No Letter H

I haven’t posted here since 2016. Since, uh, before the U.S. presidential election… which people either didn’t want to talk about or wanted to discuss until the zombie horse died again. I landed in the “want-to-talk-to-close-family-and-friends-for-a-few-days-then-never-speak-of-it-again” category.

…Welp. Hello, to anyone who sees this. I hope you’re doing alright!

I have, since last I posted:

-Joined a writing group

-Kept working my job in software

-Begun learning aikido

-Made progress on, but not finished, a novel draft (I’ll persist)

-Submitted a couple of my short stories (one a novelette) to literary magazines, and the novelette to some agents. No acceptances yet. It takes either an obscene amount of luck or a moderate amount of luck and Herculean persistence to get published through traditional methods–and entrepreneurship in spades to take a less traditional route and still gain a wide audience.

(I like and am thankful for my current day job, yes indeedy. I break software–on purpose–and work with smart, kind people.)

 

I’d like to get back into the habit of sharing some of my pieces here, mainly short exercises and first poem drafts–not every day, or even every week, but more frequently than once per year–hereby permitting myself to share what is rough, unrefined, adjective-ridden, and cheese-filled, with the understanding that every piece or idea starts somewhere and sometimes that somewhere is at rock bottom or in a Cheetos factory–and that it is useful for others to have a reminder of this.

Here’s one I did in writing group. The prompt was to write something without using the letter H. It didn’t matter what: it could be poetry, fiction, random nonsense, whatever’s clever. I think I succeeded, but if you see an H that snuck in, feel free to leave a comment and razz me for it. =p

Under willow trees at dark,

Over squirming creatures underground,

Air smelling like rain and plants

And oddly of rotting fish

Two people meet, covert,

Bringing boxes of sweets and boquets of flowers

And kisses, and sweet murmurs,

And a towel, a condom, and a bottle of wine,

Acquired, of course, illegally.

A bed would’ve been more comfortable

A room more private

So ears don’t need to stay alert

And voices don’t need to stay quiet

But it’s exciting:

A risk, a burst of adrenaline

And it’s under stars and the cold wind provides

A perfect excuse to stay close.

Also, the drink made it seem like a good idea.

 

 

 

 

Pikachu and Pichu Doodle

I do not own Pokémon, obviously. I just wish I were a Pokémon trainer ’cause that would be so awesome!

When The Moon Turns Red

I was feeling both goofy and morbid when I wrote this. This is a very rough draft, but I wanted to share it.
I was going for a short fairy tale/bard song sort of feel for this thing.

#
One dark night, on a night like tonight,
When the wolves sang and the owls asked who
And the stars twinkled far away, bright,
But not bright enough to chase the darkness away,
A maiden with a basket large
Went prowling in the vineyard.
She looked and felt but couldn’t find her grapes,
And so she looked at the sky and sang a plea:
“Moon, I need you to light my way—
Please come out before the day.”
“Why?” asked the Moon, who stayed in her bed.
“Why must it be tonight?”
“I need to bribe the King for amnesty at first light.”
“Amnesty?” asked the Moon. “What from?”
“For killing the man who threatened my mum.”
The Moon hummed and grumbled and asked,
“And what bribe for me?”
“The same I’ll give to the king—you’ll see.”
“All right,” said the Moon, and up she rose,
round and glowing pale and baleful.
The maiden picked, and squashed, and brewed,
And the Moon watched—
Until, at last, the maiden offered up
A silver goblet of sweet liquid, red as blood.
“Wine,” she said, “is the bribe,
Fresh off the vine.”
The Moon drank and drank until
Her pale face flushed crimson bright
And she tittered and stuttered and laughed,
Grew faint, and went to bed.
Come morn, the maiden brought the king a bottle.
And he, too, turned red and tittered and laughed—
And choked, and broke, and tumbled off his throne.
The next night, the Moon rose, and saw
The king’s grave, and the maiden
Hiding in the trees.
“Why?” asked the Moon. “Why do you hide?
Where is the king? Did he like his bribe?”
“Oh yes,” said the maiden, “until he died.
You see, it was he who threatened to kill my mum.”
The Moon, bless her fey heart, laughed and laughed
Until she turned red once again.
And now it’s said, when the Moon turns red,
A ruler shall soon be dead.

Some Thoughts on New Year’s Eve

This blog started because of a New Year’s resolution. I gave myself a simple rule: for each day, perform some sort of creative exercise and post it here. So, how’d I do?

I missed quite a few days and made up for most of them by “doubling up” the next day–but that meant very little, given the inconsistent demand of the exercises. Some were things that took less than thirty seconds. Some took me twenty minutes or more. I’d do however much I felt up to or able to cram in, and sometimes that wasn’t much. Occasionally it was a lot.

Technically speaking, then, I didn’t meet the resolution. Not if it’s interpreted in an all-or-nothing sense.

But that’s a bit strict, isn’t it? That offers no middle ground between absolute success and utter failure. I don’t think New Year’s resolutions should be evaluated like that because if they are, then the moment you slip up, you might as well give up because it’s all over. Thing is, you’re making it for an entire year. With so much time, doesn’t it make more sense to pick yourself up and keep trying? Surely there’s something underlying the technicalities of the resolution–you’re working toward strength, self-discipline, empathy, creativity, confidence, endurance, or perhaps a skill. That something’s worth continuing to strive for.

I didn’t do fantastically. I missed days. I did some lazy exercises (the haikus, omg so many haikus, and the free associations, for example). I should have tried a wider variety of prompts; there were a lot of repeats, and repeating is another way of being lazy. All things considered, though, it could have turned out worse. I posted things on the right day a majority of the time. As I predicted, a lot of things did not turn out awesome, but some of them did. I gave my imagination some exercise. If you add up all my posts, I’ve created and shared a lot of content, haven’t I?

The year’s done. Drawing to a close. As is this resolution.

I’m glad I did this. However, I don’t intend to continue posting content every day for a few reasons:

Firstly, it’s hard to do an exercise every day and have each one be meaningful, fresh, and interesting. It probably doesn’t help that I’m a college student (though that, too, will end in another half a year). College schedules are notoriously irregular, with waves of exams and papers and projects. But even with a steady job, there are holidays and Internet-less trips to think about. Additionally, there are especially busy days, unexpected problems with Internet, etc.

Secondly, I want to have days where I focus solely on things I wouldn’t post here. Such things are as follows:

a) I would like to have short stories that I can submit to literary magazines/journals (and indeed have been working on this). Such magazines aren’t usually willing to take previously published work. Anything posted online counts as published, even if it’s a WordPress blog hidden in an obscure corner of the Internet.

Also, I need to dedicate large chunks of time and effort to writing, revising, and polishing said short stories for them to have a chance at such venues. My resolution was designed for quick, rough exercises, not polished work.

b) I want to work on longer pieces. Again, this resolution was geared toward short exercises.

c) Some stuff I simply don’t want to share with anyone.

I don’t know yet whether I’ll stop posting here completely or just post here less frequently. I haven’t decided. I want to keep up my habit of doing doodles, poetry, and random things with some frequency, but not worry about sharing them or doing them every day. I was especially surprised by the poetry–that it became one of my defaults on lazy days and also that I came up with some poems (albeit rough drafts) that I rather liked.

To all of you who’ve read my stuff, and especially to those who’ve left likes, and especially-especially to those who have left comments, thank you for your time! You’re awesome. One of the joys of this blog has been the sharing, the reactions, and the interactions. It’s not as fun to create in a vacuum. This is a pretty quiet blog, but even knowing I have a little audience provides some extra motivation. That’s why my resolution had a “share” component.

And now, as a bonus, I’m doing one more list exercise.

How to Stay Up on New Year’s Eve:
1) Drink lots of coffee. Drown said coffee in creamer and sugar if you can’t handle it black.
2) Play videogames.
3) Watch Netflix.
4) Text friends ceaselessly.
5) Dunk cookies in coffee and eat them. Sugar rush, baby.
6) Blast intense orchestral metal, hard rock, energetic Spanish guitar, anything that moves.
7) Drink more coffee. Oh, you’ve already had half a pot? Okay then. Maybe tea?
8) Drag loved ones into it. Board games! Card games! Daring each other to stay awake just a little longer!
9) Stay away from the alcohol. It’s a depressant. It will make you sleepy.
10) Did I mention caffeine? And sugar?
11) Don’t tell yourself staying awake for the timezone ahead of you is good enough. Stick to your timezone!
12) Move around a bit. Go out for a hike, for a walk in the city square, for a party, for a concert, something of the sort. Or else dance around in your room. Perhaps to the aforementioned music.
13) If you really really REALLY have to, drink the rest of that coffee pot.
(But you shouldn’t need to. Not unless you have an insane caffeine tolerance, in which case I must ask if you drink Red Bull or Monster on a regular basis, and if you do, um, that is an dangerous amount of caffeine and you may want to break that habit.)
14) Consider what New Year’s resolution you want to make. Give it a concrete goal, something you can measure. Frame it as active–something you accomplish, not something you must refrain from. Pick something you’d really like to do, something that would be good for you.
15) Remember what you’re staying awake for. It’s a new year coming. A new beginning. A new realm of possibilities. That’s worth witnessing. That’s worth taking part in.

Happy New Year, everybody.

With love,

SquirrelWriter

Flying Things, Dec. 30

I was on a plane and I drew this:

The little thing at the bottom is indeed a turtle with sunglasses, a balloon-buoyed suitcase, and a helicopter propeller holding it aloft, in case you couldn’t tell.

I have also proven that it is possible to get the anatomy of a plane wrong even though planes don’t have anatomy. The jet fuel burners should go under the wings, not at the end. How did I get planes mixed up with rockets?

…in my defense, I suppose I was pretty sleepy.

Describe a Thing, Dec. 29

The bed’s a twin mattress, regular length, tucked in a corner. The comforter is gray, but not plain gray or dinghy gray or a monochrome gray. It’s pale silver speckled with richer rocky tones and dark coal, and it’s fuzzy to the touch, soft as rabbit fur. The underside is fleece white, like lamb’s wool but sans the itchiness.

Underneath, the sheets are thin and dark, contrasting with the shimmering cover. They, too, are soft, but light and silky soft, not fur soft. The pillow gives way under the head. It’s approximately 40% air, 60% cotton.

If you slip under the covers and wiggle your toes, the comforter on top seems to ripple, as if it’s not quite a solid thing but not quite liquid, perhaps the surface of an alien planet.

Haikus Dec. 28

It’s fourteen minutes
past Monday, the twenty-eighth.
I have three days left

of scribbles on this
blog. That was, after all, my
resolution, right?

One year of nutty
doodles, haikus, and other
random creations.

*

There’s a game, quite good,
called Undertale. It’s a tale
of what lies beneath

a mountain–also
what lies beneath the skin of
humans and monsters.

This tale can go so
many ways, depending on
the choices you make.

It also tries to
bend the boundary between
fiction and real life,

make you think about
the things that you do to win.
See, this game tries to

make them seem like they
matter, like they’re real, like there
are consequences

that you cannot reset.
Basically, this game gets
way uber meta.

Random Story Exercise p3 Dec. 27

Time to finish the thing I started yesterday.

*

“Cat,” said Armageddon. She drew her needle. “Want me to take your other eye out?”

“I have a name, you know.” The Cat circled around, and Armageddon had to twist her spine to track the beast’s movements. The Cat bared her teeth. “Not that it’ll do you any good, you nasty little eye thief.” Quick as a flick, the Cat dumped filling in up to Armageddon’s nose. Then she went to turn the oven on.

Meanwhile, Lucy and Brucey were waiting near the entrance to their hole, Bob slept on, and Charlotte sat on Bob, pretending to work on her embroidery but really fiddling with the same stitches over and over and over.

“Armageddon’s taking an awful long time,” said Lucy.

“Yeah,” said Brucey.

“At this rate we’ll have no sweets.”

“Nope.”

“You don’t think the Cat got her, do you?”

“Maybe.” Brucey frowned and rubbed his whiskers. “Maybe we should look for her.”

“Please,” said Charlotte, “we need to stay where it’s safe. What can we do against the Cat?”

Brucey looked uncertain. Lucy turned away so Charlotte couldn’t see the glint in her eye. “I guess,” said Lucy. “After all, ‘Geddon’s the one who knows how to use a needle.”

And prim little Charlotte swelled with indignation, because Armageddon was certainly not the only mouse around here who could use a needle, she was the seamstress around here and did a darn good job of it, thank you very much. So what if she didn’t do all the stupid, reckless things Armageddon did with them? She could handle them just fine! Better, even! She used a needle when it was needed, no more, no less.

“No you don’t,” said Lucy, petulant. “You won’t use it to help Armageddon even though she might need it. Probably because you can’t.”

“Yes, I can!” Charlotte leaped to her paws, so suddenly that she startled Bob awake, and said, “I’ll show you, I’ll find Armageddon myself!” Her little mouse heart beat fast with fear, but also with anger, and it was the anger that won.

Lucy smiled a smug little smile as Charlotte ran off. She winked at Brucey, who still looked uncomfortable and very, very worried. Perhaps Brucey was the smart one in this situation. Or, if not smart, at least sensible.

Armageddon could feel the heat increasing in the oven, and the light from the coils was so bright that she had to screw her eyes shut. She managed to pull one of her paws free and grab her needle, but when she tried to cut herself free, the pointy tip sunk deep, deep into the dough and didn’t come out. ‘Should’ve cut off my own feet,’ Armageddon thought. ‘Or not. Wouldn’t be able to walk without feet. This sucks, though. What a way to die.’

And so the heat got hotter, and Armageddon ruminated over how she wouldn’t go out in a glorious toe-to-toe battle with the Cat but would instead get cooked into a pie. Her tail was getting burned, and soon, the once-great adventurer would be–

A frightful yowling and the banging sound of a giant’s footsteps broke through. The oven door sprang open, and the pie moved and then giant fingers were plucking Armageddon out of the pie, only to drop her onto the cold tiled floor. Armageddon opened her eyes.

The giant was hopping around, clutching their foot, which had a tiny spot of blood.

The Cat was howling over her tail, which was bent like it had been broken down the middle.

There was a feathered hat lying in tatters on the ground.

And then Charlotte appeared, seizing her by the paw and telling her to run already, so run they did.

The Cat saw them and chased. So, to stop the Cat, Armageddon stabbed the fairy lights on her way back. She ruptured the cord. A spark caught on the Christmas tree, and it was evidently much more flammable than most things, for it caught fire and became a monument of blazing glory. The flames startled the Cat into stopping, fur raised in horror. Armageddon stopped too and cackled to herself. Now this, this was a blaze of glory.

“Move!” Charlotte screamed, and chivvied her wayward friend into their hidey hole.

Armageddon wanted to know: how had Charlotte done it?

But Charlotte only muttered about how irresponsible Armageddon had been, how terribly she hated the Cat, and how they were never, ever doing this again and needles were really meant for sewing, weren’t they, not poking out eyes or hurting giants or anything like that.

Armageddon told Charlotte how proud she was of her. They’d make an adventurer out of her yet, oh yes, to which Charlotte huffed. But she did not say “oh no.”

“Did you get any sugar?” asked Lucy, and pouted when she heard they hadn’t.

“I could go back out there,” said Armageddon.

“How about not?” said Brucey. “Please?”

So the five mice had no sweets for Christmas, and the Cat had a broken tail.

After this little adventure, the poor Cat, who really wasn’t an especially mean cat for wanting to eat mice and not liking her eye poked out, gave up on revenge. With her broken tail and her broken eye, she just couldn’t balance right anymore.

And Armageddon? At first, she was gleeful. Then, she was bored. It was no fun, after all, not having an archenemy to keep her entertained. And perhaps, seeing how listless the Cat was, she felt a prickle of remorse. Or perhaps not. Who knows?

Either way, a newly sewed toy turned up in the Cat’s basket next Christmas, along with five sugar cubes.

Random Story Exercise Dec. 26

Remember what I posted on December 24th? Welp, now it’s story time! Hooray!

I’m re-posting the required elements here, mostly for my own benefit:

– Five mice
– One cat with an eyepatch
– A Christmas tree
– An apple pie
– Eggnog
– A star
– A hat with giant feathers on it
– Something catches on fire
– Fairy lights

*

There once were five mice named Lucy, Brucey, Bob, Charlotte, and Armageddon. Lucy liked sweets, Brucey liked to lift, Bob liked to doze, Charlotte liked embroidery, and Armageddon, well, no one ever quite knew what went through her head, but she liked to lurk in corners and cackle to herself.

They all hated the Cat, and the Cat wanted to eat all of the mice, but it was an idle wish until Armageddon had given the Cat a reason to hate her back. For, you see, Armageddon had stabbed Cat’s eye with a needle. Cat wore an eyepatch to cover the damage.

And so, on Christmas Eve, the Cat curled up in her basket, scheming. ‘Mice would make for such a good pie,’ she thought to herself. ‘If only I could get them into the oven.’

The mice, meanwhile, were planning their holiday. Well, four of them were.

“We should sneak some sugar cubes from the kitchen jar,” said Lucy. “And flour, and milk, and honey. I could bake sweets.”

“I’ll help you lift them,” Brucey offered, and flexed.

Charlotte looked up from her perch on Dozing Bob’s stomach. She had a scrap of cloth in her lap, a needle, and thread. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she said. “We don’t have cooking tools except for a few things from the dollhouse, and the Cat is sure to have an eye out for us.”

“I’ll take care of the Cat,” said Armageddon, and waved one of Charlotte’s needles menacingly. “I got her good last year–”

“And now she has it out for us,” said Charlotte fretfully. “We have plenty of food here. We should stay in our mouse hole.”

Lucy pouted, for she dearly wanted those sweets, and Brucey seemed keen on the idea of sweets as well. Bob said that he’d be staying put but they could do whatever they wanted, and then resumed sleeping. His little snores made his whiskers twitch.

“That settles it,” said Armageddon, “I’m going to get sweets for us.” She smiled and gave Lucy a wink. Before the other mice could utter a word of protest, she grabbed a ribbon, strapped the needle to her back, and scurried out the hole.

It so happened that the mice lived near the Christmas tree, which looked to a mouse like the Sears tower might look to people: a hundred stories tall. The tree glittered with baubles the size of Armageddon herself, and it glowed with fairy lights. Armageddon scurried up, up the string of fairy lights, her paws burning each time she accidentally stepped on a bulb, until she reached the top, where a big, spiked light nearly blinded her. She turned her back to it and looked out, across the vast plains of the dining room and into the jungle of the kitchen.

There on the counter was the sugar bowl, and there was a bottle of eggnog by the sugar bowl, and there was a pie crust waiting to be filled. The bowl of apple filling sat next to it.

Beyond the counter, the Cat was fast asleep in her basket.

It was safe enough, Armageddon decided. The Cat could sleep like the dead. And if she didn’t, well then, that’s what the needle was for, wasn’t it? Armageddon cackled to herself.

Down the tree, across the plains, and into the jungle did Armageddon go, very quiet because “quiet as a mouse” isn’t a saying for nothing, and then scaled her way up the drawers with leaps and bounds and twists that were, funnily enough, rather catlike. She started for the sugar cubes but stopped at the pie crust.

‘Lucy does love pastries,’ thought Armageddon, and stepped right into it, thinking she could peel off a nice big chunk and haul it back.

But the bottom was sticky! So sticky that Armageddon couldn’t lift her paws. Someone had lined it with honey!

She heard the soft pad of paws on linoleum, then the thump of a giant creature landing, and then a single, yellow eye stared down at her, pupil wide and round with excitement. The Cat had not been asleep after all.

*

(I am stopping there for the evening, I think, and finishing this up tomorrow. Good night~!

Oh! Before I forget! This story was inspired by Beatrix Potter’s fables. I hope I’m capturing a little bit of her style and spirit, but you should totally go and read the real things ’cause they’re awesome. Your local library is likely to have a collection.)

Free Association Dec. 25

I enjoyed being a complete lazybones for my Christmas holiday, and now it’s midnight. ^^; I’m putting off the story exercise ’til tomorrow and doing something really quick and lazy simple tonight instead.

Holiday–>vacation–>Hawaii–>hi–>ho–>ho ho ho–>Santa–>North Pole–>snow–>where is it–>no seriously it’s Christmas

Tree–>trunk–>elephant–>safari–>savannah–>lions–>predators–>consumers–>producers–>plants–>photosynthesis–>summer–>winter–>hibernation