500 WAD Challenge #3

Switzerland, Panorama, Mountains, Landscape, Sunrise

I skipped yesterday(This was actually handwritten last week. In fact it was written last Saturday.  I am just typing it up now) and well on my way to skipping today’s 500 word challenge.  Facebook.  Tumblr porn.  Checking email.  What is it about this constant need to check all of these things.  Things.  It is a terrible word.  But they are things.  Social media is what they are often termed.  And there is media there and socializing.  But it is more.  There is a draw-a need-to continuously check and re-check to see if anyone has commented, or liked, or shared your post.

For the longest time I didn’t have a smart phone.  And when I was on the computer social media sites weren’t where I hung out.  I didn’t understand people’s obsession with checking Facebook, or Tumblr, or what have you.  I was smug, certain I would never be so foolish.  For it seemed so foolish.  I smartly kept my smugness to myself.

I find myself craving likes, re-blogs, follows, and shares.  I find myself checking, and rechecking, and wondering why someone I tagged hasn’t liked my post.  No ha ha face or LMAO!.  Where’s my adoration?!?  My followers have you left me? At long last have you found decency and a life?

Before the smart phone, I could sleep; I could read.  I could read three books in as many days.  I could even squeeze in some writing in between moments  of angst, work, depression, and napping-with an occasional Godzilla, or Kung Fu movie thrown in.(I still check USA Network to see if they have brought back Kung Fu Theatre.  They haven’t yet, but El Rey Network has brought it back, at least two days a week.  Thank you El Rey Network.)

Part of it is I can’t just jack-off and be with it for awhile-clean the system out as it were.  Nope.  I live with my parents and it’s difficult to tug out a load, whenever. Instead I just Tumblr porn which builds up anxiety and presumably sperm count, all with no release.

Right now I’m tugged by a desire to check my phone.  Has anyone contacted me?  How are my posts doing?

I flirt with way too many people on Tumblr and often I will blast contacts with smiley faces on phone list and Tumblr, and on FB I will tag one, or two people.  And wait-anxiously.  Wait for contact, for a message.  I want to flirt-coyly, nastily.  Flirt with me.  I want to fantasy about us.  I’m alone with my thoughts, my hand, and the phone and remote.  What a terrible existence!

I wake up wanting to change. But I love to send nasty, flirty texts too much.  I want to see my favorite AV models. I want to dream of lying in bed with her, or him, or trans her. Some dreams we are a couple; other times, we are a slithering mass of limbs, and tongues, and bites, and growls.

I want to brush your golden hued torso with my lips.  I dream to caress your oh so tanned legs. And kiss behind your knees. I wish to lazily dram hearts on your arm and back, with my finger tip.  I desire to leave a wet trail with my tongue, down your back-to cleft of your booty.  And then down into the canyon rimmed by those browned, sun kissed, cheeks.  I want to bury my face into you, to breath you.  The funk of you lingers. I want to breath the gorgeous of you, your perfumed parts and your stank places.  Lay here.

Lay here-as I explore your glamorous self with kisses, and touches.  I close my eyes, so my other senses can take in our coming together.  I want to hear our bodies meet.  I want to taste our lusty spirits, our crashing together.

I’m the beach, let your waves wash over me.  Throw your spray into the air.  Your scent covers my nostrils.  I never want to smell anything else.  I want you to sweat and cum on my bed covers.

Later I want to open the door to my house and only smell you. Us.

The phone is in my hand.  I’m swiping up, looking for us.


500 WAD Challenge #2

So I want to run a food cart.  I must be crazy.  Long Hours. So much work to do-prep, cook, clean, wait, smile.  Problems.  So many problems-money flying out the door to landlord, government entities, suppliers.

Daily people show up wanting more.  Promising to fix my problems.  They show up at lunch time. Do people not realize lunch time is a busy time?  You want my biz come back later.  Call before lunch.  Set-up a time for after lunch.

Yogurt, Fruits, Blackberries, Currants

You want to help solve my problems?  Help me get revenue coming in quickly, so I can pay everyone. I can pay them without cashing in savings, or putting it on my credit cards.  I appreciate the hustle but I am probably not interested, in whatever solution you are peddling.  I need revenue-to pay bills, buy supplies.  I want to work for myself, not work this as a side hustle and still work for someone else.

It’s scary.  Open the doors and will the customers materialize?  I’ve done my homework, put up flyers, outreach in the community, social media presence and blitz.  I am in a good pod and the recipes are tasty.  The food looks scrumptious.  Scrumptious!

We eat with our eyes first.  I’ve got beautiful pictures of finished dishes.  The food was primped and polished-like a super model.  Airbrushed-like a porn star.  Leaving behind a perfect image of what could be possible, of what we will come close to producing for you.

Yep my food porn pics adorn my cart. They call out, seductively to hungry tummies, searching through hungry eyes.  Look!  These pics will seduce you.  Come closer.  The smell tickles your nostrils.  Come.  You are almost there.  Take my food.  Coyingly, I offer my efforts to you.

My pictures of food look like made up tarts.  Choose.  My efforts on all fronts whisper to you.  I’ve slipped my camisole off my shoulder as it were.  Come take me to your heart, your mouth.  Devour me.  Attack me with teeth and lips and hungry eyes.  Let me survive another day.

Gorge upon my offerings and regurgitate your love of me, to friends, acquaintances, and lovers.  I am not jealous.  I feed all.  I am an equal opportunity pleaser. Let me seduce you.  Let me survive another day.

Step right up.  You won’t believe your nose.  Your eyes devour my offerings, my sandwiches, my tall cool drinks.  Touch me.  Fondle my offerings.  Allow me to survive another day.

Come join my table.  I will sustain you.  Comfort you.  Seduce you.  Your mouth closes upon my offerings and loves me already.  Tingling.  Exotic. I offer you my all, my throat in sandwich form.  Devour me.  Love me.  Allow me to survive another day.

500 Words a Day-A New Attempt

I’ve let this go.  I’ve avoided it for months now.

At first, it was exciting, like a new love.  Tingles every morning.  Excitement raced through fingers.  It was striking into the unknown.  Discovery was around the corner.  There!  A new character.  An unexpected line.

Ideas came rushing in before I sat, before I even picked up a pen.

Yet, I lose them.  I lose so many ideas.  Replaced by distraction.  Dogs bark at shadows.  They sit in windows. Staring. Staring at the street, at the cul-de-sac.  Where little happens, but if a leaf moves, a plant titters in the breeze, the alarm is raised.  A racket, a ruckus, noise and fury signifying less-than-nothing breaks out.

Perhaps it’s too quiet for the dogs.  They bark, grunt, or howl to show they are alive.  Yet it distracts.

The noise pieces my skull.  It’s painful.  It angers me.  I’m working here you scamp.  You rascal, full of rascalisum.

That’s what you are.  What they are.  For there are four of them. All rescues.  All rascals.

Perhaps they could be a cartoon series: The Rescue Rascals.  Or a band: The Rascals of Rescue.  Pundits with a book: Rescuing History’s Rascals:The unorthodox Trouble Makers Who Made the World Better (or made the world worse).  Or added humor to the world.  Or upset the hierarchy which sucks now if you aren’t in the upper echelon.

Then the other distractions pile on, some my own doing.  Anxiety over writing.  Will it be good enough?  No.  The answer is always no.  Followed by the command go eat.  Because I don’t chew tobacco any more.  God I miss it. So I eat now.  And nothing tastes good, or sounds good.  So I eat everything.  I taste it all.  Then my mother needs help.  She has Parkinson’s and needs assistance.  Run things down the stairs, baskets of clothes. Or boxes of extra food.  Empty boxes for clean clothes.  Or bring things up.  Help hook up bra.  Carry heavy items.  Well they aren’t very heavy, but if more than a couple of pounds I need to carry.  I need to cook something or she will eat ice cream sandwiches. Yes my step-dad helps but often he is gone to meetings, or what have you.  And she will ask “Can you make more coffee?”  Or sun tea.  Can I take her shopping.  And I do.  And I will again.

But let me sit a minute, for that feeling may come.  It may take me again. Tingle once again in my finger.  The sluggishness in my brain is banished for a moment.  Let me sit a moment in my other worlds.  Worlds where rights are not harmed (at least for long).  Good deeds are rewarded.  Nefarious men get their commupence.  Women like my mother get equal pay, are respected for their work, and are promoted.  And those bosses, and people who do other than the right thing are ridiculed, punished, shunned, shamed and mocked.  Diseases are conquered.  My mother’s pain doesn’t exist.  Nor does anyone elses’.

Give me a moment there.  So I can come back here and face down the day’s pain and distracting things.  Let me sit, enjoying a bully getting bullied. I’m tired of getting bullied.  But I am scared to stand up.  I’m brave in this other world, even as I sit and watch.  I am brave.  I feel it.  I know it.  I will always do the right thing, here in this other place.  While in the real world, I do what I can, as I quake with terror.




Generating Worlds D&D Style

So I came across the idea of one-roll dungeon generator.  I think if was a post by D&D on Facebook.  And the link went to here.

I saw Brian Holland’s One-roll Generator spreadsheet and I was like I can use this for writing exercises.  With Brian’s spreadsheets(there are four different generators) you have to do a little work, i.e. roll the die.

There is another site here where you don’t have to do much.

And still more here.

Part of the problem I often face is not knowing where to start.  And instead of diving in, I flounder.  I understand there is no right answer, or right place to start.  However, i just freeze and lock up as the pen hovers about the blank white page.

I can get some things down.  I can’t make list of things I don’t know.  Lists of books to read.  And lists of names.  But making it come together for a first draft, that is proving difficult.

With these generators I can let randomness decide where to start.  (The only problem is I might just keep punching the generate button.  I might not get anything done).

Writing Prompts

I came across an article some time back and it talked about Kazkhstan was going to build a new capitol.  They were going to spend 30 Billion dollars on it.  The old capitol was called Almaty and the new one is called Astana.  It is a catchy name.

If you needed to make a new capitol in one of your stories, what would you do different from the old capitol?  What would be new?  What would you spend most of the money on?  Infrastructure? Government buildings? Presidential house?  Religious houses?  What would the lay out be?  Circular?  Walls of protection? or Imprisonment?

Would a secret society build the city?  Would it be practical or extravagant?  Would native vegetation be used, or would it be shipped in?  Is the site a better site than the old capitol?

There are so many ways to look at building a new capitol.  Have fun and share below in comments.

Happy Writing.


Writing Prompts Again

I have collected more than a baker’s dozen of writing prompts through the years.  They have been collected on the hope that they would help a story develop, or contribute to characters’ depth, and three dimensional build-up.

Yet for the most part they have languished in files, folders, binders, and notebooks.  They have collected dust, and tears. They have served as a reminder that I have put off today what I should have done.

Plans have been made, regarding these collected prompts.  Great plans.  The best plans.  I have taken them to coffee shops, and workshops, and libraries.  When it comes time to put to use, I find some other activity to engage in, usually sexting, or reading blogs.  This in turn leads to frustration, and depression and anger.  But I fail to scold myself for not following through.

This particular plan of using the prompts as blog posts has been a dream in waiting for at least 3 years. Why wait so long?  There is no one answer.  Most I am ashamed to admit to, i.e. depression, work, the ease and comfort of the chair which is planted in front of the T.V. Obsessive compulsion to watch said T.V.  Various bad habits I have fallen into-sexting, porn, nervous eating, anxiousness when it comes to writing.  I get up, walk into the kitchen, open the refrigerator, mindlessly root around for something that is tasty.  That something is usually unhealthy.  So, I debate myself on consuming it now, or when I return in 20 minutes.  Or debate whether to eat half, or to eat the unhealthy option now and only eat healthy options the rest of the day.  Sometimes, I can shut the fridge before I grab any food.  But more often than not the battle is lost.  There is no real hunger.  It is anxious hunger.  My mind is worried about all the terrible things the wider world will surely say about what I write.  What I will write.  What I have written.  Therefore whatever foolishness I have planned to write using these collected prompts will surely cause me pain.

But what if the pain of not doing it, becomes greater than the pain of avoidance?

I feel that is where I am.  This place, where the pain of not following through on this plan is greater than the pain of skipping it, sucks.  I can’t stand it.  I hate rolling in a blanket of depression on the bed.  I hate not being able to propel myself out of this blanket.  I hate being able to get up and go to work for someone else, but can’t gather the strength to work for myself.

Oh the frustration.

I am attempting to say enough.  I don’t know how long my strength will last in this endeavor.  Nor if I have the strength to break this cycle, to shred the blanket of depression.

All I know is that today the pain of not trying is greater than the pain of avoidance.

And so I begin.  Ever so slowly, I begin.

Creative Blocks-I Feel Them Part II

To unblock myself I took up the challenge of writing one blog post a day for a write.  I found 365 prompts on the web.  I was doing pretty well.  Then I ran into Team Melissa and that whole debacle-I will write more on this in another post.  I didn’t post for about 2 months.  Now that I am free of Team Melissa I have taken up the challenge again.

While it may be put aside if I go to summer school in England-I know myself and get caught up in new adventures and hanging out at Cambridge would be so cool, for now it is a priority.

Often as I write I am dissatisfied with the output-not the quantity but the quality.  So, I get up and walk away disgusted.  I attempt to write on another project, but the results are almost always the same.  I have been working to turn this to an advantage.

Instead of keeping at the piece until I ready to throw it in the trash, I stop as soon as I begin to grow frustrated.  I try to jump into another piece I have been working on.  I work on that until the frustration builds and move again.  So far it hasn’t been as cathartic as I hoped.  But it keeps me moving which is something, even if the movement is more sideways than forward.

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