or maybe sometimes overflowing lives of your own.

I’ll be around more, this week. It’s a priority. You are a priority.

See you soon, but, till then….a fitting snippet.

“Monday Morning Coffee” has been with me since I was sixteen. A local teenaged boy with schizophrenia wandered away from his family at a large outdoor event, and, several days later, was found, deceased.

From that story came this one – the connection might not be clear to anyone but me – but it’s there.

Context:

A young commuter has offered her coffee to the poorly dressed man who was watching her.

The Press of Time

I wave the coffee almost close enough to his nose to be impolite, driven by the press of time. I want him to have this; want to know that I'm not leaving him huddled and yearning. But there is also something that demands I make more than the empty gesture; that I give him not only my coffee, but something of myself. “I'm Rose, and it will please me greatly if you will take this, and enjoy it.”

A smile tickles at the corners of his mouth. “I accept only that which I can pay for. Therefore, I will accept your name, kind Rose, and give you my own. I am called Lost Jeremy.”

Will Lost Jeremy finally accept the coffee?
Will he insist on paying?
How?
Will Rose make her train?

Any guesses you’d like to share?

“Monday Morning Coffee” was originally published in the 2015 edition of World Unknown Review,  edited by L.S. Engler.  Since I retain all rights beyond first publication, I intend to revise the story and add it as my own self-published backlist.

Want more #8Sunday? 

She Belonged Here: #JusJoJan Day Twenty

Welcome to Day Twenty of Just Jot It January, where the prompt is: “transcendent,” used any way we wish. Today, I offer you yet another peek into my fan fiction playground, with the final installment of my A Beagle’s Bedside Manner sequel story. Follow the links below to read previous installments.

• Day Fifteen: “What’s Up, Doc?”

• Day Seventeen: “In the Middle of Sickbay”

• Day Nineteen: “Cause for Concern”

And, as always, standard disclaimer applies. I write these stories for love, not profit. I don’t own the characters or their world. It’s not my fault that they keep whispering stories in my head, and that they demand I write them, is it?

She Belonged Here

Trip spun away again, toward the door.

“Please don’t go.” It was a thick, hoarse whisper; that voice she used when she felt more than she could keep inside.

When she was breaking.

That spun him round fast, but not fast enough, apparently, because T’Pol was huddled on the biobed, her knees up to her chin, hugging herself, and new tears streaked her pale face. Her eyes were focused down and away again; she needed privacy -

And she needed him.

Even after he’d done this to her, snared her into feeling things maybe she was never meant to feel, into feeling things she couldn’t control, she still needed him. And he’d done this to her; he couldn’t let her down now, even now that he knew the truth. Whatever had happened between them that made him her t’hy’la – the person she needed to get her through the rest of this awful day and the ones after it – it was all because he’d come into her room still coated in that damned trellium ore, and started the chain of events that led them here, to this moment.

But he could think about all that later. Right now, he had a duty to this woman, his Captain, and he was damned well going to do it. He went back to her bed, sat down on the edge. “Sorry,” he said, as she came to him. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Trip.” Soft, but firm. Like her, here in his arms. Now that he knew why, was it wrong to feel like somehow this was right, that she belonged here?

“Yeah?” He tried to match her tone.

“I would have gone to the Seleya, even if you hadn’t remained and accepted neuropressure. I would still have been affected, and if Phlox’s scans are accurate, become addicted. But I would have gone without the benefits of the intimacy we had attained. I relied greatly on that, during the mission, as I have since.”

“But we could have had that without -” Why the hell was he always so shy about saying what they’d done? She certainly wasn’t. “Without our mutual ‘explorations.’”

“Perhaps we could have. But among my people there is a word that encompasses a tenet of our philosophy: Kaiidth. Roughly translated, it means, ‘What is, is.’ There’s no point in resistance or speculating on alternate circumstances.” She took a breath; she seemed as comfortable here as she ever had during the aftermath of their trysts. “And, in this case, I wouldn’t choose alternate circumstances that negated what we have shared, as I have found the experience transcendent.”

If her words hadn’t shut him up, that look in her glowing eyes would have done the job.
 

Is Trip right about T’Pol belonging in his arms?

Will she be able to deal with the diagnosis?

Can their relationship be enough?

This is the end of the chapter, and, for now, also of this story. But there will eventually be more on my fanfiction page. And, for those who want more TnT fiction, clicking here might tickle your fancy, too!