Night Lights Book Two Chapter One

2/24/02

Once a month, selected members of the “others” went on missions for the colony. A portal of sorts provided access to the universe. The portal remained open for exactly ten hours. Anyone on the wrong side once the portal closed was in permanent exile. Those in exile rarely survived more than a few days. Once outside the colony environment for twelve hours, their bodies reverted to a human-like form and demanded maintenance or, if captured, the earthlings took them as scientific experiments. The metamorphosis to a human-like form is an instinctive protection that all members of the colony possess. They preserved the secrets of the species at all costs. If they conceal their natural form, knowledge of their species remained limited. One large disadvantage, though, is that the “others” lack the survival instincts of humans. Historically, they never needed to hunt nor seek shelter. They were a low-maintenance, peaceable species. Suicide was not an option for a colonist. All members of the colony firmly believed in their reasons for being and in their continued existence. Members rarely became extinct. One would have to be literally useless before becoming extinct. The portal had opened a week ago and they had invited Jim to join the colony. It would not open again for another three weeks.

The colony was not like Earth. Time was the same–an hour was still an hour, a day still a day. Night, though, was just a continuation of day. Darkness did not exist. The “others” blamed darkness for many problems found on Earth. Activities were less visible in the dark and more likely to lead to temptation. Because of its association with evil and illness, they banished darkness in the colony. Artificial sunlight flooded every life space of the colony. They noted the passage of time only by the ringing of chimes every six hours.

New members of the colony might show concern for an earthling only until the next portal opened. Once the portal closed again, the emotional slate was to be magically cleared. Humans had a great deal of difficulty leaving their emotions behind.

The colony favored nepotism only when it suited the makeup of their population quotas and long-range goals. Active recruitment replaced members lost to exile, or extinction. A roster of carefully selected candidates provided a base for recruiting. They monitored and prepared each candidate for life in the colony. Earthlings were added to the roster upon birth. Every two years, they reviewed potential candidates for usable qualities. Dropping names from the roster for incorrect career choices was normal. Once they elected to pursue a candidate, the “others” subtly guided them in the proper directions. Both the human, Jim, and his wife, Emma, were desirable for their work with animals. The fact that Jim and Emma shared a previous life only intrigued the “others.” This would provide an opportunity for them to study human relationships in the older adult.

The knowledge of the “others” was already quite extensive. They were, however, extremely interested in learning more about the human side of life, the animal characteristics of both humans and animals, and how both interact with their environments. Animal life in the colony was nonexistent at this time, but plans were in place to recruit this population over the next few years. The “others” believe that animals possess a greater intelligence than ever credited.

The mind and intelligence were the primary focus of the colony. Contributions of information and knowledge were the supreme reasons for being. Opinion was considered only when known facts conflicted. Non-contributory behavior could result in extinction. It was not a crime to be ignorant in specific areas if one could compensate for this lack in other areas.

The body was not an important component of being. It was simply a vehicle, or container, for intelligence. All of the human functions associated with the maintenance of the body were now invalid. Eating was still acceptable, but was strictly for enjoyment. Fuel for the body was no longer necessary. Since they took no garbage into the body, they eliminated no waste from the body. These functions were still available, but, the environment and living conditions diminished their use and importance.

Intermission

I started posting the installments of Night Lights on July 24. If you made it all the way through the story, I thank you for reading and sticking with it. There are two more "books" to the story. Book Two is about the colony and Jim's arrival there. Book Three goes back to Emma's story. Both are incomplete.

We've finished Book One which was centered around Jim. I'm curious to know overall reactions to this completed book. I'm infatuated with the whole process so I am not objective in my opinions. Jim's death, I know, came as a shock to some. I think the last chapter rather explained the process. Jim had gotten his wish (from the first chapter) and had a wonderful last year.

Were enough questions answered throughout the story? I'm already aware of a couple places that I need to re-visit. I'm not sure there will be an outcome to this visitation, but I will certainly try.

Night Lights Book One Chapter Six

3/1/02

Since Jim’s death one month ago, Emma had been distraught with grief. The couple had rarely been apart in all their years of marriage. Sleep offered little solace since Emma’s dreams were filled with her husband. She slept sporadically.

Tonight, Emma was especially tired and looked forward to getting into bed. For the first time since his death, she went right to sleep. Light in the room woke her up a couple of hours later. A glance at the clock told her it was 2:00 a.m. A voice was in her brain.

“Hello, Emma.”

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am. Jim told you all about me.”

“Jim’s gone. What do you want?” Emma felt as if she should be frightened, but, strangely enough, she was not.

“I know Jim is gone. I came to see you. You shouldn’t grieve so. Jim had a good life. He is happy now.”

“He is? I miss him so much!”

“I know, Emma. How would you like to have what he had?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Emma. Jim was different after he met me. Would you like that?”

Emma hesitated slightly. “He had so much energy. You did that for him, and after a year, you took him away.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Emma was no longer young and the idea of returning to youth for a year before she died appealed to her. “Then I will be with him?”

“Of course, Emma.”

“Yes, I would like that.” She promptly fell back to sleep.

The next morning, Emma awoke with a vague sense of having had a strange dream. It was then that she remembered. “I understand everything now, Jim. It won’t be long. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Night Lights Book One Chapter Five

2/6/02

The next day, the newscaster started his broadcast with the “sinkhole.” “Exactly one month and one day after the mysterious appearance of the ‘sinkhole’ here in town, the city is finally doing something about it. Officials still have no clues as to the cause, but have decided that the rerouting of traffic cannot further inconvenience the city. The property owner is here today with his comments. Sir?” The neighbor from the first newscast appeared on the screen again.

“It has been horrible. With the rerouting of traffic, I have been forced to park on the next street over and cut through the yard behind mine. Fortunately, the people there have been really understanding. Even so, I want my driveway back.”

“Then you will be very happy to hear that the city will start filling the hole tomorrow,” prompted the newscaster.

“Oh, yes, once they fill it in and repair the street, the mayor has promised to hire a landscaper to do my front yard . . . as compensation for my inconvenience, of course!” the resident was obviously excited about this prospect.

Jim snapped off the television. “That’s okay, they are done with it any way,” he said.

“Done with what, Jim, and who?” asked Emma.

“They . . . are done with the hole,” Jim wasn’t being very specific.

“They? How do you know?” Emma was getting confused.

“They visited me again last night, while I was asleep,” Jim said this quietly, almost in a whisper.

“They did? But, why?” Emma’s confusion was growing.

“Once a month they’ll make contact to see how things are going,” Jim was at least speaking normally now.

“Things? Jim, I do not like this. What do they want?” Emma was suddenly afraid.

“Oh, Emma, everything is fine. Please don’t be frightened.” Jim reached for Emma and gave her a comforting hug.

Once a month they came. Jim appeared to have more energy with each passing month. On the night of the one-year anniversary, Jim and Emma were getting ready for bed. Jim kissed Emma lovingly and said, “Good night, Emma. Remember that I love you very much.”

“I love you too, Jim. More than you will ever know.”

Jim never woke up again.

Night Lights Book One Chapter Four

2/4/02

Four weeks later...

Every year, the town had a pre-winter gathering. This year was no different. Jim and Emma usually went to socialize with their neighbors and to dance a couple of the slower numbers. The gathering was combination of carnival, dance, and flea market. Jim and Emma had just finished a dance and were returning to their table. Just as Emma sat, the band started another song. "Emma, this is my favorite. Come back out on the floor with me," Jim pleaded.

When Jim and Emma danced, Emma buried her face in his shoulder. It was the way they always danced and it was comfortable for both of them. Emma regularly checked his shirtfront to make sure she did not leave her makeup behind. Besides, she just liked to touch him.

"Jim, give an old woman a break! I am tired. Go find someone else to dance with," Emma said laughingly.

"I will," Jim responded, "don't miss me too much." Emma waved Jim off as her neighbor, Mary, joined her at the table.

Mary immediately questioned Emma, "He has been going all night! Where does he get the energy?"

"Beats me," said Emma, "all I know is that he is not sharing! I wish he would. I cannot keep up with him any more."

Mary was concerned now, "Is everything all right with you two?"

"Oh, sure, everything is wonderful. I'm just feeling my age these days is all," replied Emma.

"But, isn't Jim older than you are?" asked Mary.

"Yes, actually he is," said Emma, "but you would never know it seeing him today."

Jim returned to the table in time to find Emma and Mary giggling like a couple of school girls. "What are you ladies so amused about?" he asked. "Are you ready for another dance, Em?"

"No, Jim! Why don't you sit and talk to us for a bit? Mary has been asking about you," Emma beseeched.

"Sure. How are you doing these days, Mary?" Jim asked politely.

"Apparently, I am not doing nearly as well as you are Jim," replied Mary.

"And the kids, grand kids, everyone good?" continued Jim.

"Everyone is great, Jim, thanks for asking. Right now, though, I'm more interested in you. You have been dancing more than any man half your age . . . and you are not slowing down. How do you do it?" asked Mary.

"Ah, Mary, I just feel good. That's all," replied Jim cautiously.

"There has to be more to it than that, Jim," Mary pressed Jim for an explanation.

"Mary, would you believe it if I told you I've had a close encounter?" Jim started tentatively. Emma dropped her glasses as she heard Jim’s question.

Mary laughed heartily, "Oh, Jim. You are so funny. Okay, so don't tell me!"

Jim and Emma exchanged looks and Jim said, "Hey, I tried."

After another dance, Jim and Emma said their good-byes and started home. The quiet was refreshing after the noise inside. Emma was thoughtful for a while and then spoke, "I can't believe you said that to Mary. What were you thinking?"

Jim smiled and replied, "It is the truth, isn't it? Besides, I knew she wouldn't believe it."

"People are going to think you have a few screws loose. You should be careful who you tell your tales to," replied Emma as she played with her glasses.

"You're beginning to sound doubtful again, Em. You do know I told you the truth," Jim looked at her thoughtfully.

"Yes, Jim. I do. I just want you to be careful," said Emma.

"I will, I promise," said Jim.

Night Lights Book One Chapter Three

1/5/02

An hour later, after the breakfast dishes had been cleared away and the kitchen cleaned up, Jim and Emma started for the hill. The day was very pleasant for late October and both were silent as they started on their way. Each had their own thoughts about the events of the night before. Emma was seriously worried about her husband and his insistence that the newscast was wrong. Jim was still trying to decide if he had imagined the whole thing. Both felt that visiting the site would help to straighten out the confusion.

Jim reached for Emma’s hand after a few minutes. They walked with a relaxed, easy stride. Jim smiled slightly when Emma squeezed his hand reassuringly. As the hill became a little steeper, Jim took Emma’s arm for support. While both of them were quite healthy for their ages, neither took such long walks that included steep inclines.

From the top of the hill, they could see much activity below. After a brief pause to rest, they started down toward the “sinkhole.” Without the smoke and the darkness of the night before, the hole appeared much larger than Jim remembered. It was a gaping wound in the Earth’s soul. Jim shook his head at the thought.

A few people passed them, going in the opposite direction. They exchanged greetings. As the day grew warmer, the silence grew heavier between the couple. They were almost to the police tape when Jim finally spoke, “Something happened here last night, Em.”

“Yes, Jim, I know,” said Emma.

“No, Em, I mean something happened to me, here.”

Emma looked at Jim searchingly, “What, Jim? Are you all right?”

“That’s just it. I’ve never felt better. Lately, I’ve been feeling my age. After last night, I feel young again. I feel as if there is nothing I cannot do, nothing I do not understand. Does that make any sense?”

Emma nodded, “Sure it does. I get moments like that. They don’t last.”

Jim smiled, “Well this moment is already several hours old. Would you look at the size of that hole?”

“It is huge. That poor man’s yard is completely gone.” Then, after a heavy pause Emma asked, “So what happened here? What happened to you?”

Jim hesitated and said, “I don’t know . . . I was catnapping in my rocker. When I woke up, the sky was beautiful. It was a perfect night. Then . . . this star, or a light, was going all over the sky. I could not take my eyes off it! After a couple of minutes, it fell out of the sky. All I knew was that I had to find it. I did not have a choice. Something had control of me. I came to this spot . . . I can’t explain it.”

“What happened when you got here?”

“It was weird, Emma. I was the only one here. Others were coming ‘cause I could hear sirens. Smoke was coming out of the hole, then light. At first it was blinding. Then, I could see so clearly. There was a craft in there, Emma. People were on top of it. Not people like you and me, but still, living beings.”

“Were they hurt, Jim?” Emma asked.

“No, not at all,” said Jim. “At least, I don’t think so. I saw six of them. The smallest one spoke to me.”

“What did he say?” asked Emma.

“Oh, he didn’t actually ‘say’ anything. It was like I knew what he was thinking and he knew what I was thinking. We were, like, in each other’s heads! There were no actual words, but feelings. I knew I had nothing to fear from him.”

“And no one else saw any of this?” Emma was skeptical.

Jim shook his head, “No. By the time the emergency crews got here, the light was gone and so were they. All I know is that the feelings I had at the time are still there. The hole was as you see it now . . . empty.”

“Shouldn’t you tell someone about this Jim?” Emma was still a bit skeptical, but she knew her husband was not prone to flights of fancy.

“No, hon., I don’t think so. Even you don’t really believe me.”

Emma hugged her husband and said, “Oh, but I do, Jim, I do.”

Night Lights Book One Chapter Two

1/2/02

It was late by the time Jim made it back to the house. Emma had already retired for the night. Although Jim was not all that tired, he decided he would join her. He made his usual late-night checks around the house and climbed the stairs to the second floor. As he entered the bedroom, Emma stirred, "Are you okay?" she asked, "You were gone so long."

Jim smiled at his wife of fifty years and said, "I’m fine, go back to sleep." Emma smiled back at her husband, nodded, and snuggled under the blanket. She was asleep almost instantly. Jim made his way into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He joined Emma in bed ten minutes later. No sooner had he got comfortable than he was asleep also.

Sunlight peeked through the bedroom window when Jim opened his eyes the next morning. He stretched and rubbed his eyes. He noticed that Emma was already up. As Jim started down the stairs, he could smell the coffee brewing in the kitchen. Emma had the small, portable television on. She was listening to the morning newscast as she fussed around in the kitchen. As he entered, she looked up from the vegetables she was cleaning. "Good morning, Jim, coffee’s ready."

Emma stands almost a foot shorter than her husband. She has a full head of curly white hair and still shows signs of the beauty she had been. Her one concession to age was her glasses. After years of misplacing the spectacles, Jim had given her a lovely chain so she could wear them around her neck. Jim felt this to be his best investment after finding the missing article under his backside a half dozen times. Normally, Emma wore her spectacles on the end of her nose. She claimed this was because she could not keep them in place. She did not have the nose for them. In reality, however, Emma never agreed with bifocals and having her glasses perched at the end of her nose gave her the choice of looking over them or through them. She had a habit of playing with the frames when she was doubtful. Emma had, on occasion, dropped her glasses in disbelief. The chain always assured that they would land nestled safely against her breast.

While a small woman, she had always had a commanding presence. Her children always knew that Mom meant business when she tilted her head, tucked in her chin, and spoke quietly. They knew better than to miss any words that followed!

Jim went over to kiss Emma’s cheek. "Good morning to you, too." He poured himself a cup of coffee.

"How did you sleep?" Emma asked.

"Good, thanks."

"I didn’t want to wake you this morning since I knew you were up late."

"I appreciate that. No, I feel great."

Just then, the newscaster started a story about a large sinkhole that had appeared in town last night. Jim turned up the volume so he could hear better.

"No one was hurt with the appearance of this hole, but police were cautioning motorists to avoid the area. We have no clues yet as to the cause of this ‘sinkhole.’"

A resident from the area appeared on the screen. "I can’t believe it. I’ve got a huge hole where my front yard used to be!" said the resident.

“Did you see anything . . . When it happened?” asked the newscaster.

“No, unfortunately, I was out last night. By the time I got back, the police had the area blocked off. They wouldn’t even let me go into the house until they checked for structural damage. Even when they allowed me, I had to use the back door. My front door opens onto a 30-foot drop!”

“Okay, thank you for speaking with us.” The newscaster turned back to the camera. “There you have it, folks. Just remember to avoid that area until the city decides what to do about this mysterious event.”

Jim turned the television off just as Emma piped up with, “It is a miracle that no one was hurt!”

“Yes, but it is not a sinkhole,” replied Jim.

“Then what is it?” asked Emma. Emma was playing with the arms of her glasses.

“I’m not really sure,” Jim shook his head, “you probably wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” asked Emma.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim was still shaking his head, “feel like taking a walk over there after breakfast?”

“Okay, but do you think we should?” Emma asked. She was beginning to worry about his behavior now.

“We’ll find out.” With that, Jim went to get dressed for the day.

Night Lights: Book One Chapter One

12/3/01

Jim was accustomed to sitting on his front porch in the evening. He liked to rock in his chair and watch the sun set and the stars take over the night sky. Catching a few winks was usual for him. He was never concerned about missing much because the train in the neighboring town would always wake him. He would then have plenty of time to catch the news and get to bed at a decent hour. Tonight was no different. The evening meal had been very satisfying and Jim was content. Jim settled into his rocker and had his front-row seat to the events of the evening. Jim nodded to neighbors out for their evening stroll and even got up once to retrieve a stray Frisbee that found its way onto the porch. His bones were not as agile these days, but he liked the kids and could still return a Frisbee with ease.

Jim had always been active. He had reached six feet by the age of twelve and peaked at six foot two inches at sixteen. A basketball scholarship paid his way through veterinarian school where he met his wife. Considering the rest of Jim’s family was only average size, Jim should have felt the odd man out. His mother, though, did her best to make Jim proud of his height. She made him feel special in being different. It was not until years later that Jim understood why he was so special to her. He was not his father’s child. It was unclear whether his father had known of his mother’s indiscretions. So, as Jim got older, his posture was proof that he was not ashamed to be tall. Even in his later years, he never became bent like so many do.

The only real signs of age he showed were the loss of two inches in height and the loss of his hair. He never really went gray or assumed the distinguished salt and pepper look since when his hair changed colors, it fell out. Hair, or the lack of it, was the one vanity that Jim had. He compensated for the lack by wearing a golf cap. The selection of his cap was a daily routine as much as putting his pants on in the morning. When Jim was puzzled, he had a habit of lifting his cap slightly and scratching his head. He generally did both the lifting and scratching with the same hand. Therefore, the cap was never far from his head.

Settling in again, the sun was just beginning to set. The clouds were scarce and unable to catch the last rays, but it was still a pretty sight that never failed to please Jim’s eyes. It would be a clear night tonight. The first star was already visible in the early evening sky. Jim made the same wish tonight that he did every night . . . that he and his wife would remain healthy and visit with the family yet another time. This wish soothed Jim into his first doze of the day. When he opened his eyes, stars littered the sky with a thousand tiny white lights twinkling in the night. A particular star caught his eye. It was more active than the others. Then he noticed that the star seemed to follow the movement of his head.

"What the . . . " exclaimed Jim. He knew his eyes were playing tricks on him. Yet, he rubbed the sleep out of them and looked again. Sure enough, that star was weaving designs in the night sky. He called to his wife, but she must not have heard him. He was afraid to take his eyes away from the sky in case he would lose sight of this blazing star. She would have to hear about it later. Still not sure what it was, he was determined to find out. A couple of minutes later, the movement stopped. It was, however, followed by a flash of light in the distance.

"Oh my gosh," said Jim as he removed his cap and scratched his bald head, "that was just on the other side of the hill. I’m going to go look."

Jim was propelled toward the disappearing light. His feet took command. It was as if a hand on his back was pushing him gently, but persistently, forward. The trip up the hill was more than Jim was used to since he suffered from arthritis. His long legs were feeling the effort of the climb. However, he was almost there and was not ready to give up now. He caught his breath and continued forward. When he reached the top, he noticed that the normal sounds of the evening had all but disappeared. The descent down the other side was a gradual slant, yet Jim found himself gaining speed. He was now feeling a pull with the accustomed push.

The smell of smoke was becoming apparent and he could now hear sirens in the distance. Halfway down the hill, Jim discovered the source of the smoke, a large crater lying a hundred yards ahead. Smoke was rising steadily from within the depth of this great hole. As Jim came closer, he peered cautiously into the depths. He could hear a faint hum beneath the wail of the approaching sirens. He was not sure but thought he saw metal or something shiny in the bowels of the crater. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness and the sting of the smoke, a bright light began to glow. The suddenness of the light momentarily blinded Jim. Consequently, he found he could see everything clearly. Six figures perched on top of a large craft. While the beings did not resemble humans, Jim felt no fear. While he was taking in the scene before him, Jim actually felt younger and healthier than he had in a long time.

One being, smaller than the rest, looked directly at Jim. In that instant, Jim understood all of the things that puzzled him for years. He understood all of the events in his life that brought him to this moment. He knew why he and Emma had only been blessed with two children and why they ended up being so far away. He also understood why he had always been different from the rest of his family. It was as if someone had given him all the answers and lifted a great weight from his shoulders. He acknowledged this newfound release with a slight nod of his head to his new friend.

As suddenly as the light had appeared, it was gone. Flashing lights had replaced the sirens as the emergency vehicles arrived on the scene. The crater was just an empty reminder now. An EMT approached Jim, "Sir, sir, are you okay?"

Jim nodded and said "Never been better, son, never been better," and began his ascent back up the hill.

Update

It feels good to have those two stories wrapped up. The poetry seems to be taking a siesta. That's okay, I guess. Maybe responses can catch up with creativity. We're still waiting to hear from many editors. In the meantime, some pieces have be submitted to other sources. I figured, since everyone is taking their own sweet time, I can still say sorry this has been accepted elsewhere.

It is time for another project. Maybe it is time to revisit Night Lights and figure out how that ends. I haven't looked at it in awhile. I don't think there are really too many options open for the ending. I just have to become reacquainted with Jim and see how I feel about him now.

This story has been through several rewrites, but any and all suggestions would be welcomed. I will probably post it in several pieces since it tends to be long. I feel it is a very good story and worth the read. It is decided, then, Night Lights will become our focus for the next few days or so. Hopefully, the latest revision is the one that is posted on my web site and it won't be too difficult to transfer.

Unicorn

You are Form 3, Unicorn: The Innocent.

"And The Unicorn knew she wasn't meant to
go into the Dark Wood. Disregarding the advice
given to her by the spirits, Unicorn went
inside and bled silver blood.. For her
misdeed, the world knew evil."

Some examples of the Unicorn Form are Eve
(Christian) and Pandora (Greek).
The Unicorn is associated with the concept of
innocence, the number 3, and the element of
water.
Her sign is the twilight sun.

As a member of Form 3, you are a curious
individual. You are drawn to new things and
become fascinated with ideas you've never come
in contact with before. Some people may say
you are too nosey, but it's only because you
like getting to the bottom of things and
solving them. Unicorns are the best friends to
have because they are inquisitive.


Which Mythological Form Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

After the Storm

7/6/03 – 7/22/05

The day dawned bright and sunny. We must have slept at some point during the night since no one knew when the quiet returned. As we shook dust and sleep from our bodies, we climbed from the storm cellar to survey the damage. The radio had mentioned a tornado headed toward town. After that, we lost reception and could only gauge the storm’s progress by the noise level.

The sun’s brightness was painful after being in the dark for so long. The calmness was such a contrast to the previous night’s chaos. The sights that met us were spectacular. There were no trees or houses as far as we could see. There wasn’t even any debris. It was as if the storm vacuumed everything in its path. My house was gone. The car and garage were also gone. Even the flowers we planted the day before were taken. Tears streamed down my face as I grabbed my wife’s hand and just stared.

No one spoke. We had all lost everything. We had only our families and the clothes on our backs. We saw other families emerge from similar cellars. They slowly rose from below ground. We started walking toward them—toward town. Others joined along the way.

The breeze felt good after the stuffiness of the cellar. As people joined us and as time passed, quiet conversations began. Tears never really stopped, they dried temporarily only to begin again moments later. Many had no idea how to begin anew. Everything they cherished had suddenly vanished without so much as a thank you. After about an hour of walking, we began to see activity. Our numbers had grown to two dozen. We must have appeared as a small army converging on the city. We were all tired, dirty, sore, and hungry for having waited out the storm in our respective cellars.

We were met with concern by the townspeople. We’d always been more isolated than some people since we were residents of small communities spaced miles apart. We did, however, make our weekly trips to town for supplies, so we weren’t total strangers. And now, when we needed help the most, we were grateful for the friendly faces.

There was a small park in the center of town. The women of the town raided their refrigerators and threw together an impromptu picnic for us. The leftovers had never tasted so good. They also gathered buckets of water so we could wash the worst of the grime from ourselves. Promises were made for showers after everyone had eaten. Clothes were collected so that we could be more comfortable. The clothes we were wearing would also be washed for us. I had never felt so cared for in my life.

These strangers went out of their way to make us feel at home. They listened to our stories and told their own. Most of them cried with us. Some of the children curled up on blankets and dozed while their parents continued to talk. Eventually, the conversation turned to what to do next. We were, of course, invited to stay as long as we liked. The only good thing about all of this was that we still had the land. We could rebuild. This was the first time anything like this had struck our part of the state. Ususally, our weather was mild for most of the year.

An older gentleman suddenly got very excited. He seemed to be talking to himself and then increased his volume to be heard. “Ya know,” he began, “for years, I was intending to put an addition on my house. I never did. At my age, why do I need more room? When I get visitors, we make do. I have all of the wood and supplies just sitting there, collecting dust. My grandsons and I could bring that out to you tomorrow. It ain’t much, but it’s a start.”

After many objections, we agreed to accept the generous offer. Other townspeople were finding their own castoffs to donate. One woman had some seeds she bought and never planted. These were promptly donated. Arrangements were made for the donations to be delivered the next day. Offers to sleep in town were declined. Instead, we were loaded up with blankets, pillows, and sleeping bags to use in our storm cellars. Some toys were found for the children. Food was also packed up for us.

We piled into the backs of three pickup trucks and were driven back to our “homes.” Even though everything was gone, it felt right to be there. This, as empty as it was, belonged to us. Heartfelt thanks and hugs were proffered around as promises were made to return the next day. We would rebuild in stages. The government might offer some help as well. We would have to wait to see how that worked. In the meantime, we were home.

Satisfaction

I admit there's some satisfaction involved in finishing something you've started. Even though I feel I compromised on that short story, I'm glad it is done and I'm not totally displeased with it. These small successes are what keeps us going.

I got a rejection the other day. It wasn't necessarily a surprise, but there is still disappointment attached to it. At least, though, they had the courtesy to say something. I'm still waiting on a number of places for just a response. The trick is to balance these disappointments with those successes mentioned above.

In the meantime, I've involved in a round robin. We are on our fifth round and I'm pleased to say that we've had some excellent poems generated. This last round involved prompts that were to be used as the title or ending line or both. There may have been eight or nine prompts. Four of them called to me. There's nothing like a good dose of inspiration to make the world right.

I'm still doing the pic of the week at Moontown Cafe as well. Those poem are posted under "Picture Poetry." Unfortunately, the pictures are not posted, but some of the poems are pretty good even without them.

I'm in for a long weekend. I decided not to battle parking issues downtown tomorrow. So, I hope everyone has a great weekend. I know I will.

Dollhouse

7/6/02 – 7/19/05

The dollhouse stood on a table in the corner of the playroom. It had been ignored for quite some time. The house was typical of those found on toy store shelves. It was two stories and made of metal. There were four rooms on each floor. The top floor housed three bedrooms and a bathroom. The bottom floor contained the living room, dining room, kitchen, and family room. The entire back of the house was open for easy access to the furnishings within. Also in keeping with the times, the furniture was a heavy plastic in primarily pink and blue.

There were no doorways connecting one room to another unless they were simply painted on the walls. There were no staircases leading from one floor to the other either. All movement between rooms occurred through the back of the house when, perhaps, a caring child decided to rearrange a given room.

The front of the house depicted lovely windows with painted flower boxes and a front door that did not open. The roof supported a plastic brick chimney that came off with relative ease. All in all, the house was attractive but left little room for imagination.

Ashley had received the dollhouse as a gift from her parents on her fifth birthday. For the first couple of weeks, she had hours of pleasure unwrapping furniture from their individual plastic bags and setting up each room to perfection. Once done, though, the house received attention only when Ashley’s friends came to visit.

Ashley’s birthday was here once again and she knew her grandparents had a surprise for her. Ashley was impatient for her grandparents to arrive. They were expected for dinner and a birthday party afterward.

Relatives began to arrive late in the afternoon. Dinner was scheduled for five o’clock. Ashley’s grandparents arrived shortly before they sat down to eat. Ashley barely knew what she ate. She knew that desert would be a birthday cake and then she could open her gifts. And, she received some wonderful gifts, but she did not know what her surprise was going to be.

“Grandpa?” started Ashley tentatively.

“Yes, Ashley?” replied grandpa.

“Do you have something for me?” Ashley knew she was being impolite in asking, but she had to know.

“Do I?’ grandpa teased, “well, let me see…” With that, he handed Ashley two bumpy packages that he pulled from his pocket. Both were wrapped in white tissue paper secured by pink and blue ribbons. They were six inches long. Ashley barely remembered to say “thank you” before she ripped open the first package. Grandpa helped Ashley remove the blue ribbon with his pocketknife. Ashley unrolled the tissue paper to find a wooden figure of a little boy. He looked to be about 8 years old. The name of “Tim” was carved into the bottom of the figurine.

“Oh, grandpa, this is beautiful,” exclaimed Ashley.

Grandpa then helped Ashley with the pink ribbon. Nestled within this tissue paper was a figure of a little girl about 10 years. Her name was engraved as “Amy.”

“Grandpa, they’re both very pretty, but I don’t understand.” Ashley looked at her grandfather quizzically.

“Ashley,” started grandpa, “I made these two people for your dollhouse. They will be your playmates on the days that you are alone. Do you like them, Ashley?”

“I love them, Grandpa. I will take good care of them,” responded Ashley.

“Good. I also have some other projects that I am working on for you. How about some wood furniture for that dollhouse? Would you like that, Ashley?” grandpa was warming to his subject.

“Really, grandpa? That would be great! But, there’s not too much room left.” Ashley explained soberly.

“Don’t be silly, Ashley. We’ll just take out that plastic stuff when we put in the wood. We’ll box it up in case you ever want it again. Besides, I’m eventually going to build you a new dollhouse, too. It’ll be wood with windows and doors that actually open. And, of course, I’ll have to make parents for Tim and what’s her name, there.”

Ashley said, “Amy, now you’re being silly Grandpa!”

Ashley went to bed that night dreaming of her new dollhouse.

Meanwhile, in the dollhouse, Tim and Amy were settling in.

Amy came around first. She found it difficult to move at first because of the hardness of the wood from which she was made. Silently, she cursed her creator for not using a more pliable substance. She worked her elbows and wrists and felt movement. Soon, she was able to move her arms freely. Her legs were more difficult. Amy manipulated her ankle and knee of one leg and found herself falling sideways. She landed heavily and uttered an “ouch!”

“Amy? Where are you?” This came from Tim who was in the next room.

“I’m here, Tim,” yelled Amy. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She was desperately trying to get her legs to move properly.

“Amy? I can’t move!” Tim was almost crying.

“I know, Tim. Just keep trying, but be careful. I fell over. I will be there just as soon as I can.” Amy was on her knees now and trying to stand up. She used her name pedestal for leverage. Soon, she stood on unsteady feet. Her first attempts at walking were wooden, of course, but she eventually felt her joints loosen up.

“Okay, Tim! Talk to me so that I can find you.”

“I’m scared, Amy. It is so dark!” cried Tim.

“I know, honey, but Ashley won’t let anything happen to us.” Amy used her most confident voice to reassure her brother.

Tim’s relief was immediate. “Oh good! Amy, Who is Ashley?”

Amy threw up her arms in frustration. Sometimes boys were so dumb!

Amy realized that Tim was in the next room over and there were no doors into the room. However, if she got rea1 close to the wall and held on tight, she could peek around the wall and avoid falling out of the house. She was tentative with this since she was still rather stiff. She called to Tim. “Tim, come over here.”

“Amy! Where are we?” Tim asked. He made the mistake of looking down and shrank back into the shadows of the room. Amy tried to coax him back to the edge so they could talk. This took some doing.

“We’re in a house owned by Ashley. This is our house I think. Ashley’s grandfather gave us to her and she promised to take care of us. We don’t have much time, though, we have to be back in our places when Ashley wakes up in the morning. Otherwise, there could be trouble.” Amy was in a hurry to explain things. It had taken too long to loosen up.

Daybreak arrived sooner than expected. Amy and Tim had to remember where they were when they woke up and place their pedestals accordingly. They were just climbing onto the pedestals when Ashley bounded into the room. Amy was startled and fell over sideways.

Ashley peered into the dollhouse and found her new acquisitions. The girl, “Amy” had fallen over. She grabbed both figures and made her way to breakfast. By now, of course, both Amy and Tim were back to their wooden states. Amy carried them around in her pocket all day. That night, she put both figures in the dining room of the dollhouse and went to bed.

After the house was quiet, Amy and Tim began the process of loosening up once again. This time, though, it was much easier and both were mobile in a matter of minutes. Amy was the first to speak, “Tim, did you get bumped around enough today?”

Tim’s reply was indignant, “Sheez, I’m hurting in places I didn’t know I had.”

Since they were on the first floor this time, Amy and Tim were able to explore the whole first floor of the dollhouse and the surrounding “yard.” They had to be careful to stay in the yard since there was a long drop a few inches from the edge of the house. Neither of them wanted to experience that drop. They’d had enough bumps and scrapes for one day.

Amy was trying to keep track of time, but the only clock available to them was the one painted on the kitchen wall in the house. Obviously, it wasn’t working. They’d just have to be careful to get back to their places before Ashley got up. She was in no hurry to do anything since she was also suffering some soreness at the hands of the six-year old. Both figures were back in their assigned places within plenty of time.

Ashley did not come to the dollhouse that day or the next. Amy and Tim remained wooden both nights.

The next morning, however, Ashley hurried into the playroom and grabbed her figures again. “Come on, Amy and Tim, Grandpa’s coming today. We have to be presentable.” Ashley was speaking to herself, of course. She only saw Amy and Tim as wooden figures. She stuffed both of them into her pocket so that when her grandfather asked about them, she could show them off.

Ashley’s grandparent’s arrived midmorning and spent the day visiting. Grandpa did, indeed, ask after Amy and Tim. Ashley dutifully pulled them out of her pocket and presented them to her grandfather. “Why are they in your pocket, Ashley? They should be in their house.” Grandpa was curious.

Ashley quickly replied, “I brought them out to visit with you!”

Grandpa then presented Ashley with another tissue-wrapped package. There were no ribbons this time so Ashley wasted no time in ripping the package open. Inside, she found a wooden couch. It was carved with such detail that it looked real. Ashley thanked her grandfather and ran to the playroom to put the couch in its place in the dollhouse’s living room. The pink plastic couch that was in there was tossed into a heap of toys in the corner.

That night, Amy and Tim began to stir as if from a long sleep. They were both in the living room this time. Tim was very curious why he felt so sluggish. Amy noticed a small piece of her dress was missing. While they worked their ways loose from their pedestals, the talked. “It is strange,” said Amy, “we only seem to get to play on the days that Ashley plays with us.”

“Yeah, but does she have to be so rough with us?” asked Tim. “Just look at your dress.”

“Don’t worry about that right now, “ Amy was more concerned with how things were working out for them. If they only got to play when Ashley paid attention to them, they could be in trouble. Every time they returned to their original states, they lost some of their flexibility. There had to be something they could do to let people know they existed. Amy had an idea. It wasn’t much, but there was only so much that a 10-year old could do.

Whenever Ashley paid attention to them, Amy would work that night. The attention came without notice and only lasted for short periods of time, but it was enough for Amy to make her mark.

Ashley lost interest in the dollhouse quickly. Once summer came, she spent her days outside with her friends. Even on rainy days, she and her friends were discovering books and letters. Now they could write all kinds of words. The dollhouse was largely ignored. Amy and Tim never came to life again. They had been ignored for too long and collected too much dust that the magic just disappeared.

It wasn’t until Ashley’s grandfather presented her with a new wooden dollhouse on her seventh birthday that Ashley renewed her interest in the figurines. The metal dollhouse was cleared of all its plastic furniture and the house dismantled. It was only then that Ashley’s mother noticed that all of the furniture had markings on it. It said simply, “Amy was here.”

Recap

The other day, I posted the Dollhouse Experiment. Since then, I have added to the story, but I really didn't know where I was going with the story. Well, it seems I knew more than I thought about where the story should go. The main point, though, is that I DIDN'T HAVE A PLAN.

I even admitted that my short stories have been written where they take me. It some sense, they worked well that way. They will, however, probably never see anything more than the light of a friend's eyes. I found in the Dollhouse, I ended up writing more to make up for my lack of direction. Now that I've determined my direction, I can get back on track.

I find that once I've written something, I'm very hesitant about removing it. I have no problem adding; I just don't like subtracting. That is another flaw. Had I had a plan in the beginning, the subtraction might be less necessary. As it stands now, whatever I've written already will probably stay.

Now, it is okay to run your stories or ideas by your friends to see how they react and get feedback. It is even okay to change your idea, the plan, and the route taken. I don't advise, though, writing blindly without a clue. It can only lead to trouble. Save that kind of writing for your flash fiction pieces. They tend to be short enough to support that kind of treatment.

Storms

We've had storms coming and going tonight. I turned the computer off earlier just to be on the safe side. The only thing more irritating that the recurring storms are dead people that won't die. Have you ever noticed that all of the scary movies are based on this premise. Either the monsters are already dead or they are immortal.

We weren't even watching a scary movie. Pirates of the Carribean is a Disney film, I think. But the pirates were skeletons. How disgusting. This was actually the second time I'd seen it and it runs a bit long for my taste. And, as late as it is, I've got a pesky fly in my house that I've been chasing around. Flies think they are smarter than we are. Right now he's either very dead or very irritated.

Some days you just don't win.

Dollhouse Experiment

As I explained to someone earlier today, I write my short stories without a pre-defined plan. This is not a good thing. The stories would probably be much better if there was a direction from the beginning. What can I say, these were written three years ago before I knew any better.

I've typed up what I've got so far for the Dollhouse. I'm torn about where to go from here. Let's try an experiment and see what ideas you guys can give me. Of course, I've had three years to think about this. I hope you don't take that long. So, here goes...

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7/6/02

The dollhouse stood on a table in the corner of the playroom. It had been ignored for quite some time. The house was typical of those found on toy store shelves. It was two stories and made of metal. There were four rooms on each floor. The top floor housed three bedrooms and a bathroom. The bottom floor contained the living room, dining room, kitchen, and family room. The entire back of the house was open for easy access to the furnishings within. Also in keeping with the times, the furniture was a heavy plastic in primarily pink and blue.

There were no doorways connecting one room to another unless they were simply painted on the walls. There were no staircases leading from one floor to the other either. All movement between rooms occurred through the back of the house when, perhaps, a caring child decided to rearrange a given room.

The front of the house depicted lovely windows with painted flower boxes and a front door that did not open. The roof supported a plastic brick chimney that came off with relative ease. All in all, the house was attractive but left little room for imagination.

Ashley had received the dollhouse as a gift from her parents on her fifth birthday. For the first couple of weeks, she had hours of pleasure unwrapping furniture from their individual plastic bags and setting up each room to perfection. Once done, though, the house received attention only when Ashley’s friends came to visit.

Ashley’s birthday was here once again and she knew her grandparents had a surprise for her. Ashley was impatient for her grandparents to arrive. They were expected for dinner and a birthday party afterward.

Relatives began to arrive late in the afternoon. Dinner was scheduled for five o’clock. Ashley’s grandparents arrived shortly before they sat down to eat. Ashley barely knew what she ate. She knew that desert would be a birthday cake and then she could open her gifts. And, she received some wonderful gifts, but she did not know what her surprise was going to be.

“Grandpa?” started Ashley tentatively.

“Yes, Ashley?” replied grandpa.

“Do you have something for me?” Ashley knew she was being impolite in asking, but she had to know.

“Do I?’ grandpa teased, “well, let me see…” With that, he handed Ashley two bumpy packages that he pulled from his pocket. Both were wrapped in white tissue paper secured by pink and blue ribbons. They were six inches long. Ashley barely remembered to say “thank you” before she ripped open the first package. Grandpa helped Ashley remove the blue ribbon with his pocketknife Ashley unrolled the tissue paper to find a wooden figure of a little boy. He looked to be about 10 years old. The name of “Tim” was carved into the bottom of the figurine.

“Oh, grandpa, this is beautiful,” exclaimed Ashley.

Grandpa then helped Ashley with the pink ribbon. Nestled within this tissue paper was a figure of a little girl about eight years. Her name was engraved as “Amy.”

“Grandpa, they’re both very pretty, but I don’t understand.” Ashley looked at her grandfather quizzically.

“Ashley,” started grandpa, “I made these two people for your dollhouse. They will be your playmates on the days that you are alone. Do you like them, Ashley?”

“I love them, Grandpa. I will take good care of them,” responded Ashley.

“Good. I also have some other projects that I am working on for you. How about some wood furniture for that dollhouse? Would you like that, Ashley?” grandpa was warming to his subject.

“Really, grandpa? That would be great! But, there’s not too much room left.” Ashley explained soberly.

“Don’t be silly, Ashley. We’ll just take out that plastic stuff when we put in the wood. We’ll box it up in case you ever want it again. Besides, I’m eventually going to build you a new dollhouse, too. It’ll be wood with windows and doors that actually open. And, of course, I’ll have to make parents for Tim and what’s her name, there.”

Ashley said, “Amy, now you’re being silly Grandpa!”

Ashley went to bed that night dreaming of her new dollhouse.

Meanwhile, in the dollhouse, Tim and Amy were settling in.

1/5/03

Amy came around first. She found it difficult to move at first because of the hardness of the wood from which she was made. Silently, she cursed her creator for not using a more pliable substance. She worked her elbows and wrists and felt movement. Soon, she was able to move her arms freely. Her legs were more difficult. Amy manipulated her ankle and knee of one leg and found herself falling sideways. She landed heavily and uttered an “ouch!”

“Amy? Where are you?” This came from Tim who was in the next room.

“I’m here, Tim,” yelled Amy. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She was desperately trying to get her legs to move properly.

“Amy? I can’t move!” Tim was almost crying.

“I know, Tim. Just keep trying, but be careful. I fell over. I will be there just as soon as I can.” Amy was on her knees now and trying to stand up. She used her name pedestal for leverage. Soon, she stood on unsteady feet. Her first attempts at walking were wooden, of course, but she eventually felt her joints loosen up.

“Okay, Tim! Talk to me so that I can find you.”

“I’m scared, Amy. It is so dark!” cried Tim.

“I know, honey, but Ashley won’t let anything happen to us.” Amy used her most confident voice to reassure her brother.

Tim’s relief was immediate. “Oh good! Amy, who is Ashley?”

Amy threw up her arms in frustration. Sometimes boys were so dumb!

Getting Started Again

As I'm sure you've noticed, I have been posting my short stories for the past few days. There are actually a couple of reasons for this. First, it allows me to archive the stories in two ways. And then, it prevented me from having to write fresh topics. I seem to be running out of time lately. Between work, threatening thunder storms, and life in general, it was easier just to grab something from my web site and post it here. If you'd seen them before, I apologize.

Technically, I have two short stories left on the web site. Night Lights and September Mourn (two revisions). The first is my very first attempt at shorts and has grown into several chapters. This is still incomplete but very important to me. The second is my idea of how two people made it out of the towers on September 11. It may be slightly mistitled, but I can't imagine changing it.

I have two others that I wrote in part that scream to be finished. I hope that by talking about them here, I will become inspired to complete them. One is the story of two hand-carved wooden dolls that live in a doll house owned by a five-year old. They come to life as the little girl sleeps.

The other is about people who come out of hiding after a tornado and start walking to find whatever is available. They meet lots of people along the way and are joined in their trek back to civilization. They've lost everything and know that the future lies ahead of them. This is their journey.

Yes, there's a lot to be done in the days, weeks, and years ahead. Between the two of us, I can't wait to get started.

Once a Frog, Always a Frog (old)

George and Sharon were sitting on their lily pads enjoying a quiet moment while the other frogs played on the other side of the pond. George let out a long sigh. "What is the matter, George?" asked Sharon.

"I was not meant to be a frog," said George.

"What do you mean 'you were not meant to be a frog,' you are a frog!" exclaimed Sharon.

"I look like a frog, yes, but actually, I am a prince," said George evenly.

"What are you talking about, George?" Sharon asked indignantly. "I happen to like frogs!"

"Well, you should like frogs," answered George, "You are one. I, on the other hand, am a prince. I belong with Princess Sylvia. And, as soon as she kisses me, we will live happily ever after."

"Princess Sylvia is not going to kiss you, George! She screams and runs away every time she sees you!" laughed Sharon.

"I know, I know!" said a frustrated George. "I really cannot blame her for screaming. I'm quite an ugly frog. I hate these bumps all over my body."

"Oh, but George, you have a wonderful complexion and your bumps are in all the right places. I know many who would love to have your looks," Sharon said soothingly.

"They would be welcome to them!" George pouted.

"But, I have an idea. I just need to talk to the princess and explain it to her before she sees me. Then, everything will be fine," George tried to sound convinced.

"And, how are you going to do that?" Sharon was convinced that George was crazy, but he had aroused her interest. Maybe after the plan failed, he would come back to her. She had loved George for as long as she could remember.

"Just you wait and see," said George secretively.

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A couple of nights later, George decided to carry out his plan. It was a dark night since the moon was hiding behind the clouds. He set out to the castle to claim his princess.

Upon reaching the castle, he went directly beneath his princess's window. He had seen her in that room many times as he watched from the courtyard. He had been practicing his high jumps for weeks and knew he could reach her window, but he still eyed his target warily.

He made one mighty jump and landed on the window sill looking into the princess's room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could make out the form of the sleeping Sylvia in the bed. He jumped into the room.

"Princess Sylvia!" He spoke just above a whisper and heard nothing but silence for an answer.

"Princess Sylvia!" He called louder this time. He heard some stirring as Sylvia sat up in bed.

"Who dares to invade my bedchamber and disturb my precious sleep?" she demanded.

"It is I, my Princess, George! I mean no disrespect. I was desperate for an audience with you and knew no better way," George replied calmly.

"You have my attention now! Let me light a taper and we can talk." The princess found George's voice to be very pleasant.

"No! Please do not light a taper, my princess! My appearance is not wholesome enough for your eyes. I wish only to be heard." George positioned himself in the shadow beneath the window.

"Very well, then. Speak!" commanded the princess.

"Princess Sylvia, I am a prince who seeks the pleasure of your company. I have never seen another as beautiful or as kind as you," George stated confidently.

"Your voice sounds familiar. I know I have heard that wonderful sound before. But, I do not know, nor have I ever heard of, a prince named George," the princess stated suspiciously.

"Yes, my princess, my circumstances are most unusual. In my current state, I am not fit to be near you. If my princess would consent to one kiss upon these undeserving lips, my world would change forever." George held his breath as he waited for an answer.

Princess Sylvia had never encountered anyone bold enough to ask for a kiss. She had to know who this was that was speaking to her so casually. She lit the taper and directed the light toward the window. She screamed.

George was out of the window before the screams died. He was heartbroken, but knew he must get away quickly. He could hear noises above him. The princess's screams had aroused the castle.

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The next day, Sharon found George sitting alone with a frown on his face. "What is wrong, George? You look awful," Sharon was concerned.
"The princess will never kiss me!" exclaimed George. A single tear slid down George's cheek.

"Probably not, George," Sharon believed in being realistic. "Would you ever be satisfied with a kiss from a mere frog?" With that, she snatched his tear with her tongue.

George could not help but laugh. "Oh, I do not know. Maybe," said George trying to be serious.

Sharon kissed him again and said, "You can be my prince, George."

George smiled sheepishly and said, "And you have always been a princess, Sharon."

The Storm (old)

Date 3/24/02

Jack had just had the worst day of his life. He had lost the biggest account he had and the company was not happy with him. Management had shuffled him from meeting to meeting all afternoon. Now it was time to go home and all Jack wanted to do was relax in his easy chair and watch the baseball game on television. A cold beer would taste good right now.

As Jack pulled out of the underground garage, he noticed it had gotten dark early. It was raining. That was okay, though, since the gloom matched his mood. The Envoys were playing away tonight so the rain would not interfere with his plans for watching the game.

Pulling into traffic, Jack reviewed his day. He knew that he had done everything possible to keep the account. Even so, he knew he would have to work twice as hard to rebuild his client base. Only then the company might trust him again. It was raining heavier now and Jack saw lightning in the distance. He adjusted his speed, turned on the radio and resumed his musings. The next three months were going to be a bitch! Jack already had a few leads for new business; he knew this would take time. Meanwhile, he needed to prove his worth to the partners. He needed quick results that would give him the opportunity to pursue his leads. Jack slammed on the brake. Traffic had come to a standstill in front of him. The rain was coming down so hard now seeing was difficult. Lightning crackled right in front of him. A loud clap of thunder followed almost instantly making Jack jump. He turned up the radio hoping to hear a weather report or traffic report. He got neither. However, traffic was moving again—at a crawl.

Forty-five minutes later, Jack pulled into his driveway. He really needed that beer now. The weather and accidents had lengthened his ride home considerably. The rain was still very heavy and Jack was soaked by the time he reached his door. He would have to remember to take his suit to the cleaners after it dried. Stepping inside, he shook himself off and ran a hand through his hair. Water sprayed all over the entranceway. He made a mental note to get a haircut as well.

Jack stepped out of his shoes and left them by the door. Padding to the bedroom in stocking feet, he loosened his tie and pulled it over his head. Passing through the bedroom and entering the bathroom, he hung his suit jacket on the shower rack. His pants also went on the rack. His shirt was left on top of the laundry basket. Back in the bedroom, he found his favorite sweat pants and T-shirt and put them on. Lastly, he stuffed his feet into a lace-less pair of sneakers. He was ready for the evening and looked like he felt . . . ragged.

In the kitchen, Jack found some leftover pizza and a beer. He took his first long drink from the bottle gratefully. Peering out the window, he noticed the rain had not let up. Lightning flashed as he let the curtain fall back into place. The thunder came a few seconds later. Reinforced with his provisions of food and drink, Jack headed to the living room in search of his chair and the television.

Jack found the remote control under the couch and the guide stuffed into the side of his chair. He consulted the guide to see what channel he needed and sat down armed with the remote. He aimed the remote directly at the television and stretched his finger over the “on” button. Just as he pressed the button, the power went out! Like an idiot, Jack pressed the “on” button several more times. It was as if doing so would not only turn the television on, but restore power as well. All the while, Jack was grumbling to himself. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he stumbled to the window to make sure he was not the only one submerged in darkness. The only light he saw in the neighborhood was an occasional flash of lightning. Of course, a deep grumble of thunder accompanied each flash. Okay, so there would be no game–at least, not yet. Jack kept a supply of candles and matches in the kitchen. He was not a creature of the dark and often had to be reminded to turn lights off.

There were many mornings he wandered through the house turning off lights that had been on all night. His neighbors probably thought he was wild since his lights were always on. He only bumped into four pieces of furniture en route to the kitchen. Each uttered curse was louder than the previous.

Reaching the kitchen in one piece and without losing any blood, Jack fumbled in the drawer for candles. He found one good sized candle and two stubs. Next, he fumbled around the same drawer for matches. He could not find any! Momentarily at a loss, Jack stood in the dark staring at a lightless candle that he could barely see. The light finally dawned in his brain. He had two options. He could either light a candle using the stove or carry his booty back to the living room so he could use the fireplace matches. His shins were still smarting from colliding with the furniture so he did not relish stumbling darkly and blindly back to the living room. He turned his attention to the stove. After a couple of false starts and burnt fingers, Jack tried using a toothpick as a match. This worked.

Fortified with light, Jack returned to the living room and his beer. Just as he settled into his chair again, a bright flash of lightning illuminated the room. Before the room returned to darkness, a great crash of thunder reverberated through the house. The house shook mightily and Jack wondered if he had been hit. As he rose again from his chair, he saw her and froze. She was gowned completely in white and radiated her own light. She stood in the corner and meekly observed Jack.

“Who are you?”

“I am your life.”

“You can’t be. You’re too beautiful and hopeful. My life isn’t either of those things.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong Jack. You’ve had some setbacks, granted, but your life is everything it should be. You only need to recognize this and free yourself of doubt. It will all come together then.”

“Yeah, right. That’s easier said than done!”

“Jack, silly, of course it is easier to say than do. If you didn’t have to work for it, you wouldn’t value your achievements. You’ll see.”

“I suppose you’re right . . . but how do I . . . ?”

The power had been restored with one last clap of thunder and she was gone. Jack stared at the corner of the room for a long time. Finally, he just shook his head knowing that what just happened was not possible. On his way back to the kitchen for another beer, Jack found himself whistling a merry tune. Life is good.

The Case of the Giant Bug (old)

The Case of the Giant Bug puzzled the police. Four families, in as many days, reported giant insects in their homes. The first two reports received only cursory glances by the department. The Southwest police force thought the people were crazy. Police searched both homes and found nothing. Even so, the residents would not return to their homes.

When the mayor’s family filed the third report, the police chief took notice. The mayor of Southwest was a respected member of the city government and the police chief threatened severe punishment to any department members who dared to question the mayor’s sanity. The fourth and final report also came from a respected family. Something was not right and the city was running out of available hotel rooms for lodging its displaced members.

The reports did not make sense. All four houses were spotlessly clean and in excellent repair. They were not the typical homes to suffer an infestation of bugs and they definitely would not fit the description of a habitat for a giant bug! Soil samples collected from the perimeters of all four properties contained the normal garden variety of bugs. There were no clues yet, but the lab was cultivating the samples to see if any irregularities showed up.

The strangest development so far was disturbing the chief. The sample of bugs died quickly in its own environment. After just three hours, the lab needed more samples. All of the sample bugs were dead! Several police officers were already complaining about digging for insects. The last samples arrived at the lab just ten minutes ago. Instructions were for the tests to be underway within an hour. The police chief did not like bugs and wanted results without having to collect more samples.

Lab technicians were diligently studying the bugs. In their sample environment, though, this was difficult to do. Distinguishing the decaying insects from the dirt that surrounded them was often hard. “Why are we doing this? It is disgusting!” Linda pronounced as she extracted a bug and carefully inserted him into the viewer. “I hate bugs!” she announced to nobody in particular. It was still difficult for Linda to tell where the dirt stopped and the specimen began. She pulled the specimen from the scope and blew on it. Linda was not ready to put her face closer to the slide and knew that blowing on it would not help any way.

She found a cotton swab and gently brushed at the atrocity. “Yuck!” After two more swabs, the bug was relatively clean. Linda inserted her specimen back into the scope. The bug’s back was dry and cracked. Each time she blinked, though, a few cracks disappeared. Before long, the bug looked shiny and smooth. “How can this be?” Linda asked herself aloud. “I must be working too hard! Okay, buddy, I am going to lunch. We will just put you in this nice dish and I will see you when I get back!” Linda was sure it would all make sense after some time away. She covered the dish tightly with a vented lid and followed the other technicians out of the lab and to the cafeteria.

The lunch break was just what Linda needed. She felt much better when she went back to the lab. The day’s problems were only just beginning though. When Linda returned to her work station, she found the specimen dish broken and the specimen gone. The lid was intact on the sides, but the glass on the top shattered from the inside out!

“What is going on here? And, where is my specimen?” Linda’s voice rose with each word. Bugs upset her in the first place and now this! People were beginning to gather around to find out what all the fuss was about. Most agreed that the dish broke from the inside, but how could that be? None of the insects had that much strength!

Just as Linda calmed down, someone screamed. All heads turned just in time to see Lucy climb on top of a neighboring work station. This feat caused an upset of all the equipment and specimens that previously occupied the space. “I saw something! Over there (pointing to the other side of the room), it was big and black and, oh . . . kill it!”

Questions came from everyone present. “How big was it?” “What was it?” “Where did it go?”

Another scream followed as another female technician upset a work station in her haste to increase her distance from the floor. “Oh, my God, that thing is the size of a mouse! It went under the desk!” Only two other work stations fell before they caught the elusive creature.

The creature, it seemed, was a very large bug with a piece of vented glass stuck in its back! Upon examination, the lab technicians, including Linda, concluded that the captured creature was, in fact, the missing specimen. Somehow, it had grown to the size of a tennis ball while they were at lunch. As he grew, he broke the lid of the specimen jar since the ventilation holes made it the weakest part of the dish. The only problem was that no one knew how or why he grew.

Technicians collected and compared the remaining samples (that had not wound up on the floor) to the recent captive. There was no comparison! The smaller insects showed cracks and decay while the larger one thrived!

The police chief chose that moment to stop in for a progress report. “Have you found anything yet?” Inspector Nolan’s impatience was showing. He peered at the specimen jars scattered about.

“Actually, we do have something,” Linda led Inspector Nolan to a much larger specimen jar.

“Where did you find this,” the inspector demanded impatiently? “God, is he ugly!” For some reason, everyone assumed “it” was a male.

Linda was not sure how to explain. “Actually, he found us. Before we went to lunch, he was the size of a marble and was in one of these specimen jars. When we got back from lunch, he had outgrown the jar and was wandering loose in the lab. He caused quite a bit of excitement before we caught him and figured out what happened!”

The inspector had remained silent during the explanation. He now heard “yeah” echoed from several people in the lab.

“Okay, so . . . you are telling me that this thing just grew to this size in a matter of an hour? How? Why?” He was relatively calm considering he did not believe a word of what he heard. The only thing preventing him from yelling was the size of the bug in front of him.

“We don’t know,” Linda answered him in a whisper.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Who processed this specimen?” Now the inspector was yelling.

“I did, sir,” Linda was almost whispering again. She had taken a step back when the inspector started yelling.

“What did you do to the specimen?” Inspector Nolan was visibly trying to control his temper.

“I did not do anything! Well, I did clean him up a bit with a cotton swab. Now that I think about it, he seemed to rejuvenate after I cleaned him up. I figured my eyes were playing tricks and decided to start again after lunch.” Linda’s voice cracked repeatedly during this speech.

“That makes no sense!” The inspector was bellowing now. “How many swabs did you use on him? Did you add anything to the swab?”

“Three, I think. Let me check my garbage.” She wanted to put some distance between them any way, so she went to retrieve her waste basked. “Yes, three.” She fished out all three swabs for his inspection, and, no, I did not add anything. I just sort of brushed him off.”

“Are you ready to clean another bug,” he asked Linda?

As she nodded, he turned to another technician and barked some orders, “I do not want you to let that bug out of your sight! If you need to go to the bathroom, have someone watch him while you are gone. I will hold you personally responsible!”

Mike nodded and sat watching his specimen.

Linda found an acceptable specimen and proceeded to show Inspector Nolan what she did. She started with the dirty bug and showed him how it blended with the surrounding soil. She the pulled the specimen and swabbed him like she had with the other specimen. The specimen went back under the scope. “See how his back is all dry and cracked?” He looked and nodded.

“Look again, does it look like the cracks are disappearing?” He looked and nodded again, puzzled.

“Then what,” the inspector asked?

“Then I put him in one of these . . .” as she placed the new specimen into the waiting dish.

“Hey, I am going to need a bigger jar over here real soon!” Mike was still guarding the original specimen. Someone handed him an empty ten-gallon aquarium. The big bug was now the size of a regulation softball.

The inspector peered into the aquarium and swore under his breath, “Jesus! Okay, I want to know how big this thing gets, by the hour, how long it lives, what it needs to survive. What kills it? We better start cleaning some more bugs! I do not want this one touched.”

“We are going to need some more specimen jars and aquariums, Inspector.”

Several technicians were running around the lab collecting all of the available dishes and jars.

“I will take care of it. How much time do I have?” The inspector was barking orders into the radio now. “You have one hour!”

By four o’clock, the original specimen was the size of a basketball and the aquarium was almost inadequate to hold him. Mike did not have a larger aquarium. One was on its way. Meanwhile, a dozen and a half specimens were in various stages of growth. Technicians were labeling each specimen for the time they cleaned it and the treatment they gave it. Two technicians were busy taking pictures at each stage of the process.

At five o’clock, the original specimen died. The inspector needed answers. “Okay, what killed it?”

Mike, who spent the afternoon watching his progress, offered his opinion. “He either starved to death or wore himself out.”

Inspector Nolan wanted more. “How do you figure that?”

Mike was ready for this question. “That’s easy. That kind of growth takes a lot of energy. We get energy from the food we eat. Our bodies convert it into a usable form. We also have sources of energy inside our bodies, you know, in those fat pockets we try so hard to get rid of. Well, this poor guy had no food unless he found some when he was on the floor. So, we have to assume that this growth used energy created inside him. Also, the larger he grew, the slower he moved. It took him twice as long to get half as far. He did not have enough energy to move and grow.”

Inspector Nolan was thoughtful for a moment. “Well, that made sense. So, are we assuming these things have a five-hour life span?”

“Without food, or with little food, five hours or thereabouts. We still don’t know what he eats. Have any or your cases reported being bitten by one of these things?”

Mike had his own questions.

“No, and apparently they did not move fast enough to chase them out of their homes either. The occupants left just to get away from them,” offered Inspector Nolan.

“Do you know if there are any scratches or bite marks on furniture? That might tell us something.” Mike was thinking aloud now.

“You are right! I will have some people check that out. The one thing that bothers me is that we did not find any evidence that a bug this large died on the premises.”

The inspector was reaching for his radio to give the latest instructions.

Another technician piped up at this point. “I might be able to help with that one,” Randy was getting excited, “come and take a look!” My instructions for this specimen were to add dirt from the sample at regular intervals. I started by adding a handful of dirt ten minutes ago. I am not sure yet, but I swear this guy is shrinking at an amazing rate. I am debating now whether to add more dirt or just leave it at the handful.”

“Let’s leave it for now and see what happens.” Inspector Nolan was scratching his head. “Hey, see if you can get a measure of how much dirt you used.”

“Sure, okay . . . it looks like a quarter of a cup, give or take.” Randy scooped dirt into a measuring beaker.

After an hour, the second specimen was back to the size of a marble. It took four hours for the bug to grow but only an hour for him to shrink. Inspector Nolan could not believe what he was seeing. “Amazing! Okay, these things were in spotlessly clean houses. Since we did not find the creatures, they had to have come into contact with dirt that eventually turned them back to their original size. Where would you look for that dirt?”

“The basement . . .?”

“Behind furniture . . .?”

“Under the refrigerator . . .?”

“My bathroom. . . !”

Answers were coming from all directions. Inspector Nolan jotted down each idea as it came. He then barked the information into the radio to the officers on the scenes. “This is really going to help. You guys are great! Hey, I know it is late, but can I get one or two of you to stay? The rest of you better go before someone complains about the overtime. Thanks, again.”

Fifteen minutes later, the lab was quiet. Two technicians, Linda and Mike, volunteered to stay behind. The three of them were reviewing their findings when a voice sounded over the radio, “Inspector, we are at the mayor’s residence. We found evidence of dirt and one insect under the basement staircase. Do you want us to bag the stuff up?”

The inspector excused himself to confirm instructions. Three more calls of a similar nature came through on the radio. They now had evidence at of the homes that these giant bugs were probably there. All four bugs returned to original size when their paths crossed with dirt. The lab would verify that these bugs were the same ones, but Inspector Nolan felt confident that the case was over. He still wanted more information about the creatures, but the pressure was off.

The newspaper carried the following article the next day:

Can Your House be Too Clean?

So, it seems. According to the Southwest Police Department, a new class of bugs thrives on cleanliness. The bugs grow to the size of basketballs and are quite scary to behold. Several families evacuated their homes recently to avoid the creatures. The life span of the bugs is only a few hours though. The police are still unsure what these creatures eat. Even so, they have yet to catch one that is full grown. Also, it seems that dirt restores them to their original size. Next time you think about cleaning, you might think twice!

Side Effects

We have the potential to affect others lives on a daily basis. Many of us do not know the influence we have on others. Or, we often register surprise when we do find that we've left our mark. Someone recently mentioned the domino effect. I think this is a valid subject for today.

How often have you found yourself in a bad mood and, without intending to, taken that mood out on someone else? Yeah, that's what I thought. Only a few times too many does this happen. If people would simply learn to leave us alone when we're in bad moods, we'd all be better off. Most of us aren't good enough to wear signs around our necks that say "Bad mood! Stay away!" It is only after we've bitten someone's head off that they figure it out. By then, the damage is already done.

The problem is that this person is probably in a bad mood as well since we've taken our mood out on them. Who will their next victim be and what kind of mood will that victim end up in? This can go on and on until everyone we've come into contact with is having a bad day. Amazing, huh?

On the up side, the same holds true for positive events. I can make someone's day by complimenting them on their outfit. I can go out of my way to do something nice for someone simply because. I can, in many cases, just be myself and have others take away a positive feeling. That sounds conceited, I know.

Try it sometime. Put on a positive attitude and see how your interactions with others go. Do a good deed and see how much good cheer you can spread over the course of a day or a week. You might surprise yourself or someone else.

Keep your bad moods in check so that you don't spread it around. Mind it like a cold.

Take Chances

It is when we get caught in ruts of our own making that we can suffer from writer's block. As you know, when our car gets stuck in a rut, it is usually the back and forth rocking of the car with wheels turning in small increments that gain our success. The same is true for writing.

We can break out of even the deepest rut with persistence. Maybe we can start with something similar to what we've always done and add a new element. Maybe we normally write free verse. Let's try taking one of those free verse ideas and creating a structured piece from it.

Maybe we've always written poetry. Let's take one of our poem ideas and expand it into a short piece of flash fiction. Dare to take the chance to do something different. You may be pleasantly surprised by the outcome.

Maybe you normally visit the blogs of others and then move on your merry way. Try leaving a comment of two. You might meet some really neat people. On the poetry boards, we talk a lot about reciprocity. The same can be true for blog hopping. I can't, however, visit your blog if I don't know who you are. If I knew who you were, I might make an effort to find you in order to visit your site.

I've met some great people through blog hopping and gotten a few opportunities as well. Take a chance and do something different. See where it leads. You can always go back to your rut tomorrow.

Mind Set

I think part of being a writer is the ability to put yourself inside your character or your setting and write about it. We need to be careful in this because you may get questions for friends wondering if you're okay.

I've written several poems about loss and heartbreak recently. They are not from my own life. However, the fact that I have experienced heartbreak at some time allows me to project those feelings into work written when life is good. Let's face it, too, even when life is good, there are always things that could make it better.

Writing in the here and now is wonderful, but the here and now represents only a small part of our experience. Interrupting the now to write about it would be detrimental to that moment. So, we write about the past as it was and we write about the future.

The future actually provides us with many opportunities. We have the future as we would like it to be. We have the future that actually comes about. We have the future as what it could be.

Find your possibilities today. Write about them. Then, make sure your friends know whether you've written fact or fiction.

Four Months Strong

It has been four months, roughly, since I started this blog. I have a regular readership of at least two or three. These two or three do their best to comment when something strikes their fancy. I begin to wonder if it is enough. Of course, I have the poetry blogs too. I think it might be easier some days to compose a poem than to come up with original ideas for this blog.

My involvement in the literary world has been different of late. I'm not posting on the poetry boards so much any more. I do stop by and lend a hand when someone needs one. I think I provide encouragement where it is needed also. I leave the dirty work for others. I've found contentment in my own work except for the slowness of response. I admit that I do miss the instant (sometimes) feedback that a poetry board can offer. The blogs aren't quite the same. I do not miss the politics and personalities that go along with the boards. I just wish editors would speed up their choices.

I don't know what the future will bring, but stick with me and we'll discover it together. Perhaps along the way, we'll learn a few things. Thanks for stopping by.

Dare to be Different

We all need to remember that just because something is different doesn't mean it is wrong. It just means it is different. We also need to remember that the differences we saw as a teenager amount to less of a difference the older we got. The kid that stood out in school blends into society quite well as an adult.

When you're young, age differences mean everything. Seniors just didn't hang out with freshmen. A high school girl dating a college man was a big deal. Later in life, age differences mean nothing. Many of the people I deal with on a day-to-day basis are much younger than I. Many of my good friends are ten to twenty years younger than I.

We've been watching a show called "30 Days." This was based on the super-size premise. Each episode takes you through 30 days of something. We've seen the search for youth. We've seen a man spend 30 days in the Muslim community. We've seen another all-American boy spend 30 days in a gay community. Each time, while we don't find actual converts; we experience a shift in thinking. This is the way it should be. The fact that you are a Muslim doesn't make you a terrorist. The fact that you are gay doesn't mean we don't have similar interests.

We ought not to condemn something simply because we don't understand it. If we don't understand it, we can increase our opportunities to learn more. Even in our writing, we can dare to be different. Maybe our own writing will present an opportunity for another to seek some answers or gain a better understanding.

Silence

Sometimes, someone will pose a challenge that just has to be answered. I'm working on the poem about silence without mentioning sound. Let's try that one here as well.

The room fills with a foreboding emptiness as we both know we've said too much. Some words strike with the force of an open-handed blow and are impossible to take back. The look of shock, then anger, passes over my face as I struggle for words that won't come. My speechlessness hangs heavy between us. We can no longer meet each other's eyes. An emptiness grows until it suffocates me enough that I walk to the open window in my desire for air. I sense, rather than hear, movement behind me. Without a word, he picks up his jacket and walks out of my life forever.

If only I knew the rest of the story...

Talk Around the Subject

When we write about a burning building, we describe hot ash raining down. We describe orange-red flames shooting toward the sky. Flames could be seen for miles as black billows fill the air with a choking, suffocating film that clings to all surfaces. Skin becomes coated in an oily consistency caused by the heat of fire, sweat of humans, and that engulfing blackness. Or, we could simply say the building is on fire.

We can write about pain that leaves us incapable of rising from our beds in the morning. We often wet ourselves because the searing heat in our knees leaves us crippled before we can reach the bathroom. The brain becomes so clouded that we can't even crawl for help. Or, we could say he was in pain.

We can write about love as a feeling that melts our hearts simply hearing his voice. Just the right look sends you swooning into his arms. You become hungry for his kisses and more just because. The clock slows or almost stops when you're together because nothing else is as important and the two of you in that moment. Or, we could just say you're in love.

These examples go to illustrate a point. That point is especially valuable in poetry. Let's write a love poem without mentioning the word love. Let's write about fire without mentioning fire. Let's write about pain without mentioning pain. It is actually very easy to do. I hope my examples were adequate enough to emphasize that.

Drawing Games

When we were kids all those so many years ago, we used to play some drawing games. Someone would scribble something on a piece of paper and then the next person would have to finish the drawing. Some of the stuff we came up with was pretty neat. I thought of that today when I found an Instant Muse Poetry Generator online. I had been thinking about writing as an art and a science when I decided to do a search to see what was out there.

Any way, this Instant Muse provides you with the first lines of your poem. The line it gave been was...In the autumn of ignorance the lawyers spit,... Now, this line doesn't do a whole lot for me. I could certainly work with "In the autumn of ignorance." Forget the lawyers. This generator, though, is very similar to those games we used to play.

In the autumn of ignorance,
we prepare for the coming of winter.
This is the way it has always been
even if we're not sure exactly why.

The squirrels, even, collect nuts
in their cheeks when their bellies
become full. They hide away treasures
for that not-so-distant snowy day.

The calendar doesn't tell them
when to stockpile their goods.
The trees release their nuts
which fall softly to the ground
and harder on the automobile.

Those not previously picked
by the more acrobatic creatures
can be raked from the leaves.
Nature announces the time
has come to burrow for home.

This same site has a Story Starter. I didn't get around to trying that one. I prefer to find my own stories. If I were really lacking inspiration, I might give this generator a spin just to see what happens. Maybe a portion of the results will spark it own story. I think I'd use a generator more out of curiosity than anything else. I do, however, greatly appreciate the fact that they exist.

Happy Independence Day!

Don't forget to check out the July edition of A Pockey Full of Poesy

America is Beautiful

5/12/01

America is beautiful.
Yet beauty is only skin deep
and found in the eye of the beholder.
America’s skin is many things
and is decidedly thick.
While the human creature
has a dermis of seven layers,
the creature, America,
has many more.

First, and outermost,
comes the Constitution.
Then, a separate a distinct dermis
for each of the Bill of Rights
and supporting amendments.
The beauty of America runs
as deep as its parchment.

The tree of America
has a sparse crown
and full body.
Three branches support
all other systems:
Executive, Legislative
and Judicial.

One common ancestor
of all challenges us to
“be all we can be.”
Uncle Sam dons his red,
white and blue top hat and tails
and rudely points at the people
of this country
in the armed force’s entreaty.

Historical landmarks
rock at Plymouth
and Liberty cracks her Bell.
Symbols abound in the banner,
star-spangled,
and each state’s flower and bird.
The Republic battle hymns
for the National Anthem.

The land of the free
and the home of the brave
refers to more than the natives
and their reservations.
It is the home to the melting
and the pot to all.

© 2001 Vickie Knight

Process

Everything we write starts with an idea. Sometimes we may need to go hunting for that idea, but that's okay. I've had some ideas come to me from lines in a movie, words in a song, an event that happened, and even some the just appeared as if osmosis.

Once we get an idea, we need to decide what to do with it. We start to put together pieces of the puzzle, if you will. I use the puzzle analogy quite often because I like it so much and because it fits so many situations. If we need to support our idea, this is where we do it. In other words, research must be performed. This step is so much easier to do today because we have so many more resources with computers and internet.

Now, take everything you've put together and figure out what you're really going to write about. Find the focal point of your story. The focal point doesn't have to be a huge thing. It can actually just be one point you want to make. You know how some author's will always have a moral of the story? This would be a good focus.

Then we actually get the the writing part of our assignment. We put all of our ideas with our focus into words and see where we go. Remember, this never needs to be perfect. This is just a draft. Often, we'll find our focus shifts a bit during this process. Reevaluate and decide where your focus should actually be.

Many of us know the last phase as revising. It can actually be renamed as clarifying. We take a good hard look at what we've written and change what we need to in order to achieve the focus we've decided on. Be very careful in this stage. Revision has gotten many a writer in trouble by not checking the final copy twice. Pay particular attention to the sections you change. Do the subjects and verbs still agree? Did you leave more behind than you intended?

Follow this simple plan and you should have no problem producing stories, poems, articles, or blog entries. The hardest part is coming up with the idea in the first place.

Thanks to the Writing Process for the inspiration for this piece.