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 Reflections and ruminations from a modern day Alice - Life is Wonderland |
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Reflections and ruminations from a modern day Alice - Life is Wonderland  Welcome to the place were I chronicle my own falls down dark holes and adventures chasing white rabbits! Come on In, Take a Bite, You Never Know What You May Find... "Curiouser and curiouser." Alice in Wonderland ** Image ID #1701066 Unavailable **   |
| 30-Day Blogging Challenge Oct 30th Start your entry with this sentence: You might not believe in ghost stories, but… You might not believe in ghost stories, but there are other things that haunt and hunt from the shadows. The horror of the things I have seen make me long for those tamer phantoms. Ghosts are bound by laws of the spirit realm. They can not possess a corporal form and their presence is a delicate balance biased in a large part, on the muscle memory of their loved ones still anchored to life. The other things, the crawling, snarling masses that share our space, have no such limitations. I have been a demon hunter since I was seventeen. The profession was unceremoniously thrust upon me after I watched one drive my Uncle straight into Hell. He took six other souls with him that day. At the end, his face was a mask of darkened rage. There was nothing left of the man who had raised me. If I gazed into his wide, dark eyes I could almost see the unthinkable thing with claws and blackened skin perching there, tearing ribbons into his tormented soul. Later, when my uncle gave his last, rattled breathe of life, it flew from his distended jaws with ragged wings flapping, leaving a sulfur-stained wake behind it. Demons freely move among us, through us. They shed their forms and camouflage themselves in our weaker flesh. They are skilled manipulators and trade in sin and in shame. I have killed five to date. Each time I dispatch one back to Hell, they turn to look at me with empty eye sockets and hurl curses at my back in their wicked ancient languages. Each time I kill a demon, I die a little more inside. My book and my cross weigh ever heavier in my pack and I feel the fatigue of an infinite war wearing on my tired bones. Take my advice, start believing in ghost stories... "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2172: October 30, 2018 Prompt: Start your entry with "In the midnight hours..." In the midnight hours I listen to rain, to the creaking of my old home, to the gentle breathing of my sleeping daughter. I think about the world at my door and the fragile state of my life. In the midnight hours I try to find peace but the questions and the doubts are my constant companions, made ever bolder by late hour. In the midnight hours, sleep eludes me. "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" Day 179--Oct. 30, 2018 Prompt: “The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else.” ― Umberto Eco, Travels in Hyperreality- Are heroes cowards inside? What do you think? I don't believe a true hero is a coward but I think most heroes experience fear. Fear doesn't make one a coward and bravery never happens by mistake. I believe most people could never image their capacity for heroism until the need for bravery is thrust upon them. True heroes rise to the call in spite of their fear. |
| "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2171: October 29, 2018 Prompt: Work in Progress This is an excerpt from my favorite work in progress, the working title is "Voices in the Water": The man in front of me looked to be sinking a pool of anguish. His body was so weighed down by grief that he seemed to be melting in the soft rain. He clutched a teddy bear made of faded blue gingham with brown button eyes. I tossed aside my fedora and removed my jacket. The rain was light, the drops barely discernible as they fell over my bare shoulders and back. I reached for the bear and pulled in it against my chest, hoping there was enough water. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the voices. I don’t remember the first time I drowned. My mother refused to speak of it. The trauma from my near demise was so deeply rooted that even the mere mention of the incident would drive her into a fury after which she would retreat into a migraine-fueled gloom for days. Over the years I have managed to gather the details through family members and a handful of reluctant witness who were at that lake on that fateful day. From all accounts, I was raven-haired toddler full of frantic energy playing with my gaggle of older cousins at the water’s edge. Suddenly my mother stood up from her deck chair, perched higher up on the beach, the tall Tom Collins glass slipping from her hand, her pretty features evolving into a mask of sheer terror. She was already running and weeping, already screaming my name before anyone else even realized something was wrong. “Rina!” she screamed, plunging into the cold lake water, her eyes frantically searching the surface for some sign of her baby girl. It was my older cousin Ryan who found me, underwater, about eight yards off shore. My mother dropped to her knees wailing as he laid my limp body on the beach. He gave me mouth to mouth until my breath returned and I vomited ribbons of dark lake water into the sand. I was saved. It wasn’t until much later that I would realize something else had come back with me from the depths. My name is Nerina, named for my great grandmother. It means “water” in Greek. I find it ironic since that summer was the last time we went to the lake. It was the last time my mother ever let me near the water. |
| 30-Day Blogging Challenge Your Prompt for Oct 29th: Start your entry with this sentence: As I looked at the Jack-o-Lantern, it seemed to be looking back at me. Then… As I looked at the Jack-o-Lantern, it seemed to be looking back at me. Then the ground seemed to suddenly shift under my boots and I staggered with the effort not to fall down. A arm shot out and gripped my elbow, steadying me. "Whoa, you okay? Sure that is coffee in that travel mug?" my neighbor Shelly joked, her eyes sparking in the glow of our lanterns. I laughed, and blamed it on my poor choice of footwear. "Only I wear heels to take the kids trick or treating right?" I covered my embarrassment with a big gulp of bitter coffee. I searched the dark lawns for my daughter, running with the pack of neighbor kids. I felt a sharp stab of panic as I located her. They had reached the porch with that creepy Jack-o-lantern. She ran past it without stopping, her fuzzy raccoon tail trailing out behind her. The kids rang the doorbell and chorused their greeting when it swung open, the sudden light from within setting the kids faces ablaze. The old man shuffled forward, a large bowl wrapped in his arms. "Do you know this neighbor?" I asked Shelly, without taking my eyes of the kids. We had moved to town the summer past and we'd only met a handful of neighbors so far. "Yeah, that's Mr. Willis. He lives with his daughter Marcella. Nice girl, bit of a strange bird but she moved in with him after he had a stroke last year." We moved off, keeping pace with the gaggle of kids as they crisscrossed the wide street. I turned back, sneaking another look at the intricately carved pumpkin flickering in the darkness. I noticed a movement in the big bay window, as if someone stepped quickly out of view. The Jack-o-lantern seemed to turn toward my gaze, it was as if I could feel its eye holes boring into my back as I walked up the street. The next morning on the way to school, I deliberately passed by the Willis house. I slowly as much as I could without drawing my daughter's attention. The jack-o-lantern was still there but it had collapsed into a pool of decay. The face had melted in on itself and it was oozing blackened flesh down the steps. Odd. It had looked freshly carved for the trick or treaters last night. As I drove off I registered an uneasiness in my stomach, a sense that last night hadn't merely been spooky jitters inspired by the nocturnal holiday. There was something about that house. I made a mental note to formally introduce myself to the occupants...as soon as they managed to clear that rotted jack-o-lantern off their porch of course. |
"Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2168 October 26, 2018 Use these words to discuss your favorite political candidate----- talk, season,reform, earth, wax and ribbon The midterms elections are almost upon us. In this charged political season there is nearly constant talk of the high stakes involved in the key races all around the country. I have tried to explore the candidates, tried to examine them with an open mind rather than with any bias resulting from a party affiliation. I've yet to find a favorite political candidate. In fact, I'm hard pressed to find anyone who inspires me. I feel when I vote it will be more of selecting the best of a mediocre field of potential leaders. I'm tired of the talk of reform. With wide ribbon of division running through this country, I can't even be sure what we are supposed to be reforming anymore. Human rights seem relative to where you live and what little cardboard sign says that you stake in your front yard. Though my passion for politics can admittedly wax and wain, this year I feel heavy with the responsibility of the choices, fearful that regardless of what party wins the most seats, we will still be a nation severely divided on the other side. Sometimes I think we could all benefit from a wider view. Perhaps if we all had the opportunity to view the Earth from orbit, we would see we only have this one planet...this one ball of gas and water hanging in the infinity and vastness of space. Perhaps it would humble us more? Perhaps it would realign our perspectives? "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" DAY 1775 October 26, 2918 Give us your best sales pitch on why we should publish your book or blog. Every author that wants to be published has got to learn the art of pitching to an agent or editor. "I don’t remember the first time I drowned. My mother refused to speak of it. The trauma from my near demise was so deeply rooted that even the mere mention of the incident would drive her into a fury after which she would retreat into a migraine-fueled gloom for days." This is the opening line to a story about a young woman named Nerina who nearly drowned at the age of three. Her cousin found her, limp below the dark surface of the lake. They brought her back that day on the sand but it would be more than a decade before she would come to realize something else had come back with her. Years later, a forbidden trip to a local quarry at the age of 15 would finally unlocked the unique ability Nerina's brush with death had gifted her. For Nerina, water was a conduit to the voices of the dead. Pitching a story, even writing an adequate synopsis, is a very daunting task. It is something I struggle with almost as much as writing the novel itself. I'm much more comfortable with craft short stories or keeping the creative juices flowing with blog assignments. There is at least one novel inside me, based on the premise above. Perhaps one day I will have the time and the discipline to work on it more diligently and maybe then my pitch will be more compelling...one can hope! |
| 30 Day Blogging Challenge Day 26 Prompt Hillary Clinton turns 70 today! Wish her a happy birthday (if you're so inclined) and write up a candidacy speech for your own head of government campaign. Given the current stage of affairs in the United States, I'm having trouble even identifying with any political party let alone being able imagine myself as a leader, even for the sake of fiction. I'm distressed by how fractured our politics have become, how polarizing having any opinion can be. This year with my move, I changed my party affiliation for the first time. This President is not representative of the party I once associated myself with. He, and so many others from both sides of the aisle, have been tested and have failed us. I am disillusioned with the process, with the division of our country. I am hopeful a candidate emerges that inspires unification once again. I would never claim to understand the complexities of governing any nation but I know in the very least it takes common sense, compassion and appreciation and respect for the responsibilities the office comes with. Those are the cornerstones of any great leader, attributes that are not readily apparent in our current President nor, so far, any potential challengers. I do hope heading into our midterm elections, that my opinion is changed by someone. |
| 30-Day Blogging Challenge-Day 25 prompt On October 25, 1616, the Dutch discovered Australia. Write a journal entry as one of the explorers The rich, red clay was caked inches deep on the toes of my hiking boots. I had walked for a few miles along a rough cut path that looked like a blood-stained artery against the thick-bodied brush and scrub that seem to cover every other space. The land wasn't so much forested as it was consumed by the wild and dense vegetation that had begun at the edge of the beach. The white, soft sand dropping away suddenly, replaced by the strange red clay, ever thickening trees and low creeping scrubs. I'd scarcely been walking for three minutes and already the path was narrowing under my boots. I could no long hear the sounds of the sea birds and pounding surf. There was an odd silence, as if the wild wood around me was absorbing all ambient sound. The trees, brittle wooden structures that seemed to wind and bend against the elements, grew taller and broader. I could discern some tracks in the red power of the earth, something with oddly toe-ed feet and another that looked to be made by a side-winding serpent. The silence around me was shattered by a sudden crashing of tree limbs twenty feet ahead of me. I caught my breath as a creature leapt from the undergrowth and stood, looking at me in the middle of the path. It was a large animal with red fur covering its broad and thick body. It stood nearly as tall as me,with a long,heavily muscled tail it seemed to rock back on for balance. It had a surprising delicate head and feminine face head with large, brown eyes that turned to take me in. Then with a quick flick of it's large and donkey-like tuffed ears, it was gone, thundering away into the woods. This place was only beginning to amaze me. There was an entire world to be explored beyond the lagoons and beaches, a wonderland of red clay and giant jumping beasts! |
| 30-Day Blogging Challenge - Oct 17th Share a list of your top 5 favorite books and give us a short blurb on each. I have to start off by stating that these five are in no particular order. I have always loved to read and over the years, I have found that these five books have stayed with me the most among the hundreds I have digested over the years. "Salem's Lot" was Stephen King's 2nd published novel and though I read most of his work, this early novel has never been unseated as my favorite. The novel takes place in Jerusalem, Maine. Writer Ben Mears returns to his hometown to discover that the townspeople are being systematically turned into vampires. It is wonderfully campy, borrowing on all those original, "bump in the night" fears from one's nightmare landscape. King's descriptive prowess is on full display here, making even the most predictable scenes read with razor edge tension. It is a classic good verses evil story that pits faith and conviction against fear and corruption. “You have forgotten the doctrine of your own church, is it not so? The cross… the bread and wine… the confessional… only symbols. Without faith, the cross is only wood, the bread baked wheat, the wine sour grapes.” Barlow, Salem's Lot Jim Lynch's "The Highest Tide" is an almost complete departure from my first choice. It tells the store of Miles O' Malley, a thirteen year old boy who battles insomnia by searching the tidal flats of Puget Sound for exotic sea specimens to sell. It is at the same time, about so much more. This is a coming of age story, set against the backdrop of a boy who finds a mysterious creature on the beach at night. At the same time Miles is making his discoveries, he is also dealing with the fear of his parent's impending divorce and a man-sized crush on the girl next door. At all times this book is sweet and sensitive but packs a really meaningful and engaging story. Lynch's descriptive phrasing is broadly appealing, especially for those who appreciate the ocean and its creatures. "A feisty entourage of purple shore crabs scurried alongside the snail, their oversized pinchers drawn like Uzis. I thought about grabbing the moon snail, but I knew that even after it squeezed inside its shell like some contortionist stunt, it would still hog too much room in my pack. So I noted where it was and moved on until I saw the blue flash. It wasn't truly flashing, but with moonlight bouncing off it that was the effect. I steadied my headlamp and closed in on a starfish that radiated blue, as if it had just been pulled from a kiln. But it wasn't just the color that jarred me. Its two lower legs clung strangely together in line with its top leg and perpendicular to its two side legs, making it stand out in the black mud like a blue crucifix." Miles, The Highest Tide "Of Love and Other Demons" by the amazing Colombia author, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, is the book that made me fall in love with words. Marquez's prose is so breathtaking beautiful, I can only imagine how much more compelling it would read in his native Spanish. The story is about a young girl, Sierva Maria, who is bitten by a rabid dog. She is sent to a monastery to presumably live out her days in isolation. She meets and begans a relationship with a young cleric there named Father Cayetano Delaura. It is a tormented love story that is ripe with beautiful anguish. And without giving his panic an opportunity, he unburdened himself of the dark truth that did not permit him to live. He confessed that every moment was filled with thoughts of her, that everything he ate and drank tasted of her, that she was his life, always and everywhere, as only God had the right and power to be, and that the supreme joy of his heart would be to die with her. He continued to speak without looking at her, with the same fluidity and passion as when he recited poetry, until it seemed to him that Sierva María was sleeping. But she was awake, her eyes, like those of a startled deer, fixed on him. She almost did not dare to ask: "And now?" "And now nothing," he said. "It is enough for me that you know." Peter Straub was another author I discovered at an early age. His novel "Ghost Story", was the first book that really scared me. It kept me up at night, literally. There is such an amazing story that kicks off with four men discussing the one tragic night and horrific mistake they all have in common. It is a tale that travels through decades with characters that climb right out the page and sit, waiting for you in the dark corners of your room. Both this movie, and Salem's Lot were made into movies...and neither film came anywhere close to being as good as these books were. Aptly titled, Ghost Story, this is the one you will compare all others too. From its ominous opening line, it grabs on and doesn't let go. “What was the worst thing you've ever done? I won't tell you that, but I'll tell you the worst thing that ever happened to me...the most dreadful thing...” Peter Straub, Ghost Story My final entry to my top five is one of my favorite authors...James Lee Burke. While I have read all of his novels, "Tin Roof Blowdown" was my first introduction to this master storyteller. No writer can transport me to places better than Burke. His descriptive powers, in my opinion, are unrivaled. His characters are teeming with life and vitality. This particular novel kicks off with a shooting of two looters in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. This wasn't the first book to feature his recurring characters or the setting of Southern Lousiana, but it endeared Dave Robicheaux and his buddy Clet Pursell to me forever after. Burke has expertly crafted their characters and over the years, has given them lives that you can almost swear must exist outside the pages of his books. I repeated find myself reading a paragraph over just to more fully appreciate the care in which he has described a particular place or feeling. He is an absolute master of the craft. "MY WORST DREAMS have always contained images of brown water and fields of elephant grass and the downdraft of helicopter blades. The dreams are in color but they contain no sound, not of drowned voices in the river or the explosions under the hooches in the village we burned or the thropping of the Jolly Green and the gunships coming low and flat across the canopy, like insects pasted against a molten sun." Dave Robicheaux, Tin Roof Blowdown. There are so many other books that come close to making the cut that I can recommend. Like, Sara Gruen's "Water for Elephants", "Horns" by Joe Hill, anything by Greg Iles...If you loved the show Stranger Things, I would highly recommend you check out, "Summer of Night" by Dan Simmons. I could go on but this entry is already pretty long and I surely must have lost most of my readers by now...  ** Image ID #1774840 Unavailable **  |
| "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2158: October 16, 2018 Prompt: October 16 is Dictionary Day . It commemorates the birth of Noah Webster (October 16, 1758), the Father of the American Dictionary. Do you prefer to use an online dictionary or a book dictionary? Why? I can't remember the last time I used a book dictionary...which makes me sad in some way. I typically do most of my writing at the computer now so I easily access the online dictionary whenever I need it. It is very convenient. I'm typically a holdout for actual physical books in every other way. I don't own a kindle or other electronic reader. I prefer book shops and libraries and of open a real book when I want to read. Yet when I am writing, I can't help the accessibility of the online dictionary. My free time available to devote to my writing is so limited, I have to use it all wisely. That makes stopping and fetching an actual dictionary impractical unfortunately. |
| 30-Day Blogging Challenge" October 16th Prompt: Share a list of your top 5 favorite songs and tell us why they’re your fave. I have been consumed by my sister's nuptials for almost two solid weeks and now that she's finally married, I feel like I can re-enter the blogging world once more. I've not been very active in the challenge but here is to hoping I can at least finish out the month strong now that all my commitments to everyone else have been satisfied. I have extremely varied musical tastes. My father was in a band and so classic rock has always been a cornerstone of my musical foundation. Santana and CCR and Jethro Tull still number among some of my favorite bands from my Dad's bass playing era. Over the years I've added many other acts to the roster, from a wide variety of genres. It is extremely difficult to pick my top 5 favorite tunes of all time...with only one or two standing out as clear front-runners and all the rest, falling into so many different categories that is it hard to compare favorites. I'll give it a whirl though starting with the one song that has been my absolute jam for as long as I can remember. Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes" is an almost near perfect musical composition. The live version, with the drums and the pan-African ensemble including Youssou N' Dour is magnificent. It gives me chills every time I hear it and the lyrics are inspired poetry... "In your eyes The light the heat In your eyes I am complete In your eyes I see the doorway to a thousand churches In your eyes The resolution of all the fruitless searches" There couldn't be a more romantic and stirring refrain in my opinion. It has been covered so many times but nothing touches the Gabriel's original. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iRSktm7GCmk Taking second place is a piece of classical music. Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy" from the Nutcracker. It makes me feel like Christmas inside every time I hear it. It builds and floats and bounces, I love how you can hear the individual instruments and it is the perfect accompaniment to a magical fairy with winter-dusted wings. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rapf3g_XvCc And now it gets harder... Jimi Hendrix, "Little Wing" would be one I would have to include. My classic rock roots may be showing but there is something about this song that always brings me peace. The melding of Hendrix's guitar with his simple, fanciful lyrics just moves me, always have. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U5Vki76x-EU I was a huge Concrete Blonde fan in college. Johnette Napolitano's distinctive voice remains one of most favorite ones today. Her haunting vocals on the song "Joey", just speak to me. There is a rawness to her that I love and that song in particular would end up being very poignant to my life later on when I would meet, love and lose my own "joey". https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdpTcvSn8HQ There are so many other great songs...by amazing artists like Joss Stone, Santana, Jack White....my list is virtually endless! To be fair, my last slot isn't filled by one song. I'm going to cheat a little here and say rounding out my top five would be the soundtrack to "The Greatest Showman", composed by the incredibly talented duo of Joseph Trapanese and John Debney. The soundtrack is stirring, dynamic and fits the film like a seamless glove. There are so many great moments in the film that are supported perfectly by the original songs. The scene with Efron and Zendaya's trapeze routine to "Rewrite the Stars" is stunning in every way. The performance of "This is Me" by Keala Settle and the cast is a powerful anthem of pride and ferocity in the face of oppression. It is the song we can all relate to, it is a song that finds triumph in being different, in being oneself. I could go on...there are so many others. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwYRqbUn7zg That's the best I could do with only five entries, and even then I had to cheat a bit on the last one  |
| "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" Day 1752 October 3, 2018 Prompt: "The true painter strives to paint what can only be seen through his world." Andre Malraux Do you think this applies to writers and words as well as painters? Write anything you want about this. I had wanted to tackle today's prompts over lunch but I was greeted by a headline, which in turn, inspired a blog of a wholly different variety which took a surprising amount of time to get out...this one had to do my rage justice. I'm feel like I'm still suffering the aftershocks as I am trying to write this one. These days I rarely have the time to blog outside the prompts but when I do, it is usually because something has hurt or enraged me or otherwise affected me deeply enough to wake the muse. It is an important issue however, one that so many (far too many) women are dealing with in our world today. That blog can be found here: http://mdmaurice.blogspot.com/2018/10/what-she-remembers.html And fair warning, it contains adult themes and language that may trigger some women. Now back to the true painter... I believe some of the best writers write about things they know intimately. Their knowledge and authority gives their work an authenticity that is engaging for readers. As much as some writers are gifted and dedicated researchers, one can never learn about something enough to surpass actually living it. That being said, then there are wonderful writers who craft from imagination and fantasy. Roald Dahl crafted an eccentric madman in Willy Wonka that fascinated millions of readers. His descriptions of the chocolate river running through the factory or the inventive ways he dispatched the troublesome brats lent themselves to vivid images and left an indelible mark. In much the same way, Wonderland became a real place for me as a child, a marvelous up-side-down land where flamingos made excellent crochet mallets and a Red Queen ran amuck. Some writers strive to "paint" more than what can be seen and to do so with words is a fine craft indeed. "Blogging Circle of Friends " DAY 2145 October 3, 2018 Write a poem or story about your favorite autumn activity. Apple picking, pumpkin picking, carving, baking, going on foliage tours... you tell us. I seem to be writing an awful lot about autumn these days. I can't complain because I wake with delight on these frosty Fall mornings and look forward to the weekends full of seasonal traditions and activities. By far one of my most favorite things to do is go apple picking at a local orchard. It sits on top of a small hill and once the leaves chance, the views are really lovely. You ride the wagon to the designated self-picking areas and load up on a variety of apples. Of course the real treat are the apple cider donuts we get after. They are crispy on the outside, delicate and moist inside. They are sweet and leave a tasty residue of sugared cinnamon on your lips after consuming one. I love the piles of gourds and pumpkins and the tables of colorful mums set in rows. It is a near perfect seasonal destination. |
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