Zinc Goes . . . Noveling

G is for Garden

2021-04-10T13:43:00.000-04:00

Well, while the word count continues to lag this week, I did manage to get a good start on the garden this morning. It's a fair size. Had originally paced it off at about 30' x 8', but I think it may be more like 8' at the short end and 12' at the far end. Am helping out with a local church community garden, so won't have to keep on top of the whole space by myself or take all the produce home to my aparment kitchen. Should be fun!

My mom and sister were nice enough to give me an abundance of seeds to try and to help me design a lay out. Here is the plan:

Also received an abundance of wonderful seeds in the mail from my friend Intisar. (Another plug, her second book in her Dauntless Path Series Theft of Sunlight just came out!!!)

Got a bit of digging in the soil to plant several types of lettuce (little gem and a mesculun mix with red beet greens), french radishes, and prizm kale.

And worked at putting up a bamboo teepee for the lazy wife pole bean seeds I'll plant in about three weeks.

There is enough bamboo to make a long tent style A-frame trellis at the far end for the several types of squash and cucumbers, but my scissors wasn't strong enough to cut off the branches to clean the bamboo stocks up a bit. Will need to come back later with a clippers and twine to work at putting it up.

At that point, thought I better make sure my back is going to tolerate the digging before I try my hand at too much more. Having sudden flashbacks to two years ago when I dug a potato trench, only to have a back spasm severe enough I couldn't get out of a chair the next morning. Oops.

So headed back home and got to work planting seeds in yogurt cups and peat pots.

Planted seeds for early white bush scallop squash, pattison golden marbre scallop squash, hasta la pasta squash, sugar crunch cucumbers, carmen peppers, Mary Yoder's heirloom tomato, pesto party basil, purple basil, genovese basil, and purple zinnias.

Still left to plant from seeds-- italian parsley, a second type of kale, moonglow yellow tomato, brandywine tomato, comfield pumpkin, and delicata squash. Plus an abundance of flowers-- celosius red, orange cosmos, marigolds 2020, and about ten other kinds of zinnias (unicorn, oklahoma ivory, lilliput, cupid, pink senorita, cut and come again, benary giant salmon rose, queen lime, and cactus chrysanthemum mix, zinnia 2020). The flowers will all go in an 3 foot by 8/10 foot area.

As plants from one of the other gardeners- two broccoli plants and 1 kale plant (third type). And need to track down seeds or plants for broccoli, cauliflower, and brussel sprouts for sowing later in the season, as well as seed potatoes.

Hopefully will turn this bare patch of earth into a hearty and pretty garden space!

B is for Brilliance

2021-04-02T08:53:00.001-04:00

B is for ~~(Oh) Bother~~ Brilliance

Unless you are someone triply blessed by the divine (divinities? Elizabeth Gilbert's genie in the corner of the room?), the first draft(s) of written work often leave as many words on the cutting room floor in edits and revisions as make it to the finished page in the final draft. Most of us are not Alexander McCall Smith with a (consistent and) successful 1500 word morning writing session today that gets published in the newspaper tomorrow, no further editing required. (*paraphrasing from a brilliant brilliant talk of his I heard a few years ago; of course the 30 seconds of pure demoralized hate-rage from a room full of wistful, wishful writers that followed these comments is also a pretty brilliant memory)

Amazing, blessed writers like that aside, most of us are more in the category of Kristin Cashore (who was awesome and brave enough to show pictures of what the draft stages of her book BitterBlue looked like with its seven original notebooks, followed by an eventual complete start over from square one) or my friend Intisar Khanani (who shows me some of her middle drafts and faithfully compares her final discard word count to her finished novel word count to see which one wins) whose fourth book The Theft of Sunlight just went out into the world. As I am still in the "seven notebooks" stage of drafting my work into coherent stories, this is quite inspiring. Perhaps I too can one day pull a finished draft out of the morass of notebook page words... And perhaps so can you!

In the meantime, write on blog world friends. Only 24 letters to go.

A is for Adventure

2021-04-01T08:53:00.001-04:00

In the spirit of bullet journal mini-sprints, I'm diving into the month of April as one giant fun creativity reboot. Not sure yet if the adventure will survive past the first week... but here goes my attempt to shake loose winter and writerly sluggishness and find my way back to the page.

Toos for the Adventure:

A to Z Blog Challenge
Camp Nanowrimo
Sketchbook Revival 2021 (videos are available until 4/18)
Garden plot- currrently empty and in need of being planned and planted

Bon Voyage, everyone! and happy writing/creating this month

2018... A Time to Restart

2018-01-01T16:41:00.000-05:00

It's been more than two years since I've found my way to the page, here in this space. 2018 seems a good time to pick it up again and see what it might become in this new year.

When I first started this blog, my focus was on writing prompts and finding my way to the page as I worked away at my (still unfinished) novel(s). As I move forward, I am not sure what will find its way to my posts here. There may still be the occasional writing prompt ficlet. More likely there will be thoughts on creativity, explorations of creating positivity portfolios, attempts at textile art, thoughts on my writing as I work at approaching it in new and more consistent ways. Time will tell.

A few books I am planning to work through this year are:

The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron - a chapter a month
Outlining Your Novel by K. M. Weiland - with two fellow writing partners
Art Quilt Collage: A Creative Journey in Fabric, Paint, and Stitch by Deborah Boschert - with my mom and sister

Everything else is up in the air on this beautiful, crisp, first day of January.

Welcome, and may you have a wonderful New Year filled with health, creativity, and joy.

The Silent Room: Part 32

2015-09-17T05:00:00.000-04:00

Kerr

He hit the surface of mental consciousness at full throttle, his whole body pushing up and out. His mouth ripped free of the air mask, and he felt the suffocating press of a thick membrane stretching taut across his face with the full force of every tensed muscle in his body pressing forward. Kerr crashed through the imprisoning wall of membrane. He felt twisting, sucking cords ripping from his skin even as he hit the floor in a heap of limbs and gelatinous membrane fragments. Glistening containment fluid tinged with a hint of neon blue in the low light cascaded around him. Pain shuddered through him, blacking out his vision. He felt the deceptively toothless maws of the writhing cords begin gumming at his skin, and he began scrambling out of the pile of debris before the flashing spots had fully cleared from his eyes. He felt one snake-like cord sink its mouthful of barbed hooks into the back of his right calf. The shock of pain was almost debilitating, bringing him back down to his knees. Swinging his hand blindly across the floor, he managed to grab hold of a metal bar that was lying near him.

Spinning, he jammed the end of the metal bar into the taut cord with all his might. He felt the cord sever under his hand. Cut off from the machine that powered it, the barbs retracted automatically and the mouth of the cord fell lifelessly to the floor from the back of his leg. Black inky fluid drained out onto the floor and began spreading out in an ever widening circle. A mixture of his blood and the incoming chemicals meant to disable him dripped down his leg.

Backing away, he watched intently for any other fast moving cords. When he was certain he was far enough away and it was safe to turn his back, he stood drawing in deep breaths of air and took stock of himself and his surroundings.

He was dressed only in a thin gauzy gown, the slimy fabric clinging to him in the chill air. His feet were bare. Tall tubular sacs hung suspended from the ceiling, glowing translucent from within in the dim light. The slack faces within obscured from recognition by the distortion of the sac membrane. Level 5. He looked next for the control panel hanging on the wall by the door. Green lights blinked back at him as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No alarms. No warning alerts. Not a single yellow dot among the sea of green. He didn’t know how Tricket had managed it, but he wasn’t sticking around to take it for granted. He limped toward the door and the supply chamber he knew lay on the other side. Hopefully one of the caretakers or the scientists would have left a lab coat or a change of clothes in one of the lockers.

The Silent Room: Part 31

2015-08-18T21:28:00.001-04:00

Dr. Adelheide She had passed into the third patient ward before the slight rumble of the floor beneath her feet from the marching guards began to lessen. So far they had not entered wards, but she did not know how long they would wait to further widen their search. She continued moving through the tubs in a back and forth grid, looking at each face carefully, before passing on to the next row of tubs. So many against this tiny stand of resistance.

She closed off the thoughts and focused her attention back on each new face, searching. She passed into the fourth ward. Then the fifth. The floors began to rumble again with running guards. She kept her focus. There was no time to waste on them. She passed into the sixth ward. At the far end she saw the heavy black doors of Level 5 and shuddered at the thought of it. Only those considered the “most dangerous” were moved on to the Museum, with its eerie darkness and tall imprisoning specimen sacs. Deactivated men and women held suspended in living tombs of permanent stasis. It was whispered that they were not even granted the mercy of virtual dreams. It was where they would put her when she was caught. If she was caught. She turned away, continued her search. If he was not here, she would turn around and look at each face again.
It was in the next to last tub of the sixth ward, right next to the heavy black doors of Level 5, that she found him.
The patient, head shaved now and fresh blue tattoo marks lined up the side of his neck, lay motionless and weighted against the chilled white porcelain of the basin, his skin pebbled with cold. His gray blue eyes blinked slow and unfocused. She moved around to the end of the tub so she could stand by his head, glancing down at the syringe in her hand as she did so.

The disconnect serum still held faint tones of amber and none of the slowly forming indigo residue. Excellent. Carefully she pulled the procedure tray out from the side of the tub with her left hand and set down the syringe on its sterile surface. A monitoring board flashed into existence a few inches above its surface, ready for orders. She tapped the red square in the upper right corner to initiate the patient disengagement sequence, then turned back to the patient. Testing his awareness, she swept her fingers gently across his brow, then gradually increased pressure. He continued to blink his eyes slowly, not registering her touch any more than he had registered her presence. About two thirds of the way out of stasis then. He wouldn’t struggle unnecessarily but would still respond fairly quickly to the injection. She turned back to the board and found the button on the screen that bypassed the restraints protocol. Next she asked it to position his head for access to his port. When he was ready, the monitoring board flashed blue. She pressed the button to initiate the opening of the injection dock. This was it.

She took a moment to stretch tense fingers. Then she picked up the syringe, slipped off the needle cap, and with a single firm motion, inserted the needle firmly into the injection dock. She pressed the plunger slowly, counting out thirty. Finished, she pulled the needle out and tossed the now empty syringe into the biohazard bin. Two minutes to wait now. Even as the patient’s body began to shake, a rending crash sounded from beyond the still doors of Level 5.

Becoming Writer Book Giveaway

2015-07-22T20:24:00.000-04:00

Looking for some good writing inspiration? Joe Bunting over at Write Practice and Becoming Writer is doing a giveaway of several wonderful writing books:

The War of Art by Steven Pressfield
On Writing by Stephen King
Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott
You Are a Writer by Jeff Goins
The Modern Library’s Writer’s Workshop by Stephen Koch

GO HERE TO ENTER and to find out more information about how he chose these books in particular. Giveaway ends July 27 at midnight.

Tim Grahl over at timgrahl.com is also doing a summer writing challenge to help himself and everybody else get their writing done this summer. While the overall focus of his blog is on marketing your books once you've finished them , he is a man in writing transition and his secondary focus is all about getting the actual writing done. If you are in need of some of that inspiration

Go Here to Find out more about Summer Blitz: Get Your Writing Done

On a more personal note, it has been a rough few months health-wise here in Zinc world (autoimmune stuff kicking my butt), and dropping out of the blogosphere during that time has been one of the unfortunate side effects of that. I am on the up swing again though (!!!!), and thought this was a lovely opportunity to ease back in to writing here again. Thank you all for being so patient in waiting for Silent Room updates.

Best of luck in your writing! (and hopefully you'll see me back around these parts again soon...)

C is for Creedence Clearwater Revival, Johnny Cash, and Muggy Summer Nights

2015-04-04T00:07:00.000-04:00

Tonight, at the end of a long week, as I sat here trying to think of a C word I could focus my brain on long enough to say something coherent, I found myself wandering down memory lane instead. I found music offering me a sudden ticket back to childhood and lazy summer nights.

One memory in particular stood out. It was dusk or shortly after dark, a long afternoon and evening of getting the hay baled and put into the barn just behinds us. For those non farm types, this means being bone tired with the good kind of full body muscle ache that can only come from hard work (like throwing heavy bales for hours). Your skin is covered with the crust of dried salt left behind from evaporating sweat and the bits of dust and dried alfalfa that somehow manage to get into every conceivable nook and cranny. In your ears, down the back of your neck, down the insides of your ankles under the sock elastic. And now it is night and the work is done. You are still sitting out under the night sky, having not quite found the energy to head inside yet. Fireflies are blinking in and out across the hay stubble; the stars are beginning to wink into view overhead. Somewhere the radio is playing, filling the air with warmth of Creedance or the langorous rumble of Johnny Cash. There is laughter and conversation and cool glasses of mint tea from which the last of the ice hasn't quite melted. It is joy and fatigue and a good dose of relief all bundled up.

Memory is a funny, wonderful thing attached in interesting ways to sounds and smells.

What about you? Is there a song you've listened to recently that took you back to a moment of time you hadn't thought of in a long time?

B is for Brussel Sprouts

2015-04-02T23:04:00.001-04:00

Brussel sprouts are all about the second chances. Now, when I think of these miniature darlings with their delicate, pale green leaves and their flavor punch of crisp tender delicate deliciousness, it is hard to remember there was a time when my nose would have turned up at even the thought of bringing these smelly little cabbages any where near my life. Good thing I gave them a second chance. They are now my favorite veggie!

If you’re looking for a good brussel sprouts recipe to give them another try, check out recipes like Roasted Brussel Sprouts with Bacon and Apple or Kung Pao Brussel Sprouts over at the foodie blog The Bitten Word. They have long been one of my favorite food blogs and my first go to when I am trying to decide on a dish for a special dinner or holiday.

What about you? Is there anything you’ve given a second chance, only to be surprised to find yourself falling in love? Or do you have a favorite brussel sprouts recipe (or memory) that you'd like to share?

A is for Alligator

2015-04-01T23:06:00.000-04:00

Last week, my sister talked me into canoeing with the alligators. Well...to be precise, she talked several of us into it. We had travelled down to Sarasota, Florida for a few days with my brother to join a friend who was vactioning there from Germany. The weather was beautiful and warm after the gray, snow-bearing skies of February here in Ohio, and it was our last afternoon before we needed to head back north. We had already braved about as much sunshine, water, and sand as our winter skin could handle, but it seemed criminal to end our stay indoors when we would be heading back to the brisk chill of early spring weather in a matter of hours. "Canoeing!" she says, and "Okay," the rest of us say. And so we headed out to Myakka River State Park and a slightly more Animal Planet experience than most of us had anticipated. (My sister had apparently been dreaming of the Everglades so this was an acceptable second!)

Or maybe we had all just watched too much Animal Planet? The alligators we happened to see were peacable and content and mostly just disappeared under the water when we came too near. Adrenaline and nerves aside, it made for an incredible afternoon of beauty and bird watching. We didn't count, but I wouldn't be surprised if we saw more than 20 different types of birds. Most of them birds we had never seen in real life before. It made for an excellent and memory making afternoon. And now I can say, I've gone canoeing with the alligators.

What about you? Have you ever done something you never thought you'd do, only to find out it was something pretty special?

A to Z April Blog Challenge 2015

2015-04-01T22:53:00.001-04:00

Welcome any A to Z bloggers who happen to be stopping by! I look forward to getting to know many of you through your writing in the next 30 days. Feel free to leave a comment, and I will stop by to check out your hard work.

For me, this is my second year participating, and if last year is anything to go by, it should be a whirlwind month of words, creativity, community, and much needed caffeine. Look for a hodge-podge of posts here at ZincJourney- fiction, reflections, writing tools, ???. I am approaching this a bit like making a Bountiful Quilt (see here and here), grabbing a little of this and a little of that until we see what it looks like at the end.

As for my "regulars", prepare for a blitz of activity unlike anything you have seen since last April! If you would like to know more about the A to Z Challenge, click the badge in the side bar, and it will take you to their site. Also, despite appearances, the Silent Room is still continuing and has not been as utterly abandoned as my sporadic posting sometimes infers. Look for another post soon. Probably Sunday...

The Silent Room: Part 30

2015-03-12T07:53:00.000-04:00

Dr. Adelheide

Somehow, the last door let her through.

She had been twenty feet from the door that lead to her final destination when the security locks slid into place, the sound reverberating in the still air up and down the hall. Momentum kept her moving forward even with the heavy sound in her ears. Even as she knew what she was going to find- a locked door; no escape; no salvation for herself or the stranger beyond the doors.

By then she had been in front of the final door. And as she stopped, waiting for an impossible miracle, it happened. The locks on the door in front of her began to reverse. The cool gray door of Ward 1 began to slide open. It was... but she did not have time to squander on the right or wrong of impossibilities.

Inside, soft shadows darkened the room, punctuated only by the occasional small light and the hum of machines.

Carefully she walked between the tubs, looking for the right one. Faces lost to chemically induced slumber glinted back at her like small half moons in the dimness. She closed her mind to the worry about surveillance detectors activating defense protocols or the coming guards or the fact that she would be able to take only one of so many with her if, when she escaped. Just kept moving, kept focused. Tried not to think about time ticking by too fast, the sand of the hourglass running out.

First she had to find him. Then, she could worry about the next thing.

Airplane

2015-03-10T09:06:00.000-04:00

WNP: As he stepped out of the plane, he felt like his whole life had changed.

One moment, airplane. Scuffed, utilitarian aisle carpet. Blue covered seats in rows of three on each side of the aisle. Low murmurs of conversation as everyone shifted and moved around him, collecting bags and books. The stale aroma of whatever attempt at chicken basil dinner they had eaten still hanging in the air. Shirt still sticking to his back in places from the humidity of July heat before getting on this plane, hours ago now.

Then. Cold. Bitter cold. And the overwhelming stench...scent of fish. Through a gap in the walkway sides he could see workers wearing heavy coats with fur-lined hoods shifting luggage and boxes down on the tarmac. He wrapped his arms around himself and moved quicker. A few more steps and he reached the terminal gate.

"Welcome to Reykjavik," the stewardess said as he stepped on by.

The Silent Room: Part 29

2015-03-09T21:42:00.001-04:00

Sora

She woke slowly, as if from a deep sleep after a bad dream. Her body felt weighted. When she opened her eyes, the room where she found herself was airy and gently lit with sunshine. Around her, long pale curtains billowed in a slow swirl of movement. The bedding curled up enveloping her in a white cocoon of softness. It was disorienting in its cleansing lightness.

She closed her eyes again, groaning as she stretched her arms, and tried to remember where she was, how she had got here. She remembered… a ginger-striped kitten, an empty living room. Then nothing. She let her mind drift. Snuggled more deeply into her comforter.

Another thought, an important thought, niggled at the edges of her awareness. Through the cotton wool tangle of her thoughts, she tried to fix her mind’s eye on that brush of memory. A face scrubbed in shadow. Almost.

It slipped a little further away, just beyond her consciousness. Maybe she would sleep just a little longer. She turned her face into her pillow, burrowing in. Then a name slipped into her mind with the soft weight of a pebble dropping into water. Kerr. Sitting up in one swoop of motion, she opened her mouth and began to scream.

Even before her scream reached its full crescendo, she felt a strange sweep of emotions begin to surge through her body in a rushing chemical wave of fatigue and forgetfulness. Her scream thinned, dissipated. She tried to fight it. No, she needed to scream. She needed to… She sank back onto the bed, her eyes fluttering.

As her eyes fought to stay open, she felt a gentle hand stroke the side of her head, brushing her hair back behind her ear. She turned toward the motion. The form of Grandma Nan flickered in and out with the form of a gaunt man in a black suit and a crisp white collar. Grandma Nan stroked her cheek this time, a soft, regretful expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. He said.

Sora tried to separate them into two.

“I’m sorry,” they said. “It’s better if you sleep now.” The world faded away in soft dreams of wandering clouds drifting above a flock of sheep as they grazed under a lavender sky.

In the background, the cortex manipulation continued to run its diagnostic on her implant chip. When it found the glitch, it reinstalled the program and added on a few patches. Once it had completed its repair work, it restarted the program and inducted her back into the virtual main frame, this time in her own fully functional simulated world. She did not wander again into another’s dreams.

Winter

2015-01-30T08:36:00.003-05:00

A little fabric art on a gloomy, gray Ohio morning.

The Silent Room: Part 28

2015-01-22T01:09:00.001-05:00

Tricket

The shadows drifting around the stone walls of Watcher Hall thickened, further blurring the line between the virtual projections of the Watcher Collective and the reality that contained its heart. The arches soaring somewhere overhead were completely obscured now. At the Watcher Table a soft hiss drew attention to the slow wisps of dark mist drawing in on itself as the Watchers began to solidify back into their corporal forms.

Tricket pulled back into the darkness around the edges, hunching his shoulders and bowing his head. Becoming again the forgotten one, the not to be concerned with one. He did not look down at his own battered form slumped in a wheelchair and stuck full with sensors and manipulators. Anger and grief would not aid him in his battle. Only cunning. And invisibility.

They should perhaps have been more wary of him. He’d been with them a long time. Once upon a time, they had known he was capable of far more than being their humble power source and vassal to be commanded without complaint. Here in their sanctum, he had found the safest place to hide from them.

He smoothed his hands down his mentally projected butler suit, their preferred costume for him, muted the crisp of his white collar, blended the the black edges of his coat tails. Blurred his presence just that small bit.

With a final rush the Watchers solidified. In an instant the anger in the room was a palpable, ripping thing. Their great jaws ground together; foam dripped from their chins. The Collective Unison was completely broken by their hatred for a full moment before they snapped back into oneness.

“Find him,” spoke One. His voice jagged and forced. “Find him now.”

“Find him,” echoed several of the others.

Out in the corridors, Tricket felt the guards snapping to attention and moving out in formation under the force of their release command. The first set of locks slid home.
Already guards neared the Silent Room and its emptiness.

With a laser focus he tracked the path of the secret pass he had been trying to block from his mind, held the lock spring on a single important door.

The Silent Room, Part 27

2015-01-15T04:00:00.000-05:00

Dr. Adelheid

Somehow she managed to keep her lip buttoned despite the entire stream of freaked out “no, no, no, not now, NO” running at full volume inside her head. What did she do with an extra patient? An extra important patient who had not even made it into one of the sub-bullet point list of contingencies because no one, ever, had made it free from The Silent Room once its programs had been initiated? There had been a lot of contingencies in The Plan. A hundred options for what to do if an extra individual made it into the plan at individual points along the escape line. She’d already had to initiate more than one. This was not one of them.

The man lying on the floor was very definitely one of the new “high profile” patients. He still had his prisoner cuff on his left wrist. From the rise of his chest, he looked like he was still breathing. Did she dare aid him? Did she dare not? What if his escape brought the guards rushing into these hallways? What if the doors only opened because she was passing? Seconds counted at this point.

She listened down the hallways for a moment, for any sounds of rushing guards. Silence hung in the air like an enveloping cloud. Keeping her right hand elevated, the capped needle of the syringe pointing up and out lest she accidentally endanger the disconnect serum, she managed to get down on one knee and gently shake the man’s shoulder.

He let out a long low groan.

“Shhh, you have to be quiet, or I can’t help you,” her words a whisper of breath near his left ear. Whether he heard her or simply had come to the end of this particular groan, he didn’t groan a second time.

When she looked back down, a set of eyes looked up at her through the cascade of curls. Okay, so he was alert. That was better than any of the alternatives.

She looked up at the countdown timer above the door. It read S3, so about a third of the way through the cycle. She managed to draw his arm halfway over her shoulder, then she gestured for him to stand up. Gripping fiercely onto, he made a fumbling attempt to get to his feet as she slowly stood up.

It took much, much too long. First to get to his feet. Then to begin making tentative steps down the hall in the direction of the pass through to which she was heading. Sweat began to bead on her forehead. She felt the countdown in her body like a physical presence. The hundred feet remaining seemed impossibly far. Finally she broke.

“Quick,” she murmured softly in his ear. “Quicker than you can possibly have energy for I know. But we have to get to the end of the hall or neither of us will make it out of this.” Somewhere he found the strength to walk a little faster.

By the time they reached the door, she heard the locks unsealing in the far hall and the low voices of the guards beginning to zig and zag through the hexagonal walkways on their evening check. There would be no sliding through unobtrusively under her own name now. She fished under her tunic and pulled out an emergency temporary bypass card. She waved it near the sensor, holding her breath until it opened the restricted access hall. Dragging the patient through, she just managed to get them through and push the door closed when the voices turned into the hallway they had just abandoned.

A minute later, the first of the guards must have discovered the open doorway to The Silent Room as she heard the shouts go up and the locks sliding into place on the doors behind them as the immediate lock down procedure was engaged. She’d have to use two of the escape hatches then. Hope there were enough Resistance members there to help at all points.

On the left wall she found a hatch door leading to a larger laundry checkpoints. It would have to do. She leaned him against the wall and fished a sensor out of her pocket, pressing it into his hand. Then she showed him how to open the door and pull it shut after himself.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “You’ll have to go without me. Get in the closet and slide down the laundry chute. Keep beneath the sheets if you can, and press the sensor until it flashes red once. Someone should find you from there. Hopefully, I’ll have to catch you on the far side.”

Somehow he didn’t argue, just slid one foot into the closet. Maybe the doors opening and closing and the crashing boots… As he got the second foot moving, she turned and made a run for the far end of this hallway while keeping a tight grip on the syringe. Already the serum was beginning to darken in color from too much time at room temperature.

She heard a faint series of thuds from the laundry chute as she slid through the next set of doors. A moment after that she heard all the emergency locks slide into place on all the doors up and down the hall.

This was just so not good.

The Silent Room, Part 26

2015-01-08T00:00:00.000-05:00

Prompt writing with Copper

Sora

She stood in the center of the living room. The same place she had been standing for well over an hour. Ever since she had come back in with the soft ginger striped kitty with its big blue eyes. She had been so sure it could make Uncle Kerr smile. She had only been gone a few minutes. She had only wanted to look at the kittens. But it had been too long.

Nothing felt right anymore. Not the warm welcoming sofa on the side of the kitchen. Not the comforting presence of Grandma Nan. Not even the beautiful fluffy soft kitten rubbing against her leg. Somehow they had switched the important bits out when she wasn’t looking. Like they had done when she first lost Mommy and Daddy, before she found Uncle Kerr. And all the kittens, and all the baked oatmeal with peaches, and all the hugs in the world from Grandma Nan could not make it alright. Uncle Kerr was gone.

Always before she could find him. Find his connection to her and pull herself into his reality. This time it wasn’t working. It had never not worked. Even… She felt the desperation building within in her. She couldn’t let it distract her.

Grandma Nan brushed a soft hand over her brow and tried once more to pull her away from trying to find him. She ignored the soft touch. Instead she focused her thoughts yet again, pounding on the mind door with all her might.

The Silent Room: Part 25

2015-01-01T11:34:00.001-05:00

Prompt with Copper

Kerr

He had left before Sora could come back in and find him. Her moment of inattention was his only chance. He would never be strong enough to leave her behind if she had her thoughts on him. Tricket would be strong enough to hide her and keep her safe. He had to believe that. Hope was to fragile a thing to weight against Sora’s life. He ran through the options again in his mind.

The decision was simple, the only viable possibility. He knew it was the only way. Even if he explained to Sora until he was blue in the face, she would never understand enough to get safely away with him. Even if he could find her after he woke to the surface. But still, leaving her? Walking away and leaving this bit of sunshine alone and abandoned again, hurting her in the deepest way? She was still smiling now, but would she be after this? His courage wavered. He sat at the round oak table staring into Grandma Nan’s eyes, agonizing as the ticking of the clock seemed to fill all the space in the suddenly tiny room like an unwanted alarm screaming into the stillness.

Outside Sora laughed. Even now, she might be coming back inside. All it would take was a fleeting thought, and he would have to wait and make this this impossible choice again. The thought beckoned, but he knew the truth. He could never hide it from her, not completely. His distress would be written on the lines of his face and the anxious tapping of his hands.

For such a tearing, ripping choice, the actions themselves had been simple. He had had only to stand, nod once at Grandma Nan, and then walk out the door. As if it was any other day and any other door.

Outside the day had passed into night. He didn’t bother to wonder about how. Somehow Tricket, Grandma Nan had arranged things. He found the glimmering hazy blue light that made up the “north star” in this sky. He looked at it. Focused his attention. Let reality take him back into its arms.

The Silent Room: Part 24

2014-12-28T10:52:00.004-05:00

Prompt from writing with Copper

Grenfelder

There had been the initial sensation of cold thick wetness pressing in on all sides after Grenfelder had dropped through the last portal, and then everything had simply slid away as he lost consciousness.

The sense of time and space and being present came back very slowly. The darkness cradled his senses in a gentle cocoon of muted sound and sensation. The low whoosh-whoosh of a compressor starting and stopping. After a long time of listening to the soothing rhythm of the compressor, like listening to waves lapping at the shore, Grenfelder began to become aware of the room in a more general way.

A hazy blue star hanging above his head slowly dissolved into a single blue green light located on a large gray white machinery arm. Eventually he noticed that the machine arm hooked to something around his head, its vice-like grip holding his head in place and a ridged tube filling his mouth and throat. Puffs of air pushing in and out.

He might have freaked out then, have struggled violently against his bonds where he lay half submerged in a slowly draining tub. He might have tried to fight free. But his mind felt disconnected from himself and the present, as though he was looking at the world from a long way away. The present had nothing to do with anything. Eventually when he thought to move his hand it did not bother to respond to his commands.

Scratchpad: Mindset

2014-11-19T20:07:00.001-05:00

Part 3 of a three post series adapted from a project in an interesting (and free!) online course called "Learning How to Learn: Powerful Mental Tools to Help You Master Tough Subjects" by Dr. Barbara Oakley and Dr. Terrence Sejnowski. I'd highly recommend it for anyone who likes to learn. If this is something you are interested in, there is a new class that start on January 3rd HERE. Or you can buy the book HERE.

The last thing I want to tell you about is how important mindset is on making it easier to get work done.

1. Focus on the PROCESS not the Product.

Don't think about the novel you are trying to write. Think about the paragraph or the scene you are trying to write. A paragraph, a scene... that's doable, even when the novel is stretching away from you like an impossible undertaking.

2. Go through your checklist

Make a list of things or routines that help you get into the flow of writing. Pens or computer at hand? Appropriate story music playing? Glass of water or coffee at the ready? Phone turned off? Excellent. Now get writing.

3. Perseverance

Remember, you are in this for the journey and the long haul. Just focus on today's little piece and keep building on what you've learned and what you've written.

4. Stay Flexible

Things may crop up that prevent you from getting the work done, or a character may become decidedly uncooperative with the direction you are trying to take the story. Staying flexible helps you roll with the punches. Here is a great post by Veronica Roth on not letting yourself get derailed unnecessarily because the story just won't roll itself out according to plan.

5. Switch on the "Cool Dispassion"

Often the voices/internal monologue going on in our heads is not as supportive as we would wish. This may lead us to doubt our capability or focus in pursuing a writing project. "This writing is terrible." or "What was I thinking when I started climbing this impossible mountain?!" There is also the frustration that comes with working on a project that seems to have no immediate benefit.

Turn on the dispassion and don't let these voices sidetrack you from the work you are doing. Refresh them with the truth. You are writing because it is something you want or need to do. You are unique. You bring something to the page that no one else does. It may not be clear yet what you it is you are trying to say or what the connections you are making will turn out to mean, but that is okay. Keep plugging away. Be proud of the steps you have already taken. Be confident in the steps you are taking as you move forward.

Scratchpad: Fighting Procrastination

2014-10-11T19:56:00.002-04:00

Part 2 of a three post series adapted from a project in an interesting (and free!) online course called "Learning How to Learn: Powerful Mental Tools to Help You Master Tough Subjects" by Dr. Barbara Oakley and Dr. Terrence Sejnowski. I'd highly recommend it for anyone who likes to learn. If this is something you are interested in, there is a new class that started on October 3rd HERE. Or you can buy the book HERE.

Tackling the problem of getting back to the writing chair...today, tomorrow, the day after that, even when the going gets rough or its a bad day...has always been the hardest part of writing for many of us. We are writing in isolation, and we are writing with our own personal motivations as the driving force. Procrastination has a real chance to get his foot in the door. Here are several tools and techniques that research suggests may help with this:

1. Keep a planning journal.

This is a bit like Ernest Hemingway's trick of stopping in the middle of a sentence. It gives your mind the time to use diffuse mode thinking to your advantage and figure out interesting ways to problem solve your writing.

Initially take a little time to think about what you want to accomplish long term with a project. Later, you can update this as you go. Perhaps you want to write a rough draft in the next two months. Or maybe you want to do research on a topic to see if there is something there that sparks a story.

With that in mind, write out a list of things to do or complete this week that will move you toward those goals. Then, at the end of each writing session, look at what you've accomplished and make a list of what you would like to do at your next writing session. That way, you are ready to start when you sit down the next time and don't have to scratch around trying to find your place.

When you sit down at the start of the next week to make out a new list, see how you did. Did you hit your targets? Did your list of to dos lining up with what was actually doable for you? How often did you make it to the writing? Keep that in mind as you make out your new plan for the upcoming week.

2. Arrange your work into a series of small challenges

The long aim (say a novel) can be too big to think about and still get work done. Break it down into smaller pieces or organize it under a larger challenge. Say a big group challenge like NanoWrimo which is coming up in a few short weeks for getting your first rough draft down on paper. Or doing prompt challenges with websites like Today's Author or The Write Practice for doing your craft building work. This keeps things fun. It also makes them doable. Revisit them periodically or change them up for different things to make sure they are still working for you.

3. Rewards are the way to go

Have trouble getting to the writing desk? Reward yourself when you do sit down at the writing desk or when you close that internet browser and get back to writing. Give yourself a piece of chocolate. (Or something else small and motivational.)

In the long term, the finished writing itself will set up a reward loop in our brains and draw us to the writing, but that doesn't help us much today. Giving ourselves a small reward for doing the thing we want to be doing helps establish that positive link in our minds, and it helps us to overcome that initial mental hurdle of getting to the page by adding a positive motivator.

Plan out bigger rewards for larger milestones. It helps make the work fun instead of only the long slow trudge toward completion.

(If you want to know more about this and how it works, see this video by Robert Wright, (April 21, 2012). "How to Break the Procrastination Habit" The Atlantic.)

4. Set a time to work on something.

Set a daily appointment with yourself. Say for 25 or 30 minutes if it is a particularly daunting project. When that time comes around, sit down and work on it. Once the time is up, you are free for the day and don't have to think about it until the next day's appointment. This also feeds in nicely to the other advice we so often here- "Write every day."

Now I just need to try these out for myself on a regular basis....

What about you? Do you have any great trips or tricks for getting yourself to the page or finishing projects?

The Silent Room, Part 23

2014-10-02T23:47:00.001-04:00

Grandma Nan's

The warmth of the farmhouse banished dark thoughts and welcomed them in when they reached it. Now they sat in the kitchen on curved wooden chairs around a heavy oak table. A large bay window looking out across the back lot to more grazing sheep and a rolling corn field. Sora hummed a little tune to herself as she chased the last of her breakfast around her bowl. Somewhere behind them the comforting presence of Grandma Nan, fake or not, radiated.

It was a good idea to come here, Kerr thought, stuffed now on baked oatmeal rich with peaches, brown sugar, and cream. A second cup of fresh hot coffee sat steaming in front of him.

A switch to the back of his head from a tea towel brought him out of his thoughts, and he carefully set the front legs of his chair back on the ground as he shot a rueful half grin at Nan. Whatever her age under the iron gray curls and layers of fine crow's feet, she was rail thin and strong as a whip. Her words while gentle had been pretty lean and to the point, too. She was going to use that tongue on him now, he thought, as he watched the teasing glint in her eye shift to a quiet certainty. They were going to talk.

He didn't know how he knew this of a woman he didn't know, but he did. He felt a cold iron fist tighten in his gut.

"Sora, darling," Nan's mellow voice broke the silence, "there are kittens out on the back porch if you want to have a look."

Sora was on her feet and disappearing out the back door in a flutter of white night gown before Nan had even finished her sentence. Before he could call her back and delay the inevitable.

She didn't waste any time. "Have you figured it out yet?" she asked , sliding into a chair across from him with her own cup of coffee.

"That I'm stuck in a dream that doesn't make sense?" he tried to make light of it, to turn the impossible away, but the crack in his voice gave him away.

"Yes, and what's behind that," she waited patiently for him, as though she was only waiting for him to catch up with the plot.

"Who I am?" she prompted.

He stared into her narrow, kindly face and tried to find an answer. The certainty there... it terrified him. Ripped the icing of good food and welcoming kitchen away. He felt the void in his mind again. The giant void with the answers locked tantalizingly out of reach.

"The Institute," she prompted again.

This time the words registered, a can of memories bursting and spilling across his mind. Graduating college. Getting that government job so quickly. He had been thrilled. Had taken the job without a second thought. And then everything that came after...

Suddenly he straightened, eyes shooting to the back door. Horror dawning.

"I have to leave her here. I can't take her. I..." He didn't. He couldn't. How could he?

Warm fingers wrapped around his clenching shaking fist, "I know, dear. I know."

ScratchPad: Focused and Diffuse Modes- Harnessing Your Thinking for Improved Creativity and Learning (plus Update)

2014-09-23T19:29:00.003-04:00

Update- I've been a bit MIA around these parts the last month or two. Taking Scott Dinsmore's "Start a Blog/Revive a Blog" Challenge to see if I can jump start my intentionality again. For starters here is the first part of a three post series adapted from my final project in the fascinating (and FREE!) online course I took through Coursera called "Learning How to Learn: Powerful mental tools to help you master tough subjects". A very worthwhile and useful exploration of the topic by Dr. Barbara Oakley and Dr. Terrence Sejnowski. I'd highly recommend it for anyone who likes to learn. If this is something you are interested in, there is a new class starting on October 3rd HERE.

You know how many famous writers and creatives seem to go out for long walks on a fairly regular basis? Turns out they are taking advantage of the brain's use of diffuse thinking. Use this to your advantage as well and make your story deeper and fuller!

So what exactly is happening when they are out for a walk that gets all these advantages? Most of us think about periods of high level focus or concentration as the important bit in getting words down on paper or in learning something new. It is important. Nothing beats BIC (butt-in-chair) for getting closer to a finished piece of writing. Turns out, though, that the periods of inattention and lack of focus (when we make another cup of coffee, google random questions that happened to pop into our heads, doodle in a sketchpad, or wander around aimlessly...) are just as important. They give your brain the necessary space to making the new connections that will lead you to a better understanding of what is going on with your characters and story world, and ultimately to a better piece of writing.

You can think of it like having two kinds of pinball machines in your head. When you are focused, the pins of your mind keep your attention tight and narrow, bouncing around in only one narrow defined area. When you are involved in activities that activate the diffuse mode of thinking, the pins are more widely spaced, allowing you to make connections between that amazing song you heard last week, the random radio interview with a French historian playing as you drive to the grocery , and a Pick Up Sticks game you played as a kid. These broader context connections will add layers and depth to your writing.

When you do the first focused round of writing (or learning), the brain lays down tracks for the new material, but it often doesn’t make sense of it in a meaningful way until it begins to make connections with other things in your mind and memory. You also need time for the new tracks to solidify. Writing a little every day gives your brain that time and makes a tighter, better "wall" for you to sit on. Then when you step away for those periods of diffuse thinking, you allow time for the subconscious brain to step away from the new material, turn it over, and then come to new conclusions and connections about it. It cements things and firms them up. Binge writing on the other hand (of which I am VERY guilty) gives you a potentially more crumbly wall without all those connections and hardened cement framework.

So what does all this new research actually mean in getting better writing done?
1. Plan focused times to sit down and do your writing. Set a timer and actually be there at the
page for that period of time.
2. When the timer goes, step away and do something completely different for a bit--listen to
music, draw, go for a walk, … It should feel like a reward.
3. Then come back and focus for another stint!
4. Follow it up with reward--diffuse mode thinking take two.
5. Show up again tomorrow. (This is the tough one for me.)

The length of time you set the timer for will be individual and dependent on the day. Maybe the writing is difficult and you only feel up to committing to a Flylady Fifteen (You can do anything for fifteen minutes!) rather than a Pomodoro Twenty-Five or an Amy Alkon Sixty (from her interview in the above mentioned MOOC). Experiment. Find the amount of time that is optimal for you.

If you give this a try, let me know how it works for you! Best of luck in your writing and your learning.

The Silent Room: Part 22

2014-08-11T00:05:00.000-04:00

Grenfelder

The walking went on and on once he finally hauled himself to his feet and resumed his steady march. Eventually, his eyes began to play tricks. The mirage of a farmhouse surrounded by fresh green grass beckoned. In the landscape of nothingness, something. He turned his steps away from the invisible wall.

He refused to wonder if he had been wrong to choose the farmhouse out of all the broad dusty landscape. The napkin would be here. It had to be. He refused to think about how much searching he still had to do.

By the time he got to the farmhouse, he was beyond the end of his reserves. Thick layers of dust crusted over him, sticking to the sweat- drying, cracking, chafing. The heat had sapped away any last energy hours ago. He was lightheaded with fatigue and hunger. Only sheer force of will put one agonizing foot in front of the other.

When he at last reached the bright green circle amid all the blowing dust bowl of fields, he fell headlong onto the grass. The damp blades of new grass pressed cool into his sun-crisped cheek. He lay there for a long time. He may even have passed out for awhile. Afterwards, when he thought about it, he was never sure. He only knew that eventually he found his way to his knees to drag his body forward toward the steps.

As he clawed his way up the porch, he saw a picnic basket sitting there. Peaking out the top was a blue gingham napkin.

The end. The last thing. He let out a sigh just short of a huff of relief as he settled onto the top step. Knees pulled up, his back leaned against the porch post, he just let himself stare.

The end. But... was he ready for the next thing? What would be the next thing? What...

He forced his thoughts to a stop. He had left all those questions and their circling gamble of answers hours ago in the dusty fields. He didn't care anymore what the wrong or right or possible answer was. He would pick up the napkin, and it would be what it would be. He had left hope on a beach not that long ago. Now wasn't time to be picking it up again.

A bottle of lemonade sat next to the basket. Condensation glittered on the glass. He reached first for that. Felt the impossibly cold bottle solid under his hand. Popping the cap off the top, he drank it long and slow, with his head tipped back. Letting it side down his throat, gulp after gulp, until it was gone.

Once it was empty, he set it firmly on the porch beside him. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Moment of truth. "Let's do this thing," he mumbled to the crowding air.

He closed his eyes, leaned his head against his left fist, and in one smooth motion reached forward to grab the napkin. His hand closed over the napkin.

Water, cold and thick, closed over his head.