Tag Archive: writing


Mash-Up Blogfest!

Here it is, clocking in at just under 1,000 words – 993 to be exact – my entry for maybe genius’s Mash-Up Blogfest:

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The wind swirls in eddies around me, blusters maddeningly through my very soul, flusters and bends and breaks and reforms me only to break me again. Abandon all hope, the sign says: I did, long ago.

Yet when he walks in, my world halts. I stop, wait, watch as he approaches.

He enters my space, the bastard, with another girl. She, prissy and clean, shoots me a glance with eyebrows raised before obeying a gesture of his and wandering off to explore. I glare at her, waiting for her to leave, waiting to be alone with him once more.

“Who’s the new girl? Is she to join us down here? Or a new torture for me alone?

“I would never try to torture you, Lily.”

“You torture me every moment you’re not here. Stay with me.”

“You know I cannot.”

“I know you will not.” I try to turn away from him, but can’t. His face is too painfully glorious not to contemplate for the few stolen moments we have. Because he came down to see me: these moments must be stolen.

“Who is she?” I ask again.

“She, like me, is an angel. I am here only to guide her. We will have to move on when she has finished.”

“She’s not your new lover.” Relief courses through me.

“Of course not,” he snaps. Frustration creases his brows, furrows in the lining of his radiant skin. Even then, even furious, he is beautiful.

“And what of me?”

“What of you? We only met once before now. There is nothing I can do for you.”

“But you said when I died that you loved me.”

“I love all God’s creatures.”

“That’s not what ‘I love you’ means.” Even at 16 I’d known that.

“I could mean nothing else.”

His words at the moment of my death – the light shining in his eyes, the softness, the gentleness with which he took my hand in his, the wisp of hair that fell in his face – that is all I have now. I must remind him – he must remember.

“I love you. And I don’t mean by that to say that I love all creatures. It’s you, Ashrael. I can love none but you. I never will.”

 I reach for him, but my outstretched fingers pass straight through him.

He shakes his head sadly. “Would that I could give you what you desire.”

“You could. Let me touch you.” He responds with the barest of head shakes. “Please, Ashreal, for a moment. Just one.”

He watches me carefully, sadness battling something unreadable in his eyes. Finally, his body ripples as he took a physical form. I brush against him, and he is real, strong, solid under my touch.

A gust of wind howls through my chamber, tossing my hair around my head and catching it in my lips. His skin grows hot under my touch. I breathe deeply, trying to filter out the stench of smoke and brimstone, searching for the faint airy incense scent of him.

“Ashrael!”  She stands in the doorway, his charge for the day, her expression a confusion of shock and dismay. He withdraws from me, shimmering as he flees his corporeal body.

Damn. I almost had him.

“Dinah, this isn’t what…” he stops himself before he can lie, and I can feel a cruel smile form on my lips. “Do you have any questions?”

“What was going – ”

“Do you have any questions,” Ashrael clarifies, “about the area.”

“Why are these people being punished?”

“This is level two of hell. For those who fell into lust and refused to repent.” His eyes glance back to me. Her eyes follow his, but she looks away quickly. Naive, judgmental little twit.

“Shall we move on?” she asks.

“Did you speak with the damned? Do you feel you understand why they’re here? Why they deserve punishment? Why their lust is sinful?”

“My feelings are not a sin!” I shout, glaring at him, hating him for letting her think of me like that, like some kind of whore.

“You are sinning,” Dinah answers primly, “or you wouldn’t be punished down here.”

“Bitch,” I snarl. “You’ll never understand me and you’ll never understand why we’re here because you’ll never understand love. So get out of here and leave me to speak with Ashrael. You’re in the way.”

Dinah looks at Ashrael, who nods once. She leaves.

“How can you say those things about me? That I’m damned because of lust? I was a virgin when I died and you know it.”

“It isn’t about your virginity.”

“Then what is it? That I couldn’t play by some arbitrary set of rules? That I was unlucky enough to fall for you? That you were the one to come to me when I died?”

“You love me too much,” he says, “and wrongly. You should love me only as you love everyone else, and less than your Creator.”

“I could never love like that. That isn’t love. It’s a lie that no one could ever live up to.”

“Still,” he says, “you must try. Else you’ll be here forever, my love. If you could let go of me, you could float on the air in love and worship. You could be with the angels.”

“I don’t want them. I only want you.”

The howling winds start up inside me again. All I want is to lose myself in them.

He walks to me in silence. His hand, physical once more, brushes a tear from my face. I lean my cheek against his hand, trying desperately not to lose contact, but he retreats. With one last, sad look, he leaves.

And so here I stay, battered in the wind, the image of Ashrael’s face forever in my mind. I long for him, I desire him, I wish him to be tempted by me as I’ve so sorely been by him.

Were he damned too, we could be together forever.

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I hope you enjoyed! I feel like I’ve been overthinking this, but there’s a question hanging out in my head: is this even still a mashup? Did I edit the mashup out of it? I’d love to know what you think of the story – good, bad, “it’s okay but I’m sad there weren’t any velociraptors in hell,” anything. And then go readand enjoy all the other entries!

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Read this article. It’s a brilliant piece of satire that appeared in the UK’s Guardian recently. It sums up exactly how pretty much every article on some scientific finding is written up. It’s absolute genius.

And it explains part of why I’m happy to have stopped watching the news so much.

When we lived in PA, Tony and I were 24/7 news junkies – we had a standing evening date to watch Keith Olbermann (and sometimes Rachel Maddow, if we didn’t decide to jump ship to Comedy Central and watch Futurama instead). If we wanted the tv on for background noise, it was typically on the news. If we weren’t sure what to watch because nothing was on (typical, given we had 100 or so channels), then we’d turn on the news.  It turned into a lot of news.

There were some good things that came out of it: we could both name all 9 justices (how many people can still do that after 12th grade?), and between the two of us we could name at least 60 US Senators.

But the news, which was already dumbed down, got dumber. In part, I blame whichever studio exec it was who decided Twitter was fun and that the solution to falling ratings was to have the news announcers read the tweets of the unwashed, uneducated, opinionated masses. *insert several headdesks here* The thing is this: if you’re tuning into the news, chances are you want to see some actual NEWS, and maybe some commentary from an honest-to-Ceiling Cat EXPERT. What you don’t really want (or at least what I really, really didn’t want) was an ongoing relay of every tweet anyone (especially celebrities) had tweeted about whatever the hot news topic of the day happened to be. I have yet to figure out why I’m supposed to care what some random English teacher (being picked on because I’ve been one) has to say about the Obama Administration’s policy towards Georgia (the country, not the state)(though I don’t care what said teacher would care about policy toward the state, for that matter).

When they’re not reading tweets, the news channels are engaging in artificial shit-stirring of the type so brilliantly satirized by the article I linked to at the beginning of the post. Most of the time it’s in the political arena. (I mean honestly, was it *really* a big deal that Michelle Obama took a daughter to Paris over the summer? No. She went on vacation to visit friends. She took her daughter. They can afford it. They had fun. The end.) If it’s not politics, then it’s celebrities, and if it’s not celebrities, it’s the ONOES! (choose one) sugar/caffeine/exercise/red wine/excess fat/cats/lack of sleep/stress/chocolate/pencil skirts/work/unemployment/high heels/marijuana/carbs/vaccines WILL KILL YOU DED TOMORROW IF YOU DON’T WATCH THIS NEXT SEGMENT.

Frankly, people, it got old. And we moved out to Kansas, and suddenly we’re watching very little tv. I get my news from the Daily Show, which is as it should be, and from a quick flip through the New York Times website. If something looks important, I’ll read more. But my life is happier and much less stressful when I’m not paying attention to every ounce of maneuvering going on between John Boehner and Nancy Pelosi because, honestly, none of it matters. (It would matter if they ever accomplished anything, but anymore that seems too much to ask.)

In Which I Know I’ve Arrived

This is part one of an indeterminable number of parts, the ultimate number of which will be determined by where and how far I manage to arrive.  So consider this a celebration of a small victory.

Very simply, as you may have seen from my facebook status, someone found my beer-reviewing blog by searching the term “fail.”  Given the recent torture I’ve endured for the sake of reviewing Michelob Ultra’s flavored nightmares, this feels like a vindication of some sort.  Also, since “fail” is pretty much what the internet is for, I feel in some small way like I helped contribute to the internet today.

Without further ado, my cheesy screencapped proof:

I WIN AT LIFE, PEOPLE.

A+ for me for the day.  If I can’t get paid for this stuff, at least I’m helping people find some lulz.  And that my writing is THAT GOOD.  Or, as the case may be, that bad.

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