Guest Post: “Is Mattel Brave Enough To Make An Un-Sexy Doll?”

Tags

Guest post, Mattel, Merida, Pigtail Pals Ballcap Buddies, sexualiztion

I’ve been flying below the radar writing-wise for a little while now.  I had surgery to repair a hiatus hernia – which went very well, thank you – but recovery is slower than I would like.  As a sneaky, underhanded way of posting a blog without actually having to do any work, I invite you to visit the blog post of a woman I admire greatly to which I have contributed in my own small way (a photo and a quote, but hey, I’m only a week post-op.  What do you want from me?)

And without further adieu, may I introduce you to the founder of Pigtail Pal and Ballcap Buddies, Melissa Wardy and her post entitled “Is Mattel Brave Enough To Make An Un-Sexy Doll?”

Please click the link to read it.  My technical re-blogging skills are sub-par.

 

Writing Contest: My First Haiku!

Tags

haiku, Poetry, writing contest

This week’s writing contests from Theresa Oliver’s facebook page is for a poem based on the following image.  As I am not much of a poetry gal, I thought I’d try my hand at Haiku.  I hope you like it!

Heliotrope Halo

 

Enraptured souls, bliss

Sparkling eddy aging breath

Amethyst sorrow.

The Well of Souls: Another Writing Contest Entry

Tags

Creation story, fiction, Short story, writing contest

This week’s writing contest entry is based on this picture: I hope you like it! 

The Well of Souls

The girl sat cross-legged in the dirt at her grandfather’s feet. Only by absently braiding her long, jet-black hair could she manage to not wiggle in anticipation of the story he would share today from his crude, wooden stool. It was her favorite, and even though she could recite it herself, she preferred it when Grandfather told the story.

As she unbound her hair to begin plaiting again, she swept her eyes over the audience. In addition to herself, there were 8 other children, ranging in ages from 4 to 13, gathered in the small thatch hut to hear the tale. Chattering and fidgeting, they settled down swiftly once they heard Grandfather’s deep, smooth voice fill the chamber.

“When the world was not yet born and the heavens lay fallow,” he began, his dulcet tones capturing the undivided attention of even the youngest child, “the Goddess chose to fill her realm with Light to balance the Darkness.”

The girl closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure. Lightly reclining against her grandfather’s leg, she envisioned his words coalescing into a richly woven tapestry displaying scenes of the Goddess and the Well as the story progressed. In her mind, the girl could see the Goddess – beautiful, serene, powerful – kneeling purposefully by the Well of Souls, pouring the very essence of life into the glistening, translucent pool.

With the Pillars of Creation at Her back, the Goddess caused the Well of Souls to overflow its banks, bringing all that is to the barrenness of the Universe. Stars winked into being across the velvet of the heavens, flashing like jewels, and birthing planets, comets, moons. The Goddess then fashioned a planet, the cradle of our ancestors, and tethered it delicately to Her wrist so as to keep it close. The planet, secured like a bracelet, transformed droplets spilled from the Well into lifeforms. These creatures were mortal and eventually returned their spark of life to the Well, causing another soul to spill from the pool. Thus was the Circle of Life perpetuated.

“As the Goddess surveyed Her work,” Grandfather’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper, causing the children to listen even more intensely, “She smiled. And all of Creation knew Her Love.”

The girl reluctantly opened her eyes, sad to have reached the end of the story, and looked up to find her grandfather watching her. Her heart fluttered for a moment, frightened that she had somehow displeased him by appearing to sleep while he spoke. Alarmed, she searched the faces of the other children – still rooted in place as if waiting for Grandfather to continue – for a hint of her offense. Finding nothing, she twisted to face him once again and beg his forgiveness.

The corners of his gray eyes crinkled in amusement as he silently drew her first to her feet facing him and then warmly into his sinewy arms. He murmured softly into her ear, “Never forget, Granddaughter, that we will all one day return to the Well of Souls from whence we came. But even when my soul has rejoined our ancestors, my love for you will continue to rival that of the Goddess. You bring Light into my heart, child.”

The other children could not have heard the words the old man had whispered to his grandchild, but their joyful whoops clearly made it known that this was the ending to the story they preferred.

A Mother’s Love: Writing Contest Entry

Tags

fiction, Mother's Day, scifi, Short story, writing contest

It amazes me how, whenever I seem to run low on inspiration, the Universe provides.  This post is my entry into Theresa Oliver’s writing contest based on the following image.  Please check her out on Facebook and don’t forget to let me know what you think of my short story.  Thank you!

A Mother’s Love

“Captain, I’m telling you, there’s nothing here,” the scout informed his superior over the comm link. His voice was steady, but his eyes darted nervously, searching the sparse landscape for movement. Suddenly spinning in place, he pointed his drawn energy weapon at…nothing.

His skin crawled. He felt as if there were eyes upon him every second he was on this barren chunk of cosmic rock. But he had found nothing to indicate there was – or ever had been – anything alive on this dwarf planet.

“You sure, Winston?” The crisp voice of Captain Joquani reverberating from the link startled the scout.

Winston Kessel jumped. This reaction, melded with embarrassment and his unease, intensified his already deep loathing of the planet. “Yes, Captain. Of course I’m sure. There’s no structures. No water. The scanner’s not picking up any life signs at all.” This last part Winston delivered through gritted teeth because it wasn’t entirely true. The scanner had indicated something, but…

“All right,” Joquani’s voice dripped with annoyance, “get back up here on the double, Kessel. No point in wasting any more time on that emergency beacon if there weren’t any survivors.”

Winston’s relief was palpable. “Roger. On my way.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Winston instinctively squawked a curse and struck out, delivering a lightning quick blow that would have seriously injured whoever had touched him…had anyone been there. The sensation of being watched grew more vivid in conjunction with the stiffening of the baby fine blond hairs on the back of his neck. A warm puff of air, akin to the breath of a lover, caressed his right cheek. He winced, knowing nothing was there, but feeling a presence just the same.

“I’m going now,” he mumbled softly and he felt an instant ebb in his sense of foreboding. The bony fingers dancing a jig up and down his spine did not evaporate entirely, but Winston no longer had the burning desire to claw free of his own skin. He walked the short distance to his shuttle – his steps measured, his back stiff – opened the hatch and climbed inside as indifferently as his overworked imagination allowed.

The scanner is malfunctioning, he told himself for the hundredth time. Alia is not here. It’s crazy.

Winston buckled himself in, worked through the checklist as quickly as possible, and blasted off the desolate dwarf planet without a backward glance.

* * *

Alia Kessel stood near the edge of the rocky precipice – her long black hair and deep navy dress undulating in the soft breeze of her son’s departure – and exhaled a sigh of relief tinged with regret. As she watched his ship retreat over the sandy ocean into the somber blue clouds of the alien planet, Alia allowed her form to slowly fade once again into the ether, satisfied that Winston would now be safe from the true denizens of this planet – creatures so alien that they did not even meet humankind’s definition of alive.

A single tear glided down Alia’s right cheek as she whispered, “I love you, my son. I will watch over you always.” A heartbeat later, she was gone.

Drinking from the Fire Hose

Reblogged from totallytawn:

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There have been several times in my life when I have stepped so far outside my comfort zone that I was unsure I would ever find my way back.

My J.R.O.T.C. Drill Team

While some of these jaunts were exercises in personal growth, such as performing as a member of my high school J.R.O.T.C. drill team, competing in my local Junior Miss Pageant, and even going away to college, most involved flying.

Read more… 346 more words

Having completed my Unsanctioned Imitation of the A to Z Blogging Challenge, I decided to take one more day off in honor of May Day and reblog my post with the most page views -over 1000! Holy Cow! Thanks for reading and Happy May Day!

Z is for Zenith: The A to Z Blogging Challenge Unsanctioned Imitation

Life is like a box of chocolates…No, wait. Life is like a roller coaster…No, still not right.  Life is like being airlifted to the middle of the Himalayas and unceremoniously dumped with nothing but some all-weather gear and a small survival pack with instructions in Mandarin.  Yeah, that’s more like it.

Although you have what you need to survive, the information isn’t revealed to you without some effort.  And what you do with that knowledge is entirely up to you.  Some people simply decide it’s too difficult and give up.  Some people find a nice cave in the valley and spend their time making themselves and their descendants as comfortable as possible.  Some people start climbing.

Once the climbers reach the summit, they are faced with yet another decision – complete their journey at the zenith of their mountain and enjoy the view their achievement has provided or start climbing the next taller mountain and strive to gain an even higher peak.  And in this manner, each person and every living thing contributes to the Universe, in one way or another, through actions, thoughts and simple existence and eventually returns to the ether from which everything originated.  We are, after all, comprised of the same basic building block as the stars.

If each contribution to the whole is equally valid, what will yours be?  Do you give up and serve as an object lesson for the cave dwellers and the climbers or do you start looking for Everest?  Personally, I’m thinking the view must be awesome from Mars.

Y is for Yuletide: The A to Z Blogging Challenge Unsanctioned Imitation

I totally get the Grinch. The poor old guy lives all alone up in his cave with only a mangy dog for company while the residents of Whoville go on about the business of living their selfish little lives while completely ignoring the Grinch. And then, every year, they make it a point to celebrate Christmas as boisterously and obtrusively as possible, thereby forcing their belief system on the Grinch, who probably just wants to be left in peace to gaze at the stars with his own quiet dreams of cheerful solitude.

And then, when he finally couldn’t take it anymore, I’m sure the Whos were ready for him. He probably couldn’t leave his cave without triggering Whoville’s Early Warning Defense System and relegating his whole carefully thought out plan to the crapper. As he was sledding down the hill in his bright red Santa Claus disguise, the Whos were able to access real time satellite imagery confirming both the present location of the authentic St. Nick and the identity, destination and probable intentions of the Grinch. As he slunk around their homes stealing every last vestige of holiday cheer, concealed cameras with night vision infrared capability tracked his every movement. And finally, Special Agent Cindy Lou Who was sent in to establish contact, gather intel and provide a rudimentary psychological profile to specialists working on counterattack strategies. The poor old hermit didn’t have a chance.

I, on the other hand, plan to remain steadfastly in “Bah Humbug” mode as long as I draw breath. I know it’s not going to be easy – Christmas seems to arrive earlier and earlier each year. I can hardly shop for my Halloween costume without coming across at least one tawdry, obsessively festive Christmas display of poorly constructed red and white knickknacks. And I find it difficult to enjoy Thanksgiving properly while being forced to live in a neighborhood lit up with Christmas lights capable of being seen from space. And don’t even get me started on the music – eight hours of Handel’s Messiah on Christmas morning is about all I can stand without seriously considering voluntarily deafening myself with a red hot poker.

It all comes down to the fact that I can only be nice to people for a finite amount of time, and with Christmas encroaching on the rest of my holidays, I had been thinking a nice cave in the Grinch’s neighborhood might be a viable option until the Whos screwed that up for me. The Grinch is probably baking Christmas cookies right now for the Neighborhood Watch. Thanks a lot, Whoville. Merry Freakin’ Christmas to you, too.

X is for Xerxes: The A to Z Blogging Challenge Unsanctioned Imitation

In my opinion, 300 is the greatest chick flick ever.  And don’t tell me that 300 is not a chick flick.  It is simply impossible to plausibly assert that it was geared toward anyone but women and,  possibly, homosexual men.  If by some miracle, one is able to ignore the seemingly infinite ranks of excruciatingly hot, undeniably masculine Spartan eye candy destroying all manner of hideous beasts to protect their families in much the same way my husband disposes of spiders, one could envision 300 as a love story.

On the one hand, Leonidas shows a tremendous amount of love for his family and kingdom by going against the wishes of the corrupt politicians and priests and taking his 300 warriors to defend his home from the Persians.  But he also shows love for his soldiers not only when he tells Xerxes he would give his life for any one of them, but when he denies Ephialtes a place among them that would put them at risk.

On the other hand, the love story between Queen Gorgo and King Leonidas is the epitome of Neo-classical tragedy.  In her quest to rally support for her husband, Gorgo is raped, betrayed and publicly humiliated, but is still able to draw on the strength of her love for Leonidas to brutally kill her tormentor, expose him as a traitor and unite Sparta against the Persians.  Although, like any good tragedy, the help comes too late to save Leonidas, who dies proclaiming his eternal love for his queen.

And finally, there are two lines from 300 which perfectly support my belief that it is the best chick flick ever.  The first is when Xerxes, as the personification of lust for power who can only command his hordes through fear and greed and therefore cannot comprehend the depth of Leonidas’ resolve, asks Leonidas to consider the fate of Sparta’s women to which Leonidas replies, “Clearly you don’t know our women! I might as well have marched them up here, judging by what I’ve seen.”  The second, but not necessarily lesser, quote is from the scene in which Gorgo stabs Theron while repeating to him the words he used prior to raping her, “This will not be over quickly. You will not enjoy this. I am not your Queen!”

Of course, I could just love watching 300 because of the hotties.  I think I should watch it again to help me decide.  Will you please pass me the chocolate covered popcorn?

W is for Work: The A to Z Blogging Challenge Unsanctioned Imitation

I’m feeling nostalgic today, so I figured I could get away with telling you a little story from my freight pilot days.  Nothing incriminating, mind you, because aviation is a little bit like Vegas – what happens in the airplane, stays in the airplane.  This is especially true when flying night freight and the only one you could possibly scare with your antics is yourself.  If no one saw you do it, it simply didn’t happen.

I was flying a small twin engine aircraft stuffed to the brim with freight four nights a week on a set schedule.  When you fly in and out of the same airports using the same call sign at the same time each night, the controllers recognize you and are able to get a sense of your capabilities as a pilot.  One early morning toward the end of my shift, I was flying into my home base and had to be set up for an instrument approach due to reduced visibility from fog.  It was not unusual for me to have to do several instrument approaches in a night during the course of my 12 hour shift, so I was prepared and following ATC instructions which would put me on my final approach course.

Standard procedure for approach and landing for a freight operation can be vastly different than that of a passenger operation.  The most notable difference is the speed of the final approach.  An aircraft flying passengers will commonly be completely set up for landing approximately five miles from the runway and will therefore maintain a consistent speed throughout the entire final approach.  My company’s standard procedure called for a decelerating approach in which I changed configuration at specific points during my approach and only became fully set up for landing a short distance from the runway, something that this controller had seen me do on several occasions.

So, as I’m waiting for ATC to direct me toward my final course and clear me for the approach, another aircraft checked on, a small 8-passenger jet.  When the jet pilot discovered he was being routed behind a much smaller aircraft for the approach, he attempted to remind the controller that he was flying a bigger, faster (and presumably more important) aircraft and should be cleared for the approach in front of me.  The controller’s response?  “Don’t worry.  You’ll never catch her.”

The resulting silence from the jet pilot had me laughing so hard I had to wipe the tears from my eyes to see the runway lights as I landed a full five minutes ahead of him.  I never found out whether he was more embarrassed that a light twin could best his approach speed or the fact that the light twin in question was flown by a girl.  But I do know that this story still makes me smile and I hope it did the same for you.

Not the airplane I was talking about in this post, but A.D. requested a visual.

V is for Virus: The A to Z Blogging Challenge Unsanctioned Imitation

It seems my white blood cells have been caught with their proverbial pants pooled around their chubby little ankles. A malevolent invader has slunk past my defenses and managed to reduce me to a sniffling, feverish, exhausted mute vainly attempting to choke down a blinding inferno. I have consumed gallons of tea, hives of honey, and tureens of chicken noodle soup. My children are becoming proficient in interpreting my hastily thrown together version of throat-on-fire-can’t-talk sign language and my husband is finishing my sentences before I can put pen to paper.

I could view this turn of events as an opportunity to marvel at how self-sufficient my family has become during this invasion which has left me unable to scrounge up the energy to open a box of crackers. Or I could believe it to be a sign that I’ve been pushing too hard, doing too much too quickly and I should slow down and take things as they come.

Either way, being sick sucks and I’m probably going to take Option 3: whine and bitterly complain until I feel better. I’ll be drugged up on acetaminophen, antihistamines and decongestants and sucking on Halls in a steaming bubble bath if you need me. And if you’re brave enough to enter my personal virus-induced hell, please bring chocolate. I’m sick, I deserve it.