Archive | February 2011

Happening Elsewhere Links etc.

Feb25

If you have not checked out TheSilentPoet’s 28 poems in 28 days, you really should. She has a lovely way with twisting fairy tales.

[personal profile] haikujaguar has posted another Three Micahs article, on agility. These are great, informative, and fun articles on art as a small business, generally a business of one.

[personal profile] ysabetwordsmith has posted an interesting link discussing whether or not a writer is a brand. As I contemplate branding myself with my logo rather literally, I find this interesting.

Speaking of interesting, cool, and Micah, check on this interview

and, to end the people-are-awesome portion of my linkage,
[profile] tybarbary has a really cool set of links in this week’s Things I Learned This Week post.

And!
[personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s Poetry Fishbowl is coming next week! 3/1/11, and the theme is!! “Things With Wings.” !!

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/16305.html. You can comment here or there.

Hottest Days of summer pic for the nastiest days of winter

Feb25

Sam’s Point Nature Preserve, near Ellentown NY; that’s me & our friends abjuk & E.Mc in the photo, taken by T. (the Sam of the Point was an ancestor of Abjuk’s)

This was one of the hottest days I can remember this past summer; we (Abjuk, E.Mc, T., and I) did a craft fest in Rhinbeck and then hiked this – the ice caves were absolutely wonderful after the heat.

Worldbuilding random eep!

Feb25

Weeks!

Weeks are based on our rotation. They’re nice.

Stories with tendays bother me almost as much as stories with candlemarks and smeeps.

But calling a (for instance) 9-day span a week seems ripe for confusion.

Meep?

(not smeep, that’s different)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/16120.html. You can comment here or there.

Drakeathon Leftovers: Souvenirs

Feb25

From ysabetwordsmith‘s prompt/invitation: you are cordially invited to play with either of my urban fantasy poetic series, Monster House or the Psychic Photographer:
http://penultimateproductions.weebly.com/serial-poetry.html
This is a riff off of her Monster House series, which you should really, really read.

It was Melody’s idea to leave cream out.

We were living in one of those broken-down used-to-be-nice old houses in CollegeTown, sharing a three-bedroom place with four other people, and our stuff was vanishing. We confronted the worst of the roommates, but his beer-sodden answer was to blame “that freaking fraggle.” We chalked that up as Worse Excuse Ever, until a late-night return caught the little imp (the so-called fraggle, not Joe) in Melody’s underwear drawer. A little internet searching and some library time later, and we’d invested in a little cream and set a flea-market saucer in the coolest windowsill.

Our stuff stopped disappearing overnight, and the cream was gone every morning. What’s more, stuff started coming back; Melody’s underwear, my signed guitar picks, the goblet from our first year together; when we saw the imp – boggart, our studies suggested – it looked fat and happy. When we moved, amongst our stuff was enough of our roommates’ trinkets to make up the back rent they all owed us.

We keep putting out cream. It was another small and harmless eccentricity in our collection of such oddities we treasured, souvenirs of our life together. With the new place, we’ve taken to leaving out oatmeal and honey for the brownie in the kitchen, too.

Hey, some people collect shot glasses.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/15788.html. You can comment here or there.

Drakeathon Leftovers: A Changing of the Guard

Feb24

From the second of [personal profile] kc_obrien‘s 3 prompts: “A Changing of the Guard,” 326 words

“How is he?” Ronni set down her bag outside the hospital room long enough to pull out a wrapped sandwich. “Here, I got two.”

“Thanks.” Ana took the proffered food and, with a glance at the closed door, sighed. “Getting better, I guess. I mean, he’s healing, he’s stable. Physically.”

Ronni winced, and nibbled at her own sandwich without appetite. “So, still pretty bad?”

“Still pretty bad,” the other girl confirmed. “He’ll talk to me a bit, if no-one’s around, but a lot of it is incoherent. I mean, he knows I’m me, and sometimes he calls me by name… but that’s it.”

“Well, at least he’s talking to you.” The sandwich tasted like ashes in her mouth, but she made herself eat. “Christ, Ana…”

“Yeah, I know.” She shook her head. “I don’t fault you. No-one but Tom does, and, well, we both know he’s crazy.”

“And himself.” She tilted her head at the door. “He’s always blamed me.”

“That’s just the beer talking, and the pills, Ronni. Everyone sane – which includes him when he’s thinking straight, knows you only did what you had to. I would have done the same in your shoes. Nearly did,” she added, more softly.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” Now it was her turn to reassure, a dance they did twice every day at their changing of the guard. “He still would have … well, it had already happened. You didn’t know, going in, but he did, and I still would have done what I did.” She glanced at the door again. “He started this ball rolling, Ana.”

“I guess you’re right.” She finished her sandwich and balled the wrapper up violently. “Some days I don’t know why you don’t hate me, you know?”

Ronni shook her head. “Don’t be silly.” She tossed her own wrapped and braced herself for her turn on bedside duty. “He chose to cheat on me with you. He got himself into this mess.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/15531.html. You can comment here or there.