I will never understand the hatred of the semicolon. It is a useful and correct punctuation mark, if ever there was one. It has saved me, many times, from being run over by a run-on sentence. A run-on sentence is like the grafting of a lemon tree and a lime, using nothing but a bit […]
The kind of art I aspire to takes patience. Precision. The hardest part isn’t the sketching. And technique can be learned, practiced, and improved. But patience, particularly with myself, is not my greatest virtue. Tempus fugit. Reference Image
Thanks to my husband, J. J., for helping me to interpret today’s prompt in a way that wasn’t overly complicated! “It’s harder than it looks, drawing a brain. Easier than crocheting one, but not as easy as it looks.” “Just draw a walnut. That’ll get the idea across.” “You think it’s be any easier drawing […]
I like this one. It’s a peaceful image, isn’t it? I have been craving a swim in the ocean. Maybe not quite deep enough to encounter one of these immense creatures, but I envy this smiling fellow, just a little bit. Reference Image
I don’t know if this is finished. It’s finished, for today, as am I. I live in terror of adding that “one too many strokes,” and haven’t bought a correction pen, yet, but I’ll add one to my Amazon basket tout suite. The prompt was “flowing,” and once they started, the ideas just wouldn’t stop […]
Precious. When mere things are valued to the point of obsession, the value is overshadowed by the all-consuming need to grasp, to hoard, to keep others from enjoying them. What is your “precious,” Little Gollum? Does the ring rule them all, or does it just rule you?
Day 8. A star, eclipsed. I considered everything from a simple pentagram to a Hollywood star on a dirty sidewalk. But today’s prompt came on the heels of my first dip pen and assorted calligraphy nibs. I wanted to experiment a little with India ink, pens, water, a paintbrush, a shotglass… and that’s when this […]
Nothing sweeter than a toddler, exhausted from imaginative play, watched over by her beloved bunny while she sleeps. Reference images: https://www.babycenter.com/ims/2015/04/xiStock_10749141_wide.jpg.pagespeed.ic.DAjjMhB2AL.jpg
Just a little something from a nightmare. The prompt was “drool.” I was briefly torn between cute babies and Gila Monsters. Dog drool is more common… And more disgusting. I thought back to a hilarious Tumblr post running around on Facebook about vampires dribbling blood – their food! – down their chins. How sloppy! Hardly […]
The light changes. One minute, it’s gray and rainy. Dusk comes quickly, but for one brief moment, the air shimmers rose gold. Warm. There’s an odd glow. On one side, sunset. Above, a haze of slate blue clouds, faintly tinted pink. But there’s no rainbow… Because I’m standing in it.
Sweet Olathe corn… Though the prompt calls for roasted, I usually just rub it with lightly salted butter, roll it in parchment, twist the ends, and nuke it on high for three minutes. A little sea salt, a shrine of pepper, and… Yum. That might explain why this specimen looks a little burnt. I learn […]
I really wasn’t planning to have three eggs for breakfast this morning, but as I widened the crack on the second egg, two yolks slipped into the pan. I’ve read that this is generally regarded as good luck. Unless you’re in the UK. There, it means imminent death. It could also mean someone in the […]
I had an epiphany this past weekend: Inktober has given me a taste of what novice writers must feel when trying NaNoWriMo for the first or second time. The amazing artwork some people scribble in a matter of minutes is intimidating. I caught myself giving advice to young artists: “Stay AWAY from those ‘meh, this […]
When you’re fed up with the world, and with social media, but it’s still your “playground,” you have to do something. My “something” this month is #Inktober2018 (it is, to art, what NaNoWriMo is to writing). I don’t expect to rise, fully, to the 30 day challenge of #Inktober, nor do I expect too complete a NaNoWriMo […]
Books expose us to ideas that are not our own, not our friends’, not our neighbors’, not our teachers’ or our ministers’. We are free to see books as sympathetic friends or challenging adversaries. But let’s make sure we’re free to read them, and to make those choices for ourselves.
It’s important enough to public health that most of us can get one for free. It may inconvenience you, it may hurt a little, and it may even provoke a strong immune response that makes you feel like crap for a day. But it protects you, your loved ones, and your community from a deadly disease.
You could call this post “mental compost,” wherein I throw the mental scraps about reusing content, self-plagiarism, and even propaganda into one post, shake it up, and hope it will fertilize new ideas.
The same folks who decry “political correctness” and clamor for the right to be rude and aggressively offensive are the same ones who whine whenever someone finds them…offensive.
She had a primrose path, a little wooded section, and far to the back, a compost heap that she turned regularly with a pitchfork. It smelled of earth and death and life, and it made rich soil for her wildflowers. She taught us not to waste things, but we were kids and we forgot.
Now and then, it’s a good idea to step back from the blog and take an objective look at its design and usability. Better yet, ask a few friends to do it!
Here’s a checklist of things to look at when reviewing your blog, or a friend’s.
We needn’t contort every word, twisting bad to mean good, and sick to mean amazing. This is just obfuscation and lunacy.
I thought, not for the first time today, that I need a little sand and sun. It’s been too long since I went parasailing, upside down, while watching dolphins play ping-pong with a shark. Or since I floated, laughing, unable to sink, in the warm salty water near Miami, smooth as glass and clear enough to see my toes squishing in the sand. And as I re-read the question, I thought, How can I not write a descriptive paragraph about the beach? But what came out, like a tiny hermit crab from a tiny painted shell, wanted to be poetry, not paragraphs.
I am resisting the urge to “metablog” as my friend Dave M once put it. Blogging about blogging. Writing about writing (or writers). Neither of those things are very interesting to anyone but bloggers and writers. It’s like all the backstage action at a theater: fun for the theater geeks, but not so much for the audience.
Gerald, the lawn gnome, had grown tired of being “cute.” He had looked it up, one night, in a dictionary Elizabeth had carelessly left lying on the front stoop. It did not mean handsome, or manly, or noble. No, “cute” was something whimsical and trivial and Gerald had been in a foul mood ever since he’d learned the […]
What was that hackneyed advice someone always trotted out, eager to prove they knew nothing at all about the process of writing? Ahh, yes: “Write what you know.”