Removed because the related flash kept reminding me of an unhappy time.
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Other Cool Blogs: Magical Words May 1, 2012
Image Courtesy of siraphat FreeDigitalPhotos.netLazy Writing
Another treasure from the Magical Words trove, this time written by Carrie Ryan, a blog entry she entitled” The Difference between faux and real mysteries”. What struck me once she defined faux and real mysteries, is faux mysteries are just lazy writing. Basically I, as the lazy writer, don’t want to take the time to craft tension and suspense into the plot so I am just going to just not tell the reader the information needed until later.
What do you think? Does Ms. Ryan’s definition of a faux mystery hit home to you? It defined something I knew deep down I didn’t like, but never put my finger on. An epiphany or a whatever?
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a scene (500 words or less) with a faux mystery as defined by Ms. Ryan. Rewrite the scene this time without the faux mystery; how does the tension change?
READING EXERCISE: Think about a previous Read which had a faux mystery. Did it bother you? Was it necessary for the tension in the book to keep you reading or could the Reveal have happened sooner?
(PS I love the comments where one of the blog readers says she wrote a story where the POV character is deliberately not thinking about something very important and asks the MagicalWords hive mind what they thought. One response, two sentence change later, and the faux mystery goes away. Cool comment exchange from Laura.)
Art Projects: Gardening 2016
Rose Garden Delivered – Herb Garden Taking a Bit Longer
As mentioned in March, I’ve been working on my yard.
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ROSE GARDEN
The Red Roses came in nicely, but my white rose bush (the center one) succumbed to black spot. I had to completely cut it back to the base. It is trying its best to make a comeback, but the challenge may be too great for the poor thing.
I am debating just pulling it because of the black spot risk to the red roses.
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I mentioned my second goal for the yard for the year is getting the rose garden leveled. A drop of three to six inches happens between the edge of the driveway and the sidewalk, creating a low spot within the garden for spring rains to accumulate, likely contributing to the black spot issues.
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So I attacked it, adding several bags of dirt and using the area as a dumping ground while I was digging up a metal rod from the garden. I think everything is level now, but in the past two months I have seen the ground settling. I expect I will need to continue to build up the area over the next couple of years, but the worst of it should be done.
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HERB GARDEN (NORTH SIDE)
Digging the bed up took a long, long time. The previous owner had laid down a landscaping tarp, let it grow over with grass again, and laid down another landscaping tarp and let it grow over with grass a third time. A shovel wouldn’t break the surface. I ended up having to completely herbicide the whole thing, then rip the weeds out, then remove one layer of tarp, then rip the root out then remove the other tarp.
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In one area I ran into a pipe. I continue to dig down for a while in the hard clay dirt, but finally succeeded in getting the monster out. Final pit was close to eight inches deep and I have no clue while the pipe was to. You can see it laid out lengthwise in the pit I had to dig for it.
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I am finally down to dirt and my present task is digging up the well-compacted clay. I was working on that this weekend with my new tiller-cultivator – my first time using the machine! And my left shoulder “gave”. A week later, I am nearly recovered, but this task is going to take the rest of the year. I don’t think I will get anything into the ground before winter.
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Except for the tomato-mint containers which I planted in June. I had three small tomatoes from the Juliet tomatoes and more are coming. Everything is having problems because of the recent drought. One of my two mint is struggling on the point of death, while the other is going great guns but the tomato it shares a container with is only beginning to think about maybe making one tomato.
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RAISED BED (BASEMENT DOOR)
The raised bed by the basement door had a very determined holly bush in it. Every time I cut it back, within a month it was blocking the keyhole again. I couldn’t get out the stump because of angles. In the end a friend helped me yank it away from the cement block and cut out most of it. Here’s hoping it stays dead after a winter. I am thinking of replacing it with Spring Iris and Summer/Autumn Mums.
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TURTLE
The Turtle for the herb garden made it out of my van and is now guarding the patch of garden which will eventually be it’s home.
Flash: Lost Doorknobs
Image courtesy of Keerati at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Rating: Mature (Language)
Hip slammed the door closed with a satisfying click, while hand tossed the keys into the basket and arm dumped the groceries on the island, and I concentrated on rushing to the bathroom. Reaching for the doorknob to take care of a very important necessity, I grasp … empty air.
The doorknob was gone.
I looked down to where it should be, stunned. The bathroom door was there, in the palest blue I could find while I was purging all white from my life following breaking up with a wizard. I wanted the inner wall to reflect light, but I had enough pure white stuffed down my throat from the moment we met at Christian’s Winter Solstice party to July Fourth firework-level breakup two months ago to last a lifetime.
The door still had the intricate carved inserts which made me pick it up in the first place but the doorknob was gone. Not even the plug for the knob to be inserted was visible. It’s like the door never had a knob.
I one-eightied and headed back to the kitchen portion of my home.
My eyes, knowing the fear I haven’t let myself think about yet, went to the condo front door. No doorknob there either. My stomach dropped and my bladder let loose.
I had been holding since work. I should have gone in the grocery store, but I don’t use public restrooms. I try to stop it, clinch whatever muscle I am suppose to, but nothing stopped the freed bladder. Thick jeans absorb most, but the balance ran inside the legs over the sandals and onto the tile.
I grab the paper towels and pull a half dozen or so from the roll and drop it to the floor. Stepping on the pile I rub it back and forth through the small puddle before picking up the lot and dropping it into the trashcan. Automatically I grab the cold water lever to turn the sink on.
And my hand swished. Empty air again.
No.
Goddess, I hate weird shit.
Well, considering my friendship circle I guess I should be more particular. I hate weird shit I am not expecting.
Not the normal weird shit, but …
THIS.
The frightening shit.
I turn around and scan my open floor setup. Bed under the frosted glass wall with dozens of my jeweled creations transforming the afternoon sun into rainbows throughout the third floor condo. Silk and bamboo wall panels cutting out the right side of the living space from public view. Living room conversation pieces centered under the skylight a short distance from my little eating table.
The skylight!
I rush over and look up fifteen feet. The latch is missing. Not that it mattered much because my closet door with my maintenance equipment, including the ladder, was also missing its doorknob. And the hinges should have been visible, but they weren’t.
At least I don’t have a separate changing room. Going over to the dresser to get out of the wet jeans, I discover the knobs are missing and the drawers may as well be nailed shut. For all I know they were.
I scour the room. All doorknobs, levers, hinges, anything to open or close anything was gone. Even the knobs on the kitchen cabinets to get at my knives and cooking tools had disappeared.
My tools.
Dashing the tears from my eyes and forcing myself to stop chewing my lower lip I go behind the bamboo screen I place around my jewelry workspace to hide the mess from visitors. The very small hammer, a cold iron awl I use when working on potential items for friends to enchant, and a two-pound anvil were still out from this morning, beside the turquoise bracelet I was crafting for a horse enthusiast. After tucking the beading awl out of the way through the jean belt loop, I grab the hammer and return to the front door.
I hate abusing my tools.
Wiping the tears from my face so I can see clearly, leaving the unmistakable smell of urine behind, I pound my four-ounce hammer into the front door with all my might. It bounced without leaving a scratch.
The door wasn’t that good. While I can replace anything I want in the condo, the door belongs to the outside hall and was provided by the original cheapskate owner. My bathroom door was solid wood; the front door was not.
Frustrated I take a swing at the plaster wall. The plaster breaks away to reveal concrete stone underneath.
That’s not right.
Everett was thrown through the inner wall into the hallway during a failed enchantment without breaking anything but the wall and my monthly budget two years ago. My silk wall panels had more substance than the building.
The hammer slips from my grasp and lands with a soft thud. The gibbering terror I had been ignoring rises as I slowly slide down the plywood door; I collapse in a pile, leaning against the plywood door. I barely had the presence of mind to not bury my head in my hands.
A smug voice resonated from a corner of the condo I realize I hadn’t look at since I got here. “I’ve never seen anyone look so lost in their own home.”
The ex.
Note to self, never, ever date a magic user again.
Bending further forward, into near fetal position, I tapped the panic necklace I had Christian bless after the “white wizard’s” last visit, activating both the alarm and the defense. Next I palmed my awl, before slowing standing up, letting obvious defeat drip from every pore. The useless hammer on the floor lying testament to my capitulation.
Bet the bastard believes my body language.
He never did “get” me.
Every two weeks the fucker has come back, each full and new moon. First by phone, then a “chance” meeting at a coffee shop near work, each time escalating until the Saturday he pounded on my door for an hour until the police arrived. He freaked because I had dyed my ash blond hair black.
I could not get a restraining order.
Now he was inside the door.
Inside MY HOUSE, using spells to destroy MY SAFE PLACE, oh, this is so on.
He thought the Fourth of July was over the top.
(Words 1,055 – First published 8/28/2016)
Other Cool Blogs: Science Daily May 5, 2015
Image Courtesy of Simon Howden at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Words, Those Things, I Used Them
Sometimes the most experienced writer sounds like … well … like an idiot, when talking. How come these masters of words stumble and search for words? With many writers either returning to school or sighing relief as their children return to school, let’s look at what a John Hopkins University study discovered about how the brain processes words when writing and speaking. You would think the brain is sorted like a filing cabinet or library with a section marked dictionary and another Freshman English Sentence Construction and these sections get activated any time language is used. Well “Say What? How the brain separates our ability to talk and write” from May 5, 2015 in Science Daily indicates something a little different.
Thinking about using Dragon Voice Recognition Software? Maybe it won’t work exactly the way you think it should.
Go here for more: https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2015/05/150505112216.htm
WRITING EXERCISE: Write a flash (50 to 500 words) illustrating the disconnect between speaking and writing. Could it be someone can only write “I love you” but not say it aloud? Maybe the person has a brain dysfunction in the language area. How about someone is talking on the phone but writing a message down and something crosses?