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Tag: blog
Update: How Did You Do?
So, how was No Whining Wednesday? You can be honest. I will.
Before I do, for those new to NWW, see last weeks post HERE to understand what it is, what it’s about and how to participate. Tomorrow is our second week of the newest feature to The PBS Blog and I’m going to try to do better because I was a mess last week. I failed miserably.
AND, I didn’t even have any quarters.
You know what, I don’t even want to talk about it.
OK, OK, I will. But only because I like you. What had happend was…
I woke up that morning to a situation that brought me to tears. Not just tears but TEARS. I was balling. Here I was balled up on the floor praying away the anguish on the first day, but that’s not all.
Eventually, I decided to be a big girl about it and clean myself up because I remembered that it was No Whining Wednesday and I wasn’t supposed to be whining, let alone crying. I decided I would make pancakes before I got to work. Usually I’d just grab a cup of coffee or maybe some fruit so I was treating myself. So I thought.
This is Tuesday so I’ll get all my complaining out the way now. I hate…OK, hate is such a strong word… I dislike very much the taste of pancakes using oil. I like to use butter instead. For the twenty-nine years I’ve been on this Earth, my pancakes have always done well using butter. Except last Wednesday. They started to stick. I changed pans, thinking it was because I wasn’t using the cast iron skillet. It started to stick again and not just a little bit but like crazy. So, I started again using oil. It started to stick again. I should mention my sister in law is visiting. My plan was to make us a nice breakfast this morning (since I admittedly let her feign for herself the first night.)
My sister-in-law, awakened by the noises coming from the kitchen, walks in.
“Don’t worry, I’ll still eat them. I don’t really know how to make pancakes myself.”
“But I do! I do know how to make pancakes! Uhhgg.”
After giving the pan (the butter and the oil) a piece of my mind I remembered this was No Whining Wednesday (something I started) and that I was definitely not winning.
At the end of it all the pans started to behave themselves and my pancakes and turkey bacon came out lovely.
The rest of the day smoothed itself out and all of my locs are still here. By the end of the day Wednesday all was well. I think I even had enough time left in the day to watch a chick flick (which turned out to be whack but I didn’t complain. I’d already done enough of that.) As I think back on it now it didn’t turn out so bad (maybe I just needed to write it out?) but I definitely had a rocky start.
So, how about you? I know you did better than me.
On Fear
“Do not misunderstand me, danger is very real but fear is a choice.”
Monday food for thought. What are you REALLY afraid of?
No Punctuation
Dear Love,
your voice is the sound of pages
I’ve been waiting to read my entire life
like run on sentences
in a book too perfect to end
tell me
how do you shackle power to punctuation
If I could
I would end this poem with a period
or place a comma in the places I need
to catch my breath
but you
will only rush to the tips of my fingers
you see love
will only leak
from the pores in my skin
like the sounds of many waters
flooding its way from Noah’s Ark
you shelter me
like an infant
carefully encased in its mother’s womb
before language existed
before there was ever a need of capital letters
dear captain
you chose us
before there was a thing called history
sucking at its mother’s breast
we are nurtured by the past
to understand the future
Dear Love,
you are the answer to every question
and the sound of your mercy
is the only thing worth setting my alarm clock to
so I’ve chosen to reverence you this way
with outstretched pieces of paper
and ink pens
and a medley of words
all purposed to form the letters of your name
all destined to sing your praise
with no punctuation
no commas
or periods
or apostrophes
just run on sentences
limitless
like sign language I don’t remember learning in Public School
and while my tongue clings to the roof of my mouth
while my heart waits
I’ll write you poems
in the form of prayers
on the palms of my hands
and I’ll leave them running
like fountains of compassion
overflowing the levees of thought
I’ll leave them open
unedited
unrevised
and grammatically incorrect
so you’ll read me
like you always do
and never forget what my heart looks like
with no punctuation
because all the world has ever needed
was love.
U.S. Blogging Event Details, Poll
Whaaatt?? A blog event in my home town? Yaass!
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This week in Indie Publishing News
This week in Indie Publishing from Don.
Self-Publishing: An Insult to the Written Word or a Boon to the Industry?
In an article by author Laurie Gough titled Self-Publishing: An Insult to the Written Word, she argues that self-publishing is devaluing to the art of writing, disrespectful, and less desirable than sharing “a cabin on a Disney cruise with Donald Trump.”
A divisive statement, in more ways than one. To rub salt in the wound, the word “published” is put in quotation marks whenever used to refer to a self-published author.
Read the rest of this story HERE.
Authors offer publishing secrets
Will this be the year to finally publish your manuscript that’s been collecting dust in a desk drawer? If becoming a published author is on your list of New Year’s resolutions, check out local resources to help you reach your goals.…
Read the rest of this story HERE.
The 2017 State…
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The World We Live In
We wake up in the mornings and we go to work or we go to our office if we work from home. We get the children ready for school and send them off. Kiss our husbands. Kiss our wives. We complain about our jobs or the traffic on the way. We go to the grocery store or we log into our social media accounts. We go about our day and we don’t pay attention nor are we prepared for the time when our days are interrupted. We dream like those in movies where disaster pierces the peace of those who never expected things to be different. Open your eyes and look around. Things are different. But we do not pay attention nor are we prepared. For those who do prepare, like the old man down the street with a basement filled with extra food and water, he is crazy. Even though we don’t really know what crazy is. He’s just it. A conspiracy theorist fool. He is mocked by those who go into the grocery stores never contemplating the moment when the land may no longer produce the potatoes they so casually lift into their carts. Never expecting that one day the land won’t produce and the trucks will no longer be capable of being driven to the store to put on the shelf the Idaho potatoes we never considered won’t be there one day.
We just go about our day, writing our books, taking our pictures, building our businesses and shopping at grocery stores we’ve claimed as our own. It will always be there when we need it, we say. Our desensitization to evil has gone unnoticed. Death itself is a past time no longer cloaked under the veil of mystery but walking around openly, shaking hands and taking bets. The constant fuel of white and black relations is just the same ole, same ole song we’ve been singing since the 1960s until we look up and a race war has begun (and I don’t trust the economy can take it. The old man is wise). Who knows what may come upon this Earth or if it will be our airport next time or our minds tampered with. Who knows where the next Manchurian Candidate will come from or who will hear the voices next, but I’m talking outside the box now, I shouldn’t do that. Isn’t that right?
Just as long as we can update our Facebook pages and RT our favorite Twitterbugs, maybe post a cool picture of yesterday’s meal on Instagram, all is well. Keep walking on the wheel. Hampsters spinning. People moving in the same place. Too busy living to live. Too busy to see the world ain’t safe no more. Louisiana dropped to freezing temperatures this weekend only to go back up to the seventies this week but that doesn’t mean anything. Half the continent is in the winter months. How fitting, for the love of the world has gone cold. A change has come and no one is paying attention.
The PBS Blog 