millions of voices screaming
mine is but one more
This week's words are
caress
jagged
ruthless
Three words that create a satisfyingly twisted dissonance. This one's going to be tricky. Hmm.
The southin winds come shiftering
while whistlin' we go walking
among the wildly trepand trees
with branches thick and strocking.
Our path meanders at our feet,
through roots and clathish clay,
and gramley worms caress the leaves
above, this starkling day.
Come now with me to Sparrow Brook,
its feltish water softing,
and sit with me upon its bank
with honeysuckle wafting.
The ice has cracked and melted free
and washed away to sea,
and left this fluorious, fine Spring day
to us--just you and me.
The big event of the year at our cub scout pack--verily, in most cub scout packs around the country--is the annual Pinewood Derby. Each scout gets to carve his own little car from a 6-inch by two-inch (or thereabouts) block of wood. There are quite a few rules, and some families go nuts trying to make their car just that much faster than the others. Races are often determined by just a few thousandths of a second.
When I was a boy, I was in cub scouts for a total of about three months, and I hated every minute of it except
The next year, our path was clear. To win the design/workmanship trophy, skill was required. So that was right out. To win the races with speed, patience was required. Forget that. But originality--that was right up my alley.
So now both Dudley boys have two originality trophies from our pinewood derby. Since our pack gets about 50 cars entered each year, I think that's a pretty good track record (get it? track record? ha, ha!). Unfortunately, Sam still has two more years of the Pinewood Derby. Maybe next year I'll retire and he can do the whole thing himself. I'll just give him some glue and a pocket knife an hour or two before the race.
If I weren't married with kids, I would so totally become a groupie for Emma Anzai.
You can't really hear the song too well on this clip. It's an awesome song, though. It's called "Howard's Tale." Here it is in a playlist.com play list:
This week's words are
cadence
humble
resolve
The post-inauguration edition! Yay! I love the word cadence.
Apparently, Jason Evans liked my story.
Thank you, Jason--not only for selecting mine over some exceedingly worthy entries, but for putting up prizes, taking days and days (and days) out of your life to set it up and collect entries by email and post them and read them, and for commenting on each and every entry. It is truly a labor of love and an Herculean effort.
Other friends who placed included JaneyV, McKoala, Aerin, Precie, and Laughingwolf. Other friends who entered include Jana, Ello, and Lissa. I apologize if I missed mentioning you--please comment if you entered and I didn't put your name here! Congratulations to everyone who entered, especially to those who placed. 125 entries is a good body of competition.
See you tomorrow for Haiku Wednesday.
Friend Jim posted this link on his Facebook page. Since it was the Onion, I followed. It's probably the funnies Onion article I've ever read, and yes that's saying something significant.
Bush speech in 2001
I normally don't post just links to other places, but this was too good to pass up on inauguration day.
This week's words are
entwine
forfeit
tryst
Three words with a sort of similar sound to them.
Aerin at In Search of Giants is hosting a writer’s challenge to foster inspiration and community. It's pretty low-pressure: 1000 words a month. At the end of the year, you'll have a total of 12,000 words, which is not even half a NaNo entry. Go here to sign up!
UPDATE as of May 6, 2009: I was informed that the artist who created the original graphic that was provided for Aerin's writing challenge has popped up and sent a cease and desist letter to Aerin. I couldn't really care as I really thought the graphic ugly to begin with, but since I thought my friend Aerin had created it, I kept my mouth shut. The above graphic is most definitely NOT the graphic in question; the offending graphic has been removed, and this one put in its place. Does it violate someone's copyright? Hmm. Prove it.
You still have a day (update on Jan 14: TODAY!) or so to enter Jason Evans' tenth writing contest. 250 words or fewer, inspired by the photo on his blog. Get the details and read the other 80 entries here.
I have just now sent in my entry. After Jason puts it up, I will edit this post to indicate the number of the entry and include a link to it on his site. For now, you can amuse yourself by (a) visiting the link above and reading the 80 existing entries, and (b) reading my submission below.
Update on Jan 14: My entry is #90.
The photo that is used as the base for the story, shown here, was provided by Jason.
Sliding
by Peter Dudley
I’m tired. I look at my skinny, motionless fingers in my lap, the black nail polish. The quivering is only in my mind.
I shouldn’t be here, sitting with this old Trader Joe’s bag lady waiting for the number 52. My skin prickles, billions of tiny needles, with every thump of my heart. The 52 is late as always. Just like a year ago when Shade picked me up and took me to that party where I got high for the first time. Shade calls me a lot these days, but I don’t answer even though I want to.
Shade’s black Acura slithers up, its thumping music driving my pulse. The window slides down. “Hey Dicey.” Flash of pearls and gold in his smile. “Hop in, girl.”
I stand and take one step, dizzy in desire and need. The door swings out, opened by someone inside, unseen. A promise of painless bliss entices me, but I know Hell awaits. I glance at the bag lady. Her shriveled pomegranate face looks tired, and scared.
I step back up on the curb and shake my head. “Two months sober, Shade.” My steady fingers dial
Probably not what you thought... I actually have been paid for three short stories in recent years and also some nonfiction, but my first-ever payment for fiction (and poetry) was waaaayyyy back in college. I happened to receive my check and contributor copies while my mother was visiting, so she made me pose with it. I'm glad now she did. Who has a photo of their first fiction payment?
This was for a poem and short story that appeared in a publication called "The Missing Link," which was the 1988 version of the UC Berkeley Engineer's Week publication. I don't know if they still do this or not, but it was your garden variety fiction and poetry literary one-shot magazine... with the addition of technical papers, engineering cartoons, and things like that. 1988 was the first year they opened it up to all students at Cal. I was in the Engineering school anyway, so had I known about it I could have submitted the prior year as well. I also got a short story (much better than the 1988 story) and poem into the 1989 version as well, but I don't recall getting paid for that. At left is the cover of the 1988 issue; below is a scan of my poem that appeared in the 1988 version. Hey, I was only 20 at the time, I think.
This week's words are
deception
panic
scheme
Intriguing words today. Possibly more appropriate for an election year, but really they're a timeless combination.
I finally retrieved the power cable for my camera and was able to transfer the photos to my laptop. I have only a few. I should have taken more of the inside of the beautifully redone, 160-year-old farmhouse and barn. It's got five bedrooms, and although it doesn't have a spacious feel, its coziness is more than comfortable and never feels cramped. Except when you're trying to fit 13 people at the dining table and have to use two wing chairs to complete the seating. Then it's a little tight.
First, way back before we even got to Connecticut, Captain Mike let my boys into the cockpit for a tour. Ethan (the tall one) got to change an indicator light bulb and program the autopilot. Sam (the short one) got to sit in the pilot's chair but didn't touch anything. It was way cool for both of them.
When we got to Vermont, the weather was mostly gray and overcast, and there was already over a foot of snow on the ground. The weather warmed up and actually rained one day--it was over fifty degrees when we had most of our snowball fights. The sunny pictures below are on the day we left, when it was only 20 degrees but beautifully clear and decidedly gusty.
Looking up the road from the driveway. Yes, it's a dirt road.
Looking down the road from across the street. Still a dirt road.
The boys resting after one of our many epic snowball battles.
He's about to throw that across the pond at me, but there's no way he could make it from there. The pond extends back behind him and is formed by a dam out of frame to my left. The pond was frozen over enough to walk across, but we did not ice skate. It wasn't THAT safe.
Standing at the top of our sledding hill (which slopes down to the right), looking back at the barn and the house. The pond is behind me about 50 yards.
Uncle helps Sam get snow out of his boot and then retie them tighter. With trees and a stream at the bottom of the sledding hill, we do a lot of bailing out at high speed. Snow tends to find its way inside garments.
Just the back of the house, one more time. The windowless section is the back of the garage. In the summer, the meadow is hip-high in grasses and wildflowers and various Vemont things. The neighbor mows part of it with his tractor (my parents do not live here full time). The smallish tree right near the house is some sort of apple, and it attracts deer. Although we did not see any, we saw tracks left during the night.
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