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Looks like I may have a ton of these, so this is collection 1 of Reflections |
| "Note: Mine is not to question why. Mine is but to '..." This quote came to me I think because I was pondering how people tend to be so insecure and afraid to lead that they end up being content to follow. This used to be me, now on the thrice day of my brand new JOB! I am mentally preparing myself for the figurative battle of the corporate world once again. Well, not quite corporate, it's still a government contractor, something I hoped/prayed to never do/work for again, but at least the subject matter is deceptively more interesting and I get to work with 'pretty' (read as 'not as boring/dry as the written word) pictures of plane parts. Anywho, I think my brain is also leaning this way in light of the newest Creflo Dollar scandal. I respected him for jacking up his daughter when she needed it, but this just knocked way back down on the respect poll. http://edition.cnn.com/2015/03/16/opinions/posner-creflo-dollar-gulfstream/index... http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2015/03/17/televangelist-65m-buy-j... I compeltely believe in the power of tithing. I even believe that pastor's should make an HONEST wage. What I do not believe is that Pastor Dollar is thinking straight. We used to attend World Changers back in the 90s before it was ever any where near mega church status. I don't remember those days well but I like to believe that once upon a time his heart was in the right place. Now it seems this mans life sustaining organ is firmly lodged up his kiester. I mean REALLY I a 600 million dollar JET!?!? It's bad enough he lives in a 2.5 million dollar home! I mean come ON. What pisses me off, besides the fact that this reflects badly on the church as a whole, is that I believe there are that many people who would be more than happy to give this fool all the money he could ever want/ask for. The evidence is in the pudding pie, the fact that he has the audacity to even pose this suggestion is proof that he's used to getting the flock to provide. EVEN if he honestly plans to use the plane 100% for God's glory (which is highly doubtful) the idea that he would find this to be a reasonable thing to ask a congregation of mainly middle/lower class wage earners just turns my mind helter-skelter. OPEN YOUR EYES PEOPLE! Even if you are not 'religious', even if you pride yourself on being a 'leader'. Take a moment and think about where/when you have blindly followed the crowd simply because they believed as you do, or because it was the easy thing to do. Just think about it. http://www.charismanews.com/opinion/in-the-line-of-fire/48743-why-creflo-won-t-be-getting-my-dollars?showall=&start=1 ▼ |
| "I love the phrase why is that" says David Feldman, the author of the "Imponderables" series of books. David believes there is no question too obscure or too broad to answer. For me, I am basing the prompt question more in the terms of the intersection between your creativity and your knowledge. What do you understand about this universe of ours that few others realize? ------------------------------------------- Wow, that's deep. I can't factually state what I presume to know more than most others in the world. I've no idea what 'few others realize'. But I can attest to what seems to be a lack of knowledge in my inner circle and amongst those I have come into close contact with. Basically, it's the (to me) simple fact that there is no such thing as "too smart" or "too much knowledge". I have discovered a disconcerting trend in some older people, and even some younger people who have already decided they know enough to lead a comfortable life), where they have no interest in learning new things. Or, worse yet, opening their minds further to new ways of thinking and approaching certain subjects (insert homosexuality, business management, etc.). The most blatant example of this right now in my life is my step-father. He....belittles (good-naturedly and all, but still) my love for the bookstore. He thinks it's boring and non-exciting. He admits to having nothing much to do with books and has absolutely no interest in reading. He can read and he's fairly intelligent, but this uber-country mindset of his tells me that more than anything, unless it has to do with select reality stars/celebrities, cars or the truck he drives, he's really not that interested in learning anything else. Maybe it's because I'm so close but I find this to be a major theme in the afro-american and (some) low-middle class communities. Do you doubt this? Ask yourself, which do we have more of: Theatres vs. Bookstores......Strip clubs vs. Live Theatres.......Bars/Clubs vs. Live Music Venues/Museums...... Awfully troubling. |
| This is from 30DBC Feb. 6. I sent the form letter, asking for a prompt to Jeff and received: As an author, would you rather be financially or critically successful? If you could only choose one or the other, would you rather be a fixture atop the New York Times Bestseller list with tens of millions in the bank and a chorus of critics and readers who think your writing is just plain awful... or win every literary award there is and be considered one of the best writers of your generation but not be able to financially support yourself from your writing career because mass audiences don't buy your books? ~~Jaeff | KBtW of the Free Folk   I know I'm not officially a part of this unofficial contest, but the prompt challenge was too good to ignore. Jeff asks a very thought provoking and interesting question. In light of Box Office wet dreams like Fifty Shades of Grey and other not that great books being made into movies I understand why this question is probably on a lot of aspiring and made authors minds. I know for prides sake and due to my love for my craft I should undoubtedly pick the latter. It is absolutely my dream to create a literary masterpiece that is instantly revered as award worthy. To be lauded with canon worthy affections in lieu of substantial finances would at least mean that I made my permanent mark on history, for however long my work remains popular. But, unfortunately there's another part to the question. As I write this I am still holed up in my mother and step-fathers country domain. Viable employment remains elusive and I would really like to begin a master's program soon to expand my creative writing career. I have probably bought more lottery tickets in the past month than I have in my entire 29 years. I don't expect to win, but the feeling/fantasy of not having to worry about taking care of myself, as well as my family is a dream unto itself. Perhaps if there was the possibility that only ONE of or my FIRST book didn't make money but I got a ton of awards. Then I was free to be popular with my subsequent works. In that scenario the choice is a no-brainer, but I do not believe that to be the intent behind Jeffs' first question. Therefore, in spite of possibly unpopular decision, I currently would choose financial success. That being said, no matter what I write I pretty much expect there to be a ton of backlash and criticisms. Not because the writing is bad (I might burn my own books if they come out written like 50 Shades) but because of the content/subject matter. Maybe I end up following a dystopian trend and a certain crowd is sick of those (btw, has anyone read The Testing yet?!). Perhaps my opinions come across too strongly and the male demographic decides to put me in my place. Who knows? But I feel fairly comfortable choosing this path because current criticisms aren't always valid nor do they last forever. Plenty of authors were not appreciated in their time, maybe I could be one of them. I reserve the right to change my mind as I get older and wiser....and more financially stable. ;-P ---------------- BC - It wasn't going to be easy but some one has to tell her/him... Make it your own... It wasn't going to be easy but someone had to tell her to stop drinking...so much. I'm sorry but if you wreck your car and then go off on the officer and your mom who are both only trying to help, something is wrong. You could have avoided that jail sentence all together. You're lucky the cop never smelled it on your breath or asked for a breathalyzer. It wasn't going to be easy but some one had to tell him he hurt our feelings. Would have been more poignant for us all to do it together but separate is nearly equal. Mom did it right away, shame his wife got in the way and made it worse. Little brother is different...not sure if he bottles it up or just deals with it in his own way. I was away so it was easy to just distance myself. When I had to come back, when I could no longer avoid it, I said it. I've said it twice now and both times he just acts like he can't hear me.... Not surprising but it still hurts. Still, I can move on knowing I've said my peace. My father is as peace now so I may as well be too, regardless of your his actions, or lack thereof. It wasn't going to be easy but some one had to tell me.... First time assaulting someone. First time being pinned down by a group. First time in cuffs. First time in mental ward. It needed to be done. I've come out a stronger more self aware individual. To be continued... And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28 |
| I'm going easy on ya this time. Make a list of 15 things/elements of your favorite television program and place them in italics in your blog as part of your conversation with us. Don't tell us the name of the show but you can include locations, common phrases used in the show. Let's see how many of us can guess correctly. Kind of like playing charades but blog style. O I LIKE THIS! #TGIT is the BEST night to talk about too! Though Wednesday isn't too bad since I get my fill of Lucious Lyon and Cookie. But I'm afraid S.R. takes the CAKE this season! The writing on this show is absolutely superb! Granted S.R. didn't create this show, only produces it, but still everything she touches is gold. The characters are deliciously diverse. The part Latina girl REALLY stood out in this last episode. She comes from wealth, her Dad is a politician of some sort I think.... Her mom is a "typical" white trophy wife that is fine to discuss nothing of substance and fill her life with social gatherings and material things. Gays are apparently the new token characters. Every show seems to have at least one these days. Not that I'm complaining, I just generally despise obvious trends. Sidenote: I'm sorry but when literally 99% of the cast is white it's OBVIOUS that the Indian guy is there only for affirmative action. Here's lookin' at you BIG BANG! Any who, C is amaze-balls, even if he is a reformed slut. O is his saving grace and O SO FLIPPIN CUTE! The one black female student is what I imagine her white counterpart would be like if this was filmed in the 60s. It's great that she wants to make a name for herself by at least attending school but it seems evident that she's more interested in getting that MRS as opposed to a Bachelors. Plus, her fiance hooked up with C back in prep school. Down-low any one? Finally we have the black boy puppy of the show, too sweet W. Oooo W....loved his few lines in Harry Potter and his American accent is adorable but I just want to strangle him sometimes; which by the way is how I imagine A killed L. And I can't say enough about our favorite The Help actress. 1st season isn't even over and she ALREADY won a SAG award. Well deserved. Bonus points if you can name all the characters/producer I only used letters for. |
| "If you don't don't know where you are going, any road will take you there." George Harrison Do you agree? Absolutely, I'm a fan of 'Sunday Driving' on any beautiful day where I've nothing better to do. If you're physically lost you will eventually get to an interstate. If you are mentally lost, aimless cruising is a great way to clear the mind and perhaps come across a gem of a local store. 02/04/15 Newsletter responses. Short stories: I think it's funny how I can make any novel into a deep meaningful affair. Not necessarily because the author meant it that way, but meerly because I look for the deeper meanings as they currently relate to my life. Makes the experience all that more enjoyable. |
| See "Note: Who's seen The Game with Michael Douglas and..." The Game is SO CLOSE to what I experienced during my 'episode' that it is UNreal. I propose a remake with a girl lead. L.I.F.E. = Lerner's Information Family Entertainment Her adopted sister get's her involved. Opens up on Super Bowl weekend, anniversary of father's death Supposed to end on her BDay (is bday gift but also jokingly a xmas gift) but ends up spilling over to Christmas Main character is very well established Tech Writing contractor Loses all money from ton of odd debts/bills (school loans, etc.) Game of LIFE begins soon as she starts a new job, one of the better one's she's had, nice building, decent people; until they are all crowded into one room and chaos ensues So excited! |
| A stereo voice wakes me from the first restful sleep I've had in nearly two weeks. Good morning patrons. It's a beautiful morning this Friday. The date is May 18th and the time is 8:15 am. Breakfast is now served, everyone come to the dining center, breakfast is now served. The cheerfulness emanating from the bodiless woman strikes a sharp contrast to my dull mood. I consider ignoring the voice but the pain radiating from my stomach urges me to venture out into the medicinal wilderness. Besides, last night made it clear that failure to comply willingly will lead to forceful acquiescence. The hallway from last night, or earlier this morning, I'm still not sure which, is bright and welcoming. A tall thin white man that clearly has the look of a career homeless person is slowly trudging to the left. I leave the security of my hallway to follow him the few feet to the communal area. An auburn haired lady with a high voice is pulling trays from a metal box and calling out names. There is at least one person already seated at each table. A petite middle-aged man is sitting at the long table furthest from me but closest to the window. Mr. Homeless lays claim to the other half of the huge table. A flamboyant young black girl sits at one of the four remaining round tables. A young scared looking boy sits at the second. An older angry looking man at the third and a not quite so angry woman at the fourth table closest to me. Not yet ready to decide who I should share a table with I stand mutely next to the food cart. "What's your name dear?" "Anna Watkins." "O dear, it doesn't look as if they've made a tray for you yet. Here's a house tray and here's a menu, be sure to fill that out so you can get what you want tomorrow." I take my food and abruptly decide to sit with the less angry woman nearest me. She seems annoyed and a bit taken aback by my decision but I just smile at her. "Good morning!" Her consternation eases a bit. "Morning." She doesn't seem keen to continue conversing and my stomach is practically howling with the smell of the tray before me, so I don't press the issue. *describe food, not that good, spend time filling out menu* -------------------------------------------------- Halfway through breakfast doctors begin making rounds and speaking to patients. A young caramel skinned girl walks up to me. "Hi, Anna?" I nod not wanting to speak with food in my mouth. "May I talk with you for a minute?" "Sure." She takes the seat my breakfast mate has vacated. " *she asks questions about what I remember last night, how I'm feeling, do I feel suicidal, etc.* " " *I respond that nothing is making sense and I'm not sure why I'm here and I'm feeling paranoid, etc.* " -------------------------------------------------------------- New Chapter |
| BC Prompt: When was the last time you dedicated a day to yourself? If you have, share the details and their effects on you at the end of the day. If you haven't, why not, and would you if given the chance? Note: Written as a chapter/scene in my upcoming NaNoWriMo novel. I wake up in the dark room well rested but wary. The heavy metal door has been left open allowing a liberal amount of yellow light to seep in. The skewed rectangle of light looks odd against the impermeable caliginous of my temporary safe haven. The juice and sandwich I had thrown on the floor last night was still there, palely glowing with the thinnest reaches of the beam outside my door. I sit up. Maybe they weren't trying to make me sick. Surely if they wanted to poison me they could have done it with the needle they stuck me with last night. I don't want to think about yesterday. I don't want to think at all. Shoving all thought from my mind I am forced to focus on my body. I do a quick assessment: legs fine, left buttocks a bit sore where they stuck me, arms good. I roll my shoulders a few times and revel in the feel of my shoulder blades contracting. I roll my head in a few circles around my neck and feel my tension ease somewhat. My throat is sore from all the screaming I've been doing. I pick up the apple juice and inspect it closely. It is a small plastic cup, about a half pint, sealed with a thin aluminum paper top. It would be easy for them to stick a needle in the top, but I see no signs of tampering and I have decided they won't poison me. The worse it will probably do is make me drowsy and I have a feeling I won't want to be up for long anyway. The juice is delicious. I always did like apple juice, plus it has the added benefit of helping with my regularity. Given the week I have been having my bowels are sure to need all the support they can get. Without bothering to inspect it I rip open the second container of juice and gulp it down greedily. This one is cranberry apple juice, another great diuretic. That done I pick up the sandwich. Dry turkey on a dry hamburger bun. My stomach rebels. I toss the meager proportions back into the darkest corner of my room. Though 'room' doesn't feel right, more like a 'cell'. There are three doors into my cell. The one facing me while lying down is open. The second one behind me is closed and probably leads to the nurses station. A blinder covers the window so I can not say for sure. The third door to my left creeps me out. It has no window and I see no need for two extra doors. Seems like overkill if you ask me. The thought of people coming in at me from all sides makes me uneasy. Last night it felt like they all piled in through the open door but on reflection it's plausible they used the other two as well. I was just too overwhelmed and hysterical to notice at the time. Spurred on by a fresh bout of paranoia I decide to leave my roomy cell and do a bit of reconnaissance. I stand in the bright doorway. There is a door to a cell just like mine to my right. Directly across and to the left a bit is the shower room where the creepy guy was. Beyond my tiny bright hallway the empty main thoroughfare is dull in comparison. Dim white search lighting lights up the corridor intermittently. It must still be late at night or early morning. Emboldened by the lack of foot traffic I walk to the edge of my hallway and survey the nurses station on my left. One male nurse is sitting at the computer. He doesn't look up. To my right all the bedroom doors are closed, silence reigns. I decide that's enough exploring for one night. Stifling a yawn I return to the cot in my cell and quickly descend into blissful darkness. *tired of writing but she goes on to wake up (in a mental institution) and is basically forced to have a day to herself for some intense reflection* -------------------------------------------- Edited for FINAL short story submission into GlimmerTrain  on 4/20/2019----------------- Companion piece to
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| Final: "Whichever Way the Wind Blows" Faith may have entered her sleeping cabin in Car 2 as Chicago's most loved weather woman, but she left her room as Ororo Monroe, mutant weather witch. Storm's skintight leotard gleamed against the interior lighting of the hallway. I can't wait to run into that old hack Bette Midler again, Storm thought to herself. I bet she'll just die after getting a look at me. As if conjured from thought, old ladies Bette and Spot came around the corner nearly colliding with white spandex clad X-Men crusader. "Watch it Geris, I don't need you smudging my outfit with your prune hands." "Who's Geri?" asks Spot innocently. She looks up into Storms eyes and gasps sharply. Hand over her mouth she exclaims, "Dear Lord child, what is wrong with your eyes!? They're all white!" "They're contacts Dottie, calm down; and she is trying to call us old, geriatrics. Rather ironic considering she's got that grey wig on. Better old and dignified than young and loose. Though you're no spring chicken yourself. I read that article in Public magazine where that Bieber boy called you an 'old stale wind'. Guess your rose doesn't smell that ripe to some." "Better watch it Miss M," Storm spat. "This rose still has it's thorns, and my hair is silver not grey!" "Least this rose isn't so easily picked." Bette shoots back. "You know, I hope we don't ride near any beaches. It would be a shame for you to drown." The women glared at each other, sparks shooting from their eyes. Modo and Poe choose this moment to walk down the hallway. "Did you hear about that mysterious piece of paper tHiNg found?" asks the dark poet. "Yea, somethings going in in Car Three, but I think I'll stay clear of that. You know Bruce Willis is supposed to be here? I think somewhere in Car Four. That's where I'm headed. The two men slow down to give Storm appreciative glances and continue on their way. It was enough to blow away the dark clouds gathering behind Storms eyes. Without another word she turns her back on Bette and Dot and follows after the men.   Passing through Car Three on her way to Car Four, Storm hears rapid scuttling from behind one of the cabin doors. No one else seems to be in the car but a pile of Bones . Storm tsks to herself and says out loud, "An old skeleton, really? How cliche." Looking both ways to ensure she's alone, the scantily clad mutant leans closer to the door. The whispers from behind the door sound animated and urgent. "Snooping? How pathetic." Stomach leaping into her chest Storm whirls around to face Batman . Having been caught sneaking several times before she was able to prevent the shriek that tried to leap from her throat. The panic from a moment before was quickly replaced by a heat that filled her cheeks and throat. "Who are you calling pathetic? Where the hell did you come from and why are you here then?" "I have my reasons," the dark knight says without further explanation. "The only reason you exist right now is to do my bidding and you are seriously lacking in that department." "How long are we going to attempt to carry on with this charade?" Jeff practically whines. "As long as I'm breathing and calling the shots. Shape up or this mysterious A won't be the only one sending out mass text messages." Batman merely glares at his blackmailer. "Glare all you want right now, just make sure you fix your face when the time comes. Where is that creepy Chiana chick anyway? And that other guy, Ken something I bet they're somewhere getting busy. Come on, let's go catch them in the act!"  |
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I just hope they can see it that way.
