Month: May 2016

If Wishes Were Horses ( with blood red eyes )

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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.

:::THINGS I WISH:::

Anubis

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.

Anubis

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.

Anubis

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.

Anubis

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.

Anubis

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.

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May 25, 2016

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fight

:::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

 

Whisper

/ animar64 / 2 Comments

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:

Daily Prompt

Grain

 

 

Paging Doctor Spock

/ animar64 / 3 Comments

Daily Prompt

Phase

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

the-absinthe-drinker-1907.jpg!Blog

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.

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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.

banana-split-har-dee-har

I posted this on my Facebook page:

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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.

Yeah.

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?