Friday, February 5, 2010

Plot, it's what's for dinner - {W}rite of Passage


"The plot thickens."

"Plot? What plot?"

"A plot of ground where my forebears lie in peaceful rest."

A simple word, "plot." A simple, four letter word that should evoke an easy response and yet I struggle. As a recreational writer I adore plotting disasters for my characters. Angst? Oh my yes, in fact the more angst the better as far as I'm concerned. However, when it comes to real life I would just as soon the plot of my days and weeks be boring and non-eventful. It isn't that I don't like a little excitement from time to time, quite the opposite.

I simply like my excitement to be well-planned and not emergency or catastrophic in nature.

Unfortunately, plots in my real life existence tend to be as angsty as those I put my characters through. Thankfully my fictional plots are extreme in nature and always resolve themselves. But living with a budding teenager and questionable plumbing, I don't see an easy resolution in sight.


But there's always tomorrow.

Monday, February 1, 2010


Well now, isn't this a cheery start? This is based on the current prompt at Quote Snack. The prompt is behind the "read more" link at the end so as not to spoil those who might wish to participate.

It haunts me most in the wee hours of the morning. It is that time of day when there are no ordinary sounds to drown out my thoughts; no distractions of motherhood or housewife, or even those of a day job. Never mind that the day job is no more, even so there is nothing to stop the thoughts from flooding my soul.

They come in waves of memories from a past life, a childhood that was left behind long ago. From a teenage birthday party comes memories of second grade, fifth grade, and then sometimes skips all the way backward to kindergarten. Faces are as vivid in my thoughts as they were in life and seven year old friends with spaces where their baby teeth used to be never seem to age. They will always be thus in my memories.

Inevitably my thoughts turn closer to home, to those I have lost. When I speak of them I smile and share happy memories, sometimes laughing at the past. But in the wee hours of the morning I weep. I weep as the darkness closes aorund me and I can't allow the sounds of my grief to be heard. No one understands the depth of my loss but me. Others have their own losses, but mine? It is my own and I cling to it silently.

Oh the places we will go ...

To borrow a phrase.

Welcome to Dust Jacket! Pull up a chair, click on a link, and enjoy. I adore writing prompts. Prompts were made exclusively for me, I think. Ask any of my long-time friends who have held my hand and encouraged me through countless reams of fanfiction or four years of NaNoWriMo and they'll agree. I can stare at a blank page with the best of them, but offer me a dynamite prompt and I'm off and running.

I have linked to several writing prompt sites over on the right, and will be adding a list of writer blogs.

And off we go.