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anygivenmemory
31 December 2012 @ 11:58 am

This is an ongoing list of books I read in 2012.


1. Cold Case--Linda Barnes
2. Look Again--Lisa Scottoline
3. The Hunger Games--Suzanne Collins
4. Catching Fire---Suzanne Collins
5. Mocking Jay---Suzanne Collins
6. Shakespeare's Landlord---Charlaine Harris
7. A Walk to Remember---Nicholas Sparks
8. Stuck in the Middle---Virginia Smith
9. Delirium----Lauren Oliver
10. No One You Know---Michelle Richmond
11. Free-Range Knitter---Stephanie Pearl-Mcphee
12. A Year By The Sea---Joan Anderson
13. The Hollow---Jessica Verday
14. The Haunting---Jessica Verday
15. Songs of the Humpback Whale---Jodi Picoult
16. Save as Draft---Cavanaugh Lee
17. The Help---Kathryn Stockett
18. Evermore---Alyson Noel
19. Never Let You Go---Erin Healy
20. Thanks for the Memories---Cecelia Ahern

 
 
anygivenmemory
02 May 2012 @ 01:25 pm
"You may think the past has something to tell you. You may think that you should listen, should strain to make out its whispers, should bend over backward, stoop down low to hear its voice breathed up from the ground, from the dead places. You may think there's something in it for you, something to understand or make sense of. But I know the truth: I know from the nights of Coldness. I know the past will drag you backward and down, have you snatching at whispers of wind and the gibberish of trees rubbing together, trying to decipher some code, trying to piece together what was broken. It's hopeless. The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside of you like a stone. Take it from me: If you hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging at your back and running its fingers up your spine, the best thing to do---the only thing---is run." ----Delirium, by Lauren Oliver


"I'm struck with a sense of time passing so quickly, rushing forward. One day I'll wake up and my whole life will be behind me, and it will seem to have gone as quickly as a dream." ----Delirium, Lauren Oliver


"I know that life isn't life if you just float through it. I know that the whole point---the only point---is to find the things that matter, and hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go." ----Delirium, Lauren Oliver


“The water is an enormous mirror, tipped with and pink and gold from the sky. In that single, blazing moment as I came around the bend, the sun – curved over the dip of the horizon like a solid gold archway – lets out its final winking rays of light, shattering the darkness of the water, turning everything white for a fraction of a second, and then falls away, sinking, dragging the pink and the red and the purple out of the sky with it, all the colour bleeding away instantly and leaving only dark."
---Delirium, Lauren Oliver.


"I love you. Remember. They cannot take it." ----Delirium, Lauren Oliver.

 
 
 
anygivenmemory
31 December 2011 @ 06:40 pm

This is an ongoing account of all the books I have read in 2011. I didn't get as many as I would have liked on my list last year, but I should have more time to read now.


1. Backroads--Tawni O'Dell
2. The Accidental Bestseller--Wendy Wax
3. Virals--Kathy Reichs
4. Rotten to the Core--Sheila Connolly
5. The Stolen Child--Keith Donohue
6. The Likeness--Tana French
7. The Goodbye Summer--Patricia Gaffney
8. The Year of Fog--Michelle Richmond
9. Dead Run--Erica Spindler
10. Wifey--Judy Blume
11. Cold as Death--T. J. MacGregor
12.The Witch is Dead--Shirley Damsgaard
13. Since You've Been Gone--Carlene Thompson
14. The Devil Wears Prada--Lauren Weisberger
15. Impossible--Nancy Werlin
16. Summer Affair--Elin Hilderbrand
17. Marked--P.C. Cast + Kristin Cast
18.On The Street Where You Live--Mary Higgins Clark
19. Wintergirls---Laurie Halse Anderson
20. The Book of Lost Things--John Connelly
21. Almost Dead--Lisa Jackson
22. Wire Mesh Mothers--Elizabeth Massie
23.Ellen Foster--Kaye Gibbons 
24.CSI: Miami-Florida Getaway--Max Allan Collins
25.Knit Lit--Linda Roghaar and Molly Wolf
26.The Doctor's Wife--Elizabeth Brundage
27. The Friday Night Knitting Club--Kate Jacobs
 
 
anygivenmemory
31 December 2010 @ 01:57 pm

I've decided to keep an ongoing account of the books I read this year. So here is my (hopefully) growing list. Keep in mind that I am a mother of a two year old and a full time college student so the number of books will be no where near where they would have been otherwise.
1. Second Glance--by Jodi Picoult
2. Identical--by Ellen Hopkins
3. Uglies--by Scott Westerfeld
4. Deep End of the Ocean--Jacquelyn Mitchard
5. House--Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker
6. The Killing Hour--Lisa Gardner
7. The Weight of Silence--Heather Gudenkauf 
8. Kissed by an Angel--Elizabeth Chandler
9. The Blue Girl--Charles de Lint
10. Me and Emma--Elizabeth Flock
11.Thirteen Reasons Why--Jay Asher
12. Bones to Ashes--Kathy Reichs
13. The Interruption of Everything--Terry McMillian
14. In The Woods--Tana French
15. Reading Like a Writer--Francine Prose
16. Fatal Voyage--Kathy Reichs
17. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo--Steig Larrson
18. Push--Sapphire
19. The Girl Who Played With Fire--Steig Larrson
20.The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest--Steig Larrson
21. Blue Diary--Alice Hoffman
22. Deja Dead--Kathy Reichs
23. Looks--Madeleine George
24. True Colors--Kristin Hannah
25. Death du Jour--Kathy Reichs
26. If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things--Jon McGregor
27. Lament--Maggie Stiefvater
28. The Notebook--Nicholas Sparks
29. More Than You Know--Beth Gutcheon
30. High Fidelity--Nick Hornby
31. Songs for the Missing--Stewart O'Nan
32. Chasing Brooklyn--Lisa Schroeder
33. Bleeding Violet--Dia Reeves
34. Sounds Like Crazy--Shana Mahaffey


 

Tags:
 
 
Current Mood: nerdy
 
 
 
anygivenmemory
02 November 2010 @ 11:41 pm

 


 
 
anygivenmemory
01 November 2010 @ 11:50 am


 
 
anygivenmemory
10 January 2010 @ 10:09 pm

In a collection of verses titled Calligrammes, Guillaume Apollinaire composed poems in the shape of the image they describe. In this exercise, you will use a basic shape, and then you will write poetry or prose inside the shape, making sure that the subject matter is linked to the shape and that you fill the entire shape with words.

Pick a number between 1 and 10 and write it here: 6

 

Find your number. THis is a suggested starter plus a Calligramme shape.

 

1. Start with: Banned from... Your shape: Circle with a slash, (banned signed, no smoking sign shape)
2. Start with: The power of... Your shape: lightening bolt.
3. Start with: Light years from... Your shape: Star.
4. Start with: By the light of... Your shape: cresent moon.
5. Start with: Choices... Your shape: Forked arrows.
6. Start with: Hard to love... Your shape: heart.
7. Start with: Brightened by... Your shape: Sun.
8. Start with: Darkened by... Your shape: Cloud.
9. Start with: Stopping was... Your shape: Stop sign, octogon.
10. Start with: It is now official... Your shape: Scroll.

 

        Hard to love           someone that
      is as imperfect       as I am. A person
     that is.....broken.    You can't love me.
    I  don't  even  love  myself. I am empty.
    Wanting to  be filled  up with  a feeling
     that always leaves me buried in pain.
      This time will not be any different. I
        find it harder to trust everyday. It
          leaves  me  wanting  more. But
             still I  am  hollow.  Empty  of
                all   that I crave.  Love's
                   never   found    me. 
                       I  know  that it
                               won't.

    

 


 
 
anygivenmemory
09 January 2010 @ 12:10 pm


The snow is tormenting me. Taunting me with its icy coldness. I remember playing outside in snow when I was younger until I was exhausted, fingers numb. If only it were that easy now. I guess I don't really play in it anymore because it is now a cumbersome chore. Clean off the car. Shovel the drive. Salt the stairs and the sidewalk. Pray that your car doesn't slide on ice. Granted, now my nice boyfriend does the hard work; keeping the cars and walkway clean, salting the stairs to keep my little boy and I safe. But I still have to drive in this rueful weather. Still have to face that there might be ice on the roads, that I might not be able to get out of the drive at the top of the hill. Next week classes start back. For the most part I am ready, but that means almost two hours of driving a day, four days a week. I'm not sure how I feel about classes starting back. The closer I get to finishing, the more fearful I get. I guess this fear comes from not knowing how I will like my career once I get it. Afraid that I am just wasting my time.

I should try to get some things done today. I need to do some housework and strive to do better at this "diet" that I am supposed to be on. Lost two pounds last week, and read two books. So far I have managed to write something everyday. I know that school will take up more of my time, but I am hoping that I can continue writing. It is after all, what I have always wanted to do. I have just never been able to finish any thing that I start working on. I start in determined to write a novel, and my self-doubt and self-loathing convince me that what I am writing is utter crap. So I give up. The only accomplishment that I have ever managed to receive with my writing is winning the young writer's contest at county level, back when I was still in high school. The funny thing was that it was just a story that I had sputtered out in about twenty minutes time. I never won that contest when I used to try really hard. I admire writers like Jodi Picoult. They can produce a book a year and it's still high quality. Her work is thought provoking, surprising, and emotional. She does so much research and has a way of wording things that I just get caught up in her books, not wanting to put them down. I wish I could write like that.

I think that my son has offically entered into the terrible twos. He has been cranky and mean all week even though his birthday isn't for another six days. I need to plan a party for him. Haven't really been able to get out to pick a cake though. I would really like to get him a cake with a train on it. He is obsessed with trains and I can't tell you how many times I have seen The Polar Express. Enough to be sick of it. Still, I am so proud of him for being so easy to potty train. So far it has been about three or four weeks and he is still doing wonderful at going to the potty. The terrible twos. Yes, last night he got mad at me and pinched my neck. Then he scratched at my face and made my lip bleed. I love him though. He is the reason that I do everything I do.

So, I just have one more day off before school starts. That makes me sad. Vacation wasn't nearly long enough. 
 


 
 
Current Mood: needing to clean house
 
 
anygivenmemory
09 January 2010 @ 11:24 am


Write the letters of the word built down the side of your page, repeating the letters over and over until you get to the last line.

When writing this exercise, whenever you start a new line, you must use the letter that appears at the begining o the line as the first letter of the first word on that line.

Pick a number between 1 and 10 and write it here: 2

Pick your number. This is your general writing topic.

1. leaving
2. listening
3. losing
4. leaning
5. loafing
6. leading
7. leaping
8. leasing
9. lending
10. licking

 

 Listening



Before you can truly listen to someone, you have to
Utilize the ablity to quiet your inner demons. As
I have gotten older, this is harder to do. I have a
Larger number of demons now I suppose. It's difficult
To silence all of the thoughts that run through my
Brain. Listening is an art: it requires that your mind be
Ubiquitous, doing more than one thing at a time. Focus
Is the key. Being able to tune in to one thing, and
Listen only to that part of the chaos. It is a skill
That I have mostly been successful at accomplishing,
But most people are always saying more than words.
Ululating with hauntings from thier own past. Hiding

Intricate meanings behind simple words. Begging at
Least to be understood. Wanting others to feel the
Tugging that latches onto their being. The fear that
Binds them to their life. Wanting desperately to be
Unique instead of like everyone else. All of this is what
I hear when I listen to someone. Sounds of crying, from
Lost people who want to be found. How then can I
Try to hear the casual conversation? To leave and
Be unaffected by all of the hidden messages? I do
Understand the feeling of nothingness that they have.
I too, have been there. Hopelessly wanting to not be
Lost anymore. I was once gone, empty, a shell, but
Then I found myself by listening to other's pain.


 
 
 
anygivenmemory
08 January 2010 @ 09:27 am

 

It's time to enjoy a little word-bowling. In order to word-bowl, count off ten lines. Your goal is to use each of the ten given words from the number you pick, one per line, in a story. This will score a strike. Nine words on nine unique lines scores a spare. Eight wors on eight unique lines is a split. The words don't have to be used in the order given. (Try a poem instead of a story if you want.)

Pick a number between 1 and 10 and write it here: 4

1. scissors, chocolate, scientific, chalk, soda, champ, support, choke, spy, cheat
2. buzz, beacon, baby, barnacle, blessing, count, carrot, calibrate, carbon, canned
3. tornado, tantrum, swindle, swing, nasal, nest, bag, bulb, geranium, gold
4. powder, ink, cat, styrofoam, bubble, notion, remote, royalty, highlight, pills
5. newspaper, perfume, relic, flashlight, file, turkey, ruter, vacation, baseball, hard
6. collar, luggage, spoon, propeller, float, yogurt, trial, upper, version, worry
7. fork, socks, forward, airplane, devil, eloquent, gel, harvest, irate, junk
8. zevra, vest, kinship, lemon, mercury, nasty, overt, passion, rehearse, simple
9. molecule, mustard, murmur, pink, plum, pricey, quartz, quell, quiz, foreigner
10. bug, snow, banjo, schlep, burden, graduate, hamper, minister, cassette, perky

The cat was black,
black as obsidian, dark as ink
sits high on the chair, as if royalty
and I have the notion,
that I am remote from this place
floating away in a bubble of escape
perhaps it was all the pills I took,
chasing them down with liquor in a styrofoam cup
everything is fuzzy, like a white powder surrounding me
this is the highlight of my life


 


 
 
anygivenmemory
07 January 2010 @ 05:03 pm


A biopic is a film that depicts and dramatizes the life of an important historical person, sometimes stretching the truth and telling the life story with varying degrees of accuracy.

For this exercise, think of a riveting event from your life; get a good mental picture of it. You will be using it as the basis of the opening scene for a biopic of your life. It's up to you how screenwriterly you are interms of dialogue and stage direction. If you enjoy this, write more scenes. They don't have to be in any type of order or linked in any way; just write good, dramatic, visual scenes from your life.

Pick a number between 1 and 10 and write it here: 1

The number you picked is a group of suggestions on where in your life story you might find a good scene to open your biopic.

1. your birth; a moment that moved in slow motion; an educational triumph
2. an incident involving the police or the law; a special birthday celebration; a childhood illness
3. a time when you made an error in judgment; a childhood toy; a birthmark
4. something that happened very fast; a graduation; a fall
5. a first day; finding out the hard way; an incident involving someone dear to you
6. on a vacation; a rite of passage; an award you received
7. a time when being slow cost you; a childhood excursion; last day in a home
8. starting school; taking a leap of faith; the birth of a sibling
9. losing your first tooth; at the home of a relative; about being or going fast
10. at the home of a friend; getting lost; giving advice

 

The stage: A field of high grass during the summer. The field has a small abandoned white house located on it. There is also a stream farther off. In the stream there are wide flat rocks where the water is flowing around but not on top of. It is summer. The time of day is mid-evening.

The characters: A young girl and an slightly younger boy. The boy has blond hair and wears a cap. The girl has long dark hair and porcelain skin.

The action: The scene should be shot with the sun behind the boy and girl. The long rays should occasionally glint and glare off of the camera. The speed should be slowed down half. The background should be silent, replaced with music. The boy and girl are running with their hands entertwined. Because of the position of the sun, they are almost silhouettes in the background. They are laughing, talking, but you can't hear them. The long grass bends with their steps and leaps. Her long hair whips behind her as she pulls him along, and then he pulls her. They come to an abandoned house and walk up the steps and disappear into the door. The music fades and the camera stays behind shooting only the abandoned white house. The sounds of the boy are girl are now heard. Lauging, giggling, slamming doors, can be heard. Faces and flashes of fabric can be seen through the windows. The boy and girl leave the house, music resumes and the sound is once again muted. They run along again slower this time. The camera pans in closer. The boy and girl are not talking or laughing, just walking. The girl gazes at the sky for a few moments, letting the boy lead her. They come to a stream and stop. The girl turns to the boy and smiles. The camera pans out as she quickly jumps into the creek, landing on a large flat rock. The boy follows. They stand facing each other before sitting down, and the camera zooms in again. The music fades while thay sit side by side and the sound of trickling water can be heard as the water flows all around the rock they are on. They are staring gently at each other, until finally they kiss and the screen fades to black.


 


 

 
 
anygivenmemory
06 January 2010 @ 03:24 pm

YOU JUST TURNED FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OLD--HENCE THE ALL-CAP TYPE AND THE FIREMEN AT YOUR PARTY. AN EIGHTEEN-YEAR-OLD NEIGHBOR ASKS YOU TO TELL YOUR FAVORITE STORY FROM WHEN YOU WERE HER AGE. YOU TELL HER THE TALE ABOUT "THE BEAR" SO YOU CAN SCARE HER A BIT.


Pick a number between 1 and 10 and write it here: 10

Find your number. This is the starting phrase for your story.

1. Carrying a huge bundle of kindling for the fire, I tripped...
2. Portugal, where my family lived back then had just gained independence from Spain...
3. Before Louis XVI was King of France and no one make jokes about letting everyone eat cake...
4. New York was a wild place back then and so was...
5. We used to take animal intestines and...
6. I was doing time in teh only prison in...
7. Haing a good memory is both a blessing and a curse, and in this circumstance...
8. In the 382 years since this story took place, I have never, ever met another person who...
9. While my brother, the good son, was studying arithmetic, I was out in the woods...
10. "Brave" is not a word that I have used very often in my four hundred years...


"Brave" is not a word that I have used very often in my four hundred years, but that day I made myself be brave. It was Feburary 19, 1628 and it was cold. My husband at the time had left to go hunting. He was trying to find and kill us a buffalo so that we would have enough meat to last for a while. The fire in the center of the cabin had died out in the middle of the night. I knew that my two month old baby and I would freeze before my husband got back, so I had to make a new fire myself. I swaddled my little boy as tightly as I could so that he would be warm and placed him in a basket that I had made. I had forgotten that the last thing I had had in the basket was raw fish from my husbands catch the night before. I walked outside the cabin with the baby and placed him on the ground a few feet away from me while I worked. I had to find and gather enough wood to last us at least two more nights until my husband was due to return. I had collected all of the branches I could find on the ground in the area surrounding the cabin, when I started breaking off branches that I could reach on nearby trees. The hair stood up on the back of my neck when I heard a snort behind me. I turned to see a giant black bear sniffing at the basket that held my sleeping son. My heart thrashed wildly in my chest and I ran straight towards the bear. I watched as it scooped up the basket's handle in its vicious teeth and rose onto its hind legs. As I got closer, I realized that the bear had to have been close to ten feet tall. I couldn't think about anything but my son. Fear was clouding my thoughts like a winter storm covers the earth. The bear finally saw me, or perhaps he smelled the anxiety wafting from me, and promptly returned to four legs and started loping towards the woods. I grabbed the biggest rock that I could find and hurled it with all of my might towards the beast. I knew that if I could make it mad, its attention would be on me and not my infant. Damn that basket with its smell of fish. Curse myself for not realizing... But there was nothing that I could do now, except to fight this bear. The rock struck the fur-coverd massive body and I let out a sigh of relief when it dropped the basket to the ground. It started chasing me, and my first thought was to lead it as far away from my little boy as possible. As the bear pursued me, I realized that I was coming upon the lake that sat to the west of our house. I skidded to a stop before I reached the ice. The bear was closing in on me. I gauged my weight compared to the weight of the bear and glanced at the thinly frozen crust before me. I ran again. The bear followed me onto the lake. I didn't look back, I just quickly skittered across the glass-like suface, praying that I didn't slip and fall. When the bear was in the middle of the lake, and I was near the opposite edge I heard the ice crack. I flew to the shore and threw my body onto the bank just as the bear started to go into the water. While the bear was struggling in the icy pool, I ran back to my baby, quickly got the wood that I had managed to gather and went into my cabin. I built a fire and held my son for a long time, stroking his soft face. When I finally had to gather more wood, I strapped my baby onto my back like the Indians did. I never knew what became of the bear.

 

 

 
 
anygivenmemory
05 January 2010 @ 03:22 pm


Prefix
                              
semi                                        
pro                                    
post                          
neo             
pseudo        
psycho             
uni              
tele                   
micro
maxi
anti
inter
inner
mis
upper
geo
counter
ex


Root

bug
work
paper
money
fun
point
left
right
wish
fish
slash
dribble
loon
flush
mush
strip
babble
grime


Suffix

athon
ateria
itis
ist
meister
ish
itude
arian
able
ologist
omatic
acious
mania
phobe
phile
arama
ivore
ism

 

Here's a chance to blend a prefix, root, and suffix to create a brand new word. Simply take one from each column. You will have to use this new word in your story, so choose wisely!

Write your SuperWordAcious word here: antiworkmania

Pick a number between 1 and 10 and write it here: 9

This is a famous first line to start your story.

1. A screaming comes across the sky. (Gravity's Rainbow, Thomas Pynchon)
2. It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. (1984, George Orwell)
3. I am an invisible man. (Invisible Man, Ralph Ellison)
4. Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. (David Copperfield, Charles Dickens)
5. It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of the night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not. (City of Glass, Paul Auster)
6. The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.(Neuromancer, William Gibson)
7. Where now? Who now? When now? (The Unnamable, Samuel Beckett)
8. It was like so, but wasn't. (Galatea 2.2, Richard Powers)
9. Dr. Weiss, at forty, knew that her life had been ruined by literature. (The Debut, Anita Brookner)
10. I had the story, bit by bit,from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story. (Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton)


Dr. Weiss, at forty, knew that her life had been ruined by literature. She had wanted to become an author growing up, not a writer. She was already a writer: always had been. Convinced with some strong swindling by her parents that she would never make a living by writing, she went to med school. Now, at forty, she was convinced that she had made the wrong choice. She was unhappy, all because she could not give up her love of literature, her love of the written word. As a doctor, she was always on call, never having much time to herself. The last book she started to read lay behind her couch under a layer of dust, still turned to page two. It had been t years since she last wrote something. Now stories and snippets of dialogue swam through her head like one of the diseases she treated. She couldn't bring herself to say what she was thinking. Her lips wouldn't form the words. Silently she said, "I quit being a doctor." But what she did was walk through the slidding glass doors and put on her lab coat. Her therapist said she had what was now known as antiworkmania. This was a condition of the mind in which one was so against their job that they deliberately did things that could get them fired and then promptly forgot about it. Last week she had turned off her pager, but forgotten that she had done so. Two patients had died that night. Three days ago, she had given a patient a medication that they were allergic to. Now that she knew what she had, she was determined not to do anything else associated with the condition. She knew that she had to be responsible until she made a decision. She also knew that there was no decision to make. Why would anyone leave a secure job with plenty of money to do something that might not even put food on the table? Antiworkmania worked like this: when a person consciously made a choice to continue to work at a job that they hated, the stress made the subconscious act on the stressor, and when the person was thinking consciously again they have no recollection of anything that happened during the subconscious period. Being a doctor, Dr. Weiss understood the problem perfectly, she just couldn't do anything about it. The condition had not yet been reseached, and therefore, there weren't any medications or therapies to treat it. She went through her day, not aware that she had just subconsciously made a medical error that would cure cancer. Later, they would discover that she had caused the cure, only to find that there was no way to make her remember what she had done. This caused a whole new load of problems for Dr. Weiss.
                                                                              


 
 
anygivenmemory
04 January 2010 @ 12:53 pm


Write about a time when you (or a character) felt divided over an incident, decision, or act. Some examples: feeling divided over which job offer to take, feeling torn over accepting one of two prom dates (which will mean hurting someone's feelings), having a close relative fighting in a war that you don't support, living in a time or place in the midst of a civil war.

Start with: Knowing that there is more than one way to...

Pick a number between 1 and 10 and write it here: 5

Find your number and use this list of divided (hyphenated) words to use in your piece.

1. able-bodied; absent-minded; ad-lib; A-frame; empty-handed
2. fact-finding; father-in-law; far-flung; follow-through; front-runner
3. frame-up; free-for-all; get-together; hand-picked; hanky-panky
4. high-tech; ho-hum; hush-hush; in-depth; in-house
5. know-how; life-size; mind-blowing; mind-boggling; mother-in-law
6. narrow-minded; nitty-gritty; on-site; one-sided; passer-by
7. red-hot; re-elect; roly-poly; second-guess; second-rate
8. self-service; shrink-wrap; sign-in; soft-spoken; straight-laced
9. U-turn; V-neck; voice-over; weak-kneed; well-to-do
10. well-being; wheeler-deeler; word-of-mouth; worn-out; year-end


Knowing that there is more than one way to kill myself gives me comfort. I used find the thought mind-blowing, but now it makes me serene; gives me calm in the midst of panic. A plan when the rest of my life is spiraling at a downward swirl, a whirlwind faster than I can swim out of. This decision, this choice of whether or not to end this joke called life is the only thing that I can control. Most would find the idea of suicide mind-boggling, especially coming from a nineteen year-old girl. They would say that I had not even undertaken any life-size experiences yet. But they would be wrong. If they would look deeper, they would really see: a girl lost even to herself. A girl who graduated high school a year early with a G.P.A. of 3.8, yet a failure who dropped out of college three times and nursing school once. A girl who lost seventy-five pounds but still hated her reflection, only to gain it all back again. A girl without a father, who has seen more than one male walk out of her life. A girl whose husband has been gone for two months leaving her heart shattered like an unwanted porcelain doll. A girl who thought she had found a friend in her mother-in-law, only to be betrayed. I can't control anything in my life, anything but this. I have the know-how, the intellect so that death, at least, will not be denied from me. I know that you are more successful cutting along the length of your arm than with a quick slash of the wrist. I know the dosage required of certain medications from which there is no return. I know the best way to hang yourself, so that your neck snaps instead of you being suffocated. Now there is only the choice. Do I keep living a lie, or face the end of all that pains me? As I contemplate this undoable act I feel the baby move. Wriggling inside me all joints and feet, as if he has grown too big for the world he is in. Too big, while I feel too small for this world: so small that I might simply disappear. If I should disappear this boy shall never breathe, shall never have a chance. Perhaps he will lead a better life than mine, one where he feels loved and continues to feel too big for the world. Is it my duty then? To give him a chance? To be there and ensure that he never feels the way I do? Slowly I stand, with the baby pressing his feet taut against my skin. I place my hand on my swollen belly, amazed that I can count his toes.
 


 
 
 
anygivenmemory
03 January 2010 @ 02:26 pm


W.A. Spooner was an English clergyman noted for accidentally transposing sounds within words and phrases. An example of a Spoonerism is when you say crooks and nannies when you intended to say nooks and crannies.

Your challenge in this exercise is to use a pair of Spoonerisms as bookends for a timed writing by starting you writing with one, and then ending it with the other. In the above example, you would start with The nooks and crannies...and then write to fill the time, concluding you piece with the words...the crooks and nannies.

Pick a number between 1 and 10 and write it here: 7

Pick the number you chose and use this pair of Spoonerism bookends.

1. The master plan...   ...the plaster man
2. When you blow your nose...   ...when you know your blows
3. Go and take a shower...   ...go and shake a shower
4. I must send the mail...   ...I must mend the sail
5. A crushing blow...   ...a blushing crow
6. The cozy little nook...   ...the nosey little cook
7. I was lighting a fire...   ...I was fighting a liar
8. Because of a pack of lies...   ...because of a lack of pies
9. It's pouring with rain...   ...it's roaring with pain
10. Save the whales...   ...wave the sails

 

     I was lighting a fire when the stranger appeared. He was old and wearing crumpled clothes. Clothes that were much to thin for the winter wind pressing all around. He seemed to gaze at me, judging me by my actions before decding whether or not to approach.
     "Yes?" I questioned. Steam bellowing up from my throat and disappearing into the cold night air. "Can I help you with something?" 
     He wavered a bit before answering, as if he had to test his voice because he hadn't used it in a while. "I... I d... don't rightly know."  
     I was camping out in these woods, and I figured he had to be camping, hunting, or otherwise lost. Judging by the lack of hunting or camping gear and the fact that he was lightly dressed, I was betting on the latter. "Are you lost?"
     "No."
     He just stood there for a minute or so not doing or saying anything. I couldn't figure out if it was because he was confused or because he was deliberately trying to instill fear in me. Either way, I was not comfortable. Hoping to figure out what the man wanted so that he would leave, I called, "What's your name?"
     "George Washington."
     "Yeah, and I'm Marilyn Manroe." I taunted sarcastically. He didn't say anything. "So George," I asked, "Did you cut down the cherry tree?" 
     "The cherries won't be ripe before summer. No need to cut down the tree before then."
     Clearly the man was missing a few marbles. Maybe that's why he was lost: no one was looking for him. "How old are you? Do you live around here?"
     "278 years. Not any more."
     Boy, this guy was a talker. If I didn't figure out what this man wanted, I was never going to get camp set up. Besides, he clearly had mental problems. No one could possibly be 278 years old. 
     "278, ehh? Which decade was your favorite?" I was clearly getting annoyed at this point, not that he could take a hint. "Listen, what are you doing out here? I've got stuff to do and you are just standing there like a tree that's trying to grow roots." I looked around and gestured with a sweep of my arm, "I clearly have enough trees, so find somebody else to bother."
     "If you light that fire, they will find us. It's too visible."
     Puzzled once again, "Who will find us? Personally, I think that someone needs to find you."
     "The smoke will be visible from the other side of the hill, they will know our exact location."
     "Sorry, old man," I retorted, "But no one is looking for me and I don't care who sees the smoke from my fire. I'm freezing my ass off out here and you are keeping me from getting warm."
     "Think less of yourself and more about the other troops." He said.
     "Troops?" I was at a loss about what to do. It was plainly evident that he and I were the only ones in this neck of the woods. My cell phone didn't work this far out, or else I would have already called the police and told them to book another patient for the mental institution. "Go away."
     "I am not leaving the company! I am the general, the safety of the troops depends on me!" This time he roared, and I admit, I didn't think the old man's voice could squeak above a whisper. I was visibly shaken.
     I grabbed my duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder, leaving behind the tent and other gear. I would hike back down the hill. Once I reached the bottom I would go to the convienience store located there and call for assistance. Either this old man was George Washington, or verbally, I was fighting a liar.

    

 

 
 
anygivenmemory
02 January 2010 @ 11:25 am


When the ball hit you in the head, you were knocked out cold for ten minutes. During that time, you had what you can best describe as the weirdest dream of your life.

Start with: I was in...

Pick a number between 1 and 10 and write it here: 3

Find your number and use the three idioms in the recounting of your dream.

1. out of line; out of nowhere; out of fashion
2. out of bounds; out of work; out of stock
3. out of sight; out of season; out of breath
4. out of luck; out of character; out of print
5. out of order; out of shape; out of touch
6. out of commission; out of tune; out of turn
7. out of step; out of gas; out of earshot
8. out of place; out of whack; out of town
9. out of sorts; out of practice; out of here
10. out of range; out of date; out of hand

 

I was in a strange place. The sky was purple. I saw faries flying around my head, glowing with a feverish intensity of blue light. The grass was not grass, but velvet beneath my feet. Where my shoes were I had no idea. My toes sank in the plushness of the earth in this aberrant place. I looked around but all I could see was that I was in a clearing in the middle of a forest where trees grew with leaves in every color of the rainbow. The air was heavy and humid. Moisture beaded my brow. The temperature was warm, really warm. I began to notice that the sky was darkening into a shade of plum, a purple so black that it seemed menacing. The fairies became nervous, flitting around and flying farther away, until finally, they were out of sight. The sky opened up, and instead of rain as I would expect with the heat, snow fell in torrential flakes. Seemed out of season to me, but then again everything about this area was odd. The snow was pristine white, contrasting with the bright hues found all around. It was the strangest and most beautiful thing that I had ever seen. The snow was not cold, and before I realized it, it was piled up to my knees and still falling. I began to wade through the fluff, lifting my legs as high as they would go. I piloted an uneven trail towards the multi-colored trees. The sky kept darkening, and once under the cover of the trees, very little light filtered through. I had the sudden sense that I needed to find cover, shelter of some kind. The snow has above my knees at about mid-thigh and I was fearful that I would soon be buried under it. Suddenly, there was a trampling through the woods. I became perplexed by the sound, how could something make that much noise with all of this snow muffling the ground? Then I heard a guttural sound, a sound that only something inhuman could cry. It made my hair stand on end. The air all at once dropped in temperature and I found myself shivering. I heard the cry again: distressed, angry, and determined. It sounded closer and I noticed that I had involuntarily increased my speed. I knew not where I was going, only that I wanted distance between myself and whatever was out there. I pushed faster and harder as the snow continued to rise. I gulped the now icy air, out of breath. I couldn't breathe. Everything went black. When I opened my eyes again I saw a blue sky, sunshine, and felt the dirt of the baseball field beneath me. I still couldn't breathe. The ball had hit me in the head, thus knocking me on the ground and knocking the breath out of me. I had been out cold, therefore it had all been a dream. My jaw dropped as I dusted white flakes of snow off of my uniform and watched them melt before they hit the ground, like they had never been there at all.


 

 
 
anygivenmemory
01 January 2010 @ 08:19 pm


The date is October 10, 3010, and you have just arrived at the first location on your megalightyear mission. At the top of your agenda is the mandatory task of sending a warpagram to your boss to let her know your current status. Unfortunately, warpalation software, the absolute fastest in the plenasphere, can only handle ten words before it crashes. Although a long mission is hard to sum up in ten words, you have no choice. Compose your warpagram at the top of your page.

After tackling all the other items on your daily agenda, it's your practice to write in your journal, the only safe space for you to voice your true opinions about the mission and its goals. Every night, after you fill many pages, you burn them so you don't risk being "found out".

Start your journal entry with: After a long...

Pick a number between 1 and 10 and write it here: 8

This is a pair of words to use together in your journal entry.

1. blindingly bright
2. frighteningly fast
3. perilously close
4. briefly disoriented
5. dangerous fluorescence
6. slightly radioactive
7. monsoon-like winds
8. qicksand-like suction
9. narrow escape
10. deafening explosion



 

10/10/10--warpagram
After close call with marsh pit, boolah has escaped again.


10/10/10--journal
After a long day, the fourth atempt to catch a boolah has once again been a failure. I first saw it standing in some moon beams on the lovely beach found on the western side of the planet we call Barwapler. I was quiet but quick in my approach. I know that we desperately need to catch one of these creatures for observation and experimentation purposes. But I honestly don't know how I am to bring one back home if I cannot capture one. The creatures are keen and somewhat intuitive. I swear the boolah spotted me before I even had an opportunity to close the gap between us. Then it was off. I started my chase following it through the forest of walla trees. Its erratic gait confused me. The boolah would veer in one direction the abruptly change its course. Honestly, I admire the beings. They are the hardest yet to catch and do not fall for any of the traps that I have dilligently set around the area. I am in awe of them. Perhaps that is part of the problem. I become so entranced by their colorful skin and the glimmering sheen that surrounds them that I am not focusing enough to do my job. It is almost hypnotic. Of course I do not tell the boss this. I also noticed that my mind works in different ways when I am in near proximity to a boolah. For example, I was giving pursuit and I noticed that the sky tasted sweet, almost like cotton candy. This sensation struck me as preposterous. How could I taste the sky when I was hundreds of thousands of feet away from it? Another example was the dream I had two days ago. I cannot even use words to describe it. There weren't any words or concrete examples in my dream. It was like nothing I have ever seen and I have been to 567 planets so far. When I awoke, a boolah was a mere ten feet away from me. I was so disoriented from the dream, that by the time the thought to chase the creature entered my mind, it was long gone. The being I was following today was bigger than the others. Perhaps the others have all only been children? I must observe more to tell. The boolah led me to a part of the planet that I have not yet explored. I was running through some odd trees and other scenery when I started sinking in a marsh pit. I clearly saw the boolah go the same way, yet I was being pulled down in a quicksand-like suction. I am hypothisizing that the boolah possesed some quality that allowed it to hover over the pit. I was quickly going down when I grabbed a fistful of some type of vine. It was a vine that I have never studied before. I pulled on it in an attempt to drag myself out of the pit and stop the sinking. To my astonishment, the vine pulled me out. After I had my feet on the ground once again, I observed that the vine was once again limp and lifeless. It was not just my imagination. The vine had saved my life. I tried cutting a piece off to take back to the lab, but it was so hard that none of my tools would cut through it, when only moments ago it had been whipping about, not hard at all. I have come to the conclusion that I need to move my camp and lab to this new area I have discovered. Perhaps I will get a chance to find out more about the vine. Also, the boolah went in this area, so maybe I will get closer to their homes, where ever that may be. The better part of the morning tomorrow will be spent moving my camp and lab to the new destination. Then I shall have the whole evening to find new developments about the planet Barwapler.