WWW: You Are an Astronaut. Describe Your Perfect Day.

I have had the most perfect day. 

We have just left a suitable planet. Uninhabited, but habitable. Air so clean, no one passes out from lack of oxygen, or an abundance of smog. Water so pure, you can actually drink it. I wanted to stay, truly. But, circumstances made that impossible.

Those circumstances being orders, of course.

It wasn't the take-off into space that made this the perfect day. Nor was it the last meal of real food on the ground. 

It's that feeling you get when you look back at the planet you've just left behind, and you realize just how small you are. And how lucky you are, to see just how insignificant you are. How many people get to realize that? How many people get to look into the vast

Timed: Will publish as is when the timer goes off.

WWW: Write Facebook Status Updates for the Year 2017

To refresh your memory:
I found a book called 642 Things to Write About by the San Francisco Writers' Grotto.
I bought it in either February 4th or April 2nd, 2015. The receipt's still in it. I think I've looked at it every now and then, and probably thought, "these might be good writing exercises." At least someone else would be coming up with the ideas.
642 things. One thing a week. That would only take - -no that can't be right - 12.35 years?

I've done three - that's right, three - stories so far, and you'll have to go back to 2016/2017 to find them. I wouldn't write them the same way so I want to start over, but at that rate I'll be 100 before I finish, ha. Ha.

The book was published in 2011, so I suppose they were thinking, "What does six years in your future look like?"

Six years from now is 2030...

I don't even use FB that much right now; it's only for group info, and this summer I was camping long enough in a "dead zone" that I came to enjoy not logging onto FB every day. 

With all that in mind:

The cursor on Spinny's Facebook page blinks desperately, wanting so very much to report in to the Watchers: What's on her mind.

But it's not to be. She's logged in, sure, for the first time in months (has it been that long since she's shaved her legs? One time those things were concurrent), but she's just checking in on some stupid group post. All the cursor can do is nudge some cookies along to report in on that activity. 

But there is no personal report. 

She doesn't even see the fun new colours available for a post. The goblin shouting through the megaphone for Announcements. The smiley faces that still try to make all your friends think you're happy. The new flowers. Still a rose, because what better flower is there, but still new. She doesn't see even the fun little kittens frolicking around your words.

The cursor is a little sad, but then it doesn't matter because it goes dark when she logs out.

WWW: A Houseplant is Dying. Tell it Why it Needs to Live

It has been a while (understatement of the period of time since my last post), and it's Wednesday, so here is the Wednesday Writer's Workshop.

(To refresh your memory:
I found a book called 642 Things to Write About by the San Francisco Writers' Grotto.
I bought it in either February 4th or April 2nd, 2015. The receipt's still in it. I think I've looked at it every now and then, and probably thought, "these might be good writing exercises." At least someone else would be coming up with the ideas.
642 things. One thing a week. That would only take - -no that can't be right - 12.35 years?)

So, on with today's topic (#3 on page 1), Convince your Houseplant to Live:

#1:
You are the orchid that my late grandmother gave me for my birthday, and if you die, my mother will cry.

#2:
Hey there little buddy! I see that you are, at this fragile moment in time, contemplating giving up on yourself. Dude, it's not so bad. You can do it. You can grow. Here's a little water; boy you look thirsty. Yeah, drink up, dude. Here's a bit more soil, too. Some new stuff, so that you can get some vitamins. That'll help you feel better. Vitamins always help me feel better. 
Yeah, there you go little dude. See, if you live, I'll have someone to talk to everyday. Oh sure, the cat's looking at us with that "that plant is not a person", but I think he's just a bit jealous because I'm talking to you and not to him. I tried talking to him earlier, but he gave me the cold shoulder, so whatever, dude.
Anyway, I know that sometimes continuing on with life can seem a bit futile, but I promise you Little Fella, that if you live, and keep growing, you'll be able to help that old lady across the street, man. Maybe we'll bake you up in some brownies; she likes chocolate. 
Whoa, pretend you didn't hear the part about being baked, Dude. I won't bake you. Nah, just grow and be strong.
Later, little guy.

WWW: What can happen in a second.

Everything can happen in a second. Life. Death. Love and hate. You can win a race in a second. Or, by a second. You can win a race by a tenth, or even a one-hundredth of a second. 

Everything can happen in a Blink of an Eye. And since you can probably blink a few times in a second, lots can happen in a Blink.

Take your eyes off the road for one second, maybe because you hate the song that's playing, or maybe because your kids are screaming at each other and you turn your head for just one instant, you Blink your eyes only once, to yell "Shut up!", and when you turn your head back around, you don't have your second left.

You can't react in a second. Your second is already used up. No more blinks. Just eyes wide open in fear, and that sickening feeling of sliding into nothing.



Okay, somebody's in a dark mood.

Next week's topic: The worst Thanksgiving dish you ever had.

Monday's Muse 2016-12-05. And Some Random Shtuff.

I have nothing snarky, today. Probably because for once I'm not tired, exhausted, fatigued, or bitchy. Yes, I need that much redundancy; it all applies equally and differently.

I was cleaning off my dresser yesterday because I thought that maybe it's a bit unfair to require my children to keep their rooms clean when mine is a disaster. I mean, washing, drying, and folding-ish my clothes is sometimes too much, never mind actually putting it away.

That, and my blouses were getting wrinkly. And, I couldn't find a pair of socks. I mean, sure, I could find 15 socks, but none of them actually matched. Although there were a couple days that I didn't care. Okay, more than a couple.

I digress.

I found a book called 642 Things to Write About by the San Francisco Writers' Grotto.

I bought it in either February 4th or April 2nd, 2015. The receipt's still in it. I think I've looked at it every now and then, and probably thought, "these might be good writing exercises." At least someone else would be coming up with the ideas.

All I seem to be able to think about lately is kid stuff, like laundry and lunches and getting out the door on time in the mornings and seriously if you don't stop wrecking your toys I'm going to give them all away and what sticky mess did you just touch me with?
Except for when I'm driving. I come up with some pretty cool writing ideas when I'm driving, but I can never remember what was making me laugh out loud all by myself in the car. Or, maybe I'm just crazy. Whichever.

So then I thought, since my usual Muse seems a bit busy lately, and even though I could go on and on and on and on and on about some of the really bad writing I've had the gag me pleasure of reading (BMBR's coming to a computer near you real soon. Or not. You've seen my track record!) lately, how about I use this book as my muse for a while?

642 things. One thing a week. That would only take - -no that can't be right - 12.35 years? 😅😭

Oh. No. Not Monday's Muse.

Wednesday's Writers' Workshop.

Because I could go on and on and on and on about some of the "SRSLY" how the eff did you get published? crap out there. (And yes, seriously must be spelled this way in this instance.) So I don't want to get rid of Monday's Muse just yet.

Topic One, from Page One: What can happen in a second.

See you Wednesday!