Writer's Workshop: Memories

So, Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It wants us to post about memories. Specifically, "I remember when ..." is one of her weekly writing prompts. And we all have memories. So this should be easy. Right? Right? Yeah ...

Try as I might, I must admit that I've got nothing this week. I tried to think of something to write about. And I know that when you're having writer's block, other people can provide inspiration. And my advanced management accounting textbook just isn't inspiring any great writing moments for me today. (I don't know why.) So I wandered around and visited some of my best bloggy friends to try and find some inspiration.

I checked out Steenky Bee, of course, as she is all kinds of awesomesauce and I was sure she could help me out. But I was dismayed to learn that she's gone today. Fortunately, she was located in the vicinity of her neighbour's kitchen, taking a meeting with Clark Kent. But she couldn't talk, as she was busily belly crawling back to her home at the time.

The Bloggess is also busy today, dealing with her Pringles cravings and trying to save the world's kittens. This is an admirable goal, because everybody loves kittens. Even God. No matter what that email implied.

(Look! A bunny!)

Okay then. How about Heinous? Heinous always has something good to say ... but not today, apparently, as he is having some writer's block issues of his own this morning and can't think up witty comments. WTF, Heinous?!?! (Thanks for the shout-out, btw. You're awesome!)

This isn't working out so well.

The Stiletto Mom had some promising things to tell me about memories. But then she went off into some kind of strange tangent about monkeys. Now personally, I have nothing against monkeys. But I have no monkeys in my past. No memories of monkeys at all. And I couldn't come up with anything, monkey-related or otherwise, to write about. (In hindsight, I wonder if she got confused when I asked about "memories" and thought I said "monkeys". That makes sense. Miscommunications like that are the reason for much of the world's strife, I am certain.)

Okay. Nothing. I've got nothing.

Fortunately, Captain Dumbass posted yesterday about a great memory of his. He says he remembers that the trailer for "The Shining" scared the hell out of him when he was a kid. Well, that I can certainly relate to. I remember the first time I saw it, too. Totally freaky. And if you check it out, I'm sure you'll find it very, very scary too.

Can't find it? Well, thanks to the wonders of YouTube, I can help you out with that. Here it is!

See? Terrifying!

Okay. That's as much of a study break as I can afford just now. Must get back to the riveting details that are advanced management accounting. Jealous?

How about this: I remember when I could memorize an entire textbook word for word without too much trouble. Today? Yeah ... not so much.

I thought I saw you

I thought I saw you the other day,
But I really wasn't sure.
A shadow in among the fray.
Passed by me in a blur.

I thought I saw you the other day.
I didn't know what to feel.
A billion shades of dappled grey,
As many ways to heal.

I thought I saw you the other day.
I guess you're doing fine,
'Cause most things just work out okay
If only in my mind.

I thought I saw you the other day.
Thought maybe I should speak,
But I didn't know what I should say.
Tired. Feeling weak.

I thought I saw you the other day.
A chance for me to grow.
But I turned and walked the other way
Preferring not to know.

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The above poem is apropos of nothing. It was inspired by Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It, whose writer's workshop for the week included a prompt to begin a post with the words "I thought I saw". So there ya go!

Head on over. Check out the writer's workshop prompts for the week. Read the many posts. Write one of your own and link up. Come on. You know you want to. It's fun.

Another day for you and me in paradise

I warn you. This post is a little darker than our norm. I blame Mama Kat. It's her assignment, after all.

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Bound by professional ethics, I am not permitted to screw with your taxes. Much as I would like to. And that is the cross I bear.

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I was an unpopular kid. A bookworm and a tomboy who enjoyed classical music and excelled at math and creative writing. A late bloomer with crooked teeth, big glasses, and unfashionable clothing. I didn't make friends easily. At one time friendly and outgoing, I ended up withdrawn and shy.

Trust no one. Don't try to fit in. If you put yourself out there, you only get it worse. Just duck and cover.

Some days, it feels like a war zone. But with fewer guns.

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I had a couple of close friends. We'd met when I was about 4 years old. They were at all my birthday parties growing up. We played together on an almost daily basis. We sat together in classes. We were inseparable. My two best friends. I loved them, and I trusted them. But they were boys, and I was an awkward and gawky girl. Suddenly, we were teenagers. Suddenly, all bets were off. Suddenly, they didn't want to know me. And more to the point, they joined the others. But they were even worse. Crushing insults and cruel violence. Thanks for the memories.

Betrayed. I trusted you. I believed in you. I had higher expectations of you.

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I was not an athlete. But I remember spending a lot of time running. Trying to get away. Hiding in bathrooms. Tears. Feigning illness so I wouldn't have to go. I couldn't face it. I couldn't. Please. No more.

Oddly enough, the mental anguish stands out more than the physical abuse.

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Oh, how you would laugh. No opportunity was ever wasted.

"She's ugly and has funny teeth."
"Are you pregnant?"
"Hey sweetheart, anyone ever tell you you're flat?"

Teachers couldn't protect me. They tried, but they couldn't. Bullies are creative, and they find a way to get you. If insults don't work, they escalate. And escalate, and escalate, and escalate. First, they're tossing barbs, telling you you're stupid and ugly and untalented. Next, they're excluding you from participation in group projects and suggesting you can't sing and must have slept with an instructor to get into choir. Soon, they're vandalizing your artwork. Now, they're chasing you down at the annex and hitting you, just to see if they can make you cry.

Yes, you were all just lovely. Good times. Thanks for that.

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But it's just a typical day. A part of growing up. It's just junior high. Forever burned in my memory.

And you.

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Many years have passed, and I think of you often. I wonder what's become of you. I look you up, but when I see your name, my eyes burn. It appears that karma has not yet caught you. You are wealthy. Admired. Respected. And I wonder if you beat your wife or kids, as you did me. It seems something you might be capable of. I hope not.

I see your name on a file, and I have it sequestered. I cannot work on your file. I can't even see it. I recognize that I am not unbiased, cannot be unbiased, and I am always a professional. So I grit my teeth, and I protect you. Because I know that this is the right thing to do.

This is the right thing to do. And apparently, I will always do the right thing. I did it then, and I do it now. It's who I am.

I never gave you reason to mistrust me. I never gave you reason to fear me. Why should today be any different?

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Yes, I know this post has a sad, heavy kind of tone. Don't blame me. It's the fault of Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It. She picked the prompts.

So head on over and check out this week's writing assignment. What speaks to you? And for heaven's sake, try and have some fun with it!!

More than words

I write to warn you.

My warning is not a prophecy of things to come. It is much too late for that. For the evil already enshrouds us, inherent in our very being. An evil so base, so fierce, it takes no prisoners preferring instead to slay all who cross its path. There are those who would experiment. Taunting it. Daring it to touch them. They think it might be fun; the highs, the lows. They are the invincible, holding steadfastly to their belief that nothing can touch them. "It won't happen to me", they think, and they laugh at the voice of experience. But we know better. We have been there. We have experienced the pain of addiction and recovery firsthand, and we see what you will become should you let the demon overtake you.

Don't do it. Addiction is devastating. Relationships have been forever damaged and lives taken. Don't even try it. I beg of you.

Demon, thy name is Scrabble.

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It began innocently enough. Three friends, one piece of cardboard, a bag of tiles, and a dream. One would best the others. One would emerge victorious. Yes, one and only one would be crowned the victor. And to the victor go the spoils. (The spoils being completely imaginary, you understand.) A battle of wits. To the death. (Okay, maybe not to the death, but two people would feel sort of linguistically challenged when it was all over. And that kind of mild ego bruise is really painful to nerds like us, I assure you.)

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Jessica began the game. The first word. The coveted default double word score. Leaning forward with an evil sneer, she began placing tiles on the board. Both of us dying a little inside as each new tile was positioned. A. N. I. E. S. T.

And then, with a hideous evil laugh and a flourish, she laid the first tile. The coveted "Z". "Zaniest". For 102 points. The deep intake of breath could be heard for miles. Well played indeed, Jezebel.

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A few more turns. Staring. Glaring. Each working to undermine the confidence of the others. Each trying to top the previous score. The malicious name calling. Yes, Delia, I am speaking to you. Coy as you tried to be, we all knew exactly to whom you referred when you played "Fathead". Staring right at me, with open hostility. And then you batted your eyes at me demurely, and ... well, you certainly earned that black eye, didn't you? For not only did you openly insult me, but you took my spot! I stand behind my actions. No judge would convict me.

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Nearing the end of the game. No more tiles in the little bag. Everyone needing to use up the tiles that remained on their wooden shelves, lest a penalty be incurred. Double letter value deductions was our rule. Double! And me with seven letters, while Delia, sitting there icing her eye like some kind of "victim", had only five.

She did not deserve the title. I had to beat her. I must win.

My turn. I took a deep breath, and ...

Building on "ZOO". I knew I could do it. I laid down my tiles, slowly, casting sideways glances at my opponents. K. E. E. P. E. R. S. Triple word score. Double letter beneath the "K". And as an added bonus, the "S" that had landed on the triple word score completed an adjacent word and made "Hybrids". 48 points for "Hybrids". 90 for "Zookeepers". And a 50 point bonus for the Bingo. A total of 188. The game was done. I had won.

I laughed. A malicious, evil laugh. But my glee was short-lived, as one grabbed me by the throat and the other forced me to eat the "K".

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I've lost more friends this way. Really, it was just a typical Friday night.

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And in case you need more evidence of the evils of Scrabble, I present you with this Canadian Vignette. (Well worth watching, I assure you.)

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Mama Kat writes one of my favourite blogs, Mama's Losin' It. Head on over and check out this week's writing assignment. Lots of fun to be had!