Writing 101 – Assignment #13 – The Third Eye: 203-Word Story

The Third Eye

Mrs. Labno was a small woman. Short and petite with a splash of hip. It would not have occurred to me that she was mid-wife to my third eye. That this little lady would lend it to me all small and delicate and black, and I cherished the way it hung from my neck like a giant eye engraved in my chest. I wasn’t an alien but I had transformed. One minute I was in class and the next I was at an assembly. I could record twice as much information and move between space like the wind. No one saw me coming. It wasn’t until later that they saw how I invaded their privacy, catching their mouths in the middle of conversations and freezing basketballs mid-air before they reached the hoop. Cheerleaders died when I separated their teeth and caught the gum underneath their tongues. No one was safe. The optical controls were far more attentive than my other two and the vibration reduction kept the images still that wished to crawl away. I was a junior in High School when I joined the yearbook team and Mrs. Labno introduced me to photography. I would forever uphold passion for the third eye.

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Writing 101: Assignment #11 – Update Your Readers – If We Were Having Coffee Right Now

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If we were having coffee right now…I would not take you to Starbucks. Or dunkin donuts. I would instead invite you to my home where our voices would carry from the kitchen table to the living room sofa, where there are no TVs for a reason (you’d have to go in the TV room for that). And after coasting our mugs and dimming the lamp, which we don’t need much of because of the morning sun, I would bring my legs in and dig into the sofa. I’d probably grab the couch pillow and here we would begin.

If we were having coffee right now… I would ask you if you like the way I redecorated the blog. I don’t usually experiment with themes too much but I wanted to move the furniture to the right side of the room and make my pages more visible. I fell in love with this really cute peach and white button theme. If you’re a guy I would ask you why you just rolled your eyes.

If we were having coffee right now…I would ask you about your favorite post and if my quantity of posts annoys you. I think we’ll laugh about this for a while until you begin to annoy me and I change the subject. “What’s your favorite kind of posts? Poetry? Quotes? Short stories?” Speaking of poetry I really miss the Open Mic. I would like to go back to the stage sometime in the near future. You’re welcomed to come see me perform.

If we were having coffee right now…I would tell you how excited I am for my end of the year road trip. I’ll be visiting a mom of mine in Roswell New Mexico, a place I’ve never been. I will tell you that we’re planning a sleepover and that I’m very excited. I’ll probably start smiling really big because going to see mom means I have an excuse to be a kid again. You would probably smile before rolling your eyes because I am now reaching for the photo album. This could go on forever.

If we were having coffee right now… I would tell you about the 3rd Installment of my short story trilogy called Stella, which releases in February. I would take you back down memory lane, passed the cotton fields of the first Stella and beyond the colored line of her granddaughter the second Stella and smack down in the middle of the road where we look at the life of Joseph McNair, Stella’s son. (Please see the home page to see what this book is about). I’m excited  to get my book over to the editor before I conduct my final proofread. I’m still trying to decide on a venue for the release party and book signing. Speaking of book signing, I intentionally decided to wait until after I finished the series to have one for Stella.  So I’m looking to do an event where I can discuss all the books. I’m really behind far as planning goes but I hope to have more event details prepared by next month. I’m also planning to attend the Black History Month Parade in Atlanta in February. So now I’m not sure if I want to release it there or here at home. In any event, I have to finish counting up the cost so I can start my fundraiser. I am also still working on my business plan. Time permitting I can get that finished by next year as well so I can get the ball rolling on looking into some grants.  We’ll see where that goes.

If we were having coffee right now… I would offer you a business card and thank you for hanging out with me and offer you more coffee before we wrapped things up. We stand, laughing like two college friends because your funny. We’d stroll over by the coat hanger and, if you’re a woman, we’ll both have our hands on our hips with our heads tilted slightly to engage in more conversation. By the time we do make it to our jackets we only just open the door. We’ll probably talk a bit more before actually walking through it. If your a man who is married to my new lady friend I’d ask you if you would mind warming the car. You’ll do it. We all know this could go on forever.

If we were having coffee right now… I would wave goodbye to my new blog friend who was so kind as to meet me in person, in my home, over a cup of coffee.

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Writing 101 – Assignment #10: Let The Scene Write Itself –Artificial Life

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I walked around the neighborhood for today’s assignment. Something I haven’t done in a long time. I did not rush or hurry back to this computer screen to publish my thoughts. I wanted to make sure to capture everything. But before I walked I decided to sit on the porch for a while and in doing so I ran into the sun. He was rude about it really. Everywhere I positioned my chair there he was, all up in my face. Finally, I gave him my attention.

“Hello there Sun.”

“Do you feel that heat?” said Mr. Sun.

“Yea, I do.”

“Go inside the house,” he said.

“OK,” Mr. Sun.

I walked back into my house and it was warm. But it was a different kind of warm. It was cool out this morning and my house was cozy, but it felt stuffy and artificial compared to the heat of the sun.

“Ah”, I said to myself. “I get it now.”

I walked back out and moved my chair so that the sun was no longer beaming down on me. There. Now I can sit and drink my coffee. After a while of silent sitting, I noticed that I could not hear the wind. The machines, garbage trucks, and electronics that power the buildings and apartment complexes were too loud. “Why can’t I hear the wind?” I thought.

“You have to concentrate,” said a voice.

“Where are you?” I knew it was the wind.

“Listen and you’ll find me.”

“OK, I said and I focused my eyes on the trees so that I can listen for the wind. I know that the wind blows the trees and I saw the wind blow the trees, but I could not hear her. And then, suddenly there was a soft whistle. I smiled a big smile. “There you are!” I can hear you! I can really hear the wind blowing over the machines!” This is not made up by the way. I really heard the wind, and like a chorus locusts and birds began to sing.

“Hey! Hey you! Over here.”

I turned to my right.

A dog was barking my way. I’m sure he was talking to me. He was all the way across the street but there was no one else around. Yes, I’m sure he was talking to me.

“Hey! Good Morning Mr. Doggy.”

“You see me? See? Hey you, over here.”

“I see you Mr. Doggy.

“Hey Hey! Hey you! See? You see me yet?”

“I see you,” I said.

I ignored the dog. He kept asking if I saw him. By now I was almost finished with my coffee and it would be time to walk about. I started to notice people leave their houses but there was something about them. No one said a word. They all seemed fixed on one thought. Getting to work.

“Hmmm,” I thought. I wondered what led each person to his or her location. A man walked up the steps to his apartment. “Hmmm”, I thought. I wonder what his life is like, what led him to come back. Maybe he forgot his wallet. No, he’s way too calm. It was something else. Maybe he was killing time. It was hard to tell. His face was expressionless. He didn’t sing like the birds. In fact, the people I saw weren’t interesting at all. Yea, it’s time to start my walk.

I recruited the company of my new friends. Mr. Sun proudly rose to the occasion, Ms. Wind was already in front of me and the insects said they would catch up later but to tell the other insects that they said hi. I promised I would.

As I walked, the people I saw were poker-faced. Vacant. No one smiled. No one spoke. No one sung. I suddenly wished I was back on my front porch. At least there was life among the elements. Most of the early risers just stared at me. They were not living. They just existed. They seemed to wait to me. To be told what to do. Waiting for someone to explain to them how to live. Meanwhile, I heard more singing from the insects and the birds.

“Hey, the birds back at the apartments said hi.”

They responded with a song. Wish I knew the words. I’d be happy to sing along. No, the people would think I’m crazy. I kept walking.

I saw a Chinese man trimming his grass. He waved.

“Good Morning” I said.

Never mind. I don’t think he speaks English.

Finally, I sensed liveliness in front of me. A woman was taking her daughter to school and the little girls energy reached me before she did. It was refreshing.

“How you doing?” said the woman. Her question was muffled and her downcast eyes ignored my response.

“I’m well, how are you?”

But it was too late, the routine courtesy was done and the woman had already moved on. Suddenly, her little girl turned around as they walked. Her smile dimmed the sun a bit. I’m sure he was jealous and would tell me about it when we got back to the porch. The little girl held up two fingers. It was the peace sign.

“Peace! Two peace!” she said as she skipped along.

“Hey!” I said.

I smiled big and kept walking. I decided to stop half-way down the next block and turn around. It was time to go back home. There is life in this world after all.

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Writing 101: Assignment #7 – Social Media Inspiration: The Best of Both Worlds

https://twitter.com/BluMarTen/status/605128443475456001

“Whatever”, Tasha spoke under her breath and logged out of her twitter account. It amazed her how exactly those few words had summed up her life. Technology was a trip.

Curtis
“Hello love”

Tasha
Not a good time

Tasha slid the smart phone under the covers as her husband entered the room.

“Hey babe,” he said planting a kiss on her lips. She watched him walk away. Completely compact with everything she’d ever wanted in a man. As he slipped out of his shirt she took the opportunity to admire the dark chocolate, toned physique of her child’s father. Standing 6’1 the man had beauty and brains and had swept her off her feet ten years ago and everything else had been storybook. In less than a year they were married, Carson was born six months after that and their combined salary afforded them the luxury of the two story house sitting comfortably between two large Oak Trees in Elmhurst Illinois. Tasha hated those trees. They had somehow become the mocking occasion of her perfect life. Attorney, wife, mother, and home owner and yet here she was, stuck between two men; both just as large and overwhelming as those trees. She’d have to remember to have at least one of them cut down. Their existence, how they mocked her very life, was too much to take.

“What time you getting off tonight?” yelled Anthony from the shower.

“Nine, this case is really kicking my butt.”

There it was. Another lie. It was her fourth lie this month. She knew because she counted. It was difficult at first, but whenever she thought about rolling around on the floor with her boss it became much much easier.

Curtis was nothing like Anthony and that reality was perhaps one of her greatest fears. More so than the betrayal, the lies, even more so than the sex was that these men couldn’t be any more different. It was that, their differences, that Tasha feared even more so than getting caught. She smiled wickedly. Why did the thought excite her so? She’d built trust with Anthony and now she capitalized on that trust. Taking advantage of their years she played the men like strings. Pulling and tugging on their position in her life and manipulating the occasion.

Tasha met Curtis when she was just an intern at Curtis & Law and he was well aware that she was married. Tasha preferred it this way and often beamed with satisfaction. If ever there was an occasion to sleep around she’d found it. If ever there was a secret to deceit, she’d cracked the code. Her life with Anthony was secure and she made it clear she would never divorce him. Curtis was OK with that and vowed that their time together was nothing more than a thing.

Curtis
Tash, you there?

Tasha scrambled to mute the text alert before it became noticeable. One downfall to cheating was extreme paranoia. Tasha was sure the muffled sound could be heard through the sound of the Shower and peeking down at the screen she rolled her eyes. This was starting to get old real fast. He knew he had no right to call her that. Only Anthony called her “Tash”. But Curtis had professed his love last night and somehow thought it gave him free reign to be the first man in her life. She thought she’d made it very clear that would never happen. “Maybe I should just call off”, thought Tasha. The dread of the workplace had become intense. Any occasion to which she had to see his face in public sent her cascading through mental turmoil and she felt she would explode.

“In our universe a star explodes and dies every single second..”

“Hmm,” thought Tasha, “Is this what death feels like?”

Anthony was her everything. Her love and her heart broke at the thought of what this would do to him if he ever found out and yet, the thought was quickly erased by another lie.

“Please, I’m tripping. Men do this all the time”, she told herself to soothe the bruise of adultery seeping from her pores.

Anthony walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and another one he used to dry his hair. “Goodness, that’s a beautiful man.” Tasha said to herself.

Curtis
Meet me at the spot, 1 hour

Startled, Tasha scrambled to answer her text.

“Tell Curtis you’ll be late this morning”, smiled Anthony, seductively approaching his wife.

Tasha smiled a wicked smile. Poor Ant, he would never know. It amazed her how color had such an impact on the way people saw the world. Anthony would never suspect a culprit in the proper, brown haired, blue eyed Caucasian that is his wife’s boss.

Tasha
I need a few hours. (wink)

Curtis

OK love.

Who needed worlds? Tasha had both.

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Forced Post

Blank notepad and pencil

You feed yourself on unrest, as the words slide through the creative pockets of your thoughts for a chance to make it onto the page. The thirst for its shadow will not leave you to ponder the body of an elegant post. Will not wait for you to soar into the heavens and back down again to at least tickle the funny bone of those listening reading-these soulful melodies, these crafty closed forms or these smiling similes.

They say that patience is a virtue but dear post, you are obviously far too anxious. Time ticks away the sorrow of accelerated thoughts as this moment is snatched away by the whistling hurry of your footsteps. I can hear the coughing warnings of immature images and symbols just waiting for a chance to spread themselves over the white area of WordPress readers. I didn’t know thoughts could be so open. Fingers just itching to dabble in the beating of keyboards, to fulfill the empty space with black ink and collective letters that makes no sense. They are only there because you need them to be. And where would I sit with these words? With these thoughts scattered all over the bed? Who will clean this up for me? Is it you? Will you vouch for me? Can I count on you to explain the degradation of an unequal post?

While I wish to linger an instant longer within the creative workspace of these meditations, it is the forced post that entices me to distribute half talent and fragmented passion but I choose to wait until the creative energy renews itself. For ideas to blossom into something of value before obligating myself to this blog. Why snatch away the inspiration from a beating heart? I have not the water to waste on these words. My cup is only half full. I can’t be spilling stuff all over the place. I will wait.

Rest

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I wanna turn off my brain. Not completely, just enough to gather my breath and lay it at the head of the bed….a temporary moment to which renewal finds itself back to my pillow; to which I may die, and in the same second be reborn. I want my eyes to bow in submission to my bones, and my soul to fall slowly to the contours of this mattress….and for a second pretend that the world has crumbled around me. For a second, for just a moment, let me lay my body at the foot of sleep’s doorstep, pretend to swim with the clouds, and in the same moment…. taste of rejuvenation’s delicacies.

Butterfly, My First Writing Love

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Where do I trace the birth of this longing? I have not photographic memory as many do, nor do I remember the exact moment I said, “I want to be a writer”. And as I ponder this history of mine, the thunder growls and the winds roar. The skies darken this very moment and hover around this building; leaning its body against my windowsill and making my living room look like evening time. I like it like this really. To hear the thunder roar in the midst of the quiet and the skies darken. It has a calming effect on me. The appearance of lightening is a chance to see pure light, and the sound of horns is a reminder of great power. But I digress. Really I just think they must be excited, just as anxious to discover this mystery. A collection of horns and quarter notes gather from beyond the clouds and deep inside the galaxy, shouting melodiously. The floor beneath me pulsates and sends shivers up my spine. Meanwhile, raindrops tap dance against the roof. Perhaps the scream of heaven is prompting me to remember. I do remember the first time I had the material to organize my writing. I do remember my first journal. I do remember my first writing love.

I was just about to turn fifteen, and though by then I’ve been writing for some time, I had not the care of keeping things organized. I wrote at will and on whatever pieces of paper I could find. But the close of eighth grade presented me an opportunity to confide in that pretty pink booklet with the blue sparkling butterfly on the front. I purchased it in Cincinnati Ohio during our eighth grade school trip. I spotted it at Claire’s, a store at the mall, over in the corner and it was a unique version of many of the journals I had seen in Chicago or anywhere. Somehow I didn’t think I would find it anywhere else in the world. As my peers busied themselves in appropriate teenage endeavors, my pupils danced in delight. Immediately upon seeing it I had to take it home. And I must say it dressed up well for our first date. The pink was fluffy and soft; my fingers found comfort when they slept on top the cotton. The butterfly on top shone bright like the dye was squeezed from fresh blueberries, and to top it off there were little diamonds imbedded in its wings. It wasn’t a diary so there was no lock and key. Nor did I use it as such, but it holds some of my early poems. In fact, I pretty much just used it for poetry, and maybe a journal entry or two here and there. When it opened, the euphoria of opportunity greeted me with the smell of fresh ink, and elegantly curved lines. It wouldn’t be long after this that I would begin my collection of journals and notebooks, but none of them would compare to the first. Butterfly was that first real writing love. The rest were merely copies. And as you can see, I still have it, though it is obviously not as beautiful as it once was. I think I’ll give it to my daughter one day. Maybe. OK well, let me just flip through it first.