Two for One

Missing a day will get a post of two hundred words. These words do not count. (Or these)

In the safety of her home, she opened the box. It was covered with dust and some spiderwebs. It always amused her how spiders will spin themselves out all over the only thing in a room. The hinges made a rusty kind of noise as they opened, and she got the sense that this was the first time in quite a while since the box had been opened. Her eye hit on the biggest thing in the box first, a very large book loosely wrapped in a stained lacey cloth. As she lifted it from the box, something fell from the wrapping and landed with a hard  clunk in the box below.

Old leather, hand bound. The pages within were of thick stock and smelled slightly of must. She began to turn the pages.

Her daughter’s urgent cries made her blink and look up at the clock. Two hours, and no housework done. She had been sitting here for two hours reading this thing. In a panic she stood, dropping the book back into the box. Time to get the baby, time to get real.

Two in the morning,  back in her favorite chair, reading.

“Grandmother, ” She thought. “What the hell is this?”


New Blog, New Beginning

This blog will be a site where I can write and be undisturbed if I’d like. It is November, 2011. I have two children, a husband, an ex boyfriend, and a heaping pile of stress. NaNoWriMo is beyond me, I haven’t the time or the patience to finish something large, but I want to write. I gave a friend in the same boat some advice today, saying she should write in small doses to keep the writing in, but lose the giant project aspect of it. I used to watch a blog (now defunct) of someone who would write in 100 word increments, without any other guidelines. Some things were interconnected, some were not… most were surreal.

So, this blog is about me writing. I’m digging myself out of the pile I’ve made of my psyche, and I’m remaking myself in my own image. This is part of my therapy.

100 word increments, or poems. No journaling.

By grumpyphoenix Posted in Talking

The key felt heavy in her hand.

The key felt heavy in her hand.  That’s all that was in the envelope. A key, taped to a business card. She stood in front of the metal door now, shivering in the frost, and stared at it. It had taken all her cash to pay the back rent on the unit, but she didn’t just want to walk away without looking.

Still, the door was daunting.

The door made a disconcerting screeching  as she heaved it upward and secured it,  holding aloft her camping lantern against the gloom.

In the distance, some crows called to each other in the trees.