Futures

The month of April is National Poetry Writing Month, NaPoWriMo to take the NaNoWriMo style of things, and I have in the past been very involved in it. I wanted to be this year as well, and had every intention of doing it, but this year so far I have been so busy most days that I haven’t wanted to do much of anything besides knit and/or crochet and listen to podcasts. I considered doing at least haiku each day, but I didn’t get started, and really, I don’t really want to start a full week in.

I do have the writing urge, though. I want to get back to it, when I have time. I don’t have as much time to myself though. I work 40 hours a week, and often stay up later and thus sleep in later than I probably should. I haven’t had much on my mind specifically to write about either, and I suppose that’s part of my problem too.

It’s already April. Three months into the year. Business is picking up at work, which is good, though I have strong doubts that it will stay this way. This seems the sort of business that runs in cycles. So I’m enjoying this cycle, and putting a little away for the next dip. Maybe when things slow down, I’ll feel a bit more like spending time writing. Or maybe when this baby blanket I’m making for my sister’s new baby due this month is done, I’ll spend more time writing instead of crocheting.

I received from my sister a lot of my mother’s writing, and from one of my aunts several of her letters from when she was in her junior or senior year in high school. I read over it a bit, and found that she had a voice of her own. She also had a tendency to write from her life. The poetry I read was rather interestingly close to some of my own, thematically. I was reminded just how much I am like her. Her novel (though it’s hardly enough to really be considered a novel) is typewritten, on real paper from that era, and part of me wants to just publish it as is. Even if I just have a copy made for myself, my siblings, and any of my relatives who want one.  I don’t want to change my mothers voice with my own. But I also am afraid that in order to be readable, it needs editing. I will have to go back to it when I feel able. I’m not yet.

I will get back to writing. It will happen. Writing is in me, but it’s just not something I can do halfway. I have to be able to put myself into it, and at the moment I can’t do that, so it will percolate. It may come out a bit here and there when I have more time to sit in my office and write instead of listening to the many podcasts I listen to and working on knitting/crocheting/spinning projects. I think it’s okay for it to percolate a while, though.

April Writing Prompts

1. new beginnings

2. so cold

3. punk rocker

4. first love

5. swing set

6. haunted

7. odd jobs

8. cooking

9. a promise

10. culture shock

11. don’t waste your time

12. game console

13. a stack of boxes

14. __________ changed everything

15. temptations

16. suburban sprawl

17. a portrait

18. science

19. it is elegant

20. a house in the country

21. a law student

22. sick in bed

23. garden spirit

24. privacy

25. cantankerous old __________

26. jewelery

27. more than expected

28. at the top

29. child of mine

30. rabid dog

March Writing Prompts

1. candle

2. in a catalog

3. tie-dye

4. neighbors

5. cold day

6. favorite

7. tea cup

8. royalty

9. rumormongers

10. a gourmet chef

11. rigid beliefs

12. absolute discord

13. it occurred to me…

14. childless

15. goodness

16. direct opposites

17. rooster

18. essence

19. a collection

20. rapid breakdown

21. silence

22. take a chance

23. stubborn old mule

24. eyes of blue

25. picking oneself up

26. an artist

27. listen to the song

28. simple thoughts

29. rebellion

30. candy apple red

31. chatter

February Writing Prompts

1. find the solution

2. it is red

3. something you heard your friend say

4. trained to do it

5. an issue you care about

6. country field

7. take it away

8. it’s gigantic

9. very subtle

10. dreaming again

11. that’s the plan

12. a great man

13. do not tell

14. a gray coat

15. revenge

16. digging for treasure

17. dancing

18. play a game

19. apple tree

20. good medicine

21. impossible

22. intense clarity

23. a bird cage

24. say it again

25. can’t be sure

26. ribbons

27. human spirit

28. renaissance woman

29. extra spice

January Writing Prompts

1. suitably warm

2. candy apple red

3. I didn’t go there

4. why didn’t it happen to me?

5. shreds of doubt

6. can’t be

7. where will it be found?

8. three reasons

9. chance

10. essence of __________

11. black horse

12. heartstrings

13. another day

14. the color yellow

15. eyes that can’t see

16. renovate

17. chocolate

18. wild child

19. driving north

20. China

21. it’s time to __________

22. don’t laugh

23. rosemary

24. something new

25. pyramid

26. __________ at night

27. many pages

28. floating

29. wood

30. something witnessed

31. on a hill

December Writing Prompts

1. prancing ponies

2. a yellow cloth

3. time to __________

4. no remorse

5. file folder

6. moving away

7. a cave

8. taking chances

9. ice cream

10. on an island

11. no organization

12. food

13. compassion

14. lost again

15. he walked by

16. in the shed

17. envelope

18. an open magazine

19. stacks

20. a small notebook

21. timer

22. don’t go there

23. aquarium

24. surprises

25. community

26. aftermath

27. raindrops

28. to be free

29. strange children

30. what you see

31. being bold

NaNoWriMo: Snowfall (Excerpt)

Malinda’s eyes widened and she found her mouth suddenly dry. It took her a moment to find her voice, and when she did at last speak it was hesitant. “Bastet,” she said, as though not sure it was possible. An Egyptian goddess incarnate, standing in her living room?

“Indeed so, Malinda Rae. Do you not offer homage to me?” asked the goddess incarnate standing before the fire still. “Do you not ask my blessings upon the fullness of the moon?”

The witch was still at a loss for words. Esmerelda broke the silence with a plaintive meow which caused Malinda to giggle. “I’m sorry. I’m just not very used to goddesses appearing in my home,” she said finally.

Bastet nodded, her slitted eyes betraying a kind spirit. “I know, though I suspect you will need to get used to it rather swiftly, my dear. That child who Osiris claimed on your steps left you with a charge, and I fear you accepted it.”