6October2008
Posted by MissMeliss under: Imaginings.
Written for the Anniversary Project (Option One: Pick Three) at CafeWriting.com
* * * * *
From her bedroom in the tower, in the castle, on the cliff, the glassy sea seemed motionless; a shining slab of indigo ice beneath the brittle crescent moon.
Many an evening was spent communing with the waves, while she sat in the cool, damp sand, and let the starfish murmur sweet nothings to her tender toes. Many a morning, she would wade through swirling mist to the very point of the jetty beyond which the shark fins circled, waiting for her to join them.
Her people, pallid of cheek, with raven hair, were often mistaken for mermaids or vampires, but neither was entirely so, for they did not have such fine singing voices as to cause young men to swoon, nor did they drop into neighbors’ living rooms unannounced, claiming that they never drank…wine.
The bitter reality was that, like the selkies of Celtic lore, she and those who came before her were tied to the sea, from birth to death. The salty brine ran in her soul the way blood ran in her veins, and often she would slip into the dark water at the end of the jetty and the sharks would swim races with her, and the dolphins would later lead her back to shore, where she would emerge and stand naked in the cool night air, rivulets of ocean water running down her body, and her heart would be glad.
Often. But not tonight. For tonight she was to meet the man her mother insisted she marry, and instead of gliding through the inky ocean with the sea creatures who were the brothers and sisters of her spirit, she would paste on a pleasant smile and simper through the obligatory social niceties, and when she laughed, she’d make sure the young man who had been chosen would never see the way her sharp teeth glinted in the firelight.
He would be nice enough, earnest, able bodied, neither too ugly nor too handsome, but with the shining eyes and glossy hair of one who would complement her perfectly. Their hands would meet when they danced, and she would steal his warmth away, ever so slowly.
They would marry, and in a year, perhaps, or two, she would bear a daughter.
On the day her daughter turned seven, she would lead her by the hand, and introduce her to the creatures of the sea.
Her daughter would be like she was, of course.
All the women in the family were.
27August2008
Posted by MissMeliss under: Imaginings; Timed Writing.
“Last box?”
The voice came from the doorway, from her boyfriend who was leaning lazily against the white-painted frame. Emily looked up from the carton that was centered on the bed, and made a rueful face. “Yes,” she said, “but I might leave it sealed, after all.”
“Why?” B.J. asked. He didn’t change his position, and his tone remained fairly neutral, but Emily could tell he was curious, even so.
“It’s embarrassing,” she answered. “Stuff from college, trinkets and treasures I haven’t really thought about in years. Did I ever tell you I was in a band?”
“You? In a band? You don’t even like loud music.” He left the doorway and took a seat on the bed, next to the box. “Did you sing?”
“I wanted to. But opera singers tend to sound ridiculous singing rock music. I danced. With a tambourine.” He opened his mouth to comment, and she pointed a finger up at him, “Don’t say a word.”
“Why do you assume I would say something bad?”
“Why wouldn’t you? Who could say anything remotely positive about a tambourine?”
“Gypsies,” he answered decisively, waggling his eyebrows to make her giggle.
It worked. A smile curved her lips, against her will. “Okay, point,” she said. She sat back on her heels, than stood up, and lifted the unopened cardboard container. “Could you put this on the top shelf in the closet? I promise I’ll open it someday.”
“But not today,” B.J. said, standing up, and taking the box out of her hands.
“No,” Emily agreed. “Not today.”
Written for the July/August prompts at CafeWriting.. This is a timed writing exercise, and therefore is unedited.
14July2008
Posted by MissMeliss under: Imaginings.
They were obviously on a first date: he was wearing a button-down shirt tucked into his belted jeans, and his socks were neither white nor from the athletic gear department. She was wearing a soft black sweater – angora, maybe, or cashmere – and a string of pearls around her neck, quite likely borrowed from her mother.
At the next table, we watched their body language and commented in hushed tones, “Look, she’s leaning forward. She’s totally into him.”
“Yes, and he touched her hand twice, and stood up when she left for the restroom.”
Thus inspired, we walked home holding hands.
This post inspired by Deb, fellow writer, friend, and generally amazing person.
17June2008
Posted by MissMeliss under: Imaginings.
Howling wind and driving rain have always been my friends, especially when accompanied by the full moon. What creeps out others inspires me, awakening my imagination, heightening my senses.
Like a small child, I look at the shadow of a tree and see a monster with long, clawed fingers, waiting to snatch me up, or I hear the banging of a storm shutter and am certain that the zombies have tracked me down.
On sunnier days, I pick up an old hat and re-enact the “veg out with that bottle” monologue from the original A Nightmare on Elm Street.
Twice.
This post inspired by Robert
who is one of my oldest friends that I’m still in contact with.
He gave me a link to use, which refuses to work for me, so
check him out at his MySpace page.
15June2008
Posted by MissMeliss under: Imaginings.
She stopped in the village square, intrigued by the array of market stalls, all offering things never seen for sale in her own home town.
“Inspiration, just five dollars!” one of the peddlers called, holding up a glass bottle adorned with vines and flowers.
She was tempted, but was fairly certain that it was just an empty jar, however beautiful.
Booths offering warm nuts brushed shoulders with other booths offering half measures of imagination and ambition.
At the booth where fairy dust was sold, she could not resist, and traded $20 for a heavy cut-velvet bag.
Deep inside, possibilities glittered.
This post was inspired by Becca.
Visit her blog, Becca’s Byline
14June2008
Posted by MissMeliss under: Musings; On Writing.
Random sentences inspiring even more random drawings, which lead to other sentences, or just the connection between word and image in the slideshow of our own brains? Which is more real? More creative?
The answer? Both. And neither. To see a picture and be inspired is magic whether you share the results or not. To find a poem in a photograph, a novel in a portrait, a scandalous love story in the naturally occurring vignette of two people in the park…this is what the creative spark provides.
Whether with verbal pointillism or a game of pictophone, we connect the dots.
This post inspired by Clay Robeson.
See his work at ClayRobeson.net
13June2008
Posted by MissMeliss under: Musings.
Two minutes on the phone this morning, hearing someone I love feel sad, broken, small. I’d have given anything to be able to hug her, to wave a wand and make the hurt go away. I reminded her that she’s the sister of my heart.
Two minutes on the phone around noon, hearing someone I love feel frustrated, furious. I made her laugh and changed her day.
Two minutes on the phone just now. Cheery banter, despite worry about rising flood waters (literal, not figurative). Catching up and sharing shoe-love.
How many two-minute connections have you made this week?