Merry Christmas
Friday, December 23, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
"Let's have a cup of coffee
Happy Thanksgiving to all...Have a cup on me.
Take a couple of minutes and enjoy the video and if you watch the whole thing, copy the pic and post on your site. You folks are winners.
Monday, November 21, 2011
NaNoWriMo - A slow trek through sticky Mollasses
Hazel in Pool room….(After She gets to Memphis- Several chapters skipped)
The juke box was silent and the only sound in the room was a June bug bouncing off the colored light panels of the juke box. Everyone was looking back and forth at each other. Ramone threw up his arms and let them slap against his blue jeans as he turned and left the bar, shaking his head. Hazel stood with her arms folded across her chest with one hip cocked out and patting her foot. Raoul alternated from staring at the table top and glancing back at Hazel. Words didn’t come as quickly as he had imagined they would.
“I don’t guess I really know what to say. I thought I would have something ‘cute’ or witty but for once I guess I feel lost. How have you been? That’s pretty thin but I really have wondered about it all this time.”
Hazel seemed to care less. Acting without emotion was a screen that she used quite often. “I have been Ok; nice of you to ask. Your concern these past years is real heartwarming. What am I doing here, and where am I going? You think you can send your goon brother and wrap me up like a package anytime you get a whime ? You might over power me but you will never win. As long as I can draw a breath, I will fight you. If you overpower me I will still not give in to you.”
“Causing you any anxiety has never been my intention, Hazel. Ramone promised me he would not harm or hurt you, did he? If he did, even my own brother will have to pay. You’re not here because I am trying to force myself back in you r life. I simply need your help. No one has the strength and determination that you have, someone I can trust. I can’t take any chances.”
“Why in the world do you think you can trust me, even if I agreed to help you in whatever hair brain scheme you might have working. You must think I have lost my mind. You packed up and left with no regard for anyone beside yourself. I don’t see any chains and locks because that is the only way you will keep me here, Raoul. You mean absolutely nothing to me. The Schlitz beer sign was reflecting in the pools building in her eyes. When I turn around a walk out of here, I hope I never hear your name spoken, much less see you again.” Hazel turned and started toward daylight.
Raoul knew Hazel well enough to anticipate her thinking. Before she had reached half way to the door, he put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait Hazel.” She turned and stood motionless, not daring to speak for fear of losing all control. “Wait, you can’t leave until you hear what I have to say.” His tone confused Hazel. The combative and condescending tone had left his voice. “I didn’t bring you here for me. You are going to help me and then you can go and do whatever you want too. Everything about me is depending on this operation I am working on, even my life. I have got to have your help and you are going to give it. This may be the most underhanded thing I have done to you yet, Hazel. You can’t win this one, I have Lucy.”
Raoul could easily have lost his left eye. Instantly before anyone looked in their direction, Hazel bolted toward Raoul with the fury of a mountain lion. The frequency of her high pitched scream echoed throughout the room burying her fingers into his eye sockets as he stumbled backwards, falling over a chair. A sickening thud resounded from the floor meeting the back of his skull as the air emptied from his lungs. For the first time he could remember, he thought that he was in trouble. Hazel dug her finger tips further into Raoul’s eye sockets while he made every attempt to loosen her grip on his body. Her legs were locked around his left leg and her teeth were latched firmly onto his left shoulder. Every attempt to roll his body into position to overpower her gripe, was met with an anticipated counter move that gained advantage for his assailant. She loosened her biting grip long enough to hiss a warning, “You son-uv-a-bitch, you have made a serious miscalculation. You will wish you had never ever known me. I have nothing to bet or loose, so I will promise you this on my soul.” Hazel took a deep breath and released her right-hand grip in order that Raoul would be able to look her in the eyes. “If you cause one scratch to come to be put on my baby, you can never imagine the terror you will experience. This I promise you, until I can no longer draw a living breath.” Hazel went limp and rolled onto the hardwood floor, flat of her back. Raoul, already on his back, fought to get his breath and hoped his blurry vision would improve. At this point, he was helpless.
Between spasms of fighting for breath Raoul rolled toward Hazel trying to focus on her image. “Lucy is Ok and is in no kind of harm. I didn’t know what else to do. I knew you would never talk to me but I have gotten into this thing and there is only one way out and you are the key to that. I had to have someone that had the courage and strength to follow through and if this was a test, I guess you passed. Are you ok now? I had no intention of hurting you. My estimation of your reaction may have been a little under-shot. If I don’t accomplish my goal, I will end up in the river so Lucy is my only wild card, so Hazel, you are going to have to listen and play along.
White hot hate radiated toward Raoul from Hazels ice cold stare. ”Let me hear it.”
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Hank and Billy Ray (Pork Chops and Collard Greens)
If you don't remember or have forgotten, this link to an earlier post, "PaPa" will brief you on what's happened and this is the next attempt at ,, well you know what I am doing here,, lol
(you have to scroll down to the bottom of the page)
(you have to scroll down to the bottom of the page)
After Door Smash(Not real title of chapter)
“What the…Hazel do you have a towel or something?” Hank didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed a dish towel that had been on top of the beer sack. “Hurry, this is not going to help for very long. Damn, Hazel, I need something to stop this bleeding. Hurry. Hazel? Damit it!” The flow of blood had slowed but the compress was becoming saturated. Hank finally looked around the room. Billy Ray was sitting in the floor leaning back on his stiff arms. “Where the hell is Hazel?”
“She gone.”
“Gone? Where the hell too?”
“I don know.”
“Did you see her leave?”
“She did’n leave. He snatched her up by the arm and yanked her out the door.”
“Did she say anYthing about who he was or where they were going?”
“Nope, she look like she was dumbstruck. Did’n say nothing, jus gone.” Billy Ray looked like he had a dose of the dumbstuck. Hank was a little bewildered himself. Angelique seemed to be waking up. Hank tightened his hold on her as she started fighting against him.
“Hold still Angelique. You have been injured. We gotta get you to a hospital. Where the hell is a hospital? I better call an ambulance. Ya’ll got a phone. Hell no, I forgot. Billy Ray run downstairs and call the operator. Tell her we need an ambulance. You gonna have to ask the folks in the bar what the address here is. You got any change?”
Billy Ray, still looking like he was in shock, shook his head from side to side. “Nooo, besides, I am not sure I should be the one to go down there. It’s about to get dark and, well I just don’t know.” He gave Hand a look of embarrassing worry.
“Here, hold this in place, don’t let the blood start gushing again. I think I have some coins.”
“Give me a pencil and something to write on.”
Both men jumped from surprise and turned their attention to the girl. Her eyes were still closed but she seemed to be aware of the conversation.
“Don’t call an ambulance. I need my grandmother here. I’m not going to any hospital. I will write her phone number down if you will give me a pencil and paper. When you get her on the phone, you are going to have to talk slow. She speaks English but she understands better if you talk slow and in short sentences. Tell her what happened and she will know what to do. She is a doctor…of sorts. She has the things that I need, but the sooner would be better. You will have to go pick her up, she don’t drive. It’s not very far and easy to get there.” Angelique was becoming more awake but the effects of her injuries were coming to the surface too.
“I’ll be right back. Billy Ray, hold the bandage tight and talk to Angelique and try to keep her awake. Angelique, don’t worry, I will find her and it will only be a little bit before I get back.”
Friday, November 11, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
A Smidgen of Nanowrimo
Why I post thisruntogethermuckitymuck and anyone reads it. I ain' got a clue, but here it is. lol
PC&CG Nano chapter one or somewhere in between
The PT boat cut through the waves riding the growing swells. Sea water pushed aside in folding waves like pigeon wings. All hands were outfitted in foul weather gear.
“Wha’s yore name?”
Hank looked up at the black youngster. He seemed to be about the same age as himself.
“Hank, wha’s yore’s?”
“Bielly Raaay”. The young boy kept at a distance but he kept his eye on Hank and what he was doing. “Wha’s that you got there?” He pointed at the object the young boy Hank was holding against the ground as if it might levitate upwards.
“It’s a PT boat. It’s chasing the Japs out of the Philippine Islands. I had an uncle that was over there somewhere, during the war.” Hank made a wide arc pushing his “PT” boat at top speed chasing a Jap battleship or maybe it was a sub. The sand parted as if saltwater and a loud explosion signaled that another Jap tin can was scrap metal headed to meet old man Poseidon.
“Looks like a sardine can to me.” Billy Ray spoke with a degree of authority that he could see it was a sardine can. “My Daddy buys ‘em all the time down at Frank’s. Everbody know whut a can of sardines look like.” “Ain’t you eva ett sardines?” A scowl had worked its way onto Billy Ray’s forehead. Sardines were a staple for pulp wood hauler. He had assumed Hank’s daddy was a pulp wood hauler seeing that Hank had no business being there if he wasn’t. Billy Ray was sure this Hank fellow didn’t get around much.
Hank picked up the sardine can and inspected it closely and put it back onto the roaring sea and made another swift arc.
“Well, it’s my PT boat. There are a bunch of them under that tree over by the check-in shack.” He turned his head and nodded in the direction of the old post office building that had long since been closed for its initial purpose. He never took his eyes of the sleek PT boat, ever in its quest for more Jap raiders. “Go get you one and help me fight off these Japs.”
Billy Ray hesitated for a moment then he spun around and took off toward the old post office. Dirt flew up each time he took a step with the legs of his tattered overall pant legs flapping like a pair of flags. His selection for his warship only took a few seconds and with a twirl he headed back to the battle in a full run.
“I got me one.” Billy Ray was beaming. He had shed a portion of his shyness during his quest for just the right can for his “boat”. He squatted on his knees and his PT boat roared to life. Between the two of them, those Japs didn’t stand a chance. A sudden duo of explosions erupting from each youngster simultaneously confirms this to be a fact.
“Billy Ray, ya ever eat any sardines?” Hank had been thinking about the first time he remembered seeing Billy Ray.
“Why, ya needin’ a new PT boat?” Both let go of a polite chuckle. “How come you think about that? I was thinking about that when we stopped for gas back yonder, aways. I used to kinda like ‘em. They stop a growl but I don’t much care for the smell.”
A quiet pause, then they cut their eyes at each other at the same time and gave each other another polite chuckle. “That was a while back wadn’t it? We might have to stop and get a couple of cans. I’ll stop and run into some roadside store along the way and get us a snack. It’s a long way before we get to NaOwlens.”
Neither spoke of it but both had been wondering how it would be once they got there. Around home everyone knew each other and even though a lot of changes had been taking place, it was still unspoken that there were “places” and each should keep in mind where those places were. Seldom did you hear anyone say specifically, “You better know you place”, it still was pretty much on the forefront of everyone’s mind. A stroke of the pen doesn’t blot out centuries of lifestyles and habits. The civil rights act had changed a lot of signs and removed just as many, but habits die slowly and hatred seems to simmer forever. Hank and Billy Ray had gone to separate schools during the early years but going into high school the school system had integrated all the county schools and the high school in their area was total consolidation instead of using a government quota arrangement. Other areas of the country had not enjoyed the success as they had with their school. There had been no situations of conflict other than what you would expect from a segregated school. To say there was nothing to adjust to would not be honest, but during their three years of high school together, there had been no conflicts between either of them or any of the other students.
“We get those seeds loaded, we’ll get us sumthin’ to eat and we’ll come back and bunk down at the feed house. There ain’t no need in us spending money on a motel tonight. Hell, the rats will probably be bigger than the motel rats but at least they won’t be hungry, being they will be fattened up on the spilt feed.” Billy Ray knew the “rat” part was for comic relief and he anted up with an honest laugh.
“Ye’uh that’l be Ok wit me.” Hank knew Billy Ray knew the real reason for the plan. As long as they had known each other, they both had tried to walk the line of “place” without talking about it. He knew someday it would have to be an issue to settle but today didn’t seem like the time to tackle it. They rode in silence for several miles. Louisiana roads seemed lonelier than the ones back home. The rear mud grip tires sang a dirge as the old pickup kept a steady pace south.
“Well fellers, that’s all he ordered.” The fourth and last hundred pound sack of seed threw up a cloud of dust as it bounced on to the oak boards of the Chevy truck.
“Ya’ll bout messed around rummaging through those old junk shops and got here too late. There ain’t nothin but shit that oughta be thowed away in them places any how. I wouldn’t trade a twenty five pound sack of hen scratch fer all you could tote off in that there pickup of your’n. I ain’t figgered out where they git that shit from, no how. Anyways that room in there where I keep that horse tack can be ye room for tonight if’n ye still wanna stay here. Theres enough saddle blankets in there to make ye a pallet, maybe even for cover. I’m gonna lock up but I’ll hide this key over the third window above the lintel. Anything comes up missing, it’ll be ya’ll’s asses. If ye mess around down in the French Quarter and ye mess with the wrong people and ye don’t get ye ass cut up, then the poo-leece will put ye up fer the night. Either way, it ain’t no skin off my ass, so ya’ll be keerful. They’s plenty to do without actin like some shit-for-brains, doing sumthin stupid. Hit ain’t none of my business but a feller like him can still git in a heap of trouble over pretty much of nuttin.” With a quick nod toward Billy Ray, the message was sent. Wil’Like I said, ain’t none of my bid-ness, I’m just sayin’.” Mr. Mann’s head was nodding in a’yes’ motion while at the same time shaking from side to side in a ‘no’ fashion. Hank and Billy Ray knew that he was being as honest as the day was long but was a little uneasy in saying it.
“I’ll send a bill fer the seed. Now ya’ll git, I gotta git home in time fer Rawhide, plus supper’s a waitin. Git.” A big glob of spit, resembling creosote, hit the ground, it’s splatter barely missing three pairs of scuffed brogans.
“Thanks ye, Mr Mann.” Hank extend his hand and Billy Ray followed up with his hand shake. “It was good a’meetin ye. We’ll be awright. We ain’t much interested in stirring up no trouble. We thought we would go down close to the River and French Quarter and eat supper and get back here early and try to be gone ‘bout time you open up in the morning, b’fore it gets too hot. Thanks again.” A simple nod from each signaled for them to start their hunt for a good place for supper...
PC&CG Nano chapter one or somewhere in between
The PT boat cut through the waves riding the growing swells. Sea water pushed aside in folding waves like pigeon wings. All hands were outfitted in foul weather gear.
“Wha’s yore name?”
Hank looked up at the black youngster. He seemed to be about the same age as himself.
“Hank, wha’s yore’s?”
“Bielly Raaay”. The young boy kept at a distance but he kept his eye on Hank and what he was doing. “Wha’s that you got there?” He pointed at the object the young boy Hank was holding against the ground as if it might levitate upwards.
“It’s a PT boat. It’s chasing the Japs out of the Philippine Islands. I had an uncle that was over there somewhere, during the war.” Hank made a wide arc pushing his “PT” boat at top speed chasing a Jap battleship or maybe it was a sub. The sand parted as if saltwater and a loud explosion signaled that another Jap tin can was scrap metal headed to meet old man Poseidon.
“Looks like a sardine can to me.” Billy Ray spoke with a degree of authority that he could see it was a sardine can. “My Daddy buys ‘em all the time down at Frank’s. Everbody know whut a can of sardines look like.” “Ain’t you eva ett sardines?” A scowl had worked its way onto Billy Ray’s forehead. Sardines were a staple for pulp wood hauler. He had assumed Hank’s daddy was a pulp wood hauler seeing that Hank had no business being there if he wasn’t. Billy Ray was sure this Hank fellow didn’t get around much.
Hank picked up the sardine can and inspected it closely and put it back onto the roaring sea and made another swift arc.
“Well, it’s my PT boat. There are a bunch of them under that tree over by the check-in shack.” He turned his head and nodded in the direction of the old post office building that had long since been closed for its initial purpose. He never took his eyes of the sleek PT boat, ever in its quest for more Jap raiders. “Go get you one and help me fight off these Japs.”
Billy Ray hesitated for a moment then he spun around and took off toward the old post office. Dirt flew up each time he took a step with the legs of his tattered overall pant legs flapping like a pair of flags. His selection for his warship only took a few seconds and with a twirl he headed back to the battle in a full run.
“I got me one.” Billy Ray was beaming. He had shed a portion of his shyness during his quest for just the right can for his “boat”. He squatted on his knees and his PT boat roared to life. Between the two of them, those Japs didn’t stand a chance. A sudden duo of explosions erupting from each youngster simultaneously confirms this to be a fact.
“Billy Ray, ya ever eat any sardines?” Hank had been thinking about the first time he remembered seeing Billy Ray.
“Why, ya needin’ a new PT boat?” Both let go of a polite chuckle. “How come you think about that? I was thinking about that when we stopped for gas back yonder, aways. I used to kinda like ‘em. They stop a growl but I don’t much care for the smell.”
A quiet pause, then they cut their eyes at each other at the same time and gave each other another polite chuckle. “That was a while back wadn’t it? We might have to stop and get a couple of cans. I’ll stop and run into some roadside store along the way and get us a snack. It’s a long way before we get to NaOwlens.”
Neither spoke of it but both had been wondering how it would be once they got there. Around home everyone knew each other and even though a lot of changes had been taking place, it was still unspoken that there were “places” and each should keep in mind where those places were. Seldom did you hear anyone say specifically, “You better know you place”, it still was pretty much on the forefront of everyone’s mind. A stroke of the pen doesn’t blot out centuries of lifestyles and habits. The civil rights act had changed a lot of signs and removed just as many, but habits die slowly and hatred seems to simmer forever. Hank and Billy Ray had gone to separate schools during the early years but going into high school the school system had integrated all the county schools and the high school in their area was total consolidation instead of using a government quota arrangement. Other areas of the country had not enjoyed the success as they had with their school. There had been no situations of conflict other than what you would expect from a segregated school. To say there was nothing to adjust to would not be honest, but during their three years of high school together, there had been no conflicts between either of them or any of the other students.
“We get those seeds loaded, we’ll get us sumthin’ to eat and we’ll come back and bunk down at the feed house. There ain’t no need in us spending money on a motel tonight. Hell, the rats will probably be bigger than the motel rats but at least they won’t be hungry, being they will be fattened up on the spilt feed.” Billy Ray knew the “rat” part was for comic relief and he anted up with an honest laugh.
“Ye’uh that’l be Ok wit me.” Hank knew Billy Ray knew the real reason for the plan. As long as they had known each other, they both had tried to walk the line of “place” without talking about it. He knew someday it would have to be an issue to settle but today didn’t seem like the time to tackle it. They rode in silence for several miles. Louisiana roads seemed lonelier than the ones back home. The rear mud grip tires sang a dirge as the old pickup kept a steady pace south.
“Well fellers, that’s all he ordered.” The fourth and last hundred pound sack of seed threw up a cloud of dust as it bounced on to the oak boards of the Chevy truck.
“Ya’ll bout messed around rummaging through those old junk shops and got here too late. There ain’t nothin but shit that oughta be thowed away in them places any how. I wouldn’t trade a twenty five pound sack of hen scratch fer all you could tote off in that there pickup of your’n. I ain’t figgered out where they git that shit from, no how. Anyways that room in there where I keep that horse tack can be ye room for tonight if’n ye still wanna stay here. Theres enough saddle blankets in there to make ye a pallet, maybe even for cover. I’m gonna lock up but I’ll hide this key over the third window above the lintel. Anything comes up missing, it’ll be ya’ll’s asses. If ye mess around down in the French Quarter and ye mess with the wrong people and ye don’t get ye ass cut up, then the poo-leece will put ye up fer the night. Either way, it ain’t no skin off my ass, so ya’ll be keerful. They’s plenty to do without actin like some shit-for-brains, doing sumthin stupid. Hit ain’t none of my business but a feller like him can still git in a heap of trouble over pretty much of nuttin.” With a quick nod toward Billy Ray, the message was sent. Wil’Like I said, ain’t none of my bid-ness, I’m just sayin’.” Mr. Mann’s head was nodding in a’yes’ motion while at the same time shaking from side to side in a ‘no’ fashion. Hank and Billy Ray knew that he was being as honest as the day was long but was a little uneasy in saying it.
“I’ll send a bill fer the seed. Now ya’ll git, I gotta git home in time fer Rawhide, plus supper’s a waitin. Git.” A big glob of spit, resembling creosote, hit the ground, it’s splatter barely missing three pairs of scuffed brogans.
“Thanks ye, Mr Mann.” Hank extend his hand and Billy Ray followed up with his hand shake. “It was good a’meetin ye. We’ll be awright. We ain’t much interested in stirring up no trouble. We thought we would go down close to the River and French Quarter and eat supper and get back here early and try to be gone ‘bout time you open up in the morning, b’fore it gets too hot. Thanks again.” A simple nod from each signaled for them to start their hunt for a good place for supper...
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Ready,,,Set,,,,,,,
Ready, set,,,,
Why, what, where, when, how-come and reckon? That definitely is the question. Why do some folks (myself is mainly who I am referencing) put themselves in a situation they know little about?
I seem to be drawn to things that I know little about or don’t understand. I have, as long as I can remember, wanted to know about how things worked; clocks, auto engines, brain surgery and so forth. I figure if something is already broken, then tear into it and see if you can come up with what is causing it to be broke. I look at it as “heck its already broke so chances are I ain’t gonna break” it. That sounds like I am repeating something. Anyhow, last night with just a couple of hours before midnight, I signed up for this year’s Nanowrimo challenge. There, I have announced it. They say that once you announce it, you feel pressure to push forward and complete the task. I won’t go into the details because all ya’ll know what it is about. The truth is I need a little “prodding” with something like this. I don’t view it as something BIG in my life; I am not trying to write the “Great American Novel”, but I do like messin’ with it. I have been a little slack on the blogging end of all this and maybe I will write about that in the future but mainly, it is just like tearing into something that is broken, except nothing has been broken. Now that makes a lot of sense doesn’t it? I guess the fact that I haven’t posted is what I feel is the broken part and jumping off into this quicksand of Nanowrimo may be just the thing to “line me out”.
Well, here is my plan….I ain’t got a plan. Nope, no plot, no outline. I do have my characters; Billy Ray and Hank. Ya’ll all remember them, don’t you? I don’t know how all this works but hopefully it will “ all even out in the end”(that was mentioned in an earlier post).
Ya’ll are welcome to comment any helps, hints, or mints as awaaaayyyy we go.
Why, what, where, when, how-come and reckon? That definitely is the question. Why do some folks (myself is mainly who I am referencing) put themselves in a situation they know little about?
I seem to be drawn to things that I know little about or don’t understand. I have, as long as I can remember, wanted to know about how things worked; clocks, auto engines, brain surgery and so forth. I figure if something is already broken, then tear into it and see if you can come up with what is causing it to be broke. I look at it as “heck its already broke so chances are I ain’t gonna break” it. That sounds like I am repeating something. Anyhow, last night with just a couple of hours before midnight, I signed up for this year’s Nanowrimo challenge. There, I have announced it. They say that once you announce it, you feel pressure to push forward and complete the task. I won’t go into the details because all ya’ll know what it is about. The truth is I need a little “prodding” with something like this. I don’t view it as something BIG in my life; I am not trying to write the “Great American Novel”, but I do like messin’ with it. I have been a little slack on the blogging end of all this and maybe I will write about that in the future but mainly, it is just like tearing into something that is broken, except nothing has been broken. Now that makes a lot of sense doesn’t it? I guess the fact that I haven’t posted is what I feel is the broken part and jumping off into this quicksand of Nanowrimo may be just the thing to “line me out”.
Well, here is my plan….I ain’t got a plan. Nope, no plot, no outline. I do have my characters; Billy Ray and Hank. Ya’ll all remember them, don’t you? I don’t know how all this works but hopefully it will “ all even out in the end”(that was mentioned in an earlier post).
Ya’ll are welcome to comment any helps, hints, or mints as awaaaayyyy we go.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
"Don't Pay........"
"Don't pay the ransom Honey, I think I can escape."... an old Honkey Tonk steriotypical phone call to the house when the clock has been running backerds.
I feel like I have been kidnapped, but it is just a matter of too many work things getting in the way of my "play: things. I read all ya'll's posting and enjoy everyone of them and I ran across this YouTube video and it made me realize that I should just wave a "flag", of sorts, and say hello.
If'n ye got a minute, plug in the head phones, and "crank" the volume to 10, and visit for about 2-3 minutes.
I feel like I have been kidnapped, but it is just a matter of too many work things getting in the way of my "play: things. I read all ya'll's posting and enjoy everyone of them and I ran across this YouTube video and it made me realize that I should just wave a "flag", of sorts, and say hello.
If'n ye got a minute, plug in the head phones, and "crank" the volume to 10, and visit for about 2-3 minutes.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Ms. Dianne's Wednesday Micro Photo Prompt
Thanks to Ms. Diane for providing an opportunity for me to squeeze in a short post. Everyone might enjoy participating jump over and visit her site.
"That damn cat,,,"
Thursday, July 21, 2011
"It's Right in Front of You"
It’s right There, In front of You
I am starting a new “series” of posts labeled “Right There in Front of You”. I find that I sometimes go to great lengths looking for INTEREST. Music, movies, travel, books or stories, all seem to have more intrigue if I have to go to some trouble discovering these adventures. Anything that is at arm’s length doesn’t seem to get the first attention. In fact, we as individuals are surrounded with interesting things. I consider you folks interesting and “right here”. All I have to do is punch a few buttons and you pop up. That’s why I would like to share with you something a young lady in our writers’ guild (East Texas Writers’ Guild) has written. Rebecca (Becca) is a 16 year old who is already a terrific writer as well as an artist/illustrator. At this time, she has no Blog Site so I will forward any “comments” (and I know you have some comments of encouragement you would like to share). Thanks to each of you for taking the time to encourage this young writer.
Beneath the thick undergrowth I sit,deathly quiet as I await the arrival of what's left of my team. Clutching my gun––my only protection––I stare out into a seemingly empty field. I've been staring at it for some time but I know “they” are out there. They've tricked everyone else but I am not so naïve. They're out there, just waiting for me to show myself so they can take me out as well. I'll simply have to wait it out and stay here, concealed behind camouflage garments and green paint smeared across my face.
I wait and wait but no danger presents itself. I know that once I cross this field I will be safe, but if “they” are out there... I'll be lucky to make it half way.
The moments drag by as I wait for my team. Having not seen them in some time, I begin to worry. As the evening sun begins to set, I now notice shadows beginning to move in the undergrowth. I shiver as a rather large spider crawls down a nearby tree to examine me and a chill breeze pierces the warm air, chilling me to the bone. I need to get out of here. Where is my team? Have they been taken out like the others or have they found a safer way across the field? Did they go on without me? Oh, I wish I knew. If only I could get across that field.
The eerie screech of an owl and the sharp snap of a twig set my nerves even more on edge. The light of day is almost gone. I can't afford to wait any longer. I quickly scan the area. Nothing. Standing up slowly, I carefully step around the red and yellow leaves that litter the ground. Ever so quietly, I creep out into the field. Has all this work been for nothing? My team and I spent weeks readying ourselves for this. Now, this is the end. It is all up to me.
I feel exposed out in the open field without the trees or thick bushes to hide me but still, I continue on. It is too late to turn back now. Catching a glint of light from within a group of nearby cedar trees, I break out onto a run. It must be “them”. Who else could it be? My pulse is racing. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I make a run for it. I'm almost there. Almost safe...but almost isn't good enough. Three sharp pains suddenly hit me. One in my leg, and two in my chest.
I stop dead in my tracks and look down to see a crimson colored liquid staining my camouflage jacket. I've lost.
Looking back, I see the opposing team step out into the open as they congratulate each other. Shaking the team captain's hand, I set down my paintball gun and promptly ask for a rematch. I just know I'll get them next time.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Promt from Diane Estrella's Photo, Micro Prompt (click title to visit her site)
"What did he say?"
"He said, beep bbeeep, errrk, wrrriiilll, bepbep, hummzittt, clang."
"What does that mean?"
"I think he is looking for either the bathroom or a chargin' station."
ps. Be on the lookout for a post that a 16 year old from our writers' group wrote. She doesn't have a Blog Site, so I am going to post it for her.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Micro Burst Writing from Ms. Diane Estrella's Pic Prompt (click on title)
"Ok, one more time,,, did,,you,,get,,the,,last,, Oreo cookie?"
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Micro Muse from Ms. Diane Estrella
My weekly post (now days).. Prompt from Ms. Diane Estrella. Pay her a visit:
I never dreamed it would boil down to this.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Hoof Beats
….hoof beats thundering through the Enchanted Forest, the Princess holds tightly to the neck of her galloping steed. Wondering of the future, she looks toward her accompanying Prince for reassurance and asks, “….
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
From Ms. Dianne Estrella weekly Micro Entry
Micro from Ms Dianne,,, http://www.dianeestrella.com/?p=5890 It is just a thought.. lol
If he weed-eats my petunias one more time, it's gonna be his butt.
Friday, June 10, 2011
"The Boss" - Happy Birthday
"The Boss" is celebrating a Birthday today. I wished her a Happy Birthday this morning, and thought I would share this bit of news with all ya'll.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Micro Prompt
Micro prompt from Diane Estrella . http://www.dianeestrella.com/
Never, ever, did we or anyone believe that "they" would actually invade and occupy our country.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Micro muse for Today
Once again Ms. Diane Estrella atThat's What I am Here For http://dianeestrella.com/?p=5611 has posted a pic for a "mico" story. I am thankful for these opportunities because time restraints have forced my "fun" time to be pulled back, of sorts.
"Ummm,, Ahhh,, well,,yes,, I guess so."
Monday, May 23, 2011
What the Heck?
Saturday. "The Boss" and I stopped in at a local Deli for an early supper and I saw this on the sidewalk. What do you think happened?
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Tiny Story
Jump over to ms Dianne Estrella's web page http://dianeestrella.com/ and see all the fun things she is up to. This is an entry for a "micro fiction" written to the photo prompt that she has posted.
"Ok, once again; Open the can of soup, pour it into the saucepan, add a cap of milk, set the stove-top burner to med, place the pan on the flame and wait. I will be home for dinner shortly."
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Time
A good friend of mine was at our annual campout this past weekend and he is a song writer.
It is alwasy interesting to be re-acquainted with some of the lyrics that he has written over the years. One of my favorites (others I intend to share with you over a period of TIME) is a line that contains the title of the song.
",,,Time is just a record of losses and wins, but It will all even out in the end." ,,, Louis "Buddy" Hale Jr.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Hear Ye, Hear Ye, - Five Star Event
Dang, I feel like ToTo riding in Dorothy’s basket. It has been hectic. I need to settle in and catch up to date with ya’ll. The Annual Angelina River Bottom Exhibition (fishing trip, remember the pirate’s chest) is this coming weekend, actually starting Friday, so I will be tied up for a few more days.
One thing that has gone on around the old house place was this weekend’s festivities. A few months back, The Boss and I were riding around after we had our breakfast at the “Egg & I” and we were talking about the holiday events where we “dote” over our girls. Then we got to talking about our “towheaded” son’s in law. I thought and eventually spoke out loud.
“I think I am gonna declare a holiday for the guys.”
She said, “What in the world are you talking about?”
“We are gonna pick out a weekend and name it Son-In-Law Day.”
“Do you think they will go for that?”
“Ain’t gonna tell ‘em about it.”
“What? You are going to just announce it and they are going to come running up just because you said so?”
“Yep, especially if we don’t tell THEM. The girls will make ‘em show up, especially if I throw in a steak or any other kind of supper.” A supper nice restaurant here called “Jakes” was the destination, so they had us a nice place for 10 prepared right on time.
I was right. They showed up just a twisting and a squirming wanting to know what is all this about. The girls didn’t even know “what” was planned.The only little surprise was that the girls didn’t let out the secret about “why” we all got together for what seemed to be no reason. I had a couple of walnut plaques made stating they were “Five Star Son in Laws” and a wooden pen set with their names lasered into them. I fixed up this declaration for a Justice of The Peace friend of mine to read but he had to change his plans so the young lady that was the hostess was “convinced to read this to the room of diners. Each one got his copy with the "officail" Red Ribbon of Authenticity on the front. The two boys just about fell out of their chairs. The fact that the girls had kept such a good secret made the whole event work, plus the fact that they are REALLY “Five Star Son-In-Laws”. The additional fact that they are afraid of me doesn’t hurt.
Here is the Declaration “Hear Ye, Hear Ye”, and I will update tomorrow with some pics.
One thing that has gone on around the old house place was this weekend’s festivities. A few months back, The Boss and I were riding around after we had our breakfast at the “Egg & I” and we were talking about the holiday events where we “dote” over our girls. Then we got to talking about our “towheaded” son’s in law. I thought and eventually spoke out loud.
“I think I am gonna declare a holiday for the guys.”
She said, “What in the world are you talking about?”
“We are gonna pick out a weekend and name it Son-In-Law Day.”
“Do you think they will go for that?”
“Ain’t gonna tell ‘em about it.”
“What? You are going to just announce it and they are going to come running up just because you said so?”
“Yep, especially if we don’t tell THEM. The girls will make ‘em show up, especially if I throw in a steak or any other kind of supper.” A supper nice restaurant here called “Jakes” was the destination, so they had us a nice place for 10 prepared right on time.
I was right. They showed up just a twisting and a squirming wanting to know what is all this about. The girls didn’t even know “what” was planned.The only little surprise was that the girls didn’t let out the secret about “why” we all got together for what seemed to be no reason. I had a couple of walnut plaques made stating they were “Five Star Son in Laws” and a wooden pen set with their names lasered into them. I fixed up this declaration for a Justice of The Peace friend of mine to read but he had to change his plans so the young lady that was the hostess was “convinced to read this to the room of diners. Each one got his copy with the "officail" Red Ribbon of Authenticity on the front. The two boys just about fell out of their chairs. The fact that the girls had kept such a good secret made the whole event work, plus the fact that they are REALLY “Five Star Son-In-Laws”. The additional fact that they are afraid of me doesn’t hurt.
Here is the Declaration “Hear Ye, Hear Ye”, and I will update tomorrow with some pics.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Write Neeeckkeeed
Write Neeckked
How many times have you seen, heard, or read, “What is the most prevalent thing that you feel hinders your writing”?
The Boss tells me I say silly things to those who are asking or saying something to just make small talk. This was one of those times; I can’t find where it was but I am giving credit to The Literary Lab, in my mind; I think. They were asking for a suggestion or thought from the readers. My comment was “I need to more often write neeckkkeed”. In reality, at first, I thought I was being cute and usually I look for some kind of shocked response, but then I realized that I really felt that way. No, I don’t mean without my blue jeans. Peel away the layers of apprehension and shyness. Write what happens in the real world. I don’t always talk like what is spoken in the real world, but can I write it? I think I am suppose to, but truthfully, I don’t do that very often, if ever. I think that in order to get to the core of a topic, you have to dig through that muck and mash.
My next reaction was, “surely I am not the only one that has ever thought this”; it seems I was correct. Our local writer club, East Texas Writers’ Guild met one Monday soon after this and the agenda was to watch YouTube videos of interviews with different writers. We experienced computer problems and ended up just having an open discussion night. The next day I went to the YouTube site and searched out the interviews on my own. I remembered the interview with Anita Shreve , the author of “The Pilot’s Wife” along with many others. In one segment she is telling about writing a scene that was a little too risqué for her personal comfort. Her response to herself was, “I can’t write this way. My Daddy is going to read this.” After considering an alternative direction for a short while, she determined that the scene was important to the story so she overrode her anxiety about the scene, peeled away the “layers” and wrote the real world into the story.
Like an overweight doctor that tells me to lose weight, I sit here and preach about this as if I have “torn down that wall” and mastered this technique, when in real life, I have not. My three girls are going to read just about everything I write and so are my sisters, my nieces and nephews and maybe even a few of you, so am I going to write very Neeckkeed? Probably not. For my purposes, I don’t think I need to. I will let “Momma Lou” do all the really colorful language, but maybe I should shed a few layers and still be in line with what is called for.
How many times have you seen, heard, or read, “What is the most prevalent thing that you feel hinders your writing”?
The Boss tells me I say silly things to those who are asking or saying something to just make small talk. This was one of those times; I can’t find where it was but I am giving credit to The Literary Lab, in my mind; I think. They were asking for a suggestion or thought from the readers. My comment was “I need to more often write neeckkkeed”. In reality, at first, I thought I was being cute and usually I look for some kind of shocked response, but then I realized that I really felt that way. No, I don’t mean without my blue jeans. Peel away the layers of apprehension and shyness. Write what happens in the real world. I don’t always talk like what is spoken in the real world, but can I write it? I think I am suppose to, but truthfully, I don’t do that very often, if ever. I think that in order to get to the core of a topic, you have to dig through that muck and mash.
My next reaction was, “surely I am not the only one that has ever thought this”; it seems I was correct. Our local writer club, East Texas Writers’ Guild met one Monday soon after this and the agenda was to watch YouTube videos of interviews with different writers. We experienced computer problems and ended up just having an open discussion night. The next day I went to the YouTube site and searched out the interviews on my own. I remembered the interview with Anita Shreve , the author of “The Pilot’s Wife” along with many others. In one segment she is telling about writing a scene that was a little too risqué for her personal comfort. Her response to herself was, “I can’t write this way. My Daddy is going to read this.” After considering an alternative direction for a short while, she determined that the scene was important to the story so she overrode her anxiety about the scene, peeled away the “layers” and wrote the real world into the story.
Like an overweight doctor that tells me to lose weight, I sit here and preach about this as if I have “torn down that wall” and mastered this technique, when in real life, I have not. My three girls are going to read just about everything I write and so are my sisters, my nieces and nephews and maybe even a few of you, so am I going to write very Neeckkeed? Probably not. For my purposes, I don’t think I need to. I will let “Momma Lou” do all the really colorful language, but maybe I should shed a few layers and still be in line with what is called for.
Watch all parts if you have the time
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Circle Unbroken
A good while back, I posted this story and forgot about it. This Monday I went to our writers' critique meeting and I had nothing new, so I pull this one out of the pile and read it. It was interesting how there were varied opinions on the "meaning" and "direction of the story; maybe it doesn't make any sense. I thought "what the heck", I asked another writer friend to look at it and they whacked it to "smitheriens", but I like the suggestions they made. I figured that I would run it back through the ringer one more time and hopefully someone will give me their idea(s) on what the durn thing is about. sooooo.....
A Circle Unbroken aka Old Fence Post
The blue 59 Chevrolet Apache pickup easily climbed the grassy knoll looking down on the valley of the neighboring landscape. The Texas summer had been hot, way hot. He hated winter, but the tilt of the planet had finally allowed a crispness to fall upon the bristling grass. The cirrus clouds painted a giant canvas of O’keeffeian beauty in the western horizon. The panorama reflected off the polished aqua blue paint on the hood of the old truck, mirroring the picturesque light show. It would soon be dark.
Turning the key off, the six cylinder engine came to a complete stop. He just sat there listening to the crackling of the hot engine cooling down in the fall air. Reaching his arm out the window, the chrome button on the door handle easily unhooked the latch of the door; the inside latch mechanism had long been broken. The truck was old. He had actually taken his driving test forty two years earlier in this same truck. You hold onto old friends that have helped you along over the years.
That fence was not going to fix itself. Replacing a single post would hobble through the winter. He and his daddy had strung this fence when he was still in high school. Tough, but the elements and time had given it’s toll on the whole run of fence. The loamy Texas dirt was soft so digging the hole next to the existing post was finished in short order. Hammering the galvanized staples into the new post, securing the old rusty barbed wire would take very little time.
An orange ray of Texas sunset reflected off the rolled up window of the passenger door on to the old dilapidated post. The smooth decades-old surface was cracked and splintered. The barbed wire had left scars and discoloring up and down its torso. Still upright, the Old Codger like post had served its intention well.
With a grunt and a shuffle, he clawed around behind the seat and finally found his fencing pliers. Grabbing the head of the long since rusted staples, he gave each one a twist and a pull. The evening wind let out a sigh of relief as the wires dangled free from its crimped existence With a “whoomp“, the new post found its new footing; it was ready to take over in this relay of performance. Three whacks each on the wire strands and the new staples were set to hold. Throwing the pliers back under the seat, he stopped and looked at the old post. Working it forward and sideways, soon the dirt had loosened around the footing. The post landed with a clatter in the bed of the truck. You don’t just throw away something that has helped you along over the years.
Darkness was winning the battle. He glanced at the empty hole. Not sure if you make a sound if no one is there to hear you, but the old codger spoke with a chuckle,
“That’s a hell‘uva note”, when you’re finished as a fence post they take you out of a hole and put you in one when you start out”.
“Sounds kinda backerds to me”
“Old Blue“ roared to life the instant he touched the starter button.
A Circle Unbroken aka Old Fence Post
The blue 59 Chevrolet Apache pickup easily climbed the grassy knoll looking down on the valley of the neighboring landscape. The Texas summer had been hot, way hot. He hated winter, but the tilt of the planet had finally allowed a crispness to fall upon the bristling grass. The cirrus clouds painted a giant canvas of O’keeffeian beauty in the western horizon. The panorama reflected off the polished aqua blue paint on the hood of the old truck, mirroring the picturesque light show. It would soon be dark.
Turning the key off, the six cylinder engine came to a complete stop. He just sat there listening to the crackling of the hot engine cooling down in the fall air. Reaching his arm out the window, the chrome button on the door handle easily unhooked the latch of the door; the inside latch mechanism had long been broken. The truck was old. He had actually taken his driving test forty two years earlier in this same truck. You hold onto old friends that have helped you along over the years.
That fence was not going to fix itself. Replacing a single post would hobble through the winter. He and his daddy had strung this fence when he was still in high school. Tough, but the elements and time had given it’s toll on the whole run of fence. The loamy Texas dirt was soft so digging the hole next to the existing post was finished in short order. Hammering the galvanized staples into the new post, securing the old rusty barbed wire would take very little time.
An orange ray of Texas sunset reflected off the rolled up window of the passenger door on to the old dilapidated post. The smooth decades-old surface was cracked and splintered. The barbed wire had left scars and discoloring up and down its torso. Still upright, the Old Codger like post had served its intention well.
With a grunt and a shuffle, he clawed around behind the seat and finally found his fencing pliers. Grabbing the head of the long since rusted staples, he gave each one a twist and a pull. The evening wind let out a sigh of relief as the wires dangled free from its crimped existence With a “whoomp“, the new post found its new footing; it was ready to take over in this relay of performance. Three whacks each on the wire strands and the new staples were set to hold. Throwing the pliers back under the seat, he stopped and looked at the old post. Working it forward and sideways, soon the dirt had loosened around the footing. The post landed with a clatter in the bed of the truck. You don’t just throw away something that has helped you along over the years.
Darkness was winning the battle. He glanced at the empty hole. Not sure if you make a sound if no one is there to hear you, but the old codger spoke with a chuckle,
“That’s a hell‘uva note”, when you’re finished as a fence post they take you out of a hole and put you in one when you start out”.
“Sounds kinda backerds to me”
“Old Blue“ roared to life the instant he touched the starter button.
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