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J Elyzabeth's Blog

A Writer's Journey of a Secluded Mind

Month

August 2020

When the last light fades
And the cover is closed
And the words are no more
And my story is told

Just know this
You were a blip on the page
A piece of my chapter
Be it maker or mage

The length you walk with me
I do not know
For daylight is still here
the ink is still wet
and I have chapters to go

For there are
Faucets unseen
And depths unknown
This story is not done
This story of me

I like to say I can write English well, but in perusing Twitter (avoiding evening adult chores) I ran across this tweet-link from the DailyWritingTips regarding Lead (present) and Led (past).

Oops.

I have so been guilty of this. Read the article, it is well put together and makes you think. I found that I have been following this account and if I had taken the time to click a link ages ago, I may have been led down a more informative path.

I now feel that I need to review documents at work to ensure (or is it insure?…) that we’ve used the correct tenses. I hope to lead in the right direction but am sure I have led along treacherous paths.

Oh well, just one more pitfall in the journey of a writer’s mind.

Maeve Maddox, DailyWritingTips, The Past Tense of “Lead” is Spelled “Led”, accessed on 08.25.2020, https://www.dailywritingtips.com/the-past-tense-of-lead-is-spelled-led/?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=twitter

I would fly
Through the night
Just because you called
I would drive
Just to see
The sun rise
I would light
A thousand candles
Just to let you
See the light
And I will dance
In the rain
Just to let
It wash away
the pain

Seven souls
Entwine
Virtually transcending
Evolving
Neurons

Severely Entertained

Sentient Velocity

Svelte
Elongated
Viscous
Envious
Nefarious
… well I mean, they say seven eight nine…*

*I know this should have a reference – I just haven’t found it, please let me know if you know the origins of this pun/joke/saying.

<< Writingprompt.com via Twitter 8.4.2020 Write a poem about the number 7. >>

I don’t want to love an idol
I don’t want to love a star
I don’t want to love someone
I can only see from afar.

I want to love someone near
I want to love someone who can hear

I don’t want to love an idol
But I am so I fear
Nothing good can come of this
Only loneliness and tear

As dawn goes to daylight
And daylight to dusk
So life enters twilight
And love endures to dust

I don’t want to love an idol
Whom nothing can compare
I don’t want to love someone
And leave this work in despair

I’m letting go of dreaming
Reality is slowly seeping
I’m letting go of something
My heart is slowly pining
My feet have been in the clouds
My imagination running wild
My fate my own making

Reality is seeping
I have to let go to grow within
My mind is racing
My heart is aching
My soul cries out
Each time I leave a little of it
Behind

Each dream stopped
Each want blocked
Each day lost

I’m letting go of dreaming

It began as any other day as Lucy walked out of the house. The groggy-not-quite-sure-she-was-ready-to-go-out-and-about type of day.
“If my head wasn’t attached, I’d lose it.” And promptly that lighter than life feeling of being quite not there ensued and Lucy watched her head drift away.
“I’m going to need that,” musing, Lucy got in the car, readying to go to work. Looking out the window, “Nope, gone now.”
Saying it out loud, Lucy realized I really can’t believe my eyes. Silly me, my head, mirror check, “Yep. Still attached.”
She could feel them. Feel them move as they tried to be anywhere but in the meeting. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Did they really think this was going to be a good idea? Did the head of the department really think everyone who worked so hard on this project was going to sit back and accept because he turned the project in a week late, they would not get a bonus.
Lucy sat and listened, listened to her lead inform the President that the fault was not with the staff but…
Well there goes the left one.
And now she half listened, tried to follow the conversation, but it really was too many voices at once.
And there goes the right.
“Do you really think it’s a good idea to sit there and wiggle your ears while they’re arguing over our pay?”
“Nervous tick.” Lucy covered the ear closest to her coworker – nope it was where it was supposed to be.
“It is not that windy!” Lucy tried to push her hair back from her head, but the long strands whipped around as if the small gust of wind was a level five hurricane. The wind slowed, as did the long strands, leaving her hair in disarray.
Lucy waived in greeting to the technician sitting behind the front counter at the nail salon. Making a straight line for the lavatory located just to the side of the entrance.
A quick check, empty. “Really, did this have to happen.”
She started the improbable task of taming her hair, only the quiet threat of cutting it all off made the process any shorter. Even, then she was sure there were strands out of place where she couldn’t see.
Let alone the chunk that would not remove itself from beneath the collar at the back of her shirt.
Lucy wiggled her feet out of the sandals, glad to have the day done. Glad to be home and no longer having to try to keep track of everything. Slowly her head floated to the ceiling, done for the weekend, with her ears detaching drifting towards the radio, music on low. Sitting down, Lucy felt her hair move, making its way to the shelf to settle down for the night. She settled, feet on the ottoman in front of her, a nice quiet dark room.
“Behave, I just had you painted,” was the comment as the toes with freshly adorned toenails scampered off to get into to mischief.
I really can’t believe them, my toenails. Not even a minute in the door and they’re scuffed. This had been noticed as the pinkies tried to hide behind the larger toes on their way to the other room.
“Really, it is hard to keep myself all together if you don’t help.”

.

C. Claiborne Ray, Born to be a Wiggler, The New York Times, Jan. 16, 2017, https://nyti.ms/2iDEfGX (accessed July 27, 2020)


<<Writingprompt.com via Twitter 7.15.2020 “I couldn’t believe my eyes or my ears, or my hair. Or my toenails.”

I want you
I love you
But I can’t have you
So I’m letting you go

I know what I am looking for
Someone I can adore
Je t’aime je t’aime

I love you
I want you
I’m letting you walk out the door

I know what I’m looking for
Someone that I can adore
mi amor
je t’aime je t’aime

Saranghamnida

“Are you going to tell them?”
“Nope”
“Why not?”
Mary wiggle her fingers at the infant looking over its mother’s shoulder. Holding a finger to her lips when the baby’s eyes widened in fright. The wink received was enough for her to know the infant meant no harm.
“See!”
“Shhh,” Mary turned to her sister. “It’ll be fine. No harm, they have an infant and the infant has a home.”
Hands on hips, Anastan glared at her sister, leaning down to whisper shout, “But that is a 400-year-old dragon!”
The sisters paused when they felt a large hand on each of their shoulders, “And neither of you lovely dears will tell my wife.” The large man, similar in looks to the women, for he was their brother, walked between them to pluck the infant in question from his wife’s arms. Kissing the little one and then his wife before turning to the other guests scattered around the living room.
“Well I never!” proceeded Anastan’s flounce into the kitchen.
Mary merely raised an eyebrow at the hatch-ling now toothily looking at her over her brother’s shoulder. You are going to be a handful. It was the eyes widening and the rearing back in shock that let her know a handful and gifted. The imp. Thankfully, the family, minus a few unaware, would, should… might be able to handle a dragon? Raise a dragon?

.

<< Writingprompt.com via Twitter 7.15.2020 A baby isn’t quite what it seems >>

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