Thoughtful Expressions

It's not often that I write anything truly inspirational in my opinion. I write to entertain. I write to cheer. I write to amuse. I write to vent. I write for any number of reasons, but I don't seek to inspire others or write regarding inspirational topics.

We're struggling in my little family. The car continues to plague our lives. T is wired and out of control. The strain of everything on B is making her cry frequently at the littlest set-back. The husband is worried about his job. I feel rejected and frustrated as a writer. I just really feel like keeping our heads above water is becoming difficult. This year, I understand why people become depressed around Christmas time. There are so many reasons why you feel like the holidays are just trying to crush you--like seriously crush you. There is no money for a trip--but we still want to make it. There is no money for presents--so we'll just card some things and pretend the bills will never come due. The car--sigh-the car. It's difficult to make a nine hundred mile trip without a car.

Still--we go on. It's what we do. We get by. My parents had given us money to help with the car when all this first happened--and that helped us keep our heads above water. Then, the car's problem continued.

Two things happened this week to really inspire me. One of the husband's relatives sent us a substantial amount of money--actually a staggering amount of money to help with our car repairs.

Then, we'd arrived home from church just now and the husband went out to get the mail from yesterday. He handed me an envelope with no return address on it, but my name written on it.

He handed it to me, and I commented: "Hopefully, this isn't something that will make me cry." I assumed it was from a collection agency for some medical bill we hadn't caught--or maybe another "anonymous" note from someone complaining about our dog's barking. I opened it with so much pessimism that it was already hurting my stomach. It was something that made me cry. It was a money order for several hundred dollars from "Santa." I have no idea who sent it. I'm shocked at the anonymous generosity of someone.

There are those with greater need than us--I know it. The husband has a job. We don't "need" to make this trip. We don't "need" to get the kids what they asked for. In the grand scheme of needs versus wants, we're fine. We have food. We have one running car. We have medical insurance. We have our house, and we're paying our utility bills.

I'm grateful today. We've been doubly blessed in ways that you can't measure in amounts. The spirit behind both these gifts greatly surpasses any type of measurements.

Yesterday, the husband and I did Christmas shopping. Instead of feeling happy by the end of it--I was just so stressed out. I felt guilty spending money when we need to fix that car. Then, something else went wrong with the car. So, my pessimism was swamping my Christmas spirit. I had difficulty sleeping last night due to stress. I was already stressed out. Yesterday, I went next door and spoke with our neighbors about Nanaimo's barking. (They'd left a note on our door documenting our dog's barking along with the ordinance discussing "barking." ) I explained about the kid's Special Needs, and that we need a dog that barks at strangers or when the kids are crying. I thought that would help me sleep at nights again--now that I wasn't worried we'd be receiving a call from animal control. It went well, after all. Still, it seems like there is always something waiting to take a worry's place. I was trying to be all "Christmasy" and cheerful--really.

Today, I have a lot of Christmas spirit--and an overwhelming belief in the kindness of others working as angels on earth. Joy is more than the meeting of needs, and I'm grateful to those that brought me joy and happiness this week both due to their financial help and the spirit in which it was given.

Anyway, I've got plans for working on Christmas stuff today. :)

Hopefully, everyone else is having a good weekend.

Friday Flash Fiction--on a Saturday.

Okay, so yesterday I was distracted and busy. (Should be pronounced bis-SAY.) The husband and I had a good anniversary yesterday, by the way. (wink wink nod nod Know what I mean?) Note to all: My mom discovered yesterday that if you ask me what I did for my anniversary--I will tell you. I'm all about full disclosure. To say that she was shocked, would be understating it. The day was celebrated--that is all. :) Thoroughly. Very thoroughly.

I didn't really do a lot of flash fiction at Flashy Fiction, but I did some.

Here is this week's contributions.

December 5th

Prompt

"Hey, isn't that your brother coming out of the Pleasure Chest?"

Mine

Filling up the tank at the gas station next to the town's only strip club was never a choice--it was a "running on fumes" necessity.

Jon had run me out of gas again. So, you'd think he'd man up and put down that stupid book and pump my gas. Maybe he didn't think I knew what all of these "trips" out of town entailed, but I knew.

"Hey, isn't that your brother coming out of the Pleasure Chest?" Jon asked, rolling down his window to tell me. He probably thought his new mustache was something other than what it was. It was a pornstache. A thin wriggle of hair across his flaccid thick upper lip. It reminded me of the nasty tent worms we got every seven years, and we killed with a propane torch.

I glanced over at the strip club and shrugged. "He's the town sheriff, Jon. He probably had to break up a fight or something."

"Shouldn't he be in uniform or something?" Jon asked. There was an accompanying snicker, barely muffled.

Always with the questions. Always. Jon was the most worthless human being on the planet. Somewhere there was a squid that was maybe, possibly less useful to the greater plan for the universe. That might just be a rumor, though, much like the existence of Jon's brain.

I'd seen a few charges on the credit card statements that I'd found after Jon had left. Jon was intimately familiar with that strip club and he'd spent our money--my money at that place. At least my brother was single. Jon fit this self-righteous attitude just as well as he might a cheap green polyester suit from the big and tall clearance rack.

"Maybe he was on his way home and stopped."

Jon heaved a huge sigh, and it shimmied down my nerves like one of the Pleasure Chest's dancers on a pole made of sandpaper.

He'd left me. Jon had left me. Now he was back--like it was some huge favor to me. It wasn't. I was doing fine with him gone. I was doing freaking fantastic. I'd even met someone. I was anxiously awaiting the divorce papers. Then, he came back--like a bad case of fungus.

"I don't think he was in there breaking up a fight," Jon said, and the smugness was so thick you could practically see it. "You know how your family is. I won't call them white trash, but...."

Yes. That's right, Mr. Holier-than-thou. You were perfect. You were so perfect that you were too good for me--as you've reminded me a dozen times in various ways since you've returned. It was a sack of lies that stunk like roadkill baking on the pavement at noon.

The night was dark. The town was small enough that the gas station was closed though the pay at the pump was still working. I'd used Jon's card--and gasoline could wipe the prints off of everything. All of this flashed through my mind just before I pulled the handle from the gas tank and aimed it at my stupid, stupid, stupid husband. Gas splashed all over the inside of the car as he yelled about it getting in his eyes. I threw the match into the car and walked away.

Sliding into the car beside my brother, I tried to feel remorse for what I'd just done. I couldn't, and it wasn't the first time our family had resolved a sticky problem thus. My brother was filling out a police report but spared a look in his rearview mirror.

"Never liked Jon," my brother said.

"Yeah--neither did I," I said.

"He was a little like a rabid mutt--mean and begging to be put down."

"Yeah, well, I'd call him put down," I said, watching the fire engulf the car like the swamp mud swallowing a rock--a big, dumb, stupid rock.

December 10th

Prompt

Why is my toothbrush wet?

Mine

Oh! Oh! True story! It's not often I get to tell a true story.

Adam and I were in a battle for total domination. Well, not total--just king for the day really. It was unofficial. A snarky little skirmish between just us. We didn't know when it had started, and there was no way to end it.

Such is the relationship between a super intelligent older sibling and a middle-child sister forced to hear: "OH! You're Adam's sister." From teachers: "I had Adam in my class already. Are you as intelligent as your brother?"

No, I'm dumb as rocks. That's why I'm in your advanced classes. Yeah--and bite me.

Green as grass jealousy defined my tricks just as amused retaliation had become his instinct. Once he tied up my arms in too long sweatshirt sleeves and hung me from a doorknob. I was stuck in my own sweatshirt. Stuck.

The toothbrush was my epiphany of passive aggressive genius. When I first conceived its simplicity, I laughed out loud. Perfect. He would doubt his very frame of mind. His high I.Q. wouldn't be able to wrap itself around the quandary. Brilliant. He thought he was so smart.

The first week, I just got it wet--each morning. His puzzled reaction was hard to ignore.

The second week, I smuggled both lemon juice and salt into the bathroom. I alternated. I tried to hide smug smiles. It was difficult.

The third week, he switched toothbrushes--and I picked up my toothbrush to find it wet one day.

Well played, Adam. Well played.

The hand that takes my hand is the one that rocks my world.

Okay, that sounded less crass in my mind. Point being: Today is my twelfth anniversary. Yay!

It means that I'm still cleaning and cleaning until the husband gets home. That's significantly less yay. That's more of a "BOO. Rubbish. Filthy. Slime. Muck!"

It's freakishly cold here again today. There are rumors of snow. Snow! I saw them spraying salt water on the roads. Yesterday it got up above freezing though--by two degrees. Pathetic. Sooo cold. Too cold.

I've been busy writing Honor Seven when I'm not cleaning. Okay, so--having this be the one before they get married and from Reeve's point of view--uhh--it's steamy. There aren't any actual words that I couldn't say in front of my mother, but--on the whole--and due to duration of such scenes. Yeah. Steamy. I think I really need to get something out of my system--the husband will appreciate that. I'm not sure I can pass this along to my teenage beta reader, but I don't know. There is absolutely no graphic language. Still, there is much kissing and wanting--lots of hot-blooded, carnal, sweet need. Lust. Lust on a stick to be enjoyed. Mmm. It's yummy, and I suspect that's bad--but it's hard to say. They're still waiting until they're married, but it's definitely getting more difficult. It reminds me a little of being engaged to the husband. Hot, carnal, sweet need, baby. Lots of it. Mmm.

Okay, yeah, I have so stuff to get out of my system. Thankfully, my sister is coming to pick up the kids and take them back to her house for the night. Sisters are so wonderful that way. Husbands are so wonderful for hot, carnal, sweet loving. I should go eat some Frosting and get to cleaning.

Anyone care to weigh in on how much steam without action is allowed in your mind for a fourteen year old?

Okay, you get an excerpt. This is from Without Honor. For those that have never read any of it, Reeve made a pledge to do whatever Honor asks, and they can't change that. He's a vampire and she's a Shadow Hunter. My version of vampire is closer to a guardian role. They rarely drink blood and it's not for sustenance or pleasure. So, here is an excerpt from a longer scene--yes, a scene that is similar in heat. Did I go too far? Opinions. I'm going to send along the full scene to Jaime for an opinion on the heat level. I like it--but I'm starting to wonder if I just really need "action"--especially since I keep adding to it. Mmm... action... yummy.

“Reeve.” She pulled me on top of her. We both moaned as my weight settled on top of hers, and our bodies just seemed to match—like a puzzle piece sliding into place. Her hands pulled at my back, kneading, tugging, and tightening. ‘Closer,’ she whispered in my head.

I tried. I really tried.

‘We shouldn’t,’ I said, while my hand slid underneath her to try to get her closer. It wasn’t just the pledge enforcing a want. By the winds, I wanted, needed, and intended to make her mine in every sense of the word. Mine. I’d never wanted to possess anything as much as I wanted to possess Honor. It was making me a jealous fool at times.

‘I want…,’ Honor said, moaning as kissed her neck. She couldn’t finish that sentence. My muscles stiffened at the word—the pledge was much, much stronger than any will I had to resist on this subject.

‘The blood bond,’ I reminded her.

‘Mmm. I love you, Reeve,’ she said. Her words almost incited the same response as the pledge would have.

Control. I needed to regain control of myself.

‘I love your hair,’ she said, sliding her hands into it. ‘Shiny. I love shiny silver.’

‘It’s the same color as Tuck,’ I said, covering her mouth with mine.

‘I love you more than Tuck.’

‘I love you more than anything,’ I replied, and I was grateful for the mental bond that allowed me to say such true but emotionally motivated words in our heads. I could just imagine the mimicry of the other Brethren we’d be hearing otherwise.

Her hands slid down my back, leaving tingling warmth in their trail.

‘Your body is yummy,’ she said.

The imagery of oral interest juxtaposed with my body was too much. My control was slipping—dissolving in desire. My skin felt hyper aware of the slim, beautiful curves beneath me. Throbbing heat flushed every point of intersection of our skin.

No. Control. I needed control. Too fast. Too soon. Too much.

I rolled her back on top. I was having a hard time remembering why we wanted to wait, and what was wrong with the floor after all.

A moment later, Thor stood at the top of the stairs and said, “Reeve, send Honor and her nimble little fingers up here.” I was grateful that three hundred feet of stairs and a closed door prevented Honor from hearing that—and the raucous laughter that followed.

They would all be tripped before the day was over.

I needed to stop. We needed to stop. This shouldn’t happen on the floor anyway. I intended for it to happen far away from the prying ears of the Brethren. Honor’s heartbeat gave away my desire as much as her own. It was pounding—and the sound stroked the ego I hadn’t known I possessed.

Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

Have I mentioned yet how much I hate cleaning? It sucks. It sucks big rocks.

I'll be cleaning today. Blech. Yuck. Awful.

I just wish I could clean and have it stay clean. It never does, and it never ends. NEVER.

I need a cleaning fairy.

Them days--they move.

Wow. I have so much to get done before my kids get out of school for winter break--and they only have seven days left of school. Yikes. Super yikes!

So, Honor Among Thieves--there is no way I'll get to much of the revisions needed before the holidays. Ugh. I'm going to get thrown in with the January New Year's resolution crowd.

On Honor Six--I finished but my sister, Heidi, wants me to add action into the first 30 pages. (The muse says no. She says she is done with Honor Six. The muse has spoken.)

On Honor Seven-- Why? Why must new ideas swamp my brain so soon after old ideas have left? It's a cruel sort of victory of obsession over control. It happens every time. I keep thinking that I'll be able to catch up on my life--but no.

Chosen Changeling-- The one my sister wants me to finish next. This would be a stand-alone book on the currently popular subject of fairies. The muse is completely silent. NOTHING. I got nothing. I read through what I had--thinking that I'd be able to jump back into it. Nothing.

I didn't try my Dystopian because Honor Seven plot started swamping me.

The muse is cruel and twisted and just soooo wrong. Wrong, I tell you! Wrong!

Yes, it's a beautiful and wonderful gift to be able to write so fast. Yes, it's an awful curse to be able to write so fast that there are always new things that skip into my mind and demand my attention if I want to get any sleep--ever.

This Friday is the husband and my anniversary. I'm hoping to have the house clean for our anniversary. Yes, it's sad that this is so significant and would be an actual "gift" to him. Sickness and writing have taken precedence. The muse is cruel to the husband also. My sister suggested he take the day off and we sit around naked and watch movies. I must be old and married because that just sounded breezy and uncomfortable instead of sexy. Plus, having naked butts on the sofa--weirdness--lots of weirdness. Nakedness is less exciting than it's made out to be in my opinion. Skin gets all uncomfortable pressed up against other skin. It's like sitting on vinyl in a short skirt in summer. I firmly believe if the Garden of Eden hadn't been perfect weather--Adam and Eve would have discovered clothing long before Lucifer came along.

Okay. That's possibly too much information.

Anyway, so I've got to get busy cleaning. So, unplugged may continue.

I did have to say something super special happened today. It was the cutest thing ever.

B has Classic Autism (this isn't the cute part) and when she was diagnosed six years ago, I asked the doctor if she'd ever get married and have a family. He was silent for a moment before he said, "If she does, she might marry another Autistic person. I have high hopes that she might be able to hold down a job some day." The world crashed down on us during that appointment. B has exceeded the expectations of most everyone. Today, I dropped her off at her school and got out to go walk the kids to the crosswalk. This boy from her class comes running over, shouting her name. He walked beside her and waited at the crosswalk when she got a little behind--all while talking to her and saying her name over and over and trying to make eye contact to get her attention on him. He was walking close enough to bump shoulders with her and his focus was all on her. At eight years old, B is into the segregation of sexes phase of schooling due to cooties--the exception being, of course, when a boy likes a girl. B has a boyfriend--only she has no idea--which made it cuter. She tends not to notice things like that--at all. The more she seemed oblivious--the harder he tried to get her to smile at him. I couldn't stop smiling after that. How full of sweet is that? It was adorable.

Okay, well, I might sneak in a few minutes of writing before tackling my house. Ugh. Blech. Yuck. I hate cleaning. I'd rather have dental surgery than clean. Seriously. At least, then, they give you the good drugs to make it go by faster.

Le sigh.

Have a good Wednesday everyone!

Ta!

Revision Unplugginess

I need to concentrate on my so-called life and on revising Honor Six. As some of you may have noticed, Honor Seven has made an appearance on my WIPs. The muse--she is cruel. I no sooner had finished Honor Six--when Honor Seven crept into my mind. GRRR! Really? I tried to ignore Reeve's dialogue in my head for hours while trying to sleep but, eventually, it's write or insomnia. So, the honeymoon was over on a head free of needed writing. Without Honor (Book Seven) is written from Reeve's perspective so I think it'll take much longer. As those familiar with the series know, Reeve is a lot more complicated of a voice.

Okay, so I'm going to get to work on revising everything in preparation for a massive Lulu hardcopy order. Hopefully, they'll magically have a beautiful and perfect sale.

Have a good Tuesday, everyone. Unplugged today.

Inspired by the Season Two

Here are some of the pictures that didn't make the first group because I didn't want to overwhelm everyone if they didn't find nativities as interesting as I do.

These are handmade:

The ones in the foreground are from Africa and the picture doesn't really do them justice.

Here is another panoramic shot of it:

Snowmen nativities don't photograph well--for the record. They're too white.

Joy to the world:

The foreground one is made of copper and much cooler than it appears.

Here is a closer shot of the silhouettes I did.

A nativity in a seed pod.

A bunch of the glass nativities:

In front is an edible nativity--but I don't see that as a thing you generally want to eat. Maybe that's just me, though.