Nocturnal Writing or Anything

My alter-ego, who’s albatross is talking me off apparent nocturnal ledges, perennially thinks we will remember our conversations in the morning.

Last night, an idea sprung into my should-be slumbering head. 

“It’ll be perfect to write about today!” 

I began crafting the opening paragraph, outlining the rest until…

“Enough already you!”

Promising we’d remember a few hours hence is not a worthy wager, but speculation is what you bargain with where sleep is concerned.

Nighttime’s artistry and sunrise words merge. 

Damn if I can only remember it'd something to do with Thanksgiving dinner.

And the Pulitzer slips away…

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The word was "Dinner" over at 100-word Challenge hosted by Tara at Thin Spiral Notebook. 

(And this is what I am doing instead of getting ready for a feast for 20. Priorities!)

It's Monday of Thanksgiving Week 2016! What Are You Reading?

Hosted by The Book Date.

(Even though I couldn't get all the titles to highlight properly, please click on the book title for a link to the Goodreads description.)

Nothing to do with what I am reading, but everything to do with what I am actually doing… We had Chinese food for dinner last night, and I just now ate my fortune cookie. 

“You will always have good luck in your personal affairs.” 

Uh, I’ll TAKE IT!!! 

"Lucky # 30,59,29,45,11,3". Don’t play the lottery, but if I did…

What have I finished reading?

I am going to go out on a limb, but it is almost year's end. The best book I have read in 2016 is The Lesser Bohemians by Eimear McBride. McBride is an Irish author. Her writing is lyrical, almost reads like poems/poetry. It took a bit of time to relax into the phrasing and cadence, but once I did, it was magic. And don't get me started on the cover art!

This book is devastatingly heartbreaking. It is most often raw, and sometimes ugly. It ran through my veins. I did not want it to end.

This type of writing will not be for everyone, and I wasn’t even sure it was for me to begin with, but if you like poetry, beautiful writing, some eroticism, and are alright with oftentimes despicable characters, this may be for you, too.

What am I currently reading?

I am listening to The Sellout by Paul Beatty. Haven’t had enough car time lately. Hysterical narrating. Comedic timing is on, and the writing is something else.

I am also just starting All We Shall Know by Donal Ryan. Have no idea what it is about, but my bestie brought it back for me from Ireland. She went into a bookstore just for ME!!!

What will I read next?

I’ll Sell You a Dog by Juan Pablo Villalobos. I love this guy.  (Quesadillas and Down the Rabbit Hole)

The Nix by Nathan Hill.

What are you reading, please tell?

(I am seriously considering not participating in the Goodreads Reading Challenge in 2017. While I am a book ahead of “schedule” and I enjoy the accountability and motivations, I do not like making book choices based on length just to successfully fulfill it. I committed to 60 books. Do you participate and how do you feel about it?)

It's Friday!

Time to go make stories for Monday.

Off to a remote beach to wash the uglies out of this brain. It's been a very long week.

P.S. Stalker involuntarily committed on Wednesday proving it wasn't just my vivid imagination.  Sad, nonetheless.

I Feel I Am Being Stalked

I am about halfway through Strangers on a Train by Patricia Highsmith. Essentially, it is a book about stalking. A guy stalking a guy, which in my mind is a little more unusual.

It is beginning to creep me out.

So I am not sure if it is my own imagination working overtime, staying up too late at night, or actually happening, but I have found myself in somewhat of a stalking situation. And I don’t know if it is complete stalking just yet or if it is a cry for help from someone who likely is emotionally and/or mentally unstable. In any case, I am uncomfortable.

There’s a fine line between wanting to help this person and wanting them to stay the F&%K away from me.

I feel there has been enough erratic behavior and inappropriate enough comments to compound my unsafe feelings that I need to talk it through with someone other than my husband (who is creeped out himself). I need to escalate the conversation.

I have confided in the night doorman, and now I must talk with our building manager. 

We don’t lock our front door. Never have. But now…

What if...?

Played this for as long as I can remember. A voice, my own, asks, “What if…?” 

“Henry French doesn’t ask me to Prom?”

“Go to school. Meet your friends at the lunchroom table.”

“I don’t get the dream job?” 

“Send out more resumes.”

"Someone doesn’t want me as a friend?” the adult me asks.

"Remember quality over quantity. I am still loved.”

"My kid will never read?"

"Audio-books!"

"The Cubs don't win the World Series?"

"Life goes on as usual. More time for Netflix."

It’s been my youthful mechanism. Go-to decision maker. Mama’s little helper.

So what if?

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The word is "voice", and here is my 100 words about it. Thank you, Tara for the prompt and hosting us at your place!