New Year, New Post

Brinner. Commonly known as “Breakfast for Dinner”.  Which I am consuming right now.

Menu du soir

Buttered blueberry pancake w/ Grade A maple syrup

Brown sugar glazed bacon

Scrambled eggs with fine sea salt

A double portion of Swiss Miss hot chocolate w/marshmallows

Tidbit for the Day

Aliens made them do it.

That’s what they found out later when the whole mess was through. It started with the charismatic leader of a splinter group in the Jewish community during the age of Roman expansion. And it ended with the ineffable judgement of higher beings on their measly three thousand year old culture.

Hannah, who had grown up only ever knowing a world where the alien presence was prevalent, remembered how her grandparents shied away from the aliens in the streets in very clear xenophobia. When she heard them ranting about the Constitution and inalienable rights, she heard nothing but the outdated rants of people who’d lived past their sell by date. Not that she wished her relatives harm but it was embarassing bringing her friends over to a house where they’d hear all sorts of phobic insults and speciesist mutters.

No idea where I was going with this. It’s not even a tidbit. More of a fleeting thought. But I figure, I’ve got 150 words today. I’ll do 300 tomorrow. And maybe 450 after that.

Also, mainlining Lost (thanks Elaine’s bf Ryan).  Just got to Season 1 finale and my faves thus far are Hurley and Rousseau. Also Turnip Head (aka Aaron) and Sawyer’s relationship.


Day #1: A Poem of Space

In this room, this small space I was born into, I dream of infinity and beyond.

I cast my mind out into the incomprehensible measures of outer space

Zooming among planets and asteroids and planetoids

Like a camera lens,

Moving back and back and back until –

I find that space doesn’t bear down upon me like a weight

But, regardless of the lack of gravity, bears down upon me

More like mass.

The boundless emptiness presses against the back of my head

As I crouch like Atlas or Geb times an infinite number of powers of ten.

———–)>o<( ————

I do not fear eternity without limits, without boundaries.

The vastiness of space enevelops me

But the crowded depths of my inner space

Keep their form.

What is the final frontier for

If not to fill with our nano-voices and mega-thoughts?

The Daughter of Red Fox

The editor of Shadowline is looking for a new female superhero written by one of us, the common masses.  And so I have decided to join the ranks of rank amateurs in a futile attempt to create a female superhero who can be a role model. Someone for guys and gals to relate to. Someone who can kick ass AND solve crimes.

 They say write what you know, so I’m leaning towards a woman around 20 years old, who’s in school and lives with her family. She’s at that age where she’s starting to encounter a world beyond what she’s known, in normal terms such as college and all that entails but also in heroic terms as she gains powers and learns to utilize them. Right now, everything is very much a big jumbly mess of random details, like West VA and East Asian fox legends and a punk younger brother. Love interest is gonna be a fanboy, probably the HHQ librarian/assistant/gofer?

It looks like, the way my writing is going, that my tendency is to put the personal details first. Plot and powers seem to coming in second to characterization and motives. I’ve always been pretty weak on plot and structure but in terms of her powers, I love kickassery and Boom moments so much so that’s what I’m going to be focusing on next. Hopefully, all of this turns into something I’ll be proud of in the end.


Out here, in the quiet, cool calm of the countryside, dawn approached Harriet Fulster. She sat upon a grey tree trunk, over which she had placed her grey wool overcoat, in anticipation of splinters and insects. She had in her left hand a pocket watch of amazing detail and ancestry. It had been handed down throughout the various and varied branches of her truly twisted family tree. As a child, she’d known nothing of its existence. As an adult, she had continued in her ignorance of the device. She’d seen nary a glimpse of its heavily wrought gold chain nor had she been given a chance to pop open the filigreed case to listen to the delicate ticking of the second hand. Not one relative had ever approached her on her birthday, pulled her into the living room, beckoned with a wink, then revealed to her, in pompous glory and highly exciting circumstances this this instrument of such obviously exotic and grand origins.

Instead, this morning, Harriet woke to the smell of spices so foreign she had no name for them, except perhaps “exotic” or “roccoco.” The smell had penetrated her dreams so that for the last seconds before she woke, her bicycling tour through fields of grain in the south of France, with Albert Einstein as tour guide, had transitioned effortlessly to a strange and fey road through pillared archways and around miniature palaces made of molten gold.

The same molten gold that seemed to fill the inside of the watch case. The molten gold held numbers and hands, of course, because she could tell the time as soon as she opened the case. She had awakened from her dream at 6:23 am by her digital clock/radio. By the time she opened the leather box in which the pocket watch had been encased, it was exactly an hour and twenty five minutes ’til the sun rose. But it also seemed as though the numbers and hands appeared as a concession to her senses rather than out of necessity.

Harriet held out the pocket watch in her hand, chain running the length of her arm, following the line of her seam to the front pocket of her blouse, where it was clipped to a brooch of a blazing sun, made from sunstone streaked with jasper. Her eyes wandered over the details on the filligreed cover. She hadn’t noticed before but etched into the top was a small scenario. A type of Roman frieze that one would expect to encounter in the hallowed halls of a large and lofty museum or gallery. Certainly not on a mysterious watch found on a bedstand in a house in the middle of nowhere by a bit of a no one really.

She watched as the brightening sky brought the etching into sharper relief, and showed her a scene from myth. It was a goddess, probably Aurora, drawing a chariot pulled by two wild eyed horses. A trail fell away behind her, leading to a mountain behind which the sun was beginning to rise. The detail and beauty made Harriet catch her breath, causing a stuttering trail of cloud to emanate from her mouth into the cool autumn air.

TBC* . .

 *Where is Harriet going and where has she come from? Is she another Athena, sprung fully formed from the mind of her progenitor? Or did she live a full and happy life ’til the watch came along to complicate matters?

What’s Albert Einstein got to do with anything?  Does Aurora make an appearance?  What does the watch do? Relativity? Cyber/Steampunk?  Alexander Lloyd, Time Cat – Time travel, different eras/worlds