Rabbit Rambles

Previously, I described my household's cursed couch. Now I will describe for you The Most Horrible Blanket. Surprise: it's absolutely in my top five blankets in this house. Could be top three. I love this blanket so much. And it is awful. I asked to take it with me when I moved out and translated my dad's look of disgust and horror as an affirmative. To start, the first thing you notice about this blanket is the color: brown. Not just brown. Light brown. Various shades of light brown. If you look more closely you'll notice that there's some faded and hidden pattern, aged by time and wash, but that might have once been an artist's attempt at really capturing the truth and spirit of a pile of vomit. Due to its age and whatever horrible material of its crafting, the blanket is scratchy. It's managed to avoid puncture, even after all this time, but all the washes in the world have not softened it. The surface is rough and any dry spots of your skin will catch an

My husband has a couch. This couch is cursed. We got it at the resale shop, and I have no doubt a witch was its previous owner. It is a two-seat, often called a loveseat, but there is nothing lovely about it except the proximity to my husband. It is impossible to stretch out, even for one as short as me. The cushions shift a great deal more than small movements should allow, resulting in constant correction and yet more shifting. The fabric is rough with even rougher stitching. The arm rests are a little too high, which becomes much too high when you sink into the cushions. Because of this, finding a good angle at which to curl up and read is incredibly difficult. None of this is the curse, however; this is just poor design. The curse is that no matter how much you want to stay awake and read, you will fall unconscious. Not asleep, no, that implies some measure of restfulness. Chunks of time are stolen from you on this couch. Hours pass and when you manage to wake, all you wa

It hasn't snowed this much since I was little. It's definitely iced over quite a few times, and we got a random snow day at the beginning of Spring recently, but this much? No way. Everyone is boggled by it. Crunching through the thickening powder reminded me of a scene I wrote for a Creative Writing class recently. The instructor, author Brian W. Smith, wanted us to use as many senses in our scene as possible and gave us character names and an image to work from. It was quite a fun and educational class and I'm incredibly grateful for his teaching. Lisa could smell the farm before she saw it. Horses and pigs hadn't been housed there for years, but they had left their mark, as it were, in a bitter-sweet musk that carried a mile up the road. As she pulled up she saw the bare, frozen trees reaching out like a spoiled child in a candy shop. Snow crunched wetly underfoot as she walked toward the dilapidated farmhouse with its broken windows and peeling siding and she wonder

Greetings, comrades. It has been a few days since last I wrote in this blog and I apologize for that. I've had something of an emotional week: I heard back from the publisher I submitted my book Seeker  to and they want to publish it and the sequels Hunter  and Magus . I am blown away and beyond thrilled. The last twenty years of my life have led to this.  Despite calming down from the highly emotional response that the news prompted, I never want to lose the thrill, the real happiness, from this period. I'm encountering scenarios I've never had to deal with (namely social media) and it has its difficulties, but it'll all be worth it to hold that book in my hands. To see my words in print. Here's a piece I wrote a while ago that tickled me to write and again to read. Simple paranormal lycanthropic silliness. I enjoy lycanthropes. They're my favorite supernatural creature. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” I snarled. The werewolf was bashing the bedroom do

Nothing in common with the previous post, I would like to add a trigger warning to this one because of the subject of sexual assault. One night in October I was  trying to fall asleep and absolutely could not. For no fathomable reason, this scene came to mind and I tried to ignore it for a while, probably a couple of sleepless hours, before I finally made notes on my phone. I was able to fall asleep almost immediately after. For some reason, my brain needed this scene to be written: “This looks like a pleasant enough place,” I said as we topped the rise. The village below was as any other. A low stone wall encircled it, and small stone houses were scattered about. The roofs were thatch and mud, and while most had small gardens and pens for a couple of animals, there was also a large central garden in the middle of town. Several residents were tending it while there was still light. We were spotted and several villagers watched us approach. Their faces held no hostility, but they were

Sometimes a sentence pops into your brain from absolutely nothing and you just gotta write it down. Thus: "I need you to work this weekend." "Absolutely not. In no universe am I doing that. I told you my friends are getting married this weekend. I told you months ago." "But I need you! You're the only one who can calibrat-" "I do not care. Dean can calibrate it. Elnora can calibrate it. I am not the only one and I am GOING TO A WEDDING." "They're just going to get divorced and a few years after that they'll have new spouses and you can go to TWO weddings! Two new weddings! Just work this weekend!" Don't worry. They didn't work, and did go to the wedding. I imagine a crazed stare at the end before them storming out. Gotta love when them brain-meats gets electrocuted just right...

They say there are cookies, but I generally find more sharp objects than any delicious baked goods. I thought about posting one of my darker pieces tonight. It's short and I like it but... I don't want to. Phil read one of my darker pieces and suggested I write a story around it. After all, Stephen King got famous writing creepy, dark stuff, but I pointed out that he probably got most of his friends after  he was a published author and everyone already knew he was that messed up. My friends know I'm somewhat  messed up but... why spoil a good thing? I like dark writing, though. Mostly my own, but have you read Prince of Thornes   by Mark Lawrence? Good stuff. That said, hold onto your morals because they'll be put through the wringer. Lots of people on the fence about that trilogy. I've thought about it a lot. Why do I like brutal, painful writing so much? I'm not much of a visual thinker. If you ask me if I know someone and then start to describe them, I assure

But not really. I'm pretty stuck with Venice. I need to go over some writing notes from my class and see where I want to take it and what's missing. I want to do some writing tonight, but I'm not sure where to go and what to work on. This is an acknowledgement that I'm allowed to not know. I finished Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo. I'm excited to start the sequel Siege and Storm . I love getting to sit inside a new world for a little while. It's hard to finish a book and know that's it. You're done. The characters have finished their quest, fulfilled their duty. It's jarring. Life isn't like that at all. When you get the big job or move into the new house and all of your planning and plotting has come to its conclusion it just... continues. No swell of John Williams's French horns. Wouldn't it be nice if there was? Like damn, give me a minute to appreciate it all before I'm back to the grind, yeah? I exercised today. It's been q

Please enjoy the latest excerpt of the Venice story. (I'll figure out a better working title eventually.) It was late in the morning; Davide had let me sleep. The almost-shadows of clouds briefly darkened some of our quick walk. We didn’t speak, but Davide kept surreptitiously glancing at me. I saw him make a few different wardings with his fingers. Subtle, but nonetheless I saw. The house of Lorella and Vincenzo was a living thing near the water, so covered in plants that it was a miracle the stone hadn’t been bored through and fallen to powder already. A trellis arched around the doorframe with bright peppers dangling from the vines. The shutters and door were open and I heard the gentle notes of a t’ukand drifting into the garden. A deep breath brought me the scent of citrus; lemon grass and something I did not recognize. It blended with the stringed notes of the t’ukand and seemed to freshen my mind more than a gallon of pinèt’i could ever do. “Are you ready to go insid

Have you even written for a while and looked back at your word count with an estimated number in mind only to find yourself a thousand or so short? Hmph. But I realized I was doing some research, too, so I guess that counted against my time. BAH! I'm currently reading a book recommended to me by one of my Heather friends: Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo. It's in a Russian-style setting and I am really enjoying the break from traditional England-fantasy. That's how I feel about this story. That said, I felt inspired to work on the Venice piece again! 619 new words and I explored the setting a bit more, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and I hope you do, too. Davide sat on the edge of the bed, waking me. I had no grogginess or fatigue in me, but opened my eyes immediately, focused on his face, on his mouth. What was he going to say? “I have food for you.” My stomach rumbled and we both smiled hesitantly. I felt like I wasn’t allowed to be amused. How could I be? I remembered