And On The Eighth Day…

…TPTB threw me a curveball. I am agoraphobic and I cringe at the mere thought of going outside. The first part of today’s prompt would have me go out to “a local café, park, or public place” in order to observe something which I would later write about in great detail. Well, that’s not happening. Aside from the blinding panic attack I’m certain to suffer, I’m not creeping people’s lives even if it leads to an entertaining post on this blog. Smile with tongue out


Here’s the twist: I am meant to eliminate the adverbs in said writing. Oh joy be unconfined. They have gotten me at last. The TL;DR version of events is this: I went to a toxic elementary school where the majority of teachers and staff spent more time trying to score malicious jokes on some of the students rather than teach us these basics. I was one of those students. The end.


That is my preface admitting ignorance of this particular facet of writing. Do with it as you will. Now, I’m going to do this assignment thanks to Google, Wikipedia, Schoolhouse Rock and the best my imagination can come up with. Instead of going out there, I will relate the most recent thing in my memory in great detail. My story involving Melusine Gordon is the most recent thing that comes to mind. Fictional characters don’t mind being spied upon. Rolling on the floor laughing


The late September morning’s clouds were blood red contrasted with dark blue patches where the sky showed through. The young woman watched as the upper level winds blew the clouds towards her and over the awakening city of Norfolk, Virginia. The meteorologists on the news had been warning people all week about the possibility of the hurricane hitting but no one really believed it until it took a sudden turn towards the Virginia coastline.  Melusine Gordon cringed as she felt the warm ocean air against her face and thought of the likelihood of the category three storm coming ashore.

Shaking her head, Melusine thought to herself that she had more important things to worry about. She felt the bulge in her stomach with trepidation. Her fears were many. Since she’d become pregnant, the father of her child was nowhere to be found and she had no way to adequately support a growing family.

On top of this, her family rejected her on finding out that she was expecting a child and, try as she might, Melusine couldn’t seem to find a job anywhere she looked, and she did look hard for work. The prospect of going on WIC benefits and then SNAP didn’t appeal to her at all. Yes, they were there for the benefit of herself and her child but the added stigma of collecting benefits while being a walking statistic in the eyes of her community didn’t sit well with her.

That’s where her plan came into play. Melusine had an idea of where the father of her child, Richard, would be and decided to ambush him. She didn’t get pregnant on her own and she refused to raise this kid by herself or without at least some support from the father. Bracing herself against the expected conflict, Melusine walked over to Willoughby Spit and there she found him.

Richard Cromwell was by himself, looking out at the dark churning ocean. His mobile phone was vibrating in his jacket pocket non-stop. On hearing footfalls, he looked up and saw the last person he wanted to see in the world: his last warthog conquest. Richard could guess why Melusine Gordon was following him out to this spot. He’d heard the rumors of her family’s rejection but he didn’t care. It wasn’t his fault she was stupid enough to get knocked up. Even if he were the father, he felt he was too young to be saddled with the responsibility of taking care of some whiny brat for the next eighteen years or more.

One look and Melusine could see a reflection of every thought across his face.

“Ritchie, there’s no easy way to say this-” She began.

“Do you really think I give a damn if you’re pregnant?” He cut her off. “I’m not taking care of your ugly little bastard and that’s an end to it.”

“I didn’t get pregnant by myself and this kid is half you. Don’t you dare lay all the responsibility on me, Richard Cromwell!” Melusine shouted.

She watched, crestfallen, as he mocked her with his laughter before shoving past her and heading back into the city. Sinking to her knees, Melusine began crying just as the first bands of rain from the hurricane reached the shoreline. For one brief moment, she considered walking into the ocean but something inside her kept her from taking such a drastic step. Instead, she stood and stumbled back to her small rented room to think.


I think I have done this whole blog post without a single adverb.


Later! Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

The Dream of Melusine

Today’s Writing 101 prompt is called Give and Take. I am supposed to write a compare and contrast of two things. The twist for today is that I’m supposed to do it in dialogue format. I have no experience in doing this but I’m giving it a go.


So it got me thinking. What could I compare and contrast that I’m familiar with? At first, I was going to have a comparison between two characters in my story, Melanie Grunwald and Melusine Gordon. That didn’t appeal to me though as they compliment, rather than contrast, each other. Then, I was going to have an argument between two characters in my story, Melusine’s lover and partner John Grunwald and her ex-boyfriend and father of her child Richard Cromwell.


However, from the standpoint of the writing prompt that made no sense. Then, it came to me, Melusine’s internal dialogue is still messed up pretty badly from the abuse she suffered. I figured the dialogue could be her old life, represented in her mind by Richard Cromwell and her new life, represented in her mind by John Grunwald. They could have an epic verbal spat over her qualities as seen through her own lens. It’s a mental clash of the titans of Hope and Despair. At any rate, that what I’m hoping to write out. It could come out all wrong. Here goes:


After truly making love for the first time in her life, Melusine Gordon slept deeply. Though she was physically sated and comfortable, her mind remained troubled by past demons and future specters looming in her subconscious. What would her community and family think if they saw her now? Would they judge her further and condemn her even more than they already had? Melusine watched as two figures coalesced from all her negative and positive thoughts and emotions to become Richard Cromwell and John Grunwald.


Richard Cromwell: I should have known you’d never amount to anything more than a whore. Look at the neighborhood and family you came from. You’re trash, Melusine, and you’re always going to be trash. Filth begets filth and your little bastard will grow up just as bad as you.


John Grunwald: No, no more. You don’t get to define Melusine or Little Melanie. Not you, not your community and no one from her past gets to say another unkind thing about her or our daughter.


Richard Cromwell: Who are you? A married man, with a dying wife who’s sleeping around on her with a slut.


John Grunwald: Wrong again. We’re all happy and in love with each other. We support each other. Which is more than can be said for you. I was there for Melusine and Little Melanie when you were too busy thinking only of yourself.


Richard Cromwell: You’ll drop her as soon as she’s pregnant again.


John Grunwald: Never. I plan on spending the rest of my life making Melusine, Mel, Little Melanie and any other kids who come along happy as a family.


Richard Cromwell: You’re not fooling anyone. What would anyone want with a warthog like Melusine? She’s hideous-


John Grunwald: She’s beautiful. Her good qualities are endless and her negative qualities non-existent. She’s patient, kind, sweet, generous, beautiful, a great friend and lover.


Richard Cromwell: What future could you possibly hope to have? A concubine until his wife dies and then what? Its to the streets with you and your little hell spawn.


John Grunwald: Never! I love and cherish Melusine as much as I love and cherish Mel. I’d never throw her aside. I would die before I saw any of my dear ones in the streets!


Richard Cromwell: Do you think the world will just accept this little arrangement between you three? It flies in the face of traditional relationships and it will not be allowed to stand.


John Grunwald: We love each other and that’s all we need. Screw the tradition that blackballed Melusine from getting a job in Virginia. Screw the tradition that ostracized her for being pregnant out of wedlock. Screw the tradition that would keep us all apart and would rather see Melusine made a martyr than be happy in a stable loving relationship. If we’re talking so-called traditional values, why didn’t you step up and marry her when you found out she was pregnant? Tradition dictates you support your offspring, not abandon her to the wilds and you’ve fought every step of the way not to take responsibility for your actions. Face it, your arguments are invalid. Now, go away and leave my little Pixie alone.


Slowly Melusine regained consciousness from her distressing dream to find herself enveloped in the arms of John Grunwald.


The End. Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

The Most Interesting People

I just got today’s prompt in the e-mail. Apparently, I am meant to write, in detail, about the most interesting people I’ve met this year. As this is only April, I find this a bit of a challenge but I’ll give it a go.


I would have to say that the most interesting people I’ve met this year would be three characters from my story. Their names are John Grunwald, Melanie “Mel” Grunwald and Melusine “Lucy” Gordon. You see, I first began writing this story back on 23 August 2008 but I didn’t really work on it until this year. These last few months alone, I have fleshed the main characters out significantly, to the point where I feel as though I’m finally getting to know them as people. I didn’t have that feeling before.


Let’s start with Melusine as she is the protagonist of the story. It’s her life we’re following.


Melusine Gordon is a twenty-five year old Black woman from Norfolk, Virginia who works as a Home Health Aide in the home of the Grunwalds. At the beginning of my story, she is four month’s pregnant with a child unwanted by the father. She is also viciously rejected by her own family who look down their noses at her for getting pregnant out of wedlock, though they never had much regard for her to begin with. After much consternation concerning the level of support she’d get from the biological father of the baby, Melusine takes a job further north in Maryland to support herself and her growing family after a confrontation involving the father goes south.


Melusine is a very dedicated worker and, on finding a good job with the Grunwalds, throws herself into it head first even in her condition. This earns her the respect, admiration and growing love of both of the Grunwalds.  Melusine longs to learn how to do the crafts she’s read about in the libraries in Norfolk and in Randallstown. Her main goal, after being a good parent, is to, eventually, learn to knit and crochet.


Onward to John Grunwald.


John Grunwald is a White man from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, a chef by trade and is, at the time of my story, thirty-two years old. He is an orphan, having lost both his parents in a tragic car accident when he was a baby. After that, he was raised in an orphanage where he was nicknamed “Annie” for his flaming red hair. He is steadfastly dedicated to his wife Melanie and, later in my story, also dedicated to Melusine equally so. He comes to think of her child as his own and acts accordingly by supporting her where the biological father didn’t. In the beginning of my story, he is keeping a dedicated vigil for his wife, Melanie, who suffers from Liver Cancer.


He is also a dedicated worker, enjoys cooking all kinds of food, making jokes, making up nicknames for people and passionately living life to the fullest with those he loves at his side.


Last but not least, Melanie Grunwald.


Doctor Melanie Grunwald is a White woman from Randallstown, Maryland and thirty-seven years old. She comes from a very well to do family but lost all contact with them once she met and married John Grunwald ten years prior. They didn’t approve of the then twenty-two year old chef’s prospects and forbade her seeing him again if she wanted support for her education and lifestyle. Melanie chose love over money and was greatly rewarded for her choice when John landed a successful position at a popular restaurant and was thus able to cover her schooling expenses. Initially, they were going to try for children when she’d finished with Medical School but she’d been diagnosed with Cancer by that point and neither wanted to risk either her life or any potential baby’s life. The baby Melusine Gordon gives birth to is named after her. She instantly takes to the little girl and considers the baby her own.


She is a workaholic and prefers helping others to being helped herself. She is trained as a general health practitioner in adult medicine. Prior to her diagnosis of Liver Cancer and subsequent illness, she worked for the RICE medical center a few blocks from the Grunwald home. Melanie enjoys board games, especially Chess.


This story in particular is the most complete Polyamorous story I’ve written thus far. Right now, I have twenty-eight pages worth of writing down that looks good and I’m working on it daily. It’s my hope to eventually add this to a book of stories or even develop it into a larger story for a book. This story is reflective of my life, in that I am Polyamorous and a workaholic, but that’s about it. Most of this other stuff hasn’t happened to me.  

My Writing Practice Commitment

Back on Day Three of this grand venture, it was suggested by TPTB that we all commit to a writing practice of our own choosing. It was recommended that we spend no less than fifteen minutes a day writing. Honestly, I’ve been struggling to figure out what to write about in the time since that e-mail hit my inbox. I think I’ve got it now though.


For a minimum of one hour per day, I am going to work on my story. It dovetails quite nicely with this in that I don’t have to publish anything I don’t want to. I am essentially writing in the filler for the story, so it’s definitely coherent writing practice. Doing it this way forces me to work on the story daily, which is something I should be doing anyway. Plus, this gives me a good chance to practice for NaNoWriMo.


I’m going to go work some more on the shawl now. As soon as I’ve successfully connected the second cake of yarn to the project, I’m going to do a bit of late night/early morning writing.


Thanks for listening! Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

How I Lost My Fear of Crafting, Part Three

This is the final installment of the trilogy of how I lost my fear of crafting. Enjoy!



Slowly but surely, I began to increase my knitting skills. Over time I mastered stitch after stitch, until the challenges were intermediate to advanced. I discovered many different learning media from Knit and Crochet Today (Later called Knit and Crochet Now), to DVDs available in the library and even videos on YouTube that all taught how to knit in easy to follow instructions. I was hooked from that moment on but, by then, a new fire was burning inside of me. I started seeing things on Crocheting and knew I had to learn how to do that as well.


Thankfully, I had resources from which to learn by this point. I bought a crochet hook set for myself and checked books out of the library on the subject. I eyed Drew Emborsky’s and Robin Chachula’s techniques like a hawk as I watched, what was then, my favorite knitting and crocheting television program. Yet, try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to pick it up initially. Unlike knitting, I didn’t do it until my fingers bled, but I did try hard. However, something inside me just couldn’t pick up the craft of crocheting.


So, thinking a class might help, I signed up for the first crocheting class I saw online at the Woman’s Industrial Exchange. I tried very hard through my nervousness but only managed a mostly through the back loops scrap of crocheted fabric. I needed something more in depth and searched online for another free class. Thankfully, the Baltimore Free School had classes available for learning to crochet. One class schedule in particular offered a month’s worth of classes and I jumped at the opportunity.


On 10 October 2009, I walked through the dark streets of Baltimore to the Free School’s class site. It was a pleasant night and a not so bad neighborhood but I was still cautious of my surroundings because of my history. I made it to the class site in one piece and was welcomed by a large class of men and women who were all interested in learning the art of crocheting. The teacher was a nice woman named Lissah Dee and she was instrumental in my learning to crochet finally. Through watching her and studying her stitch key, I was finally able to pick up the correct method of crocheting.


I immediately went home with this skill and practiced until I got the hang of it. By this point, I had a marginal yarn stash, so I took out some royal blue yarn and, eventually, made a soap cozy/scrubbing thing. This was my first completed crocheted project and I was very proud. I sent an e-mail to Lissah Dee and told her what I had done and she was very encouraging. Regretfully, I didn’t go to any of the other classes due to Bipolar downswing, but I credit this class with teaching me to crochet.


After I did this first project, I went back to watching Knit and Crochet Today and watched Drew Emborsky making the Blushing Grannies Afghan. I wanted to make a blanket and it seemed a good place to start to learn flat crocheting of motifs. At first, I really messed up but, after the third try, I finally got it right. Ultimately, I didn’t make that particular project but it did set me onto the path of making Five By Five – Crazy First Blanket and other motif containing projects. Over time, my allegiance switched from Knit and Crochet Now to Knitting Daily circa Series 100 – 1100 due to my appetite for knitting and crocheting needing more of a challenge.


As of today, I am successfully able to knit and crochet with minimal issues. I have even learned, via YouTube, to read patterns and charts.


The End. Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

How I Lost My Fear of Crafting, Part Two

Note: There was no prompt for me to post this today. I just felt like it. Call it me getting ahead of the assignments, if you will. Hopefully, I’ll be able to do all the daily prompts in addition to the Writing 101 prompts with no problems. Anyway, back to the story.



One day, around the time of my twenty-fifth birthday, I decided I must learn to knit. By then, we had moved into a stable neighborhood and I was mentally stable even if still ragged around the psychological edges. I had come a long way from near complete mental breakdown up to this point and I was determined to treat myself with a self obtained accomplishment. Knitting was to be this accomplishment even if I had to bleed for it.


So, taking my meager savings, I bought a pounder skein of black yarn from Amazon along with the cheapest straight needles I could find. I ended up with a pound of Caron’s One Pound Yarn and a pair of 10” size 8 Susan Bates knitting needles. I was overjoyed to finally have the implements of knitting but I didn’t know the first thing about how to knit. I searched high and low on the internet but to no avail. This was 2006 after all. There was nothing there excepting a few sites and a few videos online.


Not having luck with searching online, I decided to go to the library website to see if they had any materials related to knitting. Wow, am I ever glad I did. They not only had materials relating to knitting but they also had an upcoming class at the Catonsville Library being taught by a famous knitting woman. I had no clue who she was but the words “Free Knitting Class” had me rushing to register. Lucky for me, there was still room in the class for a few more people. I was given the requirements for the class as well as the date and time to show up at the Library.


I showed up at the appointed time in the neighborhood I was barely familiar with. I was about twenty minutes early, so I spent my time fiddling with my needles and yarn while waiting for class to begin. Once I got the all clear to go to the classroom, off I went to my first lesson with sweaty palms and a leaping frog in my stomach.


The class was comprised of all women of varying ages and backgrounds all there for a single purpose: To Knit. One of the Library staff was there to introduce the Famous Knitting Woman whose name I cannot recall beyond “Knight” as her surname. In addition to Famous Knitting Woman, there were three teaching assistants who did most of the teaching.


Once everyone had been introduced, class was started. There was a knot in a skein of yarn being use for demonstration purposes and I was given an opportunity to show my party trick of getting near impossible knots out of bits of string. Famous Knitting Woman had gone to retrieve the scissors and before she could make it across the room, I had already gotten the knot out. She could hardly believe her eyes. I just shrugged and said that it was my talent before getting self conscious.


The class went well and, after the last two students (a mother and young daughter) showed up, we all settled into casting on the initial stitches. I was so nervous about dropping my needles that I held on for dear life and casted on stitches so tightly, they could scarcely be pierced. After a few tries, I managed to cast on reasonably loose stitches via the Long Tail Cast On and began attempting to knit. Famous Knitting Woman saw how I was knitting with the stitches far from the point and suggested I move them up to the very tip to aid in my knitting becoming speedier. However, I was so nervous, I kept dropping stitches and eventually fell into a habit of keeping them back which has stayed with me even up to today.


Soon, the class was coming to its end and Famous Knitting Woman made suggestions of things we should buy, books we should read and tools we should consider acquiring to aid in our progress as knitters. By then, it was dark and, after saying goodbye to everyone, I walked back to the dark bus stop in a daze that I had finally learned something of the basics of knitting. However, on getting home, I began doing something wrong and I knew it but didn’t know how to fix the error. It would be from 20 June 2006 until 6 August 2006 until I finally found a fix for my problem.


All during the Summer, I focused on reading knitting books and practicing by knitting on “the Object” until my hands bled. I’m not kidding, my hands got blisters and bled from the amount of practice I got in on those needles and yarn. Yet, try as I might, nothing I did seemed to fix the problem of the extra stitch. I didn’t know what I was doing but, for some reason, I went from ten stitches to eleven and onwards until I had an unwieldy project sitting on my aluminium needles. Still, I kept at it even as my hands bled and my eyes turned bloodshot from so many hours of staring at the same project. I didn’t give up.


One day in August, we got a call that my Maternal Grandfather was in the hospital. Apparently, my uncle from my Grandfather’s second marriage contacted the family via my aunt. We were invited to a cookout to give the family a chance to know each other. Less than one week later, my Grandfather was dead from his illness. The stress of having to deal with so much during that time drove me to escape into the world of knitting.


Giving up on “the Object”, I searched high and low on the Internet again until I came across the KnittingHelp website. Amy Finlay’s videos quite literally kept me sane as I learned to properly knit for the first time since June. I practiced throughout the night until the morning of the Wake. Once we were at the funeral home, I retreated further into my knitting and managed a pretty decent looking beginner’s scarf. For the first time, but not the last time, knitting kept me from blowing my top at an inappropriate moment.


Part Three, the final installment comes tomorrow. Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

Briefest Story I Could Manage

Today’s writing prompt was like pulling healthy teeth. I was supposed to write a story about an encounter with a letter, opting to be as brief about it as I could in words. Without this introduction, the word count for this story clocks in at 259 words. That’s not too bad. Probably could be better though.


It is a bright, hot summer day. I stumble along my path, aching to breathe and dying of thirst. Just as I am considering going home to my air conditioning and water, an envelope catches my eye. At first, I think to ignore it but curiosity gets the better of me as, wheezing, I stoop to grab the letter. It has no address or markings of any kind but it’s clearly filled with paper. Carefully, I open the envelope and read the letter.


It’s a letter from a soldier’s sweetheart to a soldier serving overseas. I ascertain the name of the people and, carefully returning the letter to its envelope, race home to contact the military so the letter might be returned to its rightful owner. Once I get home, I search the web for a contact at the military so that I might give them the letter. On obtaining the information, I breath a nervous sigh as I contact the military liaison. As I live close to the liaison’s offices, the man agrees to come to my house to pick up the letter in an hour’s time.


Nervously, I spruce up the place and clear the dust and cobwebs from my bachelorette pad. Hot and sweaty from the day, I take a shower as soon as I’ve finished cleaning and find I have ten anxious minutes to spare once I am ready. Taking the letter out of my backpack, I lay it down on the coffee table and sigh just as someone knocks at the door.


The end. Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

How I Lost My Fear of Crafting, Part One

From the age of three, I have wanted to knit and crochet. When I was very young, the Maternal Parental was friends with a woman who put the “fun” in dysfunctional. In that friendship, came friendship with her three sisters and brother. One was just slightly dysfunctional while the other two were, for all intents and purposes, seemingly normal as was the brother. Slightly Dysfunctional Sister had three daughters, two of which were dysfunctional and one who was quiet and seemingly normal as well. It’s from her that I first witnessed the crafts of Knitting and Crocheting.


One day, while avoiding being bullied by the other two daughters, I came across Sane Daughter in her room doing something with a hook. Not understanding what she was doing, I quietly observed her as she used her metal stick and jabbed it into an ever growing piece of fabric. As it turned out, she was crocheting a blanket using what must have been a G hook but I didn’t know this at three years old. Seeing this happen was like magic to me and I watched her until I was called by the Maternal Parental so we could go home. From that moment on, I wanted to learn what Sane Daughter was doing.


Another time, I came across her using two metal sticks connected to a wire (this was the early 1980s) to make what looked to be a little sweater. Again, I was transfixed by what I saw and, for her part, Sane Daughter wasn’t annoyed with my presence. So, she let me watch her create this tiny article of clothing until it was, again, time for me to leave for home. I liked Sane Daughter.


Time went on and the Maternal Parental eventually fell out with Super Dysfunctional Sister over the financing of a television. After that, we lost contact with the whole family. I wasn’t too broken up over that because Super Dysfunctional Sister and Slightly Dysfunctional Sister had a majority of my early childhood tormentors as children. I was only really friendly with Super Awesome Lesbian Sister’s and Super Awesome Quiet Brother’s kids. The rest, saving Sane Daughter, would tease and pick on me.


Lost with the friendship though was my only connection to someone who knew how to Knit and Crochet. I didn’t, nor did I want to, know anyone in my neighborhood who might be able to teach me. No one in my family, that I knew of, knew these strange crafts. I also had no resources on where and how I could learn these two things. It would be a mystery to me for almost a decade but it would be omnipresent in the back of my mind.


One day, while in the high school auditorium, I watched as a frenemy turned friend of mine focused all her attention on two metal sticks connected by a wire while creating material out of pink yarn. She was making a little toy and I was, again, transfixed by what I saw. I asked her what she was doing and she explained that she was knitting. The puzzled look on my face caused her to follow her question up with another asking whether I had ever seen someone knit before. Not wanting to get into the entire history of Dysfunctional Family, I only nodded and watched as she continued knitting her toy.


By then, I had a name for one of the tasks I wanted to learn. Knitting was on my mind from that moment onward. I couldn’t learn it from school because they had rules against us having sharp objects without adult supervision. So, I kept it in the back of my mind until such time as I was able to follow through on my goal of learning how to do it. It would take me nine years before I first had a chance to hold knitting needles. By this point, I was twenty-five years old and in mortal terror of making the attempt at learning to knit. Thus began my fear of knitting but also my conquering of that fear.


Tune in tomorrow for Part Two! Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

There’s Gold In That Thar Water!

Today’s prompt was to find the third article down and include the headline in my post. Here goes…


Fugitive US treasure hunter Thompson pleads guilty


Considering everything that has come to light today and I’m meant to write about this. Oh well.


Apparently, this guy was wanted for evading a civil case against him brought on by his creditors. He and his accomplice had been hiding out in Boca Raton, Florida for two years under assumed names while doing everything possible to evade the authorities. To pay for stuff in cash, they had to have a lot of money. Man, I barely have bus fare. Disappointed smile


A plea bargain has been made and this guy will spend no more than two years in jail for skipping out with the creditor’s money. He’s also got to turn over the  $425,380 (£286,000) that was initially seized from his bank account. Considering he’s potentially sitting on top of all that largess, wow.


He’s going to be sitting pretty a few years from now.


The End. Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

Keeping Up With It

It is currently three days into this writing project and I’m doing very well. I’ve managed to put something up on my blog for each day of the project. I haven’t missed a day yet and I hope not to miss a day.


Today’s prompt included a secondary goal. I am supposed to commit to a writing practice to free write for a minimum of fifteen minutes a day. I think I’m up to doing that. I am familiar with the format of Free Writing, as it is the means I use to write most of my stories. I am hoping to get something coherent out of what I put out. There was also a secondary prompt in that I’m supposed to find a new article to include in a blog post. Oy…


In case you were wondering, this is the Free Write for today.


I haven’t knitted or crocheted since Sunday. I’m hoping to get something done tonight on the October Rust Birthday Shawl. Picking my brains for words has proved exhausting to say the least. I am thankful that something is coming out. However, it seems to be sapping my creativity in other areas. I’m hoping that tonight will be different.


A joyous thing for me, I’ve gotten three series of Knitting Daily (500, 600 and 700) in the mail today with four more (800 through 1100) coming in tomorrow. Thanks to those sales, I got it all for really cheap. I only wanted the first eleven series as I don’t really have a fondness for the format of the show after series 1100. Even with my favorite designers, I couldn’t warm to series 1200 and afterward. So, I’ll be watching my DVD collection for information and inspiration as far as Fiberarts are concerned.


Aside from that, I’ve got a tripod and such coming. The tripod is for me so I can do vlogs and upload them to YouTube. Goodness knows why I want to do this, but, for some reason, I want to make video blogs about what it’s like having agoraphobia, bipolar disorder, PTSD, anxiety etc as well as other things in my day to day life. It’ll all be on my YouTube channel for *gulp* everyone to see.


Why am I doing this again? Oh yeah, I’m supposed to be stretching my boundaries to further aid my recovery. Crying face


Most likely, it’ll be me reading from one or more of my books to start off with. Then, I’ll field questions. Hopefully, I won’t fall flat on my face.


Tonight’s agenda is to do the next writing assignment and prompt, do some crocheting, watch some Knitting Daily and get ready for tomorrow.


Take care, Peoples of the Sun! Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

Three Important Songs in my Life

Boys II Men – It’s So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday

This song represents the good aspects of my past. Admittedly, there weren’t many good times, but for the few that existed, this song is a bittersweet reminded of all I said goodbye to forever. Chief among them is my friendship to one of the few people who was nice to me when I was a kid. Her name was Jamie and she died in a fire when we were in the second grade.


Finally laying that pain of loss to rest took me many years and lots of crying but I did it. When that song was released from the House Party 2 Soundtrack, it was like I was finally given permission to let go of the grief I had been holding onto for years. I still cry from time to time when I think of her life so tragically lost at so early an age but I no longer am obsessed with it as I was when I was a kid. I feel that, in the long run, this is the healthier path.


Queen – Another One Bites The Dust

This is another song from my childhood that helped me overcome adversity. I was routinely bullied by both children and adults and frequently castigated for being myself from a very young age. Slaying those demons took me years of therapy and self-conditioning but I managed it. Sometimes, I would literally have this song playing in my head as a means of inspiration while I strove not to react to some mean thing someone said or did to me.


As the bullying decreased, it helped me also in other areas of my life, from the academics I struggled in to social complexities. It would be my anthem for all challenges I sought to overcome and master. It worked too, in that I am no longer the same frightened, browbeaten mouse of a person I used to be. I speak up for myself now even when it’s difficult and I strive to better myself rather than stew in self-hatred brought on by the vile comments of others. This is a very good song.


Semisonic – Down In Flames

This song represents adulthood to me. It came out around the time I was in high school and dealing with a lot of people I didn’t want to give the time of day to. This song’s inspiration to me was about accepting adult responsibility for myself and letting go of the petty childish feuds that were rife in my old school. Through music and this song in particular, I was able to focus better on the transition from childhood to adulthood.


One line in particular in this song reminds me just how poignant this song is.

“I am seeing these friends for the first time in years. It’s icicle reunion day”. – Semisonic – Down in Flames

Sums up my childhood relationships quite brilliantly.


I have many other songs that I look to for inspiration but these have to be the top three go to songs that have gotten me through the most trying difficulties. Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

The Universe is my Oyster

Today’s challenge proved interesting indeed. Within the question itself was the destination I was most interested in exploring. For as long as I have been able to think on it, I’ve been enamored with the workings of the Universe, with Space/Time and with the conceptualization of the Multiverse. This probably at least partially explains my fascination with Doctor Who and other Science Fiction related to traveling through Space/Time. Yet, my deepest dreams go beyond even the imaginative fancy of programs like Doctor Who in that, with my imagination, I am able to travel without a vessel, experience every nuanced sensation of traversing the vast expanse and still be alive to tell the tale. In a way, this trip through space time is a trip through the imagination itself. A stretching of the boundaries and limitations of the Human Mind.


So, let’s start small and work our way out, shall we? Imagine I am able to travel existence without need of a ship. Well, I suppose the first place I would explore would be Earth. It is after all my home. I can see myself swimming through every waterway, flying through the air, coming into contact with every mineral: solid, semi-solid and molten. Imagine beyond merely touching these things or feeling the wind caressing my form as I move through the air or merely swimming through the water. What If I could become the very atoms of the environs I traveled through? Wouldn’t that be fascinating? A true delving into the existence of everything. Being able to become one with all that is around me on the sub-atomic level.


Take for example the Cetacean. Imagine being able to experience awareness as a Cetacean. Spending all of one’s life in an ocean from birth to death, whether toothed or baleen, swimming in a never ending search for food, for a mate, for fun. Imagine encountering humans, those strange bipedal, sometimes dangerous yet fascinating creatures who seem both curious and indifferent to the wonders around them. Imagine being able to dive to the deepest depths of the ocean in awe at the world one finds there. A seething mass of life existing in near total darkness, creatures of enormous size and complexity, creatures of equal curiosity but who are minuscule by comparison. Imagine being able to experience life at that level.


Traveling the Earth, speculate on becoming everyone and everything. Imagine experiencing the pains of birth from the perspective of both mother and child, as well as the anxious father. Imagine becoming the crow, the worm, the buffalo, the wolf and all manner of creatures that inhabit this sphere we take for granted. Imagine being able to soar and dive without dying, to swim through both water and lava without drowning or bursting into flames. Imagine becoming the very rocks themselves, experiencing age after age of life, until eventually weathered down by time and elements. Feeling an infinity of experience of everything on this planet we inhabit and even the very planet itself.


Taking it beyond the Earth, swimming through the edges of Space/Time, right on our metaphorical doorstep, imagine flying to the Moon and being able to observe this planet from our long time companion. Earth: Our place of birth and the sole home of all our combined species. Imagine being able to feel the Solar wind and seeing the Aurora from above the clouds. Seeing the lights of the cities, the weather phenomenon and all manner of things from beyond it. The Earth truly is a beautiful jewel but the Universe calls to us inexorably. Traveling beyond the speed of light, we’re able to experience all those things that are just pipe dreams in our former state of solid matter. We’re able to zoom around the Solar System as though it were our personal sandbox; a play thing in which we become acquainted with the wider realm of existence.


Off we zoom, taking in every nuance of all the planets and asteroids. Tasting the tail of comets, swimming through the empty blackness of our celestial neighborhood. In our new state, nothing is closed to us and we travel right up to the very edge of the Sun’s corona before diving into the white hot plasma fires of our life giving star. Taking a moment, we breath the essence of eleven billion years of fiery inferno. To anyone else, we’d have long since been dead but to us now, it tickles a bit. After swimming around in plasma for a bit, we grow still more curious for the empty, open blackness.


Onwards and outwards we fly, tasting the nuance of dark matter as we go, allowing every particle of existence to pass through us on our infinite journey to experience everything. We pass through the planetary system again, only this time, we’re headed beyond the Heliopause and out into the deeper black. In what seems like no time at all, we’re there. We stop and take a moment to honor this passage from the familiar to the unfamiliar. This is the equivalent of the wider world and we’re inexperienced but curious. After that brief pause to commemorate our passage from the Solar System, we plunge into the inky blackness.


Out beyond the Heliopause, there are a long stretches of empty space with rogue planets spinning in infinity. There are numerous stars of all colors and types giving off light and radiation. Some are cool, some are super hot but all come from an accretion of massive amounts of matter and hearken back to the dawn of time. We explore each and every one of them, learning of the differences between our host star and these new stellar figures. So far, we’re only at the edge of the Milky Way Galaxy in one spiral arm.


We continue our journey, going deeper into the center of the galaxy. In curiosity, we’re pulled to the center by the Super-massive Black Hole at the center of the galaxy. Rather than take the direct route, we travel in a ever decreasing spiral, like circling a drain, so we may better experience the wonders of the galaxy. All manner of things pass through us and by us as we continue our journey, new life infinite and complex, based on nothing we’re familiar with, is bursting forth from every corner of the galaxy. It’s too far from Earth to have known about it existing but with this special trip, its existence is known.


After traveling in the inward spiral, we come to the center of the Galaxy. We are pulled into the hungry waiting gravity of the Super-massive Black Hole. On one level, there is nothing there and, yet, on other levels, we can see infinity. All of Space/Time is collapsing and colliding around us, and as we travel into the singularity itself, we experience everything and nothing all at once. Holding still, we can see the turn of the Universe and even an inking of other Universes beyond our own. Existence itself is torn to shreds and reduced to a point beyond the atom. After a while though, that gets boring, so off we fly to see other things. The journey is infinite and the destination variable when it comes to the imagination. Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

Stream of Consciousness Free Writing Exercise

I believe introductions are in order. My name nom du net is KaliTime Camaralzman or KTC for short. I have been writing on and off since my childhood and I’ve been writing online since 1999. My first forays into the writing world as an adult were mostly badly written fanfiction. Since that time, I’ve written several stories that are not fanfiction related, I just haven’t got the guts to post what I have so far or, furthermore, I haven’t got the guts to finish what I’ve started.


It mainly due to a fear of, well, what’s the opposite of a fear of failure? A fear of success? I am, in essence, afraid that someone will read my work, consider it noteworthy and expect more of the same from me. As much as I love writing, I just don’t know if I’m capable of producing more than a few somewhat good pieces. So I cringe in terror when someone asks to read my work. At least, I did until this point. This writing exercise is my effectively putting myself out there for the world to see, warts and all, so I can learn from my mistakes and, hopefully, become a more effective writer.


Earlier, I mentioned that I didn’t have the guts to post my work. I did do it with a few stories. They’re either on my story journal waiting for follow up (if they’re not complete stories) or they’re languishing on various sites across the internet where I have given permission for them to be posted or have posted them myself (as is the case with Fet). I’m really hoping that this exercise will not only improve my writing but will build my self-confidence to the point where I can accomplish my 2015 goal of doing NaNoWriMo later this year.


I’ve been trying to do it for several years but I canned my own work as not good enough. Now, I won’t bash other authors by name but I do know for certain that there is far worse out there than my writing. I am hoping to get to the point where I can become a published author.


A little about me personally: I am Agoraphobic, Atheist, Polyamorous, Pansexual and have Bipolar Disorder. In addition to the above mentioned things, I’m hoping for this writing exercise to offer me a further means of having a creative outlet for my conditions and my identifications. Specifically, I’d like to write a story featuring Polyamorous relationships. The funny thing is, the story is already in my head, I’m just afraid to put it into words out of that aforementioned fear. I am hoping to overcome that as well.


Aside from these things, I am a Knitter and Crocheter. I’m also a gardener with a fully indoor container garden. When I’m not knitting, crocheting, writing or gardening, I can often be found in my room, listening to a plethora of musical artists or watching various visual media and even reading. I’m something of an indoor firework. Well, I’d have to be given my Agoraphobic tendencies.


I am almost out of time, so I will just thank you for reading this rambling enterprise of mine. I look forward to reading your works as well.


Later, Peoples of the Sun! Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow