Tag: writing

The Three Rs

Daily writing prompt
What activities do you lose yourself in?
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My primary time suck comes down to the three Rs: Reading, Riting, and Research. Yes, I spelled writing wrong, dropping the ‘w’. But it’s a silent ‘w’, isn’t it? Does riting sound that different from writing? Does riting sound rong?

Looks weird as hell, I admit.

I could have also just changed the title to The Three Ws, adding a silent ‘w’ to reading and research, creating wreading and wresearch.

I enjoy words. Their histories fascinate me. And I enjoy making things up. That’s why I rite fiction.

I also love reading, or, as some might rite it, wreading. The ‘w’ is silent. I read multiple genres, although I shy away from horror and wromance. Science fiction narrowly leads fantasy and historical fiction, but I enjoy thrillers and mysteries, too. I also enjoy non-fiction about history, economics, politics, quantum mechanics, and time.

Besides wreading and writing, I enjoy wresearch. Wresearch can easily become a time suck. Once upon a time, a show called Connections aired. The British science historian, James Burke, hosted the show. The show explored technological and scientific progress but veered off into tangents and side effects about how such advances were employed, resulting in surprising revealations. That sort of revelatory pingpong the show employed stirred me to continue such wresearch. The Internet is a tremendous catalyst to such wresearch.

My wresearch goes everywhere. Some of it is anchored to childhood memories of sports, politics, historic events, science, and pop culture. I remember things but often want to validate my memory. Verifying that I correctly remember matters causes me to delve deeper into details and background information, and often triggers side journeys into related matters.

When I was employed, my three time sucks secured me solid positions and helped foster my success. Now a retiree, I happily pursue them every day.

There are way worse ways to live.

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Frieda’s Theme Music

Winter is perched in Ashlandia and its surroundings for another day. Yesterday, we sequenced through snow, sleet, rain, sunshine, repeat. Today seems like a duplicate effort. Snow is falling, the temperature is crowding 38 F with a questionable chance the air temp will light up 48 F. This is Frieda, March 14, 2025.

I read with serious dismay that the US Postal Service struck a deal to let DOGE ‘improve’ services.

That’s great news, innit? Yes, that’s snark.

I don’t find it great news at all. All that I’ve seen of DOGE so far is cutting headcount without having knowledge about what they’re doing. This has fed chaos in many areas of government. Facing outrage and backlash to the chaos, GOTP politicians have stopped holding townhalls and avoid meeting their constituents. Meanwhile, many agencies which had DOGE cuts had to hire people back, either because vital positions had been cut, or courts ruled that what DOGE did was illegal. Coupled with PINO Trusk’s tariffs, economic war, and imperial military interests, the stock market is rushing down, talk of a Trumpcession is heating up, and corporations are putting plans on hold and laying off/terminating employees due to ‘economic uncertainy and instabilitly’. Good times! So much winning!

Anyway, I’m not optimistic about what will happen to the mail system with DOGE’s ‘help’. The length of time needed for mail to be delivered has already increased. So have stamp prices. Post offices and satellite offices have been closed. We all drive further to wait longer to get postal business done. Our mail takes laborious, convoluted routes. Doesn’t go from A to B no even A to C. No, it now goes A to K and then back to H, up to P, back to D, and then, finally, B, it’s destination. Dog knows what DOGE will do to it.

Another series of uplifted dreams washed through my sleep. I awoke feeling rested, vigorous, and almost joyful. Weirdly, The Neurons inserted a 1986 song called “Mad About You” by Belinda Carlisle into the morning mental music stream. I have nothing against the song; I know it from the car radio. Driving in my car, doing errands, commuting to work, etc. It’s a bouncy tune with easily heard and appreciated lyrics, simple for a sing along, Maybe you know it and will sing along.

Coffee has established its presence in my system. I’m ready to get out into the snow and wind — didn’t mention the wind before, did I, but, yes, there is wind — and get down to bidness. Have the best day possible for yourself and yours. Here’s the music. Cheers

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Knock On Wood

Daily writing prompt
Are you superstitious?
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Knock on wood, I am not superstitious. I’ve owned three wonderful black cats in Crystal, Sam, and Boo. Each gave me nothing but purrs and good company.

Of course, I do respect that others are superstitious. That affects things. So, for them, I throw salt over my shoulder when I spill it. With many affected by Friday the 13th, I know that many people are a little more distracted and nervous, so I’m a little more careful and alert.

Sure, I do have my lucky underwear, but that’s not superstition. I’ve observed the cause and effect of having them on. I only wear them when extra luck is needed these days because the elastic waistband is worn out and its cotton material has grown as sheer as a silk negligee. The light blue boxers also have a couple holes torn in them from getting a toe ripping through the material when I was putting them on. My wife wants me to throw them away but come on, that would surely be temping the gods to do that.

I do wear a pen on my shirt, but that’s not superstition. I’m a writer and the pen is a talisman to enhance my creativity and prevent writer’s block. What fiction writer would turn that down?

Also, I don’t walk under ladders just as a matter of safety and common sense. Someone could be doing something up there, drop it, and bonk me on the head.

And that would be bad luck.

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Wenzda’s Theme Music

Weather is dipping our beaks into the winter pot. Rain has shown itself, following a path fashioned by a lumpy charcoal and gray sky carpet. Sunshine has shown no plans to be much involved today, telling us in its slow way, you’re on your own for warmth.

This is March 12, 2025, in Ashlandia. 45 F and light rain, it’s down from an earlier temp of 48 F. 51 F is supposedly the day’s high.

With all the negative news stories raining through our days, another blogger brought out one of the world’s classic protest songs. “Ohio” was written by Neil Young and recorded by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young in response to American National Guard shooting protesting students at Kent State University in May of 1970. What a dark time. Before then, most adult Americans distrusted and blamed the protestors. This event marked the beginning of a change. Shame that such a watershed moment had to be bloody but that’s often the outcome when change is sought, and that’s not just in the United States.

With “Ohio” in my ears, The Neurons began thinking of other famous protest songs. They were soon queuing in my head. One eventually took over the morning mental music stream. “Get Up, Stand Up” was written by Peter Tosh. Bob Marley and the Wailers came out with it in 1973. The lines hooking The Neurons this morning were part of a stanza saying, “You can fool some people sometimes, but you can’t fool all the people all the time. So now we see the light, what you gonna do? We going to stand up for our rights.”

That’s the protest needed now. As the Trusk Regime rages like a fire through people’s rights and needs, burning the protections set up by checks and balances, people need to stand up.

Coffee has stood up for me again. Hope you have a solid day in all needed regards. Time to press on once again. Cheers

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Twosda’s Theme Music

Sunshine richly soaks Ashlandia’s end of the valley where I5 climbs into the mountain pass between Oregon and California. But this Twosda finds it a chill morning. 42 F, the sun is pulling us out of the mid-thirties trough where we spent the night. Like yesterday, our high will eye the 60s; I saw us at 64 yesterday at my place.

This is Twosda, March 11, 2025. Although spring is closing on us, a winter warning has been issued for tomorrow. That’s wholly in keeping with expectations. Before reading of that warning yesterday, I applauded the spring but then reminded myself that winter likes to make one last, dramatic March appearance in our area.

The Neurons are treating me with “Only You Know and I Know” in the morning mental music stream. Dave Mason penned the song, but Delaney & Bonnie had more of a hit with it in the U.S. I had the Dave Mason original in mind this morning. Comes solely out of thinking about PINO Trusk and his sneering as he ‘makes dramatic announcements’. That’s how the mainstream media often portrays him. ‘Trump Makes Dramatic Announcement About New Tariffs on Canada’. I’ve seen the first iteration and the rest of this song and dance is tiresome. But you and I know how much of his grandstanding is done to keep his base’s attention; he loves it when they thrill over his words, swoon over his actions, orgasm and gasp over his power and prophecies. Never mind that many of his words are lies, his actions are bullshit, and his power is right out of the dictator handbook.

But you and I know. Those of us with some smattering of understanding about history and politics know. Smattering to me is that you learned about these things in junior high or high school, but also that you understood and remember it. PINO Trusk’s base often does not.

Anyway, I enjoy this video of Dave Mason and his group performing a rockin’ rendition of the song. Hope you do as well.

Coffee is purring away in my innards, restoring some of my faith in my existence. Hope you have a royally awesome day. Here we go. Cheers

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Well, I’ll Be Damned

Daily writing prompt
Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.
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I read aloud.

“Hello, old man! If you’re reading this letter, then you made it: you’re 100 years old! Congratulations to you.

“Or, congratulations to me, I should say. I set you up for your success, right? Come on, give me credit. I’m the one who signed the contracts, took the money, made the payments.

“Yes, there are some downsides. You should be 100 years old but you’re probably not living on Earth. Part of the agreement, right? I have no idea which planet you ended up settling, either. That’s one reason why you’re getting a preserved paper letter. If you’re reading this, you remember all of this. It’ll be as real to you as it is to me. And you know all the details. Hell, biologically, you’re younger than me now, because they gave you a new body, assuming they lived up to their end of the agreement. You should now be 25 biologically, which, yes, you know. Yes, you’ll be another color; you won’t be white. Small price, right? They weren’t sure whether you would be blue or green. Said both of those were possible with our genes. Wish you could write me back and tell me.

“Hard to write this. I know things but you know them, too. But I write to think, to make sense of it all. I never expected the things to happen which did. The war. Getting frozen. Sent to storage in space, then returned to Earth. I mean, as you know, I know these things, but it’s all abstract to me. Happened to me but I wasn’t conscious of it. Not this version of — well, yeah, you know.”

I stopped reading then. I knew what the letter said. I just wrote it yesterday. Realizations were creeping up. I’m a slow thinker but I usually get there.

So I took in the shimmering individual standing before me. Gorgeous guy. Blue. Azure. Well built. So tall, his thick, glossy black hair brushed the room’s ceiling.

“You’re me,” I said. “But you don’t look anything like me.”

He snorted. “Yes, I know. I’ve seen myself and I see you now, along with the old photos of you. They gave me options to change my appearance and I took them.”

“I see.” I smiled.

“I mean, wouldn’t you?”

“I probably would. Well, I did, because you’re me and…anyway. So, you made it. I made it. We made it.”

“Oh, yes. It’s quite a future, so improved over this. And you wanted to know what color we’d be, so….” He shrugged.

“You came back to show me.”

He grinned. “Bingo. Well, mostly. I also came back to thank you.”

Stepping forward, he offered me his huge hand. “I don’t want to get mushy, but thank you. Thank you for having the fortitude to persevere. Thank you for the decisions you made and supporting the science. Thank you for trusting it.”

Setting the letter I’d written to my hundred-yead-old self onto the desk, I stood and shook his hand. “You’re welcome.”

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