Write As Rea

The happy intersection between what I want to write and what people want to read.

I often think in metaphor

Which is difficult to translate into semaphore

Signals and visuals and waving hands

Awkward exchanges no one seems to understand…

…Unless you count memes from abbreviated personality land.

Where everyone seems to know just how I feel

Except that in reality it’s not really real.

I and N and F and J

And Y? does it even mean anything? I have my doubts.

I spend a lot of time alone

In a lonely solace that’s more like a comfortable home

Seldom hosting visitors

I linger outside my circle of dearly loved friends

Belonging but not exactly fitting in

As a dreamer and realist

An obnoxious savant

who could predict your future

But that’s not what you want

You won’t hear the truth but I will tell you no lies

Instead I stay silent and pretend that I’m wise

It keeps the peace and peace I adore

It reminds me of libraries and the world could use more.

Still I sit, waiting for someone to ask

I try. I do. I wish I knew.

But I don’t have all the answers.

 

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Lately, surfing the web has been reminding me of when I am rummaging through the fridge looking for something tasty…and not finding it. I open it up and…

Politics? Heartburn and depression. Big pass.

News? Not very balanced and highly inflammatory. Can’t be good for me. Another big pass.

Health website? Maybe that science experiment in the back will cure what ails me…or not. Pass.

Idea board? Hmm. I’ll binge and feel sick later after I waste too much time. Pass.

Social media? Empty emotional calories. Don’t I have any actual friends anymore? Pass.

Celebrity news? Zachary Levi is tempting but…well, maybe a nibble wouldn’t hurt. (Heh)

Maybe it’s okay to turn it off. Shut the door. I could go for a walk. Visit a friend. Read a book. Volunteer. Take a break and do something positive. At least for a little while.

It would probably be healthier for me… and maybe you too. It’ll still be there when we get back.

 

The history books call me things like ‘brave’ and ‘hero.’ The history books are wrong. I was only the owner of a home with large trees in a quiet neighborhood. A home that became the nexus of an interplanetary war.

On a busy street in a quiet neighborhood there stood an unquiet house. Not in the same category as those unquiet houses called haunts. No, this house was restless for other reasons. It was old enough that it should have been considered charming but it wasn’t. And although modern in style, it lacked it. It was simply a house made bitter with age and neglect. As the owner, I was starting to feel the same.

Like two roommates, we tolerated each other, but there was no love lost between us. The house was determined to drive out its unwelcome tenant and I was just as determined to stay put. I was the ‘queen’ of this castle ‘thank you very much’.

And so, much like roommates everywhere, we refused to budge and made each other miserable. Each of us successfully managing to be as intolerable as possible in order to force the other to give in.

It may come as a surprise to those unfamiliar with the idea, but inanimate objects are actually alive. Simple things such as sewing needles have spirits of their own, and if you aren’t respectful? Well, let’s just say that at least pricks of conscience won’t leave you bleeding from your thumbs.

Most object spirits are benign, friendly even, as long as you treat them with kindness and keep them in good repair. Some object spirits are different, though, and that’s where I come in. They call me a rehabilitator. A fixer, if you will. When an object has been abused or neglected and becomes vengeful, they bring in someone like me to make peace. Once the spirit has been appeased, I can move on to the next job and the spirit can return to its natural benevolent state. My latest project was proving difficult, however.

Burst pipes going to the water heater, rotting timbers in the patio, leaking lateral water line, the furnace not igniting, the stove, the dishwasher, the lawn catching on fire (don’t play with matches kids), the tornado that just missed it by a block, the shower valve, the venomous spiders, and the branch the size of a tree through the roof were seriously causing me to contemplate a change of occupation.

Yes, folks, the Sentient House of Doom was especially nasty, but I refused to quit. Still, the house was old and it could afford to wait out its occupant. It’s not like it was going anywhere. I never considered that it might be a cry for help. I blame myself. Mutant tree roots growing through an interstellar portal in my sewer lines should have been my first thought.

Instead, the plumbing backed up for a week and I had to call in the experts. The logo on their van said, Mutant Tree Specialists since 2017: We’ll get to the root of your problem or die trying. Needless to say, I was concerned. Turns out I was right to be. An hour later, only one of them stumbled out of my front door with a look of horror on his face.

“What happened?” I asked, shocked.

“Home maintenance. It’s a killer,” he choked out before he left his co-worker behind and sped away, leaving his equipment behind. By this time, there was a horrifying miasma threatening to engulf my home and I could hear the cries of terror coming from the remaining plumber.

I could walk away right now, I thought. No one would blame me. My house had never liked me, despite my best efforts to soothe the savage beast. Still, I had a mortgage and the crotchety thing had started to grow on me, and I didn’t spring for life insurance for the plumber. Damn. So, I suited up and went in.

I won’t traumatize you with the details, but when we emerged (victorious, I might add), I would never be the same. I had managed to rescue the plumber and the free world with the help of my Sentient House of Doom. It look a while to disinfect the walls, though.

It’s been thirty years since the day my home and I joined forces. When the government determined that the vortex was the largest ever seen and that we had closed it before the root infestation managed to spread into world domination, I became famous overnight. I never planned on being part of the historical record. All that mattered to me was that my house had somehow become a home. I started calling it S.H.O.D. for short. I wouldn’t say we’re friends exactly, but the malevolence has receded. I think we have an understanding now. Maybe there’s hope for us yet.

But I wasn’t brave and I’m no hero. The history books are wrong.

(Inspired by my own Sentient House of Doom (Why are you so mean to me? Why?), a Goodreads prompt for Science Fiction and Fantasy week, and my own twisted imagination. It’s weird but I hope you enjoyed it.)

 

I can’t take it anymore,

I’m well aware that I should mop the floor,

But I get tired so I lay down

And before I know it evening rolls around.

The TV beckons but I know,

I’ll lose the day to that black hole.

So many things call for my attention,

Oops, another distraction ruined all my good intentions.

Still I get up

When life gets me down

Even after the snooze button wins one more round.

Because I never know what life has in store.

I’ve missed enough.

I won’t miss more.

I guess there’s no justice anymore,

It’s all about settling scores.

I am not perfect and so you’ll blame,

‘Cause that makes you better to cause me pain.

No margin for error, no quarter given

Shame

Tearing down instead of building up

No such thing as being grown up

Anymore

And I am angry but what can I do?

Perhaps I’m powerless because I don’t treat people like you.

Maybe I’m okay with that.

Because maybe it matters how we treat the least among us.

I still believe it matters.

So I’m a little bit older, a little bit chubbier, and not entirely wiser than I was when I started writing my blog a few years ago, but I’m still here and I hope I’m still writing things that make my readers glad they stopped by for a visit. Things have been busy with the release of my book in April and I’m a pretty private person when it comes to sharing on the internet, but I thought for those interested I would include the link to my recent author interview with Cindy Jones of Glass Spider Publishing.

I’m still planning on delivering content to my blog readers so no need to fear I’ll forget (although I’m a slacker who only posts about once a month) and I hope to keep it up. I’m still battling with the Sentient House of Doom (branches in the roof this time) so not much has changed but the future is always just one step ahead. I’ll keep chasing it. Thanks for your support along the way!

I’m excited to announce that Noble, my first book, is now available for purchase! Noble is the initial volume in what I intend to be a three-part series. This novel is really special to me, and I hope you’ll be willing to take a chance on it. As writers, it can be difficult to share the fruits of our labor. I think we’re all quite aware of how vulnerable it makes us. However, sharing my writing is the best way I know to explore what it means to be human and connect with others. I love this story. The characters are dear to me and have found a place in my heart. I hope they can find a place in your heart as well.


March 29, 2017

Watching paint dry. A phrase invented to describe the most boring activities known to mankind. Thus am I being painfully reminded of the reasons I never do my nails. I have things to do! Important things! Things I was avoiding which is why I painted my nails in the first place! Sadly, I am committed now. That’ll teach me.

In the interest of full disclosure,

I am not a fan of too much exposure.

All that light

Hurts the eyes

I much prefer rainy skies.

My introverted heart rejoices

Finding peace from opinionated voices.

I understand, make no mistake,

But there’s only so much anger I can take.

I feel alone in my desire for joy,

But I earned it and I refuse to let it be destroyed.

It’s a gift I won’t surrender

The world could use more awe and splendor.

 

 

 

Unexpected dear companions like falling stars, however brief

Gift awe and reverence

Illuminating the lonely darkness of life

For but a moment.

Grazing hearts before they are gone into the horizon

Skimming that curve of Earth before they disappear.

We, too, shoot across the firmament

Knowing not how we touch the lives of others

Skipping along the atmosphere of those rotating

Planets

Leaving longing in our wake

Sparking hope in that empty space

Inspiring elusive and tender

Wishes