Rabbit Rambles

I've almost always had magnetic poetry in my home. Not in my apartment, but growing up, and now in my own house, but I rarely mess with it. I get the rare bout of inspiration when I see a word here or there, or see someone else has created something, and I want to participate. I made this one last night, and I'm proud of it enough to share: Mask glory too poison and dread for grave panic Do away with every forbidden blaze seen as torment to the smiling prisoner; Seiged in a broken crypt – free and forlorn – fearing laugh's rotten conflict Honestly, the limitation of pulling from provided words seems to help me create these. Maybe I'll find myself with more inspiration in hand and a magnetic board as my medium.

We judge ourselves really harshly. I'd be genuinely curious to know who doesn't believe this of themselves - I've been actively working on showing myself grace for the last few years, and it's helped me be compassionate toward others, but it makes me realize just how cruel I've been inside my own head. I already posted before about calling something 'Boris', and I try to continue ascribing to that mentality. Something is more than nothing. You can't edit a blank page. Perfection is the enemy of good enough. Assume everyone you meet is doing their best, and everyon's best looks different. It's hard. I'm impressed when I meet people who exhude calm and patience and generally seem to not let things bother them. I know that sometimes, that's come from hard, hard work. It's a skill like any other - some people can do carpentry, some can fix machines, some can stay calm in traffic. I've gone through some of the older scenes I've wri...

This feels deeper than it is and I'm sure I'll talk in circles as I let the words out. That said.  It's been bouncing around my mind recently - probably due to the sudden influx of darker-themed media consumed in a short period of time - that humans only make up an incredibly small percentage of the creatures with whom we (poorly) co-habitate on this planet. But the only time that we call something inhuman or inhumane is when we're referencing another of our species engaging in some sort of deplorable action. Or inaction. Dogs can't be inhumane. Octopuses and corvids can't be inhumane (though I hold strongly to the belief that they are at least as sentient as we are). We expect, demand?, a certain level of humanity, which can vary socially or culturally or generationally (etc.) within certain parameters. Anything that falls outside of that is inhuman. Some things come very close, like spanking children - it's been determined that this does nothing positive a...

... starting letters of my posts together spell 'llama'. It's the little things. I could have gone to bed, I'll have you know. 100% an option for me, but I'd asked for my computer to be woken up, so it seemed the least I could do to write another of these micro fictions. I also wanted to share a bit of the process of creation for magic systems. I have zero plan. I generally like to have consequences for magic use, and I always consider the punishment system that would need to be in place to keep magic users contained, how effective they might be, etc. Beyond that, wherever the spark blooms, my friends. For example: speaking with a couple of friends the other day and my buddy Ken tells me he's had an idea for years of some kind of 'street magic' that would take you from one street to another with the same name. I pondered on that for a moment and he, Brittney, and I threw around some ideas. That would be super cool! Brittney took it to gravestones, I took...

I haven't made time to work much on my main stories, but I'm proud of myself for knocking out some of these Words of the Day. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have been! Word of the day:  Apricate : To bask in the sun, or to expose to the sun  https://www.wordgenius.com/words/apricate?utm_source=daily&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=1534456795 Winter is necessary. I know that; everyone knows that. It is a time of renewal, of preservation. Winter is for rest and prophsey. Winter sees all of our clothes mended, our crafts improved, our stories told. But it watches with patience deeper than any snowdrift, listens to our bellies grumble when the food runs low, and stands ready to steal our warmth, our breath, our lives. I know that winter is not my enemy. I was born late autumn, after all, and winter is my kin. But though it is my opposite, spring's first warm rays seem to sink into the core of me and chase away winter's wariness. I could do chores - as an autumn in...

 Discipline, discipline... bah! Working on it, but I'm not going to crack down on myself, since writing is something I love to do and I refuse to make it a chore. That said, I do thrive with routine, so now's as good a time as any to do another Word of the Day micro-fiction in lieu of anything deeper. Today's word: Palinode : A poem in which the poet retracts a view or sentiment expressed in a former poem. https://www.wordgenius.com/words/palinode?utm_source=daily&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=1678488986 As much as I enjoyed visiting the court for a celebration, I could only find admiration in me for the non-living things that cluttered every room with a painstaking sense of décor. One could almost taste the near-palpable cloud of mingled panic and practiced calm that the servants exuded in their nightly changing of paintings, sculptures, furniture, rugs, and the like. No less did the people express the well-practiced and professional air of flippant distaste, gossi...

 Sometimes, often, I don't have any ideas. That's fine. But I want to work on building my discipline instead of relying on the much more elusive motivation. I signed up for a word of the day email a while ago and, while those can be hit-or-miss, this one's been pretty good. Plenty of words I don't know, which I dutifully save into a folder. ... That's really where the plan ended but now I shall endeavor to pick one of these at random and use it in a micro-fiction or such. I'm super concise, so it'll be easy... harumph. Today's word:  Realia : Objects and material from everyday life, especially when used as teaching aids.  (https://www.wordgenius.com/words/realia?utm_source=daily&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=1645954925) It is difficult for anyone to come to a new place. A new job, a new school, a new neighborhood; everything is different, but with the kind of familiarity that resonates much too close to that which you once had. Like a musical yo...

 It's crazy to me that it's only been nine months since I made a blog post. I know -- only  nine months? Yes. Only. A lot has happened this year, most of which I had to address at a 'spoon' deficit due to my mental and physical well-being operating in a less-than-optimal range. And all that is behind us now! New year, new me! Right? HahahahahahahHAHAHAHAHAaaaahahahahahahaaaaaha. No. No, that's not how any of that works. However, I do feel much more capable of starting up my blog again. I've learned more about myself and nailed down a bit more in the realm of my goals, so I'm hopeful that I can get to be more consistent here again. And if I can't, the bad doesn't erase the good. I wrote this one. I have every intention of writing another one. And that is, in the words of my mom, Boris* . I also haven't been doing much writing because I'm working on high-fantasy world development, which I love , but doesn't give me a whole lot to write abo...

For those who have read (or are going to read) my Unwoven Tapestry trilogy, Dell is a character you will meet and this is a short scene about him: CW: violence, abuse Dell flinched and cursed himself for it. His cousin, Rose, smirked and stalked away, throwing her braid over a shoulder, though not before delivering the two bruising punches that would ache in his shoulder for hours. She had a cruel streak and always had, but in two days he would leave her behind in favor of his placement with the newest class of Retrievers. She’d laughed at him upon learning of his application, and louder when he was accepted. He remembered her mocking words, “You’re a glutton for failure, Dilly. They accept all sorts of charity cases, ready to fail when the numbers need to look impressive.” She was lying. He reminded himself of this whenever his confidence faltered. Anyroad, no one knew him in that crowd, and he could make of himself whatever he wanted. His frame was lean, even at nineteen, but he kn...

  For those who have read (or are going to read) my Unwoven Tapestry trilogy, Brett is a character you will meet and this is a short scene about him: Brett sat and waited with a façade of outward calm. The Head of the Retrievers was due at any moment for their meeting and she intimidated the hell out of him. He appreciated her vast experience for the Retriever training, but her constant presence was all but a promise that he would face disfigurement and maiming. Even were it not as severe as her own, what was he willing to endure? Only four months in the grueling program, and he had been questioning his decision to enlist. Vale entered without grace. He winced as the door banged open and shut, and came to his feet as she limped around the desk to collapse into her chair. She stared up at him. He hesitated and then slowly lowered himself back into the seat. “Military stands, salutes,” she wheezed at him in a voice more gravel and nails than human speech. “We Retrieve. All el...

Why did I choose to write an older protagonist? … Do most writers create their characters on purpose? They aren’t born fully formed from your mind as Athena was to Zeus? Huh. I have to think about this one, and you get to receive my stream of consciousness in written format. I knew I didn’t want to write a coming-of-age tale. I’ve read tons of those, and I still enjoy them, but as I’ve grown older and I watch my friends age with me (ten or twenty years ahead), my mentality on it all has changed as well. It is my belief that our culture, society, what-have-you tends to glorify youth and the lessons that come from it. Truthfully, they’re often more exciting – jumping a train and accidentally ending up near the next state’s border – compared to the ones that come in adulthood, like doing your taxes wrong and living with anxiety for the next four months or more. Worrying about your next martial arts test instead of whether your chronic pain flares will be manageable today. Bu...

I was asked which authors most influenced me as a young reader. I often think about a couple of major ones, and then my mind is flooded with the stories and adventures I read about and I have to stop trying to list it out and just start writing.  In no particular order: To start with an easy one: Orson Scott Card. I often remind my friends and family that I  inhaled  read Ender's Game MUCH too young, and it influenced my thinking in significant ways. This isn't the time or place or audience to discuss my childhood tendency to get into fights, end them quickly, and ensure that the adults in my life had no idea about it. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets  was the first book that I read on my own. Well, part of it. As soon as they were finally in  the chamber and I was sweating and shaking and wide-eyed with anticipation, my mother received a phone call and it lasted an ENTIRE HOUR, until I finally took the book from her lap and discovered how the chara...

For those who have read (or are going to read) my novel Seeker (The Unwoven Tapestry: Book 1), Meredith is a character you will meet. She's one of my favorites (though, honest, it's hard to choose) and this is a short scene about her: The stormy season was coming, but it didn’t yet smell like rain. The early sky was gray now, but promised to be a breathtaking blue and, as the sun rose, the grass under Meredith’s bare feet sparkled its dewdrops like cherished gems. She used to imagine the little blades of grass were like the fancy nobility, attending balls and dancing and showing off their prized jewelry. Older now, she smiled at the fond memories, no less sweetened in the time since. The hives were nearly awake but she knew they’d be drowsy for a little longer. This was her favorite hive – they all had their own personalities – and she felt they liked her as much as she liked them. The honey was always sweetest, and they rarely stung. Meredith’s family had raised bees for g...

I was impressed with Pietro’s quick action and confidence. He’d seemed out of his depth more than once, but his victory in having Renaud swear fealty was a feat worthy of a principe . I kept a wary eye on Sofia Elena and Paulo Angelo but neither seemed poised to take any brash actions. The Marchesa had yet to take her eyes from her husband, but I expected she wouldn’t make any serious decisions unless prompted, so I kept my attention on Renaud. When we started walking again, Pietro heading to his uncle Vito, no doubt to share his triumph, I saw a small portion of flowerbed had pushed outside of its barrier. His foot caught, he tripped. I reached as though I was close enough to catch him, but a sickening crack shattered the silence as Pietro’s head struck the stone bench where Vito sat. A bloody smear marked the stone and as I watched, a pool spread out from his motionless form. Vito stared down at him in shock. We all stared, aghast, stunned. Captain Collo sprinted forward an...

We watched the sun rise together – no one managed more than an hour or two of sleep between the sounds of guards patrolling, a doctor from the village arriving to examine Tiago’s healing wound, and the general high emotions of the evening. Prevot showed me the set of poisoned knives the Viscontessa Greco had given Captain Dumas, that she’d then claimed. Of the original half-dozen given to the Captain, there were four left – one was in my possession, all but forgotten, and the other was embedded in the assassin’s skull. When Captain Collo knocked and announced my uncle’s arrival, Prevot made sure I had my three-edged knife at hand. It seemed an unnecessary precaution to me, but when he returned the blade and I was able to show the twin, I understood that she’d wanted another layer to her insistence that I had killed the assassin, and not she. Still, she secreted two more of the blades on her person before we went down to break our night’s fast. Everyone had dark circles under the...

The medical ward in my family’s home was surprisingly large and smelled strongly of caustic antiseptic and herbs that made my nose itch. The doorway was large enough to accommodate a large-framed bed if necessary, and I saw a series of wardings. They made me frown in thought – Tiziano had never made mention of a defaulted warding against a shade’s return. I didn’t like it. If this had been common, I would never have had a chance to say proper goodbyes to Tiziano, and I’d only warded against Captain Dumas because we didn’t have the time or chance for proper accommodation. The wardings were around the ceiling of the room, carved into the stone, and large wards were lacquered into the wooden frames of each bed. Odd. Otherwise, it was like any other medical room I’d seen. Beds with clean linens, buckets of sand in every corner, trays of tools, a desk for any nurse or attending surgeon on duty. Prevot took the dessert and dismissed the servant before we entered, and then led the way to ...

The dining room was exquisite. Three crystal chandeliers hung over a shorter table than I would have expected, but the room could easily have fit one three times the size. Tall windows lined one wall, curtained in white to match the tablecloth. I saw intricate, gold and ruby embroidery around the edges of the cloth, and the chair cushions matched the deep, saturated red. Gold-dipped candlesticks were placed regularly, burning the expensive pure-white candles impossible to find far from a noble House – the common folk could never afford them, so chandlers didn’t bother trying to sell. There were countless small bowls around the table filled with nuts, dried fruits, vegetables, olives, lesser salts, garlic, small peppers, and others. I noticed there was no salt cellar. My mind flashed to Tiziano’s teaching and wondered at my uncle’s tactic – by leaving the main salt off the table, he refused to admit his allegiance to either Renaud or myself, as the cellar was always placed before ...