1. Chiefly British Informal. lacking in vitality or intelligence; stupid, dull, or clumsy.
For some reason Peter felt nervous. He knew it wasn’t the lack of sleep from this morning’s 3 a.m. call, as much as it was who he spoke to during the phone call that was throwing him.
Since hearing Miranda Pierce’s voice for the first time in 20 years, memories of what had been and thoughts he had long buried of what could’ve been had started coming back to him. He remembered everything so clearly, but was still confused as to how things had collapsed the way they did.
There had been many a day when Peter wished they had disagreed over some gormless topic, fought, and then broke up. That would’ve been easier to understand than someone just Continue reading
- Slang. extreme nervousness; jitters.
It was usually the morning sunlight that woke Peter. Streaming through the thin cotton, curtains, he could feel the rays slowly warm his skin in the summer months. He preferred that over an alarm any day. But this Wednesday, it wasn’t the sun that roused him, but the incessant ringing of his phone.
Still half asleep, Peter threw a heavy arm onto his nightstand knocking something made of plastic onto the floor. He groaned, as he willed his tired body to cooperate. Even lost somewhere between the fog of sleep and the sting of being fully awake, Peter knew he sounded more like an animal than a man and he realized he felt more like an old man than a man in his 50s.
He grabbed the phone out of its cradle, wondering what time it could be.
“Hello,”he said, more gruffly than he had intended, trying to Continue reading
- to thicken; as by evaporation, make or become dense.
It was well after 3 in the morning and still Marilyn couldn’t get to sleep. She had been in bed for the last three hours starting at the ceiling while her husband slept soundly, his snoring drowning out the noise of vehicles passing below. As if she couldn’t help it, she repeatedly returned to her daughter’s room just to watch her sleep and calm the internal unease she was feeling.
Marilyn silently kicked herself for not casting all her cares aside and enjoying REM sleep. She should’ve been calmly resting, but the mixture of fear and guilt was keeping her awake, checking on her 4 year old.
It seemed the entire neighborhood–no, the city–had gone to sleep late, the police, ambulances, and news crews Continue reading
- Australian. a false report; rumor.
- excessive plumpness; stoutness. French noun
The flight back from Sydney had been an unnerving ordeal. First class was spacious and the steak a perfect medium-rare, the flight attendants were even courteous and quick to respond, but Madeline Lee was feeling slightly despondent. From the time she stepped foot outside of her house to arriving at the airport, the road had been free of cars and crowds. And now there wasn’t one camera pointed in her direction as she landed at Charles de Gaulle and met her driver, who was waiting for her luggage.
Madeline looked on through her tinted sunglasses as the paparazzi swarmed like locusts outside. They looked ravenous.
She used to detest the photographers as they descended upon her, documenting every move, every wrinkle, every Continue reading
Unfortunately this post is two weeks late. (sigh) It’s been a busy month, but to keep up with my goals, here are my reflections for my third month of writing:
Stories I like:
Stories I’d like to expand:
- Jeremiad-The idea of writing a longer piece that could actually portray the tension of doing the “right thing” only to have the outcome haunt you, feels like an intriguing process. Trying to authentically document the mental inner workings of someone with PTSD will take some talent, skills, and interviewing.
- Gonzo-Who doesn’t gravitate toward the dystopian society? Maybe it’s just me, but Animal Farm, 1984, Fahrenheit 451 are all classics and I would love to write something that impactful, too. I don’t have a full understanding of where this would go, just yet, but I’m always intrigued by the idea that leaders always want to keep up appearances when everyone knows things are going to Hades in a handbasket.
- Callow-I want to do something more with this story. It didn’t make it on my “likes” list, but I think with more thought I’d like to structure something that has the two characters growing toward success, even if it looks different for both of them.
Questions I wrestle with:
- How do I get better at writing?
- How do I ensure I’m spending time writing quality and not just quantity?
- What do I need to inspire my stories beyond the everyday?
What I observed this month:
- This month’s stories dealt with isolation and death…maybe my internal morbidness is showing.
- I took a week off to take care of life stuff, so now my posts are about a week behind the Word of the Day posted online. That change has allowed me to write earlier in the day, which helps me manage my schedule better.
- My stories still have female leads and are mostly within a relational context.
- I haven’t felt extremely inspired to write daily, but I think the practice of writing when I don’t feel like it is helpful.
1. a self-important or pretentious official.
Ethan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They only had five weeks left of campaigning before the first televised debate and already his stomach was churning. He was eating antacids more than he was drinking coffee and he was always drinking coffee.
“That guy is such a jerk,” someone said from behind him.
“And a liar,” Denisse said, somewhere off to his right. Her Cuban accent was unmistakable.
Ethan kept his eyes glued to the screen. He didn’t disagree, but he wasn’t one for name calling. That would reduce him to the level of his opponent and he wasn’t willing to stoop that low and grovel in that dirt and filth. He simply shook his head and wondered how things had spiraled out of control. The most unlikeliest opponent had somehow risen to become their most formidable candidate–and he was using that term very loosely.
He drained the last of the burnt coffee, Continue reading
1. Mineralogy. having the form of a bunch of grapes: botryoidal hematite.
Some say that the more things change the more they stay the same. But there’s this quote I painted on the ceiling of my new house after making what seemed like the most senseless move from Cali to Kentucky to start a new career. In a fit of desperation and something worse than buyer’s remorse, I climbed atop a rickety ladder, certain that I would probably fall and break my neck and be remembered as someone who was ignorantly risking her life for something vastly inferior to Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel.
But in a moment that felt like the beginning of a midlife crisis, I remembered words that my grandmother used to say to me, a quote she’d read long ago.
“Isn’t it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different.”
Not one to believe in coincidence and always straining to Continue reading