I have been sitting on today's short story for a while now. I wanted to save it for a special spooky time, if not for Halloween itself. However, I couldn't hold it in any longer!
I have been sitting on today's short story for a while now. I wanted to save it for a special spooky time, if not for Halloween itself. However, I couldn't hold it in any longer!
One of the creepiest tropes that give me chills are always "creepiest things my kids said." Whether it's a child mentioning a long-gone relative they never met yet describe in perfect detail or a quip about how they would definitely not murder their parents (Mmmmkay), I truly find children a tad eerie. I remember counseling kids at a summer camp and out of nowhere, one pipes up, "I can see ghosts" completely unprovoked.
Due to a request by a brilliant pianist, here is a short but sweet/creepy story involving a piano. Every night at midnight, Nana wakes me up with her nightly piano recitals, music filling the house like a cold draft that remains until dawn. Every day, tired and frightful, I go to her grave and beg …
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In my middle and high school years, I had a pretty awful experience with my band elective. It wasn't bad at the school district I started playing flute at in Mustang schools, but when we moved to a far away town in SE OK, this new talent I was fond of became a begrudging chore …
If you went through a literature gothic phase in high school, as many literature lovers do, you recognize the title of this post from The Raven by none other than Mr. Edgar Allen Poe. It's still one of my favorite writings ever, a poem I even went to speech competition and monologued it (they said it was a poor choice for such a "common" poem as if that word could ever be applied to Poe, the uncultured fools). But it's this very line that won't shake from my head. It's hard to not think about it when some days, it's all I can feel: Weak and weary.
July 6th, 1907 gave us one of the most influential artists ever to pick up a paintbrush. I hate to say it but until recently, I had always heard of the name Frida but not really know much about the surrealistic artist who left her brand on paint with what she considered not "dreams or nightmares" but her "own reality."
Let me start out by saying I do believe in love. I do believe that a couple can make it work. I believe that when two people are right for each other, they can make it work. I truly love my husband and understand that a perfect relationship doesn't feel perfect 24/7. You will have your moments; one or both of you are so tired and just want some alone time but you know if you came home and they weren't there you'd be worse off than just knowing they're in the other room or on the other side of the couch. You have a disagreement; it wouldn't be much of a relationship without having moments where you grow together through discord. It's healthy, it's normal.
Anne Lammott in her book Bird by Bird writes in one chapter that sometimes characters in our stories don't always do what we want them to; they try to veer off in other directions or have a personality quirk that disrupts the plotline. She relates this to a person who finds their neighbor drunk and passed out on their front lawn every day. The passerby takes time out of their day to take them into their house and put them on their couch. They do this nearly every day, the sober neighbor grabbing the drunken one off their lawn and inside. Finally, another neighbor who has been watching this stops them one morning and says, "Honey, leave them where Jesus laid them."
Soundcheck, one, two, three... Sound check, one, two, three... Is this thing still on? It better be. WordPress sent me the bill for the automatic renewal of the site! So I thought, "Well, I better use it." I don't even dare check when the last post on here occurred. Yes, it's been a WHILE. So …