Children/YA/Family, Current Events, Flash Fiction, Memories/Childhood, MindLoveMisery's Menagerie, My Thoughts, Relationship, Writing, Writing Challenges

Saturday Mix Flash Fiction: Someday Love #amwriting #flashfiction #nonfiction 


Thanks to Lorraine from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting this week’s prompt on love

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Love is all you need? Whoever said that perhaps was in the first stages of love.They hadn’t seen the nitty gritty yet, what separates those we love and those who truly love us from those who are but memories or experiences in our lives. To be honest with you, I’ve realized what I’ve felt of being ‘in’ love was so short it was hardly there. But I know what it was because I know what love’s not. It hurts thinking back to that time even though it was barely real. 

I was also with a guy much longer and the love I tried to convince myself I felt, didn’t exist. In a sense I’m glad it wasn’t authentic because love is painful. It doesn’t mean because you’re in love with someone everything’s suddenly perfect. Love in relationships is a ton of work combined with trust which takes time to build. It’s a given your other half will do stupid and thoughtless things at times and so will you. Whatever the relationship, we’re all human and make mistakes and sometimes those mistakes are huge and hurtful. 

But in the spaces in-between are these perfect moments of sometimes physical but always heartfelt gestures of love, fleeting but memorable; these are the moments lovers live for. Love is being unselfish and it’s difficult for any human to consider someone else before themselves all the time. It would seem to me we need so much more than only love. But I know lasting love is possible because I know my Lord who says: “We love, because her first loved us.” With those words in my life, I feel this whole ‘true love’ thing might be a possibility someday. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Lauranelle - aba bcb cdc ded efe fbf ggA(1)A(2), Music and Performers, My Thoughts, November Notes, Poetry, Relationship, Writing, Writing Challenges

November Notes: Poem – Day 27 – Laurenelle – “Both to Blame” #poetry #novembernotes #amwriting #music


Today’s prompt song is “The Night” by Black Lab

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“The Night” – Black Lab

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Credit: Jay Johansen Studio – Flickr Hive Mind

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Night calling and it bleeds with today’s pain, 

Your words, riddles linger, we’re both to blame;

Shower of diamonds, your words cut, blood rains.

It’s the anger you give me, my heart strains
To feel the comfort, the closeness, not this hate;

Can I forgive? Your inner monster reigns. 

He doesn’t hit; he’s inside you unsated
He’s your temper, you destroy us, words dwell

Lips sting abusive words, past ignites, lost faith. 

You think I won’t forgive; I’m your lover, a shell, 
I don’t want to live as Belle, trapped in prison. 

I know beast’s heart; goodness hidden in hell. 

This nightmare, sleeping alone, nothing given, 
Brought us down, broken paths, this our last night? 

You want sleep, you want peace — but I’m livid. 

I’m tired of the bore, this game playing, our fight, 
So I’ll wrap the sheet around you, I’m stupid

I care you’re warm, your sight gives me hope — light. 

My soul’s battered, yours is too, let’s erase —
Our problems; your eyes lift, I stroke your face. 

Night calling and it bleeds with today’s pain, 

Your words, riddles linger, we’re both to blame. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Health, My Thoughts, OctPoWriMo, Poetry, Quotes, Rispetto: iambic tetrameter ababa ccdd, Writing

#OctPoWriMo – Day 8 – “Porous Genes: A Mean Poem”


Day 8 Prompt: Porous

  1. 1a :  possessing or full of pores b :  containing vessels <hardwood is porous2a :  permeable to fluids b :  permeable to outside influences 3:  capable of being penetrated <porous national boundaries> (Merriam Webster Dictionary)

shallow-end
http://www.pinterest.com

I. Pouring water through a strainer,

Or putting flour through a sifter.

We never thought his mind was drained,

But his thinking wasn’t ever swift.


Not meaning to be rude, but clear,

He’d no ideas, just drank beer.

But when you spoke to him and said dear

Heard the wind, whistle through his ears.


II. Perhaps, it’s not nice to say she —

Had a bit of air in her head.

Like panning for gold through silt she —

Wasn’t precious metal some said.


She’s a tea leaf slipped through the ball,

Not much clever, but despite all —

We hope she picked up some wisdom,

Encouraged her read, learn something.


Rispetto:

“A Rispetto, is an Italian form of poetry, is a complete poem of two rhyme quatrains with strict meter. The meter is usually iambic tetrameter with a rhyme scheme of abab ccdd. A Heroic Rispetto is written in Iambic pentameter, usually featuring the same rhyme scheme.”

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Italian Sonnet - Iambic Pentameter - Octave (abbaabba) - Sestet (cdcdcd), May Day Prompts, My Thoughts, Poetry, Relationship, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Maydays: Poem – Italian Sonnet (Double Octave) – “Love Is The Song” #Maydays 



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Thanks to K.L. Caley from new2writing for #Maydays prompts. Today’s prompt is a journey – spiritual, physical, emotional, or otherwise.

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The day begins; I’m sure today I’m meek,

I haven’t the fortitude everything–

Requires for me to be while I’m measuring,

The distance required between sun and sleep. 

Why can’t you support me; not laugh, I weep;

Lost in worlds, created in pages, blustering.

Voices characterized; people greeting,

You’ve become part of a book; words they leap.

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Understand the writer’s suffering for dreams,

A silly Romance, they say, all they think,

Ready to criticize, it was only sex scenes — wink. 

Stupid, fake; not real, no depth don’t dream. 

As l write I see, relationships in every scene.

You write well; write romance; you didn’t think —

Wisdom was hidden in tangled sheets, links –

To love in tales written long ago, seen. 

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In every story and genre, in best played songs,

Love is always there; and sex sometimes,

Romance literature; no oxymoron.

End of the day, lover’s moon full and strong. 

Each writer writes love; some obscure way find,

No matter the genre; love is the song. 

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: Graduation Mishap


Thank you to Roger Shipp for hosting FFftPP.


Ghost Girl
http://www.pixebay.com

Michelle and Nadine had rented a limo with their respective dates, for their graduation reception.

“Here,” Michelle’s Mom said ” champagne for you to enjoy with your friends on the ride around town. We’ll see you at your graduation reception.”

“Thanks Mom,” Michelle hugged her Mom tight.

“Don’t drink too much now.”


 

Brian and Marcus watched their dates inhale the champagne.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve each had half the bottle,” Brain said to Michelle grinning.

Marcus laughed his arm around Nadine, ” Yeah, Nadine’s had the other half.”

Both girls squeezed out of the sun roof , dancing and singing to the loud dance music the limo driver played.

“We’re going to hit the bottom of the bridge Michelle, we have to get down.” Nadine said suddenly.

“I’m stuck Michelle come on move, so I can go back inside.”

Michelle wiggled and Nadine was back inside the limo. She yanked at Michelle, desperately trying to pull her in.

When she heard Michelle hit the bridge Nadine screamed.


Michelle awoke feeling pleasantly weightless.

With surprise, she spotted a ghostly hand reaching out to her from a window. Michelle reached out and instantly, her body felt painful and broken.

“I don’t know how, but you’re alive,” a paramedic said to Michelle.

Michelle heard her mother crying. “We’ve been waiting what feels like forever, to hear those words.


©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

My Thoughts, NaPoWriMo, Nonfiction, Poetry, Prose Poetry, Relationship, Religion/Morality, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

NaPoWriMo: Poem – Prose – “Poker Face”


Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem based on things you remember. Try to focus on specific details, and don’t worry about whether the memories are of important events, or are connected to each other. You could start by adopting Brainard’s uniform habit of starting every line with “I remember,” and then you could either cut out all the instances of “I remember,” or leave them all in, or leave just a few in. At any rate, hopefully you’ll wind up with a poem that is heavy on concrete detail, and which uses that detail as its connective tissue. Happy writing!

Please see NaPoWriMo for more information.

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There are memories and memories inbetween memories, things you shouldn’t know. But I write and I say, what naturally comes to flow. Spending a day building raw story into characters who have flaws and appeal. Characters who are relatable and show affection, lust, a special connection with each other.

 I am building story from the ground level, thanks to a friend, who tore my story down line by line so I am able to build. I’m grateful for everything he sees that I do not. How the story doesn’t flow and how the characters actually appear.

What’s believable in real life? I think an interesting situation because the story involves magic and in real life we don’t believe in curses and the power of magic. We write of it extensively wishing for such power, such talents, such super-human abilities. Probably because we’re human, and sometimes being human makes a person feel mighty small. 

Today’s memories are about editing and refinement. Answering questions I wouldn’t know how to ask. I’m learning. Digging deeper, past the simple, into the complex. I don’t want a one-dimensional story. Though it has magic I want the characters to be real people and I want their flaws and likes/dislikes to show. I want what they’re good at, their occupations, their speech and actions, the people they have around them, to demonstrate their characters.

The minds of people are endlessly fascinating, especially the minds of those who say everything or say nothing. My Grandpa said little, his mind was complicated. He was a Pastor whose smoking habit ended his life at seventy-three -years-old. He would ask questions which made one think and consider alternate routes as he taught me the games of cribbage, chess, and when we attempted cryptograms and crossword puzzles. Grandpa’s questions always hinted at digging deeper, searching for another method, and missed details.

But my Godfather, he says everything. And what he says is thought-provoking. He is always thinking of other people, how to help. He is the bestfriend to his friends and he has many. He can listen but mostly he talks and he’s wise with his words.

I miss him and the second place I call home, his and my Godmothers charming house. His wisdom and continual thinking, his belief in God solving all problems, and finding answers from an omniscient God are well expressed; he gives me such peace after we’ve had a conversation or I’ve listened to him talk.

 And I’m thinking about a paint night I’m doing with friends at the bar Sunday night. Painting, did you know I love it? I will need a couple drinks to merely do as the instructor says, but I know what my hands and mind will do.

 I will mix the paint, either ruin or add to the design. I desire creativity. I’ve said it before, creativity cannot be boxed in its true form. But with a drink or two and two good friends, the evening will pass and I’ll come home, painting in hand.

 Also, finding a good guy — one whom you enjoy being with and talking with is difficult. You need to be attracted to their looks and their intelligence. You hope they such as you, have plans to do ‘something’ with their life. Finding a guy with all these parameters, is it asking too much? I’m not sure. I’m not extensively experienced here.

But time after time I’m disappointed when a date becomes, “come over to my place,” usually at night but sometimes in the day. There is no dating involved. There is no understanding of, ” I’m not interested.” And certain men keep messaging or calling. 

I’m not adverse to sleeping with the right guy. I haven’t found a right guy lately. I don’t know if I’m such as Alice’s friend at tea I’m, ‘mad as a hatter’ to believe there are good guys out there who want to have fun out of bed and when a woman trusts them, in bed too. Laying that foundation of trust is vital.

 I don’t think this thought of mine is right accordingto God but I’m trying to find a happy middle. Maybe my happy middle won’t make me happy? 

I’m tired of guys who only want a night here and there. That was university, I’m going to be thirty-one in July. I’m not twenty-one and even twenty-one year old me would have smacked a guy who kept after her after she repeatedly told him to back off.

Guys don’t get it, they scar women. This is stuff I cannot believe I’m writing but eighteen-year-old me was extremely naive at the bar. Her friend ditched her for some guy. She was all alone and trying to get away from this guy who followed her around the bar. She didn’t have the confidence a girl three or so years older had at the bar, batting away and shooting down idiots before they became stalkers for the night. 

She was so stupid. It’s effected her sense of trust ever since. He didn’t stop for a long time; it only felt like eternity. The repeated “No” in his ears, he was deaf to it until she cried wet tears. There were different guys after that, few who she didn’t mind getting close to.

But always, I have this disgust for men who treat women as if a woman’s existence is for their pleasure, because she wants or needs sex too. Should she have to sleep with a man after she has deliberated and said, “no?” No she shouldn’t, it’s always a woman’s choice, it’s her body after all.

Guy’s scar with their repeated advances boardering on harassment. They scar bruising you badly where they should be gentle. You look to see how purple your bruises are. Not understanding how he didnt comprehend, “don’t be rough.” 

Enough. To much info. But this poem is prose; it is memories past and to come — some awful and some exciting. Building memories writing and living in a world that can be cruel at times. 

But I think if you’re building if you’re working towards a goal you can be proud you’re using your talents despite the cards life and your stupid self may have dealt you playing poker.

Cheesy analogy but ever since I learned to play poker — Texas Holdem — in the basement of my Pastor’s house with friends I’d grown up or met in church at that time, I always think back to poker seeing such a carry over for life. 

Each day, place your bets and see what the ‘river’ holds, and how the cards in your hand can be played. Ask for another card if you dare, trading one in . . . 

We’d drink beer and play poker. We’d watch NFL football and play video games. I never entirely got why some days my poker playing was terrific, while other days I could fold most hands and end up broke. We paid twenty dollars in a pot at the beginning of each game. At times my one brother and I would play with the other players until 3:00 am or 4:00 am in the morning.

I didn’t play much poker after those years ended. But I feel sometimes as if I’m placing my bet, and trying desperately to hold onto my poker face. Tomorrow, more building. It keeps me going.

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“Poker Face” – Lady Gaga

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Fiction, Flash Fiction, My Thoughts, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Sunday Photo Fiction: Nearsighted Daredevils.


There is a game we play, a dangerous thrilling dare. You can’t have perfect vision to play. In fact, if your eyes are enormously nearsighted you’ll have greater fun.

Your heart will pound as the adrenaline rushes through you. You’ve taken out your contacts and are wearing your glasses as you approach the road. When it’s your turn remove your glasses and prepare.

We’re all standing by the freeway and there aren’t many vehicles going by, but the ones that drive past are going at incredibly high speeds. When your visions poor, the lights from the headlights and taillights change, are gigantic blobs and lines of colour.

Step up to that yellow line that marks where the side of the road ends and the actual fourlane road begins. If you squint, you can make out the yellow line on the otherside, your goal.

Now walk across the road, go fast. You only see a blur of lights and motion. You’re blind remember? Your eyes -9.75. If you cross the road and don’t get hit you win, your body riding high on endorphins. 

Such a fun game for stupid daredevils to play; at least until your bestfriend ends up dead.

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Alistair Forbes
 
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Thanks to Alistair Forbes for hosting SPF.

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved.

Flash Fiction, Short Stories And Serial Stories, Writing

Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers – The Bottom of the Hill


I tumbled down the hill at the side of the bridge and fell at the bottom on a walking trail. I was sore all over. I slowly arose my body aching. I couldn’t walk on my ankle and I felt so dizzy I was sick to my stomach.

That’s when I saw her leaning against one of the bridge pylons. Her clothes were ripped and dirty and her deep brown eyes had a vacant look. She approached me with caution and bared her teeth. Long strips of dirty oily hair fell in her face as she slowly moved towards me, a knife gripped in her dirty hand.

 Suddenly, the knife was buried agonizingly in my side and the girl was reaching in my pockets to steal my wallet and phone. She concluded, by taking my boots and casting them into the pathway. I called out uselessly for someone to help me. But darkness fell and I lay there under the bridge, a victim of my own stupidity. My feet were freezing. 

Word Count: 175 words

Bridge Photo

Thanks to Priceless Joy for hosting!

Fashion

Living with the Consequences


Last night I was in a pretty good mood. I had just received my pay cheque and finished buying all but one of my Christmas presents. Thanks to my putting aside $100 or so every month since September I didn’t have to spend much of my pay cheque Christmas shopping. Then I started looking at boots online.

I have wide calves unfortunately, but I think a lot of people must because wide calf boots are always sold out. I found a pair of black riding boots for $200 on http://www.widewidths.com my favorite place to buy boots. They were $200 and that is about how much boots wide calf boots cost unless you get lucky and get them on sale for about $150. I was really considering buying them because most of the other boots on the site were sold out and they are impossible to find in stores. You usually have to go online. But there is also this other place called Poppy Barley that makes made to measure boots. I found a beautiful soft looking pair of boots and put in all my measurements and ended up choosing to buy the Poppy Barley boots which were $480.00 with tax. The problem was I wasn’t really thinking at the time, not really.

In the night I started to put next months budget together and realized I owed my parents for Costco and that I needed a few things like concealer and foundation. Because I can have problem skin, I often choose to spend more money on these things or else I break out. What I didn’t think about when I bought those $500 boots was all the other stuff I’m going to need or want to get. There is also this dress on Anthropologie that I’ve had my eye on for Christmas and would only cost me about $100 because I have online gift cards from Anthropologie. I really really didn’t think about this. Of course, they look like beautiful boots and I know I would love them and where them lots, but at what financial cost? I also have to pay for a $450 course in editing 101 at the end of December, that amount would have covered it.

The point is sometimes I make poor decisions. I do things I will regret later, I hate regret but it sure is a good teacher. I woke up at 4:30 am and contacted Poppy Barley to cancel the boot order if that’s possible. The website said they’d get back to me in 48 hours but I’m scared that might be to long. Their hours are 10:00 am to 4 Pm MST and that’s the time zone where I live so I phoned them a couple times at 10:00 am and received no answer. I left a message explaining my situation and called back again at 11:10 am and still got no answer for the concierge. I can only hope they listen to my voicemail or read my email before the order goes to far and they start making out a pattern or doing anything like that. But if I have to keep the boots I will keep the boots.

I just can’t believe that I was stupid like that, that I didn’t think that if I spent so much money on boots that I wouldn’t have money to pay my parents back or get my dress or leave enough for cab fare now that the weather is so cold. We all make stupid mistakes sometimes and must live with the consequences this is what I have learned. I will phone Poppy Barley back and hopefully get through to them sometime today maybe in the afternoon. But I shouldn’t have taken this risk in the first place. I should know what I can and can’t afford, these boots I can’t afford unless I save up for them, and I haven’t saved up enough to buy them, take a course, and do all that I need to this following month.

I’m just feeling guilty I guess. They are wonderful boots and a made to fit me pair would be a dream. A smarter choice would be to wait and get the $200 pair of riding boots I wanted with my Christmas money. Those I can afford. But why do we make stupid decisions? I think we are just wired that way. But the thing is I have to think, we all need to use our brains and think sometimes and we don’t, we get lazy. Waiting a day even to make a decision can be so useful. Somethings look so much clearer in the light of day, and that’s the truth.