Writing while Healing

I'm still stuck at home healing. My jaw is still wires shut, and will be for a few more weeks. It's amazing what the lack of chewing food will do to a one's mind. I've had  a lot more time to be creative, and just write. I had an idea for a short story, so I decided to get it out of my system. So, I put my novel to the side in order to get thsi short story out.

I literally started with just an opening, and I didn't know where I was going with it, but after just continuously writing, my story was really started coming together. I was hoping to get a good 10 pages, but as the ideas starting flowing my short story turned into a novelette. I'm almost done with it, so I'll be picking back up on my novel soon. I'm not sure what my plans are with the novelette, but I'll figure it out soon enough.

I also spent a good portion of yesterday revising some short stories I did for school a couple of years ago. It's amazing how much I've learned, and how my creativity has grown over the last two years. I made a decent amount of changes to the stories, and I'm glad I went back to them. I will post an excerpt later this week.

I'm only Human

Jeez, I'm horrible about keeping up with my blog. On a good note, I've actually gotten farther with my novel. I had set multiple goal dates to have my novel finished, but those dates have come and passed. I've finally decided to relax, and not rush it. I find myself changing my mind, and coming up with different things everyday, so if I want my book to be good, it can't be rushed! I'm actually surprised at how long it is taking me, though. This is my first novel, and I always imagined it could be done in a short amount of time, which I'm sure it can be, but not with me! Life seems to get in the way of art. At least, it's not writer's block slowing me down right now. That was the longest bout of writer's block that I've ever had. I just had bilateral lower jaw surgery, and have a lot of down time, so I will be making the most of my time and writing. I also had an idea for a short story, and I'm about half way done with that. I don't know what I plan on doing with it, but I'm pretty excited about it and seeing where it ends up. For now, that is my update. I think over the next few months I will start posting some short stories, excerpts, poems, and anything! I would also love to read other writer's blogs, so please share your favorite blogs or even your own blog! *~ Angela S.

Mommies, Sugar, Fiddles, and Goats

My little sister is nearing the end of her pregnancy. She is experience the “baby kicking the ribs” stage. She was craving sugar, which in her mind translated to “Baby X is craving sugar. I’m going to give it to him.” Not a good idea, especially if the baby is already kicking the shit out of your ribs. I told her,” The last thing he needs is sugar. It’s like crack. He will gain super-human strength and crack your ribs.”

She ate cookies anyways. I wasn’t surprised to get a text from her saying baby X was obliterating her ribs as we spoke. She said…and I quote, “Huge mistake. I guess that’s what I get for being a good mommy.” Because giving your fetus/child sugar makes you a good mommy. That’s rule #1 for all you budding Momma’s out there. Sugar is love. Sugar means “Shut up, I love you.” (Hello, Valentine’s Day anyone??)

As a mother of three I could’ve told her that would happen. Wait- Back track. I did! I told her that, before she consumed unscrupulous amounts of sugar, but we will bypass that little bit of info. Semantics, right?!

As the amazing big sister that I am, I gave her my motherly expert advice. Because, after all, I am an expert. I’m an expert at all things children. Just ask my kids. The goats (kids), not my actual children. My children will tell you the truth, and the truth will make this post invalid. I don’t think my children are normal. I digress.

So I told my sister, “Oh! It gets better when they get older, and you try to be a good mommy. These bastards will play you like a fiddle.” That’s my piece of advice for every mother out there. Just know as your child gets older, you will be a fiddle. One worn out, over played, crusty ass fiddle. But we love being fiddles, and fiddles make beautiful music, right?

If an instrument sat in the attic untouched unable to make its beautiful sounds, it is a waste. I want my children to play me. Use my strings until they break. Pick me up every day for hours on end, and use me for the purpose I was created for. Play me like a fiddle. I will screech. I will make really weird sounds and give you blisters and shit, but we make a great team. If you play me right, I will take you to the top. You’ll wear me out, until I just can’t make beautiful music anymore. Then, you will lay me in my velvet lined case and put me away forever, but all the memories of sweet music we made together will live on. So ya, you little bastards, play us!! We are built to with stand a hell of a lot of playing. And I have a warranty.

Writers block...So I'll leave you with a poem

UUUGGGHHH....I have the dreaded writer's block. I'm stuck on the same page. I'll get past this, of course. But for now, I leave you with one the poems I recently wrote for one of my classes. Steal it, or anything about it, and i will find you. :) The Forest of Fear By: ANGELA L. SIMMONS-MORGAN December 7, 2014 The darkness starts to thicken, as tight as your chest Being in the dark stirs a feeling of unrest The icy breeze begins to whisper You can hear it say your name Calling you enticingly “Come and play our game” Tall shadows start to dance They waltz amongst the night Fathered by the yellow glow Cast by the full moon’s light The quickening of your heartbeat, The pounding of its sound Gives these things their rhythm To dance above the ground Your skin begins to crawl Feels like a million tiny spiders Your breath begins to shorten Your chest keeps getting tighter As the blood runs from you face And drains down to your feet You’re starting to feel colder Shivering, in defeat Your head is feeling light Like a feather in the wind But your body’s feeling heavy And your gut is caving in This forest is alive And it wants you for its own To make your fear befall you It’s muddy grave is your new home