SoCS Sept 26/15 – Eat

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “-eat.”  Use the word “eat” or add letters to it to make a different word. Don’t cheat!

I will beat you and I wont cheat you.

Go on then give it a try. But be warned I’ll eat you up.

Promises promises….

You have a death wish don’t you.

I have a wish to be the one on top.

You have to earn that privilege.

I will unseat you in a very short time.

You’ll try. I’m unseatable and unbeatable.

You are such a challenge.

You think mastering me is such a feat don’t you.

Well it is if I am to unseat you.

Well the heat is on isn’t it?

Yes it is and I am up for any challenge you send my way for I shall wear my best pleated skirt to assist me.

How?

You’ll be mesmerised by the pleats, it will be a treat beyond all treats.

I think you are talking gibberish.

Yes but unseating gibberish you can’t deny.

I think on the way home I’ll sit in the back seat, you are getting dangerous.

Are you suggesting I am mistreating you?

Yes!

What if I flash my teat?

You wouldn’t!

I just might, for it’s a good teat to treat you with.

I’ll report you for…for…

For what? Teat abuse?

No never that.

Then what?

My ensuring defeat.

Yes I see you are beaten again.

Yes I get like that.

You have been beaten by my feat of unseating you and now you need to make a hasty retreat.

Something like that.

Cup of tea?

 

 

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2015/09/25/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-2615/

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Music Friday Prompt #10 “Freedom for the Stallions” – Priceless

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WsLgv37m-84

Freedom he says is priceless

Looking up from his coffee

Licking his lips he remembers

Shudders at the memory

Turns away from the past

Looks out into a future

Unsure what it holds

But it will be better than

Where he has come from.

He sits with an old school friend

She is concerned he harbours such pain

She asks the question, is it worth it?

He has no doubt it is

He relates his latest round

Of punches, slaps, insults

Attacks on his manhood

His shortcoming as a husband

Designed to make him worthless.

After fifteen years he is still alone

It’s better than what he had

But there is an emptiness

Living alone has its advantages

But the longing to find a mate

Nags at his consciousness

He looks about but no one notices

His aimless wanderings

His confidence shot to pieces.

Writing is his saviour in dark times

Penning words to justify his existence

Forging images of better times, dreams and desires.

The girl with grey bangs looks across and notices

Sees something so many have missed

She longs for him to notice her,

Tentative overtures begin, not wishing to intrude.

One word leads to another, he hears a laugh

Feels there is a lasting connection.

Freedom comes at a price he knows

Some bits are damaged as you struggle free

Can they be repaired he wonders?

The girl with grey bangs is also broken

But is brave, courageous, passionate

She shows him a path, a way to go

He can feel again, laugh freely

He awakens each day to hope.

Her smile flashes across his mind.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/09/25/music-friday-prompt-10-freedom-for-the-stallions/

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Tale Weaver 32: story in search of a muse – Summer and Tommy

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Image: Self Portrait, the Artist Hesitating Between the Arts of Music and Painting (1791) Artist: Angelica Kauffman

Every writing task presents its own challenges the main one for me is whose voice to tell it through.

So often in writing the response to a prompt can be solved for me by taking one of my muses and seeing which one best fits the task.

I have two muses a male and female who for the most part get along very well.

Summer and Tommy were the two voices I used some years ago in writing a series of tales about the relationship between a man and woman who came from unlikely backgrounds.

Being male I started off in my male voice and wrote Tommy’s story of meeting Summer. It was an exploration in his own reticence to go up to Summer whom he saw as way out of his depth.

But unknown to him she had her eye on him and as they were regular travellers on the same bus eventually there came a time where they both were alighting at the same time and from there a conversation developed which led to the eventual date.

I had no problems with this part of the story as so much was based on my own experiences.

I wrote two pieces from Tommy’s perspective with his muse dictating to me the direction, the action, the need and want of his character.

As I was doing this I was considering the viewpoint of Summer. There was far more to her character than the brash woman Tommy at first encounters.

To get inside her head Summer came to life. My issue was being male how could I successfully create a female character that might be believed.

So I stopped being me and took on Summer. At least her muse jumped out at me and I discovered that her desired medium was going to be poetry. I tried to force Summer into prose but her muse made it clear that a poetic form was the best way to convey her story.

Once this was settled it became easier to write from her perspective.

Sometimes Summer demands the reins and away I go. Sometimes she is happy to sit back and watch what happens.

I think with the Summer Tommy stories they did ultimately work well together as the two characters played well off each other and my later exploration of Summer’s character in which she had a hidden personality only increased my own awareness of the fact that so often we can be multi-faceted characters with personalities all of our own.

Summer came alive in revealing her background of abuse and retribution. There was a split in her character from brashness to extreme vulnerability.

Tommy on the other hand hung on to who he was forever being surprised by the woman he felt so attracted to.

I think sometimes it’s our muses who take us as writers to places we never imagined we might venture to. So often I find myself working hard at the keyboard to kept up with the words and ideas that either muse is throwing at me at any one time.

It’s afterwards that I sit back and read over what I’ve written and have the thought, did I really write that.

Getting inside a characters head is a wonderful adventure. Sometimes they are painful characters in that they have had troubled lives and it’s a strain to go there and write from their perspective but your muse guides you along.

The other thing that I sometimes have conflict with my muses is the recognition of audience. Who do I think may be reading what I write, will it make sense for sometimes my muses really do rabbit on and have to be reined in.

I am wondering which of them has been at the helm of this discourse. I think it may have been a rare joint effort.

No it was me!

It wasn’t you know she says that all the time.

You are such a wanker Tommy.

Stop being a cow Summer.

You think being a boy you are always the best.

Well most of the time it’s me he uses.

Maybe but you never contribute a word of poetry.

I’m no good at rhyming.

No good period…

You see what I have to deal with??

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/09/24/tale-weaver-32-story-in-search-of-a-muse/

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Kreative Kue 43 – Dad

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The thing I remembered was the sound of dad singing ‘On the Road Again’ every morning as we set off always looking behind to see if anyone was following.

A life on the run was exciting, as I never knew where we might be from one day to the next.

We’d arrive in a town and dad would wander around looking to see where he might launch his next elaborate scam. He also had an exit strategy for every town we visited.

I was only seven when dad started all this. He and mum had separated and so I went with dad every second week and unbeknownst to neither mum nor I, dad was a con man and so often got away with it.

He’d put me into a room in the cheapest motel he could find and disappear for hours. Sometimes it was a matter of dad coming back in the wee small hours grabbing me sometimes bedding and all and then off in the car at break neck pace.

He loved the thrill of the whole scam he was running.

It didn’t matter what it was it was the adrenalin rush he got from it.

Then we’d lay low for a few days before he found temptation so great we’d be on the move again and Willie would be singing his song as we drove off to who knew where.

WRITTEN FOR: http://channing.info/wp/2015/09/21/kreative-kue-43/

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FFfAW – Week of 09-22-2015 – Miss Molly

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Miss Molly was pleased to be once again out in the garden plying her limited but satisfying artistic skills.

As proprietor of Miss Molly’s One-Stop Erotica Shop, open Thursdays – Sunday, she was always happy to get away from the stresses of business and enjoy an hour or two on her days off in the garden.

She had recently been attending art classes where the paint by numbers option was one she favoured. It was easy, every colour had a number and in her mind she was able to visualise the scene she wanted to paint in a cross section of vivid colours one through nine.

Today she was in Miss Winnie’s garden off the High Street, a valued friend and customer of long standing. An hour or two in the garden was an excellent trade-off she felt for the amazing and lucrative skills Miss Winnie possessed.

Written for: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2015/09/22/fffaw-week-of-09-22-2015/

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It Took 5 Years to Birth This Baby!

A great achievement in writing her memoir detailing her childhood abuse. Mandy Smith’s memoir is courageous and well worth the support of fellow bloggers.

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Mondays Finish the Story – Sept. 21st, 2015 – Envy

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Finish the story begins with:  “She lived in a mango tree.” And was insanely jealous of the others in the street. Marcy McMango felt like the poor cousin. Next door the Beachams lived in their beech tree. Her one desire in life was to live in a beech tree along with the rolling surf and the sandy beaches. She’d been lumbered with a mango tree, which every year bore the one fruit she hated. Not only that but in summer when they were in season the weight of the fruit caused he branches to bend and at times during the summer storms she’d be out pulling fruit from the over laden branches for fear the whole tree-house would collapse.

She was also envious of the Oakwoods and the Olives whose majestic homes held pride of place in the neighbourhood.

One night her sense of want overcame her and taking her trusty chain saw attacked the Beachams only to be swallowed by the rising tide.

 

Written for: https://mondaysfinishthestory.wordpress.com/2015/09/21/mondays-finish-the-story-sept-21st-2015/

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Wordle #79 “September 21, 2015” – Doug

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This week’s words: Blue Embankment Caress Sinew Pelagic (of or relating to the open seas or oceans. Living or growing at or near the surface of the ocean, far from land, as certain organisms.) Raw Spoon Cynosure (Something that strongly attracts attention by its brilliance, interest,etc. Something serving for guidance of direction.) Sand Reject Organic Cold

I was the first guy on the case. They found his body on the embankment, his skin a blue colour from being in the water overnight. How he was thrown up on the embankment we couldn’t figure out but it was obvious the crabs had been caressing his ears as there were marks on them like the marks you’d find after a crab had caressed you in not the gentlest way. There were bits of sinew hanging as if the crabs didn’t know about eating clean but rather just tore rudely at his ears.

The body as it turned out was one that used to belong to a guy known as New Jersey Doug. Doug was a guy who loved to go sailing on the weekends and when he could afford it scuba diving in the bay. He was the town’s expert of pelagic fish and was often in demand to speak at functions like church fetes and kindergarten information evenings, as his presentation was something to behold.

There was a rawness about Doug that just had to be seen to be believed. He told it as it was; he left no stone unturned in relaying his love of the pelagic fish, most of whom he knew first hand, species by species.

Doug was not the sort of guy who would spoon feed you information but rather posed questions and sent you away to research the possible solutions to the problems he presented. It was true to say the kindergarten kids outshone most adults when it came to research as their dexterity at their small infant sized tablets amazed everyone as their tiny fingers sought the answers they needed.

But it was always Doug, the cynosure of every occasion, who held the focus of every attendee.

But today Doug had rolled for the last time in the sands of the bay. Where in previous times he appeared a part of the pelagic nature of the bay, not an object rejected and spat upon the shore.

As the press gathered a little way off I had the real sense that Doug, an organic man in his love for the underwater world of the bay, was at last at peace and even in his final hours though dead had given back a little to the crawling and swimming creatures of the bay.

As the cold wind caressed my face that morning and mortality came to visit us again, I had this sense of the fish of the bay rising as one to the surface, in their own version of pelagic behaviour, to pay tribute to a man, a shining cynosure to us all, for whom rejection would never be spooned out but instead his raw love of the bay and the creatures within it would live on the icy cold blue waters that sucked away his life.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/09/21/wordle-79-september-21-2015/

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Writing Prompt #125 “NoEnd House Part 6″ – Feet Under the Table

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In sombre tones the family gathered

The hopeful rubbed their hands together.

Expectation was high

Riches awaited.

They thought they had

Crossed their ‘T’s and dotted their ‘I’s.

The lackadaisical wanted it over

There was drinking to be done

Places to go people to see.

The table began to fill

One was wondered why he was there?

Another thought the gold-digger was rude

It was obvious she was after it all

What had she done for him

Apart instil in him

A sense of dread for living.

What an injustice, a crime

A slap in the face

For the ones who cared and who stood by him.

But he was a crazy old coot to say the least.

Feet shuffled nervously as the first words of greeting

Brought the meeting to order.

The reader was nervous having perused the document

Anticipating that some would be unhappy

Some elated

Some would challenge

Some would shrug and move on.

But a shit fight was on the cards

And he would be in the firing line.

But the young, the old, the in-betweens listened

Some focused on the reader,

Some looked at the far wall

A few smiled

A few frowned

The sighs and heavy breaths

At the end came with a sense of relief.

He finished, folded his brief and looked around.

The haughty one stood and walked out,

The downcast woman in the washed out dress

Slunk out trying not to be noticed.

The gold-digger burst into tears,

The middle-aged couple mumbled to each other

A young girl and boy sat stunned.

The bald man in the polo shirt

Looked around, noted who had left

Stood and gathered his papers

‘We all have a week,’ he announced,

The others nodded in agreement

Serious conversations were to take place

Feet that earlier shuffled under the table

Stomped their way out or skipped in excitement

The boy and girl padded their way home.

He took her hand, she felt happy with him.

‘A week,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said wondering why their lives had to change.

Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/09/20/writing-prompt-123-noend-house-part-5%E2%80%B3-2/

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SoCS Sept 19/15 “route/root.”

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The first thing I thought of when I saw this prompt was that where I live we pronounce ‘route’ as ‘root’. I found it intriguing years later to discover there were people who pronounced ‘route’ as ‘route’.

Like so much of language pronunciation it is a regional thing. I’ve no idea why we used the one sound for both words after all the spelling of route is as it is sounded.

Though living in the land down under I am becoming more and more aware of the language differences but also the subtle changes in meaning we apply to expressions we use.

It was never a matter of confusing the meanings and the usage. A ‘root’ was always a carrot and like vegetable, a ‘route’ was the path we took to get somewhere.

I took a few different routes in life, career is pretty boring in terms of taking only one route profession wise but I did travel a few different routs to teach my trade. Like everything in life some routes were healthier than others. Marriage was something I didn’t do very well at even though you could argue my children suggest it wasn’t all that bad and I did have a few moments of joy along the way.

Now I don’t work anymore I feel there are a few more routes I would like to explore and maybe put down some roots to savour and explore all that life presents to me.

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2015/09/18/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-1915/

Posted in Art, SOC, writing challenge | Tagged , , , , | 13 Comments