Bovine writing advice

One of the things about being a writer, especially if you’ve been doing it for a few years, is that you are constantly thinking. Sometimes this is a good thing. It means when there is a problem you should be able to come up with a solution. Sometimes it is a bad thing, because you can also come up with a hundred ways it can all go horribly wrong.

Thinking or considering, is the second step to creating a story, a book, or even a blog post. It is the flexing of the muscle that moves the arm. Observation is the impulse that tells the arm it should move. Writing is completing the task of movement.

Last night, on my way to work, the roads were slick and glossy from rain. The moon was closed off behind a thick blanket of clouds and drops pattered down just fast enough for the windshield wipers to be both necessary and ineffective.

I was just passing the fire station that stands proudly right next door to one of those no tell motels. The kind that has half the letters missing off its sign, has a preference for cash, and rents rooms by the week or by the hour. As I was pondering this odd placement of buildings and keeping an eye on the road, when I saw movement from the median.

There was a man standing in the rain next to the gaurd rail. His feet were hidden by the thick wet grass. He was dressed in a button down shirt, tan pants, and a thin jacket. He didn’t look up. He just stood there looking at his feet.

That was over 9 hours ago. Yet, that moment is still replaying in the back of my mind. My brain keeps asking all these questions I don’t have the answers too. It wants to know why he was standing alone in the rain, in the middle of four lanes of traffic.

Writers observe. They notice things. However, just noticing isn’t enough. You also have to consider what you’ve seen.

So who did I see in the rain? A jilted lover, a guilty spouse, a fire fighter taking a walk before work, or a motel employee? It could have been anyone. Even a private investigator. (Or Jake from State Farm.)

Finally once you’ve considered long enough you have to pour forth words. You have to write. Syllables and letters are like legos used to form the image that is still floating around in your cranium. Verbs are the falling rain. Adjectives are the cold damp seeping through a white button down shirt. Words are a writer’s pallet of rainbowed hues.

Consider what you Observe before you Write.  C.O.W

A Sick Note


To Whom it may concern:

There will not be a post today. The author of this blog was just diagnosed with the flu. She has cocooned herself in blankets and plans to stay there until she feels better or crosses over, whichever happens first. Well wishes are appreciated. She will return at a later date for a proper blog post. Unless she dies. Then she will be a ghost writer…


Yeah, I’m feeling like death warmed over guys. I’ll post again when I’m not.

A bit of Fiction from a tired writer

Out of the list of things I had planned to accomplish today, I managed one. It wasn’t a blog post. However, it is still Monday so by the end of this my daily accomplishments will be up to 2.

I had over a dozen topics to blog about just a few minutes ago. Then I sat down at the the computer and my mind went as blank as the page I have been staring at. It is a good thing that blog post aren’t viewed in the real time it took someone to write them or I would have lost you all after the first paragraph.

Okay, so here is what I am going to do. Last week I didn’t do a proper post and this week I am struggling. So how about some fiction?

I wrote this short for a writing contest in October but never got to use it because they closed submissions early. It’s not exactly my best, but the few people I’ve shared it with found it amusing.


tink's moonlight pic

Lunch Break

It was a dark and stormy night. All I wanted to do was to eat my Hot Pocket before it cooled beyond room temperature but the rain and the full moon, hidden behind the clouds, drove people into the store. Some were on their way home. Some were stopping in before heading to work a swing shift. All had the wild look a full moon, visible or not, brings out. Eyes open too wide revealing more of the white than normal and pupils dilated dark and round.

I just wanted to eat my lunch, but the flood of people ridden by moon madness prevented me. Who really needs a pack of gum at two in the morning?

I felt a growl slip out as I handed the lady chatting on her phone back her change. She snatched it and her diet coke up without ever making eye contact. My hot pocket was growing colder, my stomach emptier, and my temper hotter with each customer.

I finally got rid of the line and sighed as a glance out of the dirty windows revealed no one in the parking lot. Once again I turned to my lunch. Just as I raised the food to my lips a car pulled up and sat idling in front of the building.

I paused before biting into my Hot Pocket as a couple of teenagers hopped out of the car. One stood in front of the door while the other rushed inside wearing tan pantyhose to disguise his face. Any other day I would have laughed, but I was hungry and I had dealt with enough people for one night. Then he did the unthinkable.

Brandishing a gun he slapped my Hot Pocket out of my hand. I watch the flaky crust of my lunch splatter and crumble on the stained tile floor, all of its cheesy goodness leaking out to join whatever people had tracked in on their shoes. I couldn’t hear what the robber was saying over the rushing roar of my anger reaching its peak.

My hands shifted as I reached for the desecrator of my Hot Pocket. My claws dug into his arm as I bent it backwards, bones snapping as the were forced to go in an unnatural direction. Then the idiot pulled the trigger, shooting himself in the chest. His buddy rushed in from outside, yelling profanity as he took in the blood joining my ruined lunch on the floor. I let him jerk his friend free from my grip when he grabbed for him and the two slipped and tripped their way back to the running car.

It spun out of the parking lot in a squeal of tires and I let my hands return to normal. When I was sure they were long gone, I washed my hands in the employee’s only sink, popped another Hot Pocket into the microwave, and went to fetch the mop.



Today’s post will be delayed. I have too many irons in the fire at the moment. I am going to try to pound a few into swords, or forks, or whatever else blacksmiths make.

Anyway, I will be back as soon as I get some of my backlog of work caught up.  (I am writing awesome stuff. Shhhh)

Poetry in Whining

A Monday Lament from a Night Walker mugging fork

My back aches 
My shoulder hurts
I want to go back to bed

My bones creak
My brain’s still asleep
I hurt to much to be dead

My coffee is faulty
My movements are halting
Monday has come around

I worked the weekend
And work tomorrow too
Yet I am still Monday down

Monday’s have their pull
On the working world
It doesn’t matter when they come

At the beginning of the week,
In the middle, At the end,
Even after the setting sun.

Change of Plans

Sometimes life just doesn’t go the way you would like. Okay, most of the time. I had plans this weekend. I was going to carve pumpkins with the kids, take my daughter to a haunted house, and go to the movie theater to check out Crimson Peak.

One of those things happened.

its-the-great-pumpkin-charlie-brown-slateMy son went to bed Thursday with a scratchy throat and woke up Friday with a fever. He was sick all weekend. So instead of carving pumpkins we cuddled in pjs and watched Halloween cartoons. (He is feeling much better now.)

Friday night my daughter went to a friend’s birthday party. She had a blast but didn’t get to sleep over, because on Saturday we had planned to take her to a haunted house. The forecast had called for clear skies on Saturday and rain on Sunday. Mother nature decided to change it up and give us rain Saturday and a drizzle Sunday.

Taking the weather into account, we rescheduled the haunted house for Sunday.  My son was still sick but my mom could came over to keep an eye on him. (And feed him fried chicken at his request.) Unfortunately, when we checked the website we found that the haunted house had been closed down due to “unforeseen circumstances”.

So on Sunday we went to watch Crimson Peak instead. It was a pretty good movie, tom-hiddleston-crimson-peak-postereven if I did have to hold my hand over my daughter’s eyes for certain adult situations. The problem was we really didn’t look into the movie beyond: “Hey, creepy stuff in the preview and Tom Hiddleston.”  

It wasn’t exactly the type of movie we were going for; Gothic Horror rather than just plain old Horror. So while the movie was good for its genre, we should have dug a little deeper to discover what that genre was. If we had, my daughter wouldn’t have been making snide Alice in Wonderland/Loki fanfiction comments throughout the entire movie.

Seven degrees from each other

Recently, I was talking to a friend and we were reminiscing about people we have met. I have been at my current night job for six years now. That is a long time. I’ve seen a lot of people come and go.

We’ve had college students who worked here so they have money for food and essentials. We’ve had lifers who have been with the company longer than I’ve been alive. And that’s just the people I’ve worked with. If you add in customers, that’s another long list.

The thing is, every single person was living their own story and for a little while I was a side character in their tale. That is kinda of amazing in a mind boggling way. Because my part in their story actively ended when our journies took separate paths, but their stories continued.

However, our tales are still connected by that past meeting. I will go on to meet new people and so with they, until this life’s journey ends. Every person I meet from now on will be connected to me and in a sense connected to all the other people I’ve met.

Mondays and Missing Cats

Hello all. What is it about Monday’s? It’s like I wake up with an automatic To-Do list that somehow complied over night. Today is going to be a busy one.

I didn’t do much this weekend but sit around in comfortable clothes and watch Doctor Who. I had some sort of stomach nasty that wouldn’t let me get too far from a toilet without dire consequences. It was kind of nice to have self permission not to do anything. I could have done without the being sick part though.


Today I have to play catch up. There is housework to do, writing to get done, and a cat to find. Panda, our black and white cat, hasn’t been home in several days and I am beginning to get worried. Sometimes she will disappear for a day or two after we have done something to offend her, but this is a bit long. Usually these absences will follow a few days of breakfast being served late or us not letting her outside when she wants. She is the queen of the household and knows it.panda

I’m not only worried about Panda but my daughter as well. Technically she is my daughter’s cat. We brought her home from the animal shelter as a kitten, shortly after we moved into our house.

At thirteen, my daughter is all moody teenage girl. Her cat is the one she talks to when things get to be too much, because obviously mom can’t understand. (I was a teenager once too and did the same thing, so I know how this works. Cats can be wonderful confidants and they have the added bonus of being fluffy.)10502233_10201355538529691_2457240744323550533_n

To complicate things, not only does she have the usual teen stuff to deal with, but her father just moved across the country. She has always been a Daddy’s girl. She has always known if she needed him, he was right there and I would take her to see him. Now that is a bit more difficult since he is a couple of thousand miles away. They still skype and stuff but it isn’t the same.  And now her cat is missing.

My daughter does talk to me. It’s not like we have no communication, but talking to her Daddy and talking to her cat is different from talking to mom. Kids have a lot to deal with. So do parents for that matter.

I had more to say but my kids are awake now and I have lost my train of thought. I have to go make breakfast and get my son started on his homeschooling. He is full of energy this morning and is irritating his sister. She is in a good mood and is irritating him back so my house is very loud right now.

I’ll return with cat updates as I have them.

A writer’s words to self

Write me a book that I want to finish, not because OCD demands it, but because it is good.

Write me a book that I never want to finish, because it echoes inside so clearly that I can’t help to hope for one word more.

Write me a book that engages. Something to shift my world just a little, so that when I come up for air I have to blink a few times to adjust.

Write me a book to help me think. Wrap me in words like a spider with a web, cocoon me in ideas and new thoughts.

Write me a book that lets me dream. Show me things that do not exist in the world I usually live in. Give me  adventures and new eyes to travel through.

Write me a book…