What if....

Today I didn’t get my magic in the morning, and it has really messed with me. I’m less able to cope with the demands of mother hood. It’s incredibly difficult to put words on paper. I’m one big ball of insaneness just ripe to burst at any given moment. Innocent bystanders beware.

It makes me wonder though, how other people react when something they’ve come to rely on doesn’t happen, either by choice or otherwise. How would Jamie react or Josh or Debbie and Iris? What do they rely on? What would happen if Penny couldn’t wear her ankle breakers? Would she lose her pep? Her bubbly personality? What would happen if Debbie didn’t have her Buba any more? Would she be unable to cope with the stress of a new life? What would happen to Jamie if she cut off all her hair? Would she lose her identity? What would happen to Amanda if no one catered to her anymore? Would she fall into a pit of self loathing or find another way to validate her worth? How would they then turn it around and grow to a better person? Would they grow to a better person or would they give up on that path and move to wickedness?

How far would they go to get it back? What would they gladly give up in exchange? Me, I’ll gladly give up sleep in order to get my sun rises. I’ll trudge through the week in a fog of sleep deprivation for those few hours in the morning when it’s just me and the click of the keys, the scratch of a pencil.

Today, I just want to hit the redo button and wake at my normal hour. Instead I’ll take deep breaths until my fingers tingle and work this nightmare of a morning into something I can use in my books. A way to make Jamie, Josh, Sarah, Penny, Rob, Debbie, Amanda, Renee, Iris, Shelia, Jake, Aleme, Matt, Hope, Faith, Lilly, Seth, and Star that much more of a person, that much more believable.

Somethings Gotta Give

The bright sun rises above the mountain’s breast while cheery birds dance in the still summer’s breeze and tall grasses purple the hill side. The crickets and cicadas have gone to rest leaving the morning still and quite.




Bright kaleidoscope eyes search the room from the haven mommy made. Tiny fingers, too small to hold all the muscle and bone wiggle up to greet the day. Little legs pump and a single squeal of delight punctures the silence, bringing the song of birds.

In the other room my blond hired devil angel whimpers at her dreams while long awkward limbs twitch. She’ll wake soon as well, this mommy knows, with a grin and request for milk, chocolate milk. Normally I’d say no, but this morning may be different.

The Puffet finds a bone, there among her toys, a gift from Grandma to sooth her teeth and gums. With the strut of a novice crawler and the grace bestowed on her by her name sake, Little Quillian heads off in search of a new adventure.

And thus is this morning, on the brink of a season change. The Hunt is nearing and this mommy feels the call. The darkened lullaby spurs my fingers across the keys, sends whispers into my ears. The voices grow, a jumble of words driving me to the brink, bringing with them the near frantic need to hide away and put their wonderful stories down for the world to see.

 

Character Take Over #1

Really? I’ve been fighting for freedom for years and all I get is a blog post? And not even a well-read, popular blog at that. This is so beneath me. But what ever, I’ll take what I can get.

I’m Amanda Johnson, a beautiful and loved girl whose life takes a huge dive when I’m invited to Para Institute, a local boarding school. One, I might add, I had never heard of before. When I learned it was extremely selective in its students, I just had to go. My mother, well, she didn’t. But I put my foot down. Then, to my horror, I learned that the little Irish freak, Debbie, had been accepted.

Selective my cute little butt! And no amount of fit got me kicked out. Then to add even more insult I was typed as a Reaper of all things. Hello, death is so not attractive. But Debbie got the worst. She explodes into a rabbit every time you startle her or dreamy Jake throws her a smile. At least I don’t have to worry about that mortification. I can only hope my manicure isn’t ruined when I have to reach into a person’s chest and remove their soul. Umm, eww, by the way, so gross.