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 |   Theses are my thoughts and ramblings as I forge my way through this thing they call life. |
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These are my thoughts and ramblings as I forge my way through this thing they call Life. I blog with these groups:     "Blogging Circle of Friends "  [E] 
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30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 29 Everyone did a great job with filling the war chest yesterday! There's so many great prompts and I'm sure Em will love every one of them. Since today *is* War Chest Wednesday, I'm going to grab one. What is your favorite virtue? Give a few examples like kindness, cleanliness, tact, truth, generosity. Is your favorite one you possess, or one you simply admire in other people? Do you have a strategy to develop it yourself? Prompt is courtesy of KÃ¥re Enga, P.O. 22, Blogville I would say kindness and patience. I try very hard to develop them within myself. some days are easier than others. Today is Bell Let's Talk day. Talking about mental health. I find that kindness and patience go a long way to listen and offer support to those in need. It is also good to practice kindness and patience with others as you never know what the other person is going through. Everyone could always use a smile and a friendly hello. |
30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 28 What's a topic you've always thought would be a great 30dbc discussion, but has never come up in the prompts? Why do you think it would stimulate discussion? I'm not sure what kind of prompts might be in there but I would be interested in something like this: Do you do any other creative endeavour other than writing? And if so does it help to broaden your experience or not? If it broadens it, how does it do so? When I say creative endeavour I mean anything you define as creative. It could be artistic in nature (painting, drawing, playing a musical instrument, singing, etc...), or it could be something like cooking or creating a business plan. Whatever floats your boat. |
30 Day Blogging Challenge Prompt: Discuss a time in your life when someone has tried to "fix" or "solve" a problem for you - but you didn't see it as a problem in the first place. How do you generally handle unsolicited opinions/advice? The most recent of this kind of thing was at own of my writing groups. A young woman had much to say about my story when I made the mistake of mentioning what I was trying to work out... some advise is welcomed, but this woman seemed to think she was quite the authority and that is what rubbed me the wrong way. I let her talk, smiled and nodded and knowing what I know about my story, I knew her advise would not cut it. I did not want to burst her bubble and tell her so. But I have seen her do much the same thing to other writers in our group and many of them tend not to agree with her advise either. One very vocal writer in our group just looked at her blankly when she was giving someone else advise and then spoke her mind later when we were heading home. It was quite funny really. She is a lovely young woman, but.... she just doesn't know the full story. From her, I have learned you can't take everyone's advise. You have to frame it with your own thoughts as the story is ultimately yours. Had she read the whole thing, maybe I would think differently, but she seems to be talking from a general place of what needs to happen in a story to make it good. I get that, but I also know their are intricacies that make a story work and she is not privy to that information. I think this is true of much advise we get from others. We need to take an objective look at what they have to offer and either accept it or dismiss it depending on the merits of the advise as it pertains to our life. It is our life after all. |
30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 26 Yesterday was Opposite Day! Today I want you to take an opposite point of view. Imagine a place you go to regularly - they gym, your regular coffee shop, wherever you choose. Take up the POV of the person at the counter, the bike across from you, any one person you choose. What's your first impression of yourself? Is it the real you or one you plan and project? I glanced up towards the door as another group of customers flooded in. My heart sunk as I realized their was not going to be any end to the rush anytime soon. As I pulled the steamer handle to sterelize the steamer I noticed Carolyn glancing around the place from her spot just inside the door. She usually didn't drop in on Sundays. I could tell by the surprised look on her face that she might not stay. A shame really because I had wanted to talk to her about the book she had recommended to me some weeks ago. Not that there would be much chance today, but still, I could at least let her know I was reading it. My favourite short story in it was the one about the spiders. That one had been creepy, but I'd loved it. When she moved forward and took a place in line I felt hopeful and went back to the drink orders that were in pouring in. When I looked up again she was gone. Damn. Seeing as how the place was packed and there were no available seats she had bolted. I hoped she would return. About an hour later, things began to slow down and some of the customers began to head out. The tension of the last few hours eased and I found I had a few moments to finally wipe up the spilled milk that had managed to flood onto the counter. The door opened and I glanced up to see Carolyn walk back in. She looked pleased by the place. Still busy, but not packed. She glanced my way as she headed for the line and smiled. I smiled back. When it was her order I was filling - a half sweet smokey butterscotch latte made with almond milk, I got that chance to talk. "Hey, you know that anthology of science fiction stories you recommended a couple of weeks ago," she smiled and nodded, "I got a copy and I've been enjoying it." "That's great. Any stories you like?" "A couple for sure, but the best is the one with the spiders." I shuddered and grinned over at her. She grinned with a mischievous glint to her eyes. "Glad you like it. I don't usually write science fiction, but I thought I'd give it a try." "The spider one is yours?" I asked shocked that the story was actually written by someone I knew. She nodded, her smile warm. There was a touch of rosy blush along her cheeks. "Well, now I'll have to tell more people about this anthology. Would you sign my copy?' She laughed clearly pleased with my enthusiasm, but not quite sure what to do with the attention. "Sure." she said adding, "whenever you want?" "On my break? You're going to stay aren't you?' Her smile deepened and she nodded. Looking around she pointed to the corner table she usually sat at and said, "I'll just be over there." "You writing today?" "I write everyday." she told me, then taking her to go mug and giving me a nod of thanks she slipped over to the corner to get to work. When I did approach her later she graciously closed the lid and gestured for me to sit. "If you want." she added as if I wouldn't want to stay awhile. I sat. She was a little nervous to talk about her own writing. "It's only my first published work." she'd said with a small smile. "What do you usually write?" "Woman's fiction with a romantic element." she told me then gave a self conscious chuckle. "Or I try to." She told me about other authors she liked to read. She was clearly more comfortable talking about other people's work. When I headed back to work she smiled at me with kind eyes, then went back to her computer. When she left she waved goodbye and wished us all a great evening. I could hardly wait to reread that story she had written. It would be even better now that I knew the author. |
30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 25 CREATION SATURDAY! Put on your creative thinking caps You're headed down to Imagination Station to pick up your imaginary friend. Tell us about the friend - is it human? Humanoid? Animal? Talking banana? Three-headed monster who's afraid of heating blankets? What's their story? Likes/Dislikes? What name do they answer to? Why are they in your life? Don't forget to tell us how your friend ended up at the station in the first place! Interestingly enough, I don't think I had an imaginary friend as a child. I did talk to myself, but that was to myself not some figment of my imagination. So for today's blog I have to create someone or something that I must pick up at the Imagination Station. Sounds very Odyssey in nature. I do like talking to animals.... what about an animas? A definition: anima (ˈænɪmə) (in Jungian psychology) noun (Psychology) a. the feminine principle as present in the male unconscious b. the inner personality, which is in communication with the unconscious. See also animus [Latin: air, breath, spirit, feminine of animus] This was an interesting site: https://animalinyou.com/#home Looking things over I would say a mountain goat is closest to me. I can't get the personality test to work. As you can see I have gone off on so many tangents all the while thinking about what sort of thing I would encounter as a friend. So I may have make this more of a fictional account and not involve myself at all. So a story.... this could get a little long folks.... Duncan received a telegram shoved into the trashcan of his uncle's office. He had gone in there to get some piece and quiet from is obnoxious cousin, Ralph. On his hands and knees careful to avoid making any noise and draw attention, he made his way under the desk with one of his uncle's big volumes of encyclopedias. Seeing the slip of yellowed parchment, Duncan drew it out and flattened it out over his jean clad leg. The page was smooth despite the crumpled ball it had been crushed into. Adjusting his glasses he read the message three times before realizing that he was the boy the message was referring to. Dear Mr. Withers, It has come to our attention that Roberta and Jacob MacFee's son, Duncan, is in your custody. Now that he has reached his age of magical maturation, we will be expecting him to make his way by train to the Flemishing Academy. To make his transition easier we have sent his animal translator ahead. It will be waiting for him on Viscount Street in a shop called the Imagination Station. Please be advised that he will need to come to that address bringing a suitcase containing enough things for him to be away for an entire school year. Yours sincerely, Headmaster Hobbleden. Why had the message been crumpled and thrown away. His uncle had made a place for him here... even if it was only a small place. His aunt Rose had insisted they could not send him away. He was her sister's child after all, but still. He often found them staring at him with curious expressions. He had known no other life. Still his cousins Ralph and Ainsley were given so much more that he was. They went to a prestigious Huffington Academy, but he went to the local public school. They could do no wrong, yet he was held accountable for everything that did not go well, including much of what they did. He was sure his uncle was convinced that the recent school issues Ralph was dealing with had something to do with him. Had he been going to that Academy as well, he was sure to be the culprit. Still, here was the note. Crumpled and thrown away. Duncan bit his lip and considered his options. He could stay and endure his family's injustice or he could venture out to Viscount Street and see what all this was about. The hardest part was getting there without anyone knowing he'd gone. He was usually ignored, but whenever he tired to climb out onto the roof to get some piece and quiet someone always found him and dragged him back in. His cousins were forever telling on him or making up stories of things he had done, getting him grounded and locked up in the closet under the stairs. It was in that closet he managed to find a small suitcase. It would have to do. Duncan had snuck it up to his room and tucked it under his bed after he had tossed in the few t-shirts, pants, underwear and socks that he owned. It wasn't much, but it filled the wee suitcase and he had to sit on it for it to close. Into his backpack he tucked a few notebooks and a pen. he suspected he would need those for school. Whatever kind of school it was. The words 'magical maturation' played over in his mind and he wondered what that was all about. Still going would be an adventure and so much better that being the blamed houseboy here with his aunt and uncle's family. He planned his escape for the next evening. It was family movie night and his aunt and uncle were planning to take his cousins to the cinema. He would not be coming. He was not invited, he never was. They always gave him things to do to keep him home. They also never checked on him when they did get home. Duncan figured he could get out and see what all this was about at least. If it didn't pan out he could always climb up the trellis and swing back into his room. He had done it before and no one was more the wiser. * * * * * Viscount street was in the old part of town. Darkness lengthened the shadows and Duncan worried he would not find the shop open. Still, his curiosity kept him going. He found the shop; a tiny little shop, which he almost didn't notice. The buildings on either side of it were loud, boisterous pubs. The Imagination Station was only a faded blue door cut into the old crumbling wall. He spotted the sign only by squinting up at the brickwork above the door. Several large brawny men staggered out of one pub and leered at him. "There's a tastey bit." one of them slurred and the others laughed. When they began moving in his direction. One grabbed the front of his shirt just as Duncan made a grab for the handle of the door. The world turned sideways. It seemed to swirl past him pulling him into some kind of vortex. There was no time to scream. Before he knew it he was dropped onto a hard parquet floor looking up into the eyes of a kindly old man. "Ah, Mr. Duncan MacFee." the old man rumbled out in a heavy Scottish burr. "You've finally arrived." Duncan sat up and rubbed at his still swirling head. He eyed the man warily. "I see you've some kind of tussle with the brutes next door. I'll send Author out to deal with them." He glanced back into the shop and called out. Duncan's eyes widened at the sight of a large dog-like beast coming straight for him. "Not to worry lad. Arthur's as sweet as they come so long as you've got magical blood and don't yank his chain." Duncan did not see any chain. The old man barked out a laugh and added, "just a figure of speech, lad." Duncan swallowed down his nerves and now that his head didn't feel like it was going to pop off, he made to stand up. The old man reached out to give him a hand. "First time through that door takes out even the burliest of men." the old man told him. "I'm Angus MacKenzie. At your service." "Oh, how do you do?" Duncan squawked out remembering his manners. "Magical blood?" he asked as he watched Arthur slip out through the faded blue door. The one he seemed to just pass right through. Duncan swallowed staring at the spot where the dog had disappeared. "Aye, magical blood. You're father's blood runs thick with it." Duncan dragged his gaze back to the old man. His eyes wide and disbelieving. "Seems you don't know." the old man signed looking a might bit disappointed. "I didn't think your mother's family would pass that bit of information along. I'd hoped though, seeing as how you're here. Even if we were starting to wonder if you'd every come." "I found the telegram in the garbage." \Duncan said inanely as he let his gaze roam about the room. The place seemed locked in a time capsule. One some hundreds of years in the past. There were a few other people sitting at the bar and a few patrons at a table in the corner. "Is this the Imagination Station?" Duncan asked not sure what to think. "Oh, that would be down the street. That's Mr. Whittaker's shop. He'll be expecting you, but first... come have butterbeer." "A what?" "A butterbeer." "I'm not old enough to drink." Duncan told him. The old man chuckled, "no lad. Butterbeer is like a butterscotch milkshake or... like a rootbeer float, ya ken?" "Oh.... well... I haven't any money." "Not to worry. I'll set you up a tab. Besides I think the Headmaster may be paying for your first. Especially since you just got here." Duncan nodded still a little dazed by the novelty of it all. He pinched himself to make sure he really was awake and not just sleeping off somewhere. The old man noticed and laughed, "It's all real, lad. You'll see. Come sit up at the bar." Duncan slid up onto the stool and watched Angus fix the concoction that seemed to swirl within the mug. He wondered it he had hit his head when he'd landed. None of this seemed real and yet when he wrapped his fingers around the frosty glass and leaned in for a tentative sip he could not help smiling as the smooth, silky sweetness flooded over his parched tongue. It was delicious. It also seemed to revive him. "So where do I find this Imagination Station?" he asked Angus who was fixing another couple of drinks. He watched fascinated as the bottles tipped their liquid into mugs and spoons stirred without anyone holding on to them. "Will it still be open?' "Oh, yes. Mr. Whittaker will be expecting you. He has your animas." "My animas?' Angus smiled. His face crinkling up within the folds of skin as he gave Duncan a wink. "It's you link to the magical realm. It's been waiting for you." "But what is it?" "That you'll have to see for yourself lad. each of us has our own." he gestured toward the corner and Duncan could see a owl watching him. "That is the headmaster's." "It's an owl." "It is and a very powerful one as well." The owl seemed to wink as Duncan stared at him with his mouth falling open. "And Arthur?" "He's mine. Comes in mighty handy." When Duncan had finished his Butterbeer the owl swooped down off his perch and headed towards the far end of the bar. "You best follow him. He'll take you to the Imagination Station." Duncan thanked Angus and grabbing his suitcase and backpack that had appeared over by the door, ran to catch up to the majestic bird. He followed the owl through the tangle of streets that seemed like a medieval village. No one seemed to notice or care that he was following an owl. In fact, when he slowed down outside the shop, he noticed each person had some kind of animal close by them. There were rats and mice, snakes and birds, cats and dogs, but the one that stopped him up short was the tiger that walked along regally beside a woman wearing a fancy silk coat. As he stood their gawking at the sights before him, the door to the shop swung open and the little bell above the door drew him back into what he was about to do. He turned to look up into the face of a kindly older man with whiskers of white and a cat perched on his shoulder. "Mr. Duncan MacFee, I presume?" a lilting voice flowed out around him. Duncan could only nod. "Come in. come in. It is time to see what animal will bond to you." As Duncan followed the graceful older man, he asked, "What exactly is an animas?' "It is the inner personality, which is in communication with the unconscious. For men we have an animas a feminine principal to balance the male conscious. Women have an animus... the male principal that balances their female conscious. It may sound so profound, but your animas is a part of you. It comes to you when you reach a certain age. It will help guide you though the next phase of your life... your magical maturation." "I don't understand?' "Ah, your animas will help you with that." Duncan followed Mr. Whittaker back into a salon lit by candlelight and smelling of sage. He sat it the chair Mr. Whittaker gestured for him to take and he waited. Nervously. He watched the older man perform some kind of gravity defying hand dance. One that evoked all sorts of colours and objects to circulate the room. First they moved around Mr. Whittaker himself, but after a time they moved over Duncan who trembled first in fear, then as the fear abated, he began to smile and reach up into the swirling cyclone of colours and things. Wen Mr. Whittaker seemed satisfied, the cyclone of items and colours moved over to a cabinet and entered into the porous holes around its edges. Duncan watched mystified. He could not tear his gaze away even if he waned to. It was the softness of Mr. Whittaker's voice that lulled him back and told him to go open the cabinet. Duncan stood and following the directions he was given moved to stand in front of the cabinet. He repeated the phrase Mr. Whittaker told him to then, placing his hand on the handle he turned it to open the cabinet. Inside sat a snowy, white owl. It was about the size of Duncan's head. They blinked at each other. Duncan smiled grateful for such a lovely creature. "I would agree. I am glad I am not a snake or a rat either." Duncan heard inside his head he glanced back at the spot where Mr. Whittaker had been and found him gone. "I said that. We two are connected. You don't need to say a thing. A mere thought connects us." Duncan shot his gaze back to the small owl and the creature winked at him. "Yes, me." "Wow." Duncan said in a sigh as he moved back to let the bird emerge. The owl shook itself, then shifting to the cabinet's edge, it flew out to land on Duncan's outstretched arm. "I am Alaina. I am your animus, Duncan." "Are you real?" "Of course I am real." "So what now." he thought looking at the beautiful creature. "Now we figure out how to make our way. No turning back now." "I hope you know what you're doing?" "Oh, we'll got on just fine. First we'll need a place to roost for the night.... and a bed for you. Not to worry. We'll head up to the Academy tomorrow or the next after we get what we need here in town." |
30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 24 Yesterday celebrated National Handwriting Day in the USA. How often do you still hand write anything substantial? Do you think the decline in children learning cursive writing will be a hindrance to their generation? I will handwrite when I am stuck on a story idea. The connection of pen to paper creates a different feeling than merely typing on a computer. I also write by hand when I go to writing workshops. It is far easier to just carry a notebook and pen than it is to lug out my laptop and I can write faster than I type. I still print if I want to be able to read my writing later. As for learning to write cursive.... I don't think it will be a hindrance for children's future. Not much stuff gets handwritten anymore, but it is something worth knowing. Like a secret code! When I team taught in a grade 3 / 4 class, my teaching partner did not want to teach cursive. There is so much curriculum to cover and being in a split grade made getting to everything overwhelming. I had one parent wanting her child to learn so I printed out workbook pages and sent them home for all my students to work on along with a note asking for their help in this area. The workbook pages were quite explicit in their demonstration of each letter formation. I did do a quick modeling at school on occasion for the more tricky letters, but for the most part I left it up to the parents - who are partners in their child's education to practice at home. |
30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT: January 23rd Finish this story: A girl, sitting alone on a rock at the edge of the woods, jumps when she hears… the spine tingling wail of a coyote rip the tipping dusk in two. It was time to move on. She climbed off the rock and searched the ground for a large enough tree limb to wield as a weapon if need be. Finding one, she began to head in a westerly direction. The sun had just dipped behind the horizon and the air began to take on a chill. The thought of a coyote waiting along the edges of the forest made her skin tingle and goosebumps rose along her arms. She untied her jacket from her waist and slipped it on. She didn't stop to do this. Moving was of essence now. She needed to find the camp. The sooner the better. |
30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 22nd Your bags are packed. You have unlimited funds and resources to travel anywhere you want. Where do you go, who do you bring with you, and why? I would go to Paris. I would take my friend Caroline with me as she is a great one to bolster my confidence and encourage me to go for it. We would start with the Paris Writer's Conference - one we would both love to attend. Her ability to speak French would be a huge asset, as my French is minimal at best. Liz would come along as well, because she would probably enjoy the experience. We would start with the Paris Writer's Retreat from May 25 to 29, 2020. Mornings we would explore the city, making sure to return to get breakfast before beginning our workshops for the day. We would take a week in London for the Big Idea Bootcamp. We would go in June. https://linedegner.squarespace.com/writing-workshops Then we would return to Paris for a intensive 4 week Writing Workshop in July. We would get to stay in a small apartment assigned to us by the Paris American Academy Office. A place not far from the school. Liz and I would take the Fiction and Poetry workshops, while Caroline would focus on the Creative Non-Fiction workshops. This would allow us to focus our interests, but also share information from a wider range of information sources. Liz and I would be taking the optional French Classes, Caroline wouldn't have to. She'd probably write. The weekends would be ours to travel and write. I would make sure to get to the Shakespeare and Co. bookshop. I would have to buy something from there and spend hours savouring the shop itself. I would also like to walk the street of the expats and sit in cafes writing and soaking up the atmosphere. In August I would love to travel to Scotland. Edinburgh has a month long International Book Festival. https://www.edbookfest.co.uk/ I'd also love to take some classes at Moniack Mhor. It is a creative writing center. I would be inclined to attend one of the writer's retreats in March. https://www.moniackmhor.org.uk/ I would follow my nose. With the ladies, we would also move on to explore Poland and even go to see my aunt and uncle in Italy. It would be a follow our noses kind of trip. After all the workshops I might be happy to just find a quiet place to just be inspired to write. Moving on when the feeling to move on pushed me onward. |
30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 21st How much of your own life or the lives of people you know do you put into your writing? Do you mine your past for inspiration, or do you create wholly new places and characters? I let my own life experiences colour my character creations. I take bits and pieces from the world and the people around me and put them into something that I hope becomes a full, well rounded character complete with hopes, dreams and flaws. Making them as authentic as I can... and also not recognizable. My main characters are often striving for something I would want for myself or if not the actual thing, the desire and the dream speaks to me. My current character is a graphic artist. I am not, but she does desire a chance to make a way for herself. To better herself and find a place to belong. Those are things I want for myself, but I think that desire is a human compulsion. Her relationship breakdown is not like my own, but I have dealt with heartbreak. With my character I have changed things up to make her situation far more compelling and dramatic than anything I have ever had to deal with. The romantic lead is not like anyone I have ever dated, but the ex-boyfriend has elements of past boyfriends... though I have turned up the aspects of what may have happened with me to be more dramatic so that the conflict is intensified and holds my reader. I have a character in another story that is similar to an ex-friend of mine, but I have toned her down because no one would believe anyone could be that shallow and self delusional. I also don't want her recognized, but still... her quirks make for an interesting character with lots of flaws. I would say I mine my past for inspiration, but I also stay open to others around me for tidbits. My favourite stories to write are based on our contemporary world. I don't write science fiction or fantasy. When it comes to places I try to do a combination of several places, especially if the place is not super familiar to me. My current story deals with a small town in the Muskoka area.... it has the feel of Bracebridge, Gravenhurst and Huntsville. My aunt and uncle have a cottage up there, but I want this to be my own feel so I will make up things and add details of my own. I am pretty sure I want to keep to the Canadian aspects.... but this area could be similar to areas of Maine. The City I have not named, but in my mind it is Toronto.... but I am not sure if I want to name it or create a City of my own using it as a base. |
30 Day Blogging Challenge PROMPT January 20th Today is a national holiday is the US: Dr Martin Luther King Jr Day. Dr King believed that fear was the ultimate cause of hatred, prejudice, and violence. Do you agree or disagree with his assessment? Give examples. I agree that fear is the basis of all negative, dark emotions that bring about hatred, prejudice and violence. Love is the antidote. Love builds acceptance of diversity and inclusion. Our world is in the throws of fear and that draws people into an Us versus Them mentality. I don't want to get political here, but I will say things are pretty scary right now.... especially south of the boarder. I think Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. would be wondering if we (a global we) made any real advancements since his time. |
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