May 26th, 2016

My Writer’s  Journal

What I learned about writing and myself  today.


Do I want to create an EPIC, fabulous blog?

Or do I want to become a better writer?

Can I do both?


The most creative thing I do is write, I guess I could keep private journals and hide all of my attempts at learning to write in different voices or styles until I get it perfect or at least presentable.

But what would be the point in that?

I think that when people talk about being honest when you write or create means that you don’t play around. You are who you are and your writing is what it is and you should be happy you created something and throw it out there to live and do the best it can on it’s own.



Did I learn something new about myself today?

I sure did.

Yesterday there was a power outage in Pioneer Square in Seattle and I missed my chance to be in my warehouse- which is below street level- and plunged into absolute and seamless darkness.

I learned that it’s going to be a long time before I get over missing that experience.

A VERY long time.




If Wishes Were Horses ( with blood red eyes )


Everyday Inspiration

Day Two: Write a List

Today, let’s write a list. Compiling a list is a way to let loose, unlock ideas, and free your mind.

Today, write your own list on one of these topics:

  • Things I Like
  • Things I’ve Learned
  • Things I Wish
  • Things You’re Good At

Choose one? Just one? Okay.

I’ll play.



I wish monsters were real

and that Haunted Houses were bedeviled  by ghost people and ghost cats and ghost dogs and man eating plants.

I wish I could sail Ghost Ships and catch Ghost Trains to work.


I wish I was there one minute before the Big Bang and one minute after the Universe ends

and I wish Martians would finally get around to invading the Earth

before the Mercurians get their act together.


I wish all my dreams could be nightmares

and all of my nightmares were dreams

and I wish I could draw them and sing about them

and that I could pass them around like the common cold

or the Plague, or maybe even Rabies.


I wish I could have made mummies

and placed them in tombs that were as tall as a mountain

or so far into the Earth where there is almost no air

and that I could have sat with them

in the dark

for centuries.

Flesh and blood among bones and decay.

I wish I could try it, even for a day.


If I only had one wish and from this list I had to choose

I wouldn’t bother

I’d hold out for it all

That’s the wish I’d choose.


May 25, 2016


:::My Writer’s Journal:::

I was taking notes and drafting some stories for my daily posts this Halloween when I reached for my phone to check out my Facebook.

There’s a lot of hating going on out there right now- and  there is loads of meanness and all sorts of skullduggery.

I put my phone down and considered this:

I’m writing horror stories and what I saw going on courtesy of this Presidential Election season freaked me out and dare I say…horrified me.

Think about that one.

May 25, 2016



wp-1464194851379.jpgWhere to find my next story, where to find it, where can it be?

Maybe it’s hiding in a grave, in the pocket of a woman about to drive her car off of a bridge or in an attic rotting in a trunk with a handful of hair and a magazine about cars.

Where is that story? When will it walk up to me and say, ” How do you do? I’ve been to Hell today and I’ll be there tomorrow and we down there are all wondering when you’ll join us. Don’t worry. We’ll be in touch, you can count on it as you know.”

Some of my stories grow in a shady garden, choked with weeds and flowers and  trees that creak and sound like snapping bones when the wind sneaks through and the rains come.

In my  dark garden the birds sing off key and the sunlight tries, but never quite touches the ground.

Inspired By:




Paging Doctor Spock


Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt


When I  think of the Moon I think Werewolves.

When I see the Moon hanging above me in the sky I wonder what it would look like it if all of the sudden it just stopped in its tracks and smashed into the Earth.

If  I could go to the Moon  I’d take my helmet off, take a selfie with the Earth in the background and post it to my Facebook before I died because that’s the way we roll now days on planet Earth, USA in the suburbs.

Pablo Picasso - "Absinthe Drinker

I’ve always gone through phases where my train of thought roars around backwards through crazy town, slams the brakes on at  ” What the Hell ” and jumps the tracks at ” Really Anita Marie?”

I think its one of my more endearing qualities.

Happy to say I’ve always been like that.


I’m not afraid to write what I think, no matter how weird it sounds.

It’s a phase I went through when I started to write when I was nine years old.

Happy to say I never grew out of it.

disturbed sign


A few years ago I did some art workshops and writing workshops and I dedicated loads of time to social media.

I learned nothing from that phase of my life.

Happy to say, I grew out of it.


I posted this on my Facebook page:


Some people thought it was funny, other people told me not to write about people or real life events because I’d get sued and one person asked me how I was going to portray people I knew.


And while I’m at it, I’ll just post my attorney’s phone number at the end of each story.

I wish stories just floated down from the sky, crawled into my brain via my nose ( I rode dirt bikes, I must have snorted half the bugs in Washington state, so having stuff slithering on up to my nasal passages holds no fear for me ) but alas that is not how the process works.

Stories have to come from somewhere- to think they come into this world without the aid of real life experiences  is like thinking that babies are delivered by storks or their parents find them under cabbage leaves and that they are not made by two people combining their DNA.

Some people go through this phase where sticks find their way into their bodies and they walk around like that and looking like that giant thing is wedged in them until the day they die.

Makes you wish the Werewolf thing was real when we are faced with some of those  phases, doesn’t it?

Here There Be Tygres


A few weeks ago I saw my laptop and notebooks sitting on my worktable looking sad and neglected and I felt awful-it felt exactly like that time I let my Venus Flytrap starve to death.

I had this great Venus Flytrap sitting in great spot and I forgot to pay attention to it. One day I looked at it and it was dead.

I couldn’t tell you if I noticed it go from a nice shade of green to pale green to brown around the edges.

All I know is that it did and it was too late to save it and I felt I had put my hands around it’s neck and killed it.

My poor little plant counted on me, it thrived under my care and then I ignored it and it died.

I felt the same way about my writing projects.

I felt horrible. I felt terrible.

Bursting with guilt brought on by my memory of my plant killing days, I took my laptop, my notes and jammed them into my backpack and put the works behind my door.

Problem solved!


I grew up with this story about Spirits and Ghosts hiding behind doors- so guess who started to have nightmares about doors slamming shut and getting her fingers cut off? Guess who had dreams about keys crawling up and down her arms and woke up scratching her arms like crazy?

So after weeks- weeks I tell you of having dreams about doors and keys trying to kill me I started to leave doors all over my house open and that’s when I found my neglected laptop and notes hanging from the back a door to a room that we don’t use anymore.

So why risk letting my own Nightmares eat away at my waking world and not in the happy productive way they usually do?

My creative hands have been tied.

That’s why.

And I’m angry about it- mostly I’m angry at myself.

In the age of social media- when most of us can pick up our phones and spew big ugly chunks out into the Universe I’ve decided to keep my monsters and demons, my devils to myself.

I had my reasons, and I’ve decided that those reasons were a bad idea.

Why rip out my own tongue and nail it to the wall when others are perfectly willing to do it for me?

And the beauty of it is, if I look at it that way-

nobody can sew body parts back together like this girl can.

The world is full of monstrous people saying and doing monstrous things to people they know! What they are willing to do people they don’t know will make your brain boil in your skull.

How could I not draw inspiration from that?  Why not bring those twisted creatures to my blog and in my own way celebrate them?

Buckle up you all, we are in for some fun.




Amuse Me, Please!


” I’d kill to be able to write again” the sad Writer with a serious blockage problem said to the other writer who had never suffered in such a state before.

” Do you think that could actually work, really?” said the Other Writer.

” I’m getting desperate, I’m willing to try anything” the Blocked Writer said as she wiped the back of her shaking  hand over her eyes.

She sobbed.

The other Writer took her friend’s hand away from her eyes. ” Do you really think that could work? Really?”

” I’m so desperate. And what do  you know? You’ve never been through something like this.

” You’re right about that”, the Other Writer said as she pulled the knife from her jacket and slid it across the Blocked Writer’s throat.

The Other Writer caught her in an embrace before the Blocked Writer fell to the ground.

” This could be like the apple a day thing. Thanks.”