You know what today was?

Yeah, that day.
Shhhhhhhhhhhhh
We are letting it roll gently by.

One of my favorites, by one of my favorite poets.
Since it is my day, I get to pick the poem.

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,


They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

~Maya Angelou~

HNT Cherry Pop

My first HNT!

It's all about my belly button!
Besides, some people like me in polka dots.

I have a small confession to make.
I hate my belly. Shhhhhh






Happy Half Nekkid Everyone!

Osbasso


The Lost comments.
Beaten into submission.

An Open Letter to Seamus

The Road Goes Ever On
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

-- J R R Tolkien

Dear Seamus,

You have no idea how good it felt to burn my spirit box: those little notes, quickly scrawled in a desperate attempt to purge them once and for all. I had so much bitterness to let go of and, although it was only paper and cardboard this year, it was a huge part of my heart that went into that pyre. I let go of some of the anger I was hanging onto over my brother's death, but, far more powerful, I was able to let go of some of the hope too.

I know you understand this, but that must sound sad to someone on the outside looking in. It's been 2 years of holding onto hope that they would find his killer. It was like dragging around a two ton anchor of hope. That anchor was necessary to keep me grounded at one point, but now it had become an unmanageable weight.

A terrible burden that I was afraid to let go of.
A terrible burden that it felt wrong to let go of.

But it went up in flames last night. And like you, I took that time to reflect upon just how important it really was.

My conclusion, honoring him and living well would be what he would want for me, not holding out hope on some resolution that may never come. A lifetime wasted on unconsummated vengeance, discouraged, disenchanted. He would not have wanted that to be my road.

And so my tears washed my soul a bit as the flames took my hopes and sent them to the spirits above. And I felt that release. Letting go of my burden and giving it to the Goddess I rely on to watch over my family.

I gave it to God, and the Goddess and all of the spirits above and around me, and I swear to you, I felt them receive my burden. I felt their hands so willingly take it up and away. My heart was lifted along with that weight and I felt the warmth of arms enfolding me.

He's in a better place now, and in much stronger hands than my own. I couldn't and shouldn't ask for more.

I have you to thank for the peace that enveloped me last night.
A symbolic gesture, true, but the only real sense of empowerment I have had in a long time.

I hope this new year brings you and yours peace and fulfillment.
I wish that for myself and my family also.

Seamus' Spirit Box

I loved reading this.
Written by Seamus, it expressed my feelings far better than the words I wrote on the subject myself.

"What’s a Spirit Box? I’m glad you asked! Some refer to them as God Boxes, but basically they are one way receptacles for notes offered to the Spirit or Spirits – God or Goddess. It’s a sealed container and constructed of some flammable material – could be wood, cardboard, etc. with a slot to slip the notes into. It has become a ritual to allow myself to offer these thoughts to the universe and not try and maneuver them, or better known as “let go and let God”. I no longer know what has been inserted other than recent entries and THAT my friends is the point – letting go! It’s not all “peace and light and love” but it is also “concern and anger and general bitchiness”. I love the symbology and I also love that it makes me think as I’m slipping the note through the slot – “do I really want this” or “is this what I really think” or “how important is this”. Part of the ritual is building the box itself and the effort that goes into it is a purge of sorts - there is a lot of power in building with purpose."

Here is tonight’s sacrificial box created by Seamus' own two hands... wow!


"Sunday update: several of you have expressed concern over burning the box and really that is part of the ritual, to be able to let things go (pretty though it is) to allow for new to happen - maybe we should call it a Phoenix Box. Some of the boxes of years past have been very elaborate and their form is often dictated by available materials. So the ritual has two parts - offering and release. It's going to be a GOOD YEAR!"


Okay Seamus, late, but then it's never too late right?
That's one thing I learned from you.

Thanks to the geek girls for the template.
You rock!

Happy New Year!

My New Years Card to Everyone!


Got this from Celti.

~My Death Prediction~
Let it be told...
While you're walking down a busy street, a suicidal maniac jumps from an apartment window thirty stories above you. Unfortunately for both of you, the maniac lands directly on you. You're crushed to death, and the suicidal maniac walks away unscathed.

Wow, death by lethal squashing.
Very interesting!

Get your prediction.

Here's how the year 2005 is going to go out...
Let it be told...
While on a group tour of a candy factory, you fall over a guardrail and land on a taffy pulling machine. Your head, torso, and legs are ripped into three separate sections.

Yeah, that pretty much describes the whole year.
Like a year of being pulled limb from limb in a taffy pulling machine.
How appropriate!

Here's an example of the story writing on the forum

Round 17 was... a three way tie

So for Round 18 the words were:
(RD)
Executive
Perpetuity

(SG)
migraine (because i have one)
confection (because candy is goooood.)

(TW)
wounded
virus


Here's my submission and the way it went up.

TW1 (my initials and this was my first story for this round. This is also how you vote, if you had voted for this story, your vote would have been for TW1)

Elizabeth awoke in the morning.

The sun had just begun to peek through her bedroom curtains.
The house was still except for the perpetuity of the grandfather clock ticking it's incessant countdown until the moment when she would belong to Captain Drake.

Her eyes fluttered open and she glanced around her quarters. Obviously no expense had been spared in preparing for her arrival from America. The room was ornate, but very executive and it made her homesick for her own warm room back in the colonies.

She couldn't wait to have this whole wedding over with and get back to her home.

Her father had worked the land around their plantation with his own bare hands and had turned it into one of the largest cotton mills in the south. Last winter he had caught a virus and, although her mother had begged him to slow down and give himself time to recuperate, he had continued to work the land until the day before he died. He was a man of conviction and honor. He didn't think it right for a man to lay in bed all day and let others carry his burden.

Her mother had been devastated by the loss of her husband.

Then to add to her misery, her only son, Howard had been wounded in a duel for the affections of one of the Harrison girls. Stupid really... Elizabeth's mother couldn't stand the Harrison's and would never allowed her brother to marry the little trollop anyway.

So that is what had led to the hasty trip across dark waters and her impending marriage to Captain Drake.

Her mother knew it would take a man of financial means to keep the family in the lifestyle her husband had intended... and if it meant that Elizabeth would have to give up her infatuation with Ethan Myers, the handsome but poor son of the local blacksmith, then so be it! It was every girls duty to marry whomever her parents thought was fitting... love wasn't part of the equation.

Elizabeth pushed the heavy damask comforter off of her and walked towards the window. Although the morning sun had not completely risen she heard the hustle and bustle of workers on the front lawn.

She looked down as the cooks brought her wedding cake.
A confection of too-sweet white icing covered with red roses.
It seemed like such a fraud... so beautiful and so inappropriate.
It should have been black and adorned with no roses... only the thorny stems.
That is how she felt in her heart.

She thought of Ethan... of the day she had said goodbye to him on the pier.
He had a forlorn look in his eyes that said more than any words could have conveyed.

She had locked herself in her cabin and cried brokenheartedly for the first three hours they were at sea. It did no good... the dye was cast... her fate was sealed.

Elizabeth walked across the room and pulled on her dressing gown.
She sat at the vanity and began slowly brushing the night's tangles from her long auburn hair.

She could smell the sweet breads and coffee that Clarissa, her personal maid, and Captain Drake's cook were preparing for her, but the thought of food just turned her already queazy stomach.

She closed her eyes and counted out slowly each of the one hundred strokes as she brushed her thick hair.

She could feel a migraine beginnning to throb behind her strained eyes.
Wonderful, she thought... another blessing on her dreaded wedding day...

She turned in her seat as her bedroom door was thrown open and a big cart of breakfast fare was wheeled into her room.

That's about it.
We request that you highlight the assigned words because we don't want to miss them when tallying up the totals. Otherwise you can write to your heart's content.
Stories can be short or long, clean or dirty, and believe me we get some nice dirty stories. hee!
Register on the forum.
We suggest writing your story in word then transferring it so you don't have to worry about have your connection crap out on you as you hit submit.

At the assigned time the forum will close for voting.
Sometimes if enough folks are still writing we'll do an extension. Did I say sometimes? Most of the time, that's what I should have said.

Depending on the number of stories submitted you'll get to vote for your favorites.
Normally we try for three.
So by a certain date, usually a weekend to read the stories, you'll be allowed to vote for your three favorite stories, in no particular order.

At that point the round is closed and the winner is announced, based on total points for the number of words used in the story and number of votes received.

The winner then gets to choose the words for the next round.

And just for fun, and because it was such an excellent story...
Here is the story that won for Round 18:

Posted by her lovely wickedness...
The Wicked Wench!

Wench 1

I awoke from a smoky, charred and tortured nightmare full of chaos and deception. The sounds and smells of sex, lies and roaring flames lingered vaguely in my mind as my eyes adjusted to the early morning darkness in the curtained motel room.

I turned on my side and squinted at the clock, causing my migraine to pulse more loudly. Under the thick bandages, the searing pains in my chest screamed like a scalded bitch. According to the x-rays, the bowie knife that my husband had attempted to murder me with had missed my heart narrowly, but had maliciously mauled my breasts.

The emergency room at Mountain Memorial had been very understanding of my reasons for not involving the police. Apparently that area was popularly known to have a safe house for battered women and the locals were accustomed to ‘no questions asked’ situations. Also, I had miraculously managed to salvage my purse, a sweatshirt and some jeans before the cabin roof caved in- so at least I had some clean clothes and access to cash and my ID which I needed when I rented the cheap piece of shit parked outside my room. (I cursed Randy venomously for causing my BMW to blow up at the cabin).

I had lost a lot of blood from the knife wound, but the sorry sack of shit had failed to cause any major internal damage. Funny how my husband was a failure at just about everything -relationships, honesty, satisfying me in bed… but he was amazing with money. Investments were his forte. I knew this well seeing as I was an executive over his estate. Big mistake on his part.. But I’m sure he’s kicking himself for it now.

That son-of-a-bitch was going to fucking pay for a hell of a lot more than just my new set of tits, I’d make sure of that. It truly would have been in his best interest to check my fucking pulse before he torched the Goddamn place. As I lay there, wounded and bleeding in seeming perpetuity, I was watching him the entire time through glazed over eyes. He was doctoring the scene of the murder to make it tell a different story indeed.

Randy bagged up the decapitated head of my former lover, Graylon. He scattered (what I discovered later to be his own teeth) around the lifeless body. He then hurriedly disappeared into the cabin to retrieve Graylon’s wallet and swap it with his own. My seemingly clever husband finally exited in a blaze of fucked up glory, presuming me dead. Silly bastard.


According to the Mountain View Chronicle that I now held in my hands, Randall Ian Pruitt, 39, had been pronounced dead in the fire, identified by unmistakable dental work. The local police stated in the blurb in the paper that ‘Mr. Pruitt was survived by a wife who was known to be on vacation out of town at the time of the incident and had yet to be notified of the situation.’ A silly thought ran through my head upon reading this- it was the first time I'd noticed my husband's initials were 'RIP'.

So, my husband of fifteen loveless years was so desperate to prevent me from obtaining anything if and when I filed for divorce, that the bastard decided to kill ‘both’ of us. It wouldn’t cost him anything at all to buy a new identity and hit the border when the smoke cleared.. With me out of the way, his precious investments would remain safe.

However, he had NOT counted on me surviving the fire once his ‘death’ had been announced.. we were BOTH supposed to be proclaimed dead and I had defied his evil little ploy. Now I was in the position to get everything that Randy had worked his miserable life for. Did he really and truly believe that he was going to live fucking happily ever after under some new identity? Did he think a plastic surgeon and some dentures could save him now?

I should have seen what the asshole was planning from the beginning. His affair with my best friend, Tanya had not been the first. In fact, several of my former friends had been unwittingly sucked into my husband’s manipulative web of deceit and I was determined to change my fate. I had nothing to lose at all.. Any love that Randy and I had shared had died the moment we signed our insurance policies.

Currently, my husband was nothing more to me than a nasty virus gnawing away at my chance for happiness. I needed this reprieve in the lumpy motel bed to concentrate on how I was going to vaccinate myself against him.

I dropped the newspaper next to the bed and attempted to stretch out my sore limbs the best I could. Wherever Randy was, he had surely had a chance to see the paper by now. He would be a sweaty and paranoid mess until he was able to locate me. It would not be long before he had some greasy henchman scouting me out to finish the job he couldn’t. I needed my plan straight, and soon.

A faint odor of smoke was present as I ran my fingers through my normally lustrous hair. Gingerly, I made my way to the tiny bathroom where I proceeded to draw a steamy hot bath in hopes I would be able to clear my head to devise my next move. As I sank my aching body into the water, I could not help but smile devilishly. I really did have the upper hand now.. I certainly had my stupid husband by his useless balls this time.

My revenge was going to taste sweeter than the most enticing confection.


So you see, it's just a chance to take some given words and weave them into a story. A chance to stretch your creative wings and, hopefully, a lot of folks to make jokes with and hang out with when you get bored. That's the real fun of the forum. Just hanging out with friends.

There is also a never-ending story in there.
The idea... add two sentences to the the story whenever you pop in.
So far it is a dark tale of people being chased through the woods, disappearing pets and a half dressed woman who appears and disappears at will, leaving everyone to wonder if she is really a woman or just an apparition in the haunted community we set up around the story writing forum.

So come and join us!
We're at over 50 members now and growing.
Not everyone writes of course, but everyone is allowed to play and vote on the stories.
And you do not have to become a registered member to play the writing game. It's open to non-members too.

It's a nice place to spend a snowy afternoon.

Fizzle and Pop

The Story Telling Rules

Here's how it works. I'll post a list of **five** random words and if you would like to participate you post a story using as many of the five words as you can. The rules are as follows:

---

*1) The first 24 hours after I post the words are for people to create their stories. After that point I'll post that it's time to vote. 24 hours will be allowed for voting and then I'll post the final results.
(This is now revised to a longer writing time frame)

2) You are allowed, at this time, to post more than one story.

3) You must identify your story at the beginning with your initials followed by the number of the story it is (ex. CB1, DK2, HB1). These codes will be used to identify the stories for voting.

4) The story must make some kind of sense. If it makes no sense you lose 3 points. No sandbagging.

*5) You will get 2 points for the story if you use all 5 words.

6) You also get 1 point per vote you get from other commenters.

*7) You are allowed to vote for up to 4 stories per game.

8) You can't vote for your own story no matter how brilliant it is.

9) You CAN vote for more than one story by the same author.

Have fun showing off your creative muscles!

Addendum 1: Rules marked with an * tend to change with each game. If they are different than this base set of rules, they will be posted before the new word list.


These are the basics.

This round there are 6 words to use and you have until Jan 16th to post your story.
Then we'll vote and the author with the most votes gets to pick the words for the next round.

Happy writing!