Writing Update from C. A.

Alongside blogging, I write erotica and fantasy fiction of worlds that could only be imagined. I’m still a bit skeptical about sharing my work, and the erotica I will not share on WordPress due to some of the rules about adult content and the like.

After reading over several blog entries from other writers, I decided to go back and take a look at a couple of the stories that I was pulled away from after a short period of writing. I soon realized that I haven’t even bothered to look at them since downloading OpenOffice.org 3, which offers a word count tool, at least.

The first story that I began is complete fiction that’s kind of similar to Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings mixed with Rowling’s Harry Potter and along the same lines as other works by well known authors. No, I’m not getting too deeply into detail here; I don’t like sharing what I haven’t completed. Even so, I’m skeptical about sharing what I have completed. When I say the stories that I have written are similar, I’m referring to the concepts, not the actual writing nor the ideas that they wrote about.

Still, after having worked on ideas for this story, including months of research directed toward the eras of mythological creatures and other fantastic beings, I finally sat down to begin what I thought was going to be a simple short story. – Boy, was I wrong. – Once I got started, the words seemed to naturally flow through my fingers and right on into the electronic document that I had open.

Since beginning it, ideas have been written in computer documents, on torn pieces of paper, napkins, even a cigarette pack or two. The location I was at, along with what I had available at the time, also contributed to the many surfaces that I chose to write on. Before I knew it, I had ideas pouring out through my fingers that I didn’t know what to do with. So, I wrote down what I could remember and hope that the others will come back to visit me.

Of course, there are always ideas that slip away into the void where they began. I don’t worry about them too much, since I know that they will eventually return or be replaced by better ideas that I had never before thought of. More often than not, I find myself thinking of the old ideas that had once been forgotten when I get back to reading the story that I was in the process of writing when I originally thought about the idea I had forgotten. Wow, sorry. Complicated.

Since downloading OpenOffice.org 3 and loading up two of the stories that I have written to see just how much damage I had done before being pulled away, I was rather surprised at myself. I originally started both stories in Microsoft’s WordPad, which offers no sense of ‘writing tools’ other than the necessary means of expressing ideas, and both were supposed to be simple short stories.

I quickly learned, by choosing the option to check the word count, that I had written more than 35,000 words on the novel of fantasy fiction. With all of the ideas that I had already included, and the many more that I have yet to include, I couldn’t believe that I had reached such a number. It really made me pause and think for a few moments.

The thought of structuring the novel into chapters, each written to focus on a specific turn of events made me think about restructuring a short story in the genre of adult fiction. So, I finally got around to thinking up an idea or two about erotica that would work well enough, did some research on the topics that I had chosen, and got busy writing.

I wrote everyday for at least two and a half weeks or so before I was pulled away from my writing to deal with other issues that constantly demanded my attention, by those who still swear they are entirely supportive of my writing.

After loading up the chapters and calculating a rough estimate of words for the short story of erotic fiction that I wrote some time ago, I was left with wide eyes staring at the monitor to see a count of over 54,000. – So much for the idea of ‘short’ story, I suppose. – I’ve still got some researching and writing to do on that story before I can even begin to think about publishing it. I hope that I can manage to wrap up the entire story in 21,000 words or less; I’m not entirely sure where I left off at, and I know there were a few more good ideas that I wanted to include.

Already, I can tell you that the erotic novel will continue on in a sequel, simply because I’m sure more ideas will strike as soon as I get back to writing about it. The fantasy fiction novel that I’ve been working on, I don’t think I will give too many details about, though I will say that I was hounded in the past to finish it more than once after allowing it to be seen by others.

Both of them I suppose are works in progress that will demand attention once I have the time to sit down and write with a clear mind. Still, I have ideas that would likely work for either of them, respectively, though I know that the ideas I have now would be out of context for both. I will know more as soon as I can get back to writing them.

Oh, the wonders of putting boot to butt. I mean, pencil to paper; fingers to keyboard; thumbs to touch-screen… Eh, whatever for you!

Poetic Nonsensical Meanings

Days that end with I are the days in which I don’t like poetic nonsensical meanings that have to be deciphered before they’re able to be understood by the reader. Even by this statement, I’m still missing a day, unless I were to add in days that end in E, as well.

By now, you’re probably staring blankly at your computer monitor wondering what I’m rambling on about with days that end in letters that don’t end in those letters. — Who said I was referring to the days of the week, in English, eh? — In French, six days end with the letter I and one ends with the letter E.

Of course, I’m still a novice when it comes to the French language of love and romanticism. I dabble here and there with new words, testing myself, but I have not been heavily studying it like I should have been, since buying the complete course a few years ago. No, I’ve been researching, studying, and writing in English, wishing I could also communicate in French. No worries; I’ll manage eventually.

The reason that I do not care much for the poetic nonsensical meanings of the poetically inclined mind is simply because after reading a line or two, my mind switches from critical to curious, adventurous.

When I read poetry, like many people, I tend to think less in the manner that makes sense and more in the manner that makes little sense, except to those who understand the language of poetry. Then, I suppose we would all get along with a phrase here and a stanza there.

During the times in which I feel the most philosophical, I tend to allow my mind the needed room to wander a bit and usually come up with short phrases of powerful meaning. Of course it’s fun. It’s freedom of the mind to think in ways that will naturally allow it to explore the possibilities of unearthing new ideas. It’s fun to share with others, the ways of coming up with new and exciting thoughts that lead to even more new and exciting thoughts.

“The canvas of a writer is not the parchment on which words are written, instead, the mind of the reader, in which the writing comes to life.”

The line above is a phrase that I thought up shortly after having a thought about writing that mixed with a thought about art. Writing in a sense, especially creative writing, being the resulting matter of expression through the use of words, is (or should be) considered art. Either way, whether it is or is not, is of little concern to me, since the phrase above offers a new way in itself to look at writing.

“Allow me a moment and I shall paint a picture inside your mind so vivid that you will remember it for all of the days that you enjoy to read; for I am an able writer.”

Yet another of my simple phrases that I thought up only moments after jotting down the first. Of course, I shared these with a couple people only to receive a blank expression from one, and an unenthusiastic ‘Okay,’ from the other. Their responses tell me that neither were thinking with an artistic mind when I shared this. So, I hope that you will allow your mind the freedom to open in order to understand these two lines that I share with you.


Mind you, I mean no offense to anyone who does enjoy the simple (yet so complicated) ways of poetry. I enjoy it as well, and have even written a poem or two during my years of writing.

The Third Thought

Each time I sit down and find something that catches my attention, I stick with it for only as long as the writer can hold my attention. Seriously. Like many other people, I’m not going to spend my time doing anything that doesn’t somehow offer me something in return for my time. It’s a natural process.

More recently, I’ve been cruising the internet looking for articles, blogs, poetry, and just about anything else that I can find to satisfy my curious mind. If I’m reading and the subject doesn’t suit my taste; the piece of work has too many errors; the writer jumps from topic to topic in just as many sentences; or, whatever else the case may be, I’ll wander away to find something more interesting.

I usually read with an open mind. It’s not too hard, at times, to satisfy my curiosity for a few minutes. Give me something worth reading, that shows signs of effort made, and I will be happy to remain with you for a while. Give me a reason to think about what you’ve offered, and I’m likely to speak up and share my opinion on the matter. Many times have I spoken up in the form of a comment, or e-mail, or another simple message, just because the writer attracted my attention and provoked thought.

There have been many times that I’ve offered advice, compliments, or my opinion alone. It’s that second thought, after having written the message that I was thinking while I was reading, that makes me pause a moment to consider whether I want to push that ‘Post Comment’ or the ‘Send Message’ button. While staring at the monitor, arguing with myself, I wonder if what I have taken the time to write will make sense in a helpful manner to anyone else.

Sure, I know that there are times when humor doesn’t pass well through text. I also know that I come off as being arrogant, cocky, just plain rude, or flat out weird; there have been (many) times. I read over what I have typed, scanning for any likely mistakes, while I wonder if what I am about to share with that one person (or the world) will help or simply confuse everyone who reads it.

Then, the third thought pops into my head: It makes sense. It’s well written. It’s likely to be helpful to someone out there. Go ahead and post or send it. So, I push that little button and within a second, I see that the message has been sent or the comment posted. In that moment, I know there is no chance of correcting any mistakes that slipped through; there’s no way to retract what’s been offered; no way to undo what’s been done.

More often than not, I wait; impatiently, but still I wait. A reply comment, a return e-mail, some other type of notice will eventually let me know that the message was received and understood in a manner that helped more than it hindered the situation.

Occasionally I’ll receive an e-mail back. Comments from authors on WordPress are more likely to appear. E-mailing people isn’t difficult, especially when there is only a combination of two buttons that have to be pressed to reply. Still, many people neglect those buttons. Facebook users are very well known for their lack of response to any person whom they don’t know; making it that much more difficult to make friends. — So much for being social.

It’s that third thought; the one that simply says ‘Someone will benefit from it,’ that returns to mind. Even without a response I’m sure that there is (usually) wisdom in whatever I choose to write. Keeping that in mind allows me to press that button and send the message, whether it’s likely to aggravate, irritate, or need a simpler explanation.

Second-guessing shouldn’t be a guessing game. That third thought makes it all worthwhile.

Missing: The Word I Need

Missing Word Poster

Yes, I seem to have done it, again. It was wandering my mind and I can’t remember if I wrote it down before it left. I just love writing while being distracted, having several topics flowing at once, or being exhausted; don’t you?

Strangely enough, this word comes with a little back story. I was sitting at my computer three days ago jotting down some ideas of interest. I was typing right along and this word hit me. Well, more of an idea for a word, really. It was on the tip of my tongue, teasing me.

So, I considered the many synonyms and words that fell within the range of meaning of this word, trying to see if I could pull it back out of my vocabulary. I thought and thought. I likely went over at least four-hundred words.

While searching my brain for this word, I had the idea several times to jump on some search engine and look up a synonym. It would have saved me some time and would have been much easier. No. I had to think of it on my own.

Without yielding to the letters that were scrambled within my mind, it took me three hours to think of this word. Finally! I had remembered it! Oh, it felt good. It put a smile on my face and I was happy that I had finally remembered this word, all on my own.

In the moment, I was happy. I went on about my day without a care, did my usual searching and finding of things that were of interest. No problem. Some hours later, I got into a conversation in which made me think of my little problem. I was faced with remembering the word once more. I could not. I had to bypass the word that I had remembered, because I had forgotten it, just to complete the story without wasting more time trying to remember it, again.

Still, as I write this entry, I cannot remember the word, nor the ‘keyword’ that I designated to remind me of the word. It’s gone again, jumbled into the long list of vocabulary that is English. (At least I know it’s an English word! – Not French, German, nor Italian.)

As it has been bothering me for the passed couple of days, I will likely be thinking about this word, along with it’s designated keyword, in the hopes that one or both will reveal themselves to me once more. It may take some time, but I’m willing to sit back and wait a bit. Eventually, I’ll get over it and move on, to look back and forever wonder what the word was (at least, until I remember it, again.)


[Edit: 07-24-12] With the help of reading about short stories and fiction, I have remembered the word that I was searching for. The ‘keyword’ that I had to remind me of it was: author; the key phrase: drawn pictures to help the story along.

The word: Illustrate.

a View from an AntiSocial

I arrive like the air floating through the room. Quietly and unnoticed I make my way into the party area and have a look around. Music’s playing loud; no one is interested in conversation. There’s a spot by one of the stereo speaker — nope, it was just taken by that couple who’s been kissing all afternoon. There’s an available spot beside the fish tank. It’s just as good.

I sit down, leaning against the arm of a couch that is covered with people. None of them notice me standing there, due to their kissing, hand-holding, and eye contact with others who are coming or going. Conversation is just as silent as the music is loud. Reverse.

Still, though I had been invited by two people, I sit quietly. Is there a reason to dance? Has someone shown interest? I’ve looked. I’ve found none. So, I sit quietly, watching the happenings going on around me without a word to disturb the silence that lingers. The smile upon my face is not because I’m having a good time, rather it’s because I’m laughing about the events I’m watching directly in front of me.

To look across the room and see lips moving, likely offering sound to someone so close to the person, it would be surprising if they couldn’t hear. Perhaps, she should scream into their ear as the speakers are screaming at everyone within range. Still, I hear nothing. I see lips moving, hands waving, smiles offered; none of it directed at me. I simply nod my head to the imaginary beat of my own imaginary song while my mind begins playing scenes of the party that I would be tempted to use in a story. — Why would I want to bring back the memory of being so cold?

Hands are clapping. Someone fell over drunk. People are laughing. Everyone’s drunk. The whole point of the party was to show up drunk, drink to get drunk, leave because you’ve gotten drunk, or pass out because you’re too drunk. Wait, what’s the point?

Eyes glance in my direction. They wander passed, unable to recognize me from the person sitting beside me. Even still, they wouldn’t have recognized me; I’m unknown to you. Conversation, the intellectual words spoken between two people so they become acquainted with one another — it’s an event that has not happened and likely will not happen between us. You don’t know me, nor I you.

Unnoticed, I wander to the porch, watching and smiling as I step over a couple motionless bodies lying about the floor, avoiding the human waste that was and will be, long after I leave. I get the scent of fresh air and a new thought enters my mind, teasing me to leave this wondrous place.

I breathe in to fill my lungs, catching the scent of drugs and cigars being smoked at the other end of the porch. If only I had a blue uniform and handcuffs; that would be something worthy of a gut-felt laugh.

Turning back to look over the banister, I step aside to allow one of the party goers a section to vomit in peace, before he trips and slides down the stairs like an unwanted package left on a doorstep. I sigh and wonder if he’ll remember how the bruises got there in the morning; if someone will eventually tell him the truth of the matter, or if everyone will claim that he got beaten up for allegedly trying to molest the daughter of the homeowner. — It’s not my problem.

Before walking back into the house, I stop. I pause a moment when my eyes catch sight of the crowd of people already inside. Should so many people be allowed in one room? Do I really want to hang out with people that I’ve never actually met? What’s the point of being invited by people who care, if they really don’t? I turn and jump from the side of the porch, over the railing to land on my feet, unlike the other three people who tried leaving after attending the party. They’re still lying on the steps and in the yard. None of them noticed me walking through the yard.

Thoughts of having fun, my way, tease me on my way home. I could have sparked up conversation about Elton John’s music, Billy the Kid, The Mona Lisa, or even Boy George’s famous tophat collection. Did I dare? No. I’m wiser than that. Such topics interest those who are interested; annoy those who are not. Why share my wisdom with such people who show in each passing that they don’t care for themselves? – It’s the right thing to do.

I sit down to write. A story, a journal entry, a poem that no one will ever see. What’s the point? I’ll have written and read it and seen it, to know that it’s real. It’s there for me when I need it, not like those who claim my friendship and leave it be after a couple shared breaths. My writing is there for me like no person could ever be. I can share with it anything in which I choose worthy, and it will never betray or fault me.

There’s a smile on my face when I lay down the pencil. The paper is satisfied, too.

Speechless Editing

There is nothing like getting pulled into the world of editing. You write something. You want to make it better. You edit. Pretty simple.

It wasn’t so simple when I returned to check on some information to also find that I had been nominated for the “One Lovely Blog Award.” I was fine until I saw that comment, then I went speechless; being such a new blogger.

While fiddling with settings of WordPress to setup my own Blogroll, since another member brought it back to my attention; thank you Margaret Grant, I also skimmed over the Widgets to see if they’ve added anything useful to me. I found a couple and added one of them to share with visitors the entries of blogs that I find interesting.

Since I turned down an award or two during my school aged years, arguing that one of them should have been given to someone whom was more qualified for it, as well as awards for poetry that I had once submitted, I will accept the kind offer of the “One Lovely Blog Award” and point out that it is coming along rather well, I think.

One Lovely Blog Award

This award comes with a list of ‘rules’ that should be followed shortly after acceptance, so here I go…

The Rules:

1. thank the blogger who nominated you with a link to the site.
2. write seven things about yourself that other bloggers don’t know
3. nominate fifteen other deserving blogs

The Thank You:

A big thank you to Ms. Nine for nominating me for the award, and for reminding me that there is more to life than four walls and words.

The Seven:


7. I’m really not sure what to say here.
6. I enjoy the shadows (or a quiet corner) more than limelight.
5. I’m a critical thinker; I analyze everything (including this list.)
4. I’ve never been good with naming things; ask my old folders of 150+ short stories entitled ‘Document #’.
3. I am nocturnal, no matter how much effort I put into straightening my sleeping schedule.
2. I’m a complicated person.
1. I doubt my writing ability, even after years of practice and research.

My Nominations to Deserving Blogs: (15, really?)

  1. Jason Alan for his unique look on life through the use of poetry, short stories, and photography, mixed with bolts of humor.
  2. write drunk and edit sober, because Liz has such a way with words in her own personal style.
  3. The Blue Brick, for offering such a wide variety of interests in such an easy to read style. The latest post about Sunspot AR 1520 offers some amazing Canadian views of the aurora.
  4. Andrew Toynbee’s very own Blog because Andrew is like the rest of us writers: He’s building his foundation of knowledge in order to make something useful of all of it.
  5. norfolknovelist has a way with putting boot to butt with the use of words. Insightful, full of life, ready to push forward and offers encouragement along the way.
  6. …umm. I’m still looking. It’s not easy for someone still learning a few of the ropes to find their way around to blogs who haven’t already been nominated for two or three of the same awards. So, I shall update this a bit later.

Now, I’m glad that I didn’t spend too much time researching awards, acceptance letters, speeches, and the whole other nine yards that come along with them; or, did I? (I’m not telling!)

I am glad, however, that what I have shared with you has made an impact in one way or another, and invited thoughts into your mind. I hope you enjoy what I have written and come back for a visit to enjoy what I will write.

Thank you, again.

The Writer (Edited) – A Writing Example

Frustrated with herself, Nadia slammed the door and continued down the hallway without looking back. She had spent enough time sitting in the apartment with a million ideas running through her mind. The whole rent an apartment idea was supposed to free her mind, instead she felt as though she was completely trapped inside it.

As soon as she reached the stairway, she slammed her palm against the wall; the sound of her shoes scuffling along the stairs only echoed a noise very similar. Then, she reached the landing between floors.

She bounced off of the wall with a quick push and began down the next set of stairs to the floor below. At the last step, Nadia jumped into the air and extended her legs at the right moment to slam both feet down on the concrete floor at the same time, which sent an echo through the cracked door in front of her.

Without pause, she continued down the next set of stairs. The thought of her writing talent being wasted was of no help at all. Without writing, she felt as though she was nothing, a nobody who nobody cared for. Being unable to write, though she had more than enough quiet space to think, was a waste.

The sound of her shoes slapping each step told of the speed in which she had been running down the last set of stairs. The door in front of the bottom step swung open with speed and force. It stopped only after it got hung on the rugged pavement in the alley.

Nadia glanced down, then tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She stepped back to the door and gave it a quick tug. She pulled and jerked on it, but the door was stuck.

“No worries there, little lady. I’ll get that for ya,” came a friendly voice from behind.

“Yeah, thanks,” Nadia replied as she turned to see a heavy-set construction worker walking toward her. Instantly, she pulled her arms in and stepped out of his way.

“Sorry, been out here all mornin’ with no one to talk to. I’ve been practicing lines for some ridiculous setup these producers have goin’ on, but to tell ya the truth, I think my luck is the worst it’s been in years,” the man said as he pushed and pulled on the door a couple times. “See? Got it.”

Nadia had been slowly walking away from him while watching him. It seemed so much easier when he pushed on the door and it moved. He tugged on the door and it moved. “Yeah. Thank you,” she replied with a nod before spinning around.

“You take care of yourself.”

Nadia raised her hand to her shoulder and simply waved instead of following through with the thought that had come to her mind. She stopped on the sidewalk and looked around.

In that moment, she saw a man standing at the end of the block selling hotdogs. He had two men and one woman waiting in a line while tending to a younger man. Beside him, there stood a group of people waiting to cross the street; if only the light would change.

Closer to her, Nadia watched a couple men pass by wearing expensive suits with matching briefcases. Only one of them wore a watch; it was on the gentleman’s left wrist. Nadia turned her head and walked to the edge of the sidewalk in order to double-check.

“Excuse me!” a man yelled as he grabbed her wrist. “I really don’t want to watch you commit suicide this morning, so please back away and wait until I’m gone.”

Nadia was at a loss for words as she watched the gentleman scurry down the block. Words didn’t begin to form in her mind until she watched the light change at the intersection he was walking toward. “Thanks, I think,” she curiously said. “Maybe,” she added with a second thought.

She turned in one big circle to look around. Taking in the sights and sounds of the busy street, Nadia smelled the hotdogs from the stand at the corner. She could also smell perfume mixed with the scent of a wet dog. Then, two pooches passed by her, walking a man wearing black tights who was busy talking on a cellphone.

“There’s a man on the corner sellin’ hot-dogs, a crowd of people waiting to cross the street. There’s a woman wearing lovely perfume, and some guy who doesn’t belong wearing tights,” she said raising her hand to block the view as she turned around.

“Then, we’ve got the other half of the block which seems to be filled with businessmen who seem to be on their way to lunch, or a meeting, or to flirt and tease their mistress while their wife is at home with their children,” Nadia said glancing between a couple of them on cellphones. “There’s a guy on a bicycle, riding on the sidewalk―” she said as he neared. “Oh, correction: A cute guy on a bicycle riding on the sidewalk,” she said, turning to keep her eyes on him as he passed.

Nadia slouched her shoulders and let her smile fade when he glanced back and raised his left hand, revealing his wedding band. “Lucky woman you’ve got there, buddy; I hope she knows it.”

She took in a deep breath and exhaled, tilting her head back the more she exhaled. When her lungs were finally empty, Nadia was staring up at the top of one of many buildings that surrounded her. The building that she had just stepped out of, though it was just as tall as any of the others, seemed rather petite from the inside.

Inhaling another deep breath, Nadia caught the scent of hotdogs and perfume again. Then, she noticed the scent of aftershave and a milkshake. A child’s laughter pulled her attention from the skies above.

Walking toward her was a father who was clean-shaven and a little girl, maybe eight years old, holding a milkshake in one hand, her father’s hand was in the other. Nadia couldn’t help but show her appreciation when she saw the little girl look up at her daddy and smile.

“I love you, sweetheart,” the man said as they passed by.

“I love you, too, Daddy,” Nadia lipped in sync with the little girl.

She sighed when she realized that she was still staring at them. As soon as she turned her head away, thoughts of her own father leaving filled her mind. The warm, happy feeling that was there only moments before had been replaced by a saddening cold that sent a chill down her spine.

“Wa–Watch it! Watch it!” a man yelled as he continued passed her.

Nadia jumped backward and quickly found the wall of a building behind her. Thankfully, there was just enough room for her feet not to be run over by the dolly the man was pulling along. She shook her head unable to respond in time to be heard, for the second time.

“Suicide,” she whispered while watching the traffic pass by in the busy street. “Suicide,” she repeated in the same whisper. “Su-ic-ide. Why do you run–and–hide? You lock yourself away–from–the world! You’re but a–sin-gle–girl! ― Oh, suicide! ― There’s so much more to you than what meets–the–eye!” Nadia finished in song, realizing that she had attracted the attention of several passersby while completely lost in thought.

“Brilliant!” one man shouted before applauding.

“That was awesome!” a teenaged boy agreed with a wide smile.

“Very well done, my lady,” an older gentleman offered with a tip of his hat as he passed by her.

Nadia raised a hand to her mouth and covered half of her face as she politely curtsied for the crowd that had obviously enjoyed her short song. She curtsied again, glancing around the few faces that were remaining, then wiped a single tear from her eye.

A giggle began in the pit of her stomach, in the exact same spot the hatred for her father had settled. It grew over the course of seconds into a burst of laughter, seeming rather out of the ordinary for the people who were passing by her.

“Oh, sorry!” she laughed, offering a smile and a wave. “I’m just happy right now,” she added pointing at her face.

“Well, that’s quite obvious,” a man replied holding a cellphone against his chest.

“As well, you should be,” another voice yelled from across the street. “You’re alive and well!”

Nadia nodded her head and offered a wave, noticing that she also received a smile in return for her efforts. Then, she spun on her heel and inhaled a deep breath as she started toward the door that had gotten stuck.

The bounce in her step softened when she saw that heavy-set man standing beside a giant truck. She stared as she neared him, noticing his hat in one hand while the other wiped sweat from his face.

“Oh, you again?”

“Yeah,” Nadia replied as she stopped only a couple feet away from him. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I’m a struggling writer and I’ve been having a bad day for the passed couple of days. I just couldn’t take it, anymore, I guess.”

The man’s smile widened and he nodded his head. “We’ve all been there, sweetheart. But, you gotta remember to keep your head up and keep your eyes, ears, and mind open, so each of them can pay better attention to what your heart’s telling you to do,” he quickly offered.

Nadia allowed her smile to widen as she began to nod in agreement.

“Just follow your heart and go after your dreams,” the man offered with half a grin. “Don’t be like me. I’ve passed up so many better jobs that I’m having a hard enough time keepin’ this lousy job. Now, the truck wants to be a pain in my rear-end. All the sudden, it broke down; no good reason,” he said as he kicked the tire.

“Well mister, I really do hope that your day brightens up. I sure know that you’ve helped to brighten mine,” Nadia said as she walked toward the contraption that had gotten stuck on the pavement.

“Hey, hold on,” he replied as he pulled a phone from his shirt pocket, his finger still in the air when Nadia pulled the door open. “Hah! That was old boss man. He told me to lock up the truck and leave it here. I’ve got the rest of the day off and I still get paid for it!”

“What good news! That’s awesome!” Nadia replied, offering a short applaud.

“Oh, you’re tellin’ me,” the man said as he pulled open the door of the truck. “Now, if I can make it in time, I should be able to watch my little girl act for the first time in her school play; she’s a little wood fairy or somethin’,” he explained before slamming the door closed. “You have a good one and take care!” he offered as he hurried down the alley.

Nadia stood there staring at him, a smile on her face. “You, too,” she said under her breath, sure that he wouldn’t have been able to hear even if she had screamed it. Then, she turned toward the open door awaiting her and walked back into the building, the bounce in her step returned to its rightful place.


This is what I ended up with after a proofread and a single edit. After reading over it a couple of times, I feel like there are still a few parts (at least) that could use a little work. However, I’ve left it this way because I’ve not been able to enhance the writing as a whole.

I may end up editing it sometime in the future, when I have the time to sit down and focus; I’m just not yet sure how. You’re welcome to read over it and leave any feedback that you would like.

The Writer (Rough Draft) – A Writing Example

Frustrated with herself, Nadia slammed the door and continued down the hallway without looking back. She had spent enough time sitting in the apartment with a million ideas running through her mind. The whole renting an apartment idea was supposed to free her mind, instead she was feeling as though she was completely trapped inside it.

As soon as she reached the stairway, she slammed her palm against the wall, the sound of her shoes scuffling along the stairs only echoed a noise very similar. Then, she reached the landing between the floors.

She bounced off of the wall with a quick push and began down the next set of stairs to the floor below. At the last step, Nadia jumped into the air and extended her legs at the right moment to slam both feet down on the concrete floor at the same time, sending an echo through the cracked door in front of her.

Without pause, she continued down the next set of stairs. The thought of her writing talent being wasted was of no help at all. Without writing, she felt as though she was nothing, a nobody who nobody cared for. Being unable to write, though she had plenty of quiet space to think, was a waste.

Her shoes told of the speed in which she had been running down the last set of stairs. The door just ahead of the bottom step swung open with speed, coming to a stop only when the bottom of the door slid across the rugged pavement that had been laid down in the alley.

Nadia glanced down, then tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She stepped back to the door and gave a quick tug. She pulled and jerked it, but the door was stuck.

“No worries there, little lady. I’ll get that for ya,” came a friendly voice from behind.

“Yeah, thanks,” Nadia replied as she turned to see a heavy-set construction worker walking toward her. Instantly, she pulled her arms in and stepped out of his way.

“Sorry, been out here all mornin’ with no one to talk to. I’ve been practicing lines for some ridiculous setup these producers have goin’ on, but to tell ya the truth, I think my luck is the worst it’s been in years,” the man said as he pushed and pulled on the door a couple times. “See? Got it.”

Nadia had been slowly walking away from him while watching him. It seemed to much easier when he pushed on the door and it moved. He tugged on the door and it moved. “Yeah. Thank you,” she replied with a nod before spinning around.

“You take care of yourself.”

Nadia raised her hand to her shoulder and simply waved instead of following through with the thought that had come to her mind. She stopped on the sidewalk and looked around.

In that moment, the saw a man standing at the end of the block to her left selling hotdogs. He had two men and one woman waiting in a line while tending to a younger man. Beside him, there stood a pile of people waiting to cross the street, if only the light would change.

Closer to her, Nadia watched a couple men pass by wearing expensive suits with matching briefcases. Only one of them wore a watch; it was on the gentleman’s left wrist. Nadia turned her head and walked to the edge of the sidewalk in order to double-check.

“Excuse me!” a man yelled as he grabbed her wrist. “I really don’t want to watch you commit suicide this morning, so please back away and wait until I’m gone.”

Nadia was at a loss for words as she watched the gentleman scurry down the block. Words didn’t begin to form in her mind until she watched the light change at the intersection he was walking toward. “Thanks, I think,” she curiously said. “Maybe,” she added with a second thought.

She turned in one big circle to look around. Taking in the sights and sounds of the busy street, Nadia smelled the hotdogs from the stand at the corner. She could also smell perfume mixed with a wet dog scent. Then, two pooches passed by her, being walked by a man wearing black tights talking on a cellphone.

“There’s a man on the corner sellin’ hot-dogs, a crowd of people waiting to cross the street. There’s a woman wearing lovely perfume, and some guy who doesn’t belong wearing tights,” she said raising her hand to block her view as she turned around.

“Then, we’ve got the other half of the block which seems to be filled with businessmen who seem to be on their way to lunch, or a meeting, or to flirt and tease their mistresses while their wives are at home with the children,” Nadia said glancing between a couple of them on cellphones. “There’s a guy on a bicycle, riding on the sidewalk—” she said as he neared. “Oh, correction: A cute guy on a bicycle riding on the sidewalk,” she said, turning to keep her eyes on him as he passed by her.

Nadia slouched her shoulders and let her smile fade when he glanced back and raised his left hand, revealing his wedding band. “Lucky woman you’ve got there, buddy; I hope she realizes it.”

She took in a deep breath and exhaled, tilting her head back the more she exhaled. When her lungs were finally empty, Nadia was staring up at the top of one of many buildings that surrounded her. The building that she had just stepped out of, though it was just as tall as any of the others, seemed rather petite from the inside.

Inhaling another deep breath, Nadia caught the scent of hotdogs and perfume again. Then, she noticed the scent of aftershave and a milkshake. A child’s laughter pulled her attention from the skies above.

Walking toward her was a father who was clean-shaven and a little girl, maybe eight years old, holding a milkshake in one hand, her father’s hand in the other. Nadia couldn’t help but show her appreciation when she saw the little girl look up at her daddy and smile.

“I love you, sweetheart,” the man said as they passed by.

“I love you, too, Daddy,” Nadia lipped in sync with the little girl.

She sighed and realized that she was still staring at them. As soon as she turned her head away, thoughts of her own father leaving filled her mind. The warm, happy feeling that had been only moments ago was replaced by a saddening cold that sent a chill down her spine.

“Wa–Watch it! Watch it!” a man yelled as he continued passed her.

Nadia jumped backward and quickly found the wall of a building behind her. Thankfully, there was just enough room for her feet not to be run over by the dolly the man was pulling along. She shook her head unable to respond in time to be heard, for the second time.

“Suicide,” she whispered while watching the traffic pass by in the busy street. “Suicide,” she repeated in the same whisper. “Su-ic-ide. Why do you run–and–hide? You lock yourself away–from–the world! You’re but a–sin-gle–girl! — Oh, suicide! — There’s so much more to you than what meets–the–eye!” Nadia finished in song, realizing that she had attracted the attention of several passersby while completely lost in thought.

“Brilliant!” one man shouted before applauding.

“That was awesome!” a teenaged boy agreed with a wide smile.

“Very well done, my lady,” an older gentleman offered with a tip of his hat as he passed by her.

Nadia raised a hand to her mouth and covered half of her face as she politely curtsied for the crowd that had obviously enjoyed her short song. She curtsied again, glancing around the few faces that were remaining, then wiped a single tear from her eye.

A giggle began in the pit of her stomach, in the exact same spot that she had felt the hatred for her father settling. It grew over the course of seconds into a burst of laughter, seeming rather out of the ordinary for the people who were passing by her.

“Oh, sorry!” she laughed, offering a smile and a wave. “I’m just happy right now,” she added pointing at her face.

“Well, that’s quite obvious,” a man replied holding a cellphone against his chest.

“As well, you should be,” another voice yelled from across the street. “You’re alive and well!”

Nadia nodded her head and offered a wave, noticing that she also received a smile in return for her efforts. Then, she spun on her heel and inhaled a deep breath as she started toward the door that had gotten stuck.

The bounce in her step softened when she saw that heavy-set man standing beside a giant truck. She stared as she neared him, noticing his hat in his hand while his other wiped sweat from his face.

“Oh, you again?”

“Yeah,” Nadia replied as she stopped only a couple feet away from him. “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. I’m a struggling writer and I’ve been having a bad day for the passed couple of days. I just couldn’t take it, anymore, I guess.”

The man’s smile widened and he nodded his head. “We’ve all been there, sweetheart. But, you gotta remember to keep your head up and keep your eyes, ears, and mind open, so each of them can pay better attention to what your heart’s telling you to do,” he quickly explained to her.

Nadia allowed her smile to widen as she began to nod in agreement.

“Just follow your heart and go after your dreams,” the man offered with half a grin. “Don’t be like me. I’ve passed up so many better jobs that I’m having a hard enough time keepin’ this lousy job. Now, the truck wants to be a pain in my rear-end. All the sudden, it broke down; no good reason,” he said as he kicked the tire.

“Well mister, I really do hope that your day brightens up. I sure know that you’ve helped to brighten mine,” Nadia said as she walked toward the contraption that had gotten stuck on the pavement.

“Hey, hold on,” he replied as he pulled a phone from his shirt pocket, his finger still in the air when Nadia pulled the door open. “Hah! That was old boss man. He told me to lock up the truck and leave it here. I’ve got the rest of the day off and I get paid for it!”

“What good news! That’s awesome!” Nadia replied, offering a short applaud.

“Oh, you’re tellin’ me,” the man said as he pulled open the door of the truck. “Now, if I can make it in time, I should be able to watch my little girl play the part of a fairy in her school play,” he explained before slamming the door closed. “You have a good one and take care!” he offered as he hurried down the alley.

Nadia stood there staring at him, a smile on her face. “You, too,” she said under her breath, sure that he wouldn’t have heard even if she had screamed it. Then, she turned toward the open door awaiting her and walked back into the building, the bounce in her step returned to its rightful place.


This is the very first piece of writing that I have offered anyone in a few years. My last attempt of sharing my work with others didn’t go over as well as I had hoped; maybe there were too few interested in erotica when I offered.

You’re welcome to read it and offer whatever words of wisdom you choose. I’m always in search of opinions.

Let’s Get Cookin’!

Oh, let’s see what we have here. I’ve found a couple potatoes; a sweet onion; a bell pepper of yellow, orange, and one of red; and a package of Lipton’s Onion Mushroom soup. Let’s do some chopping, slicing, and dicing, and soon we’ll have our yummilicious mixture for the chuck round roast that’s waiting.

Yes, I took a little time away from writing in order to prepare last night’s meal. I enjoy my roasts because I let them cook on high for about an hour and a half, then reduce the heat to a simmer and let them remain there for another twelve to fourteen hours.

Read on to find out the secret ingredient that I have added in, which hasn’t been much of a secret to anyone who has watched me prepare this lovely meal. Let me introduce you to one of the meals that I came up with a couple years ago.. if you’ll allow me.

You will need:

  • 1 package Lipton’s Onion Mushroom Soup Mix
  • 1 onion (your choice of sweet, red, etc.)
  • 2 baking potatoes
  • 3 bell peppers (your choice of color)
  • * (secret ingredient)
  • 2lbs.-3lbs. chuck roast
  • 2 16oz. bottles of water (or plain cold tap)

Chopped vegetables for a slow cooked roast.

Preparation: (Grab your cutting board and a sharp knife!)

  • Rinse off vegetables in cool to luke warm water to remove pesticides and other unwanted material. Cooler water helps to keep veggies nice and crisp, while the warmer water helps to soften them.
  • Cut onion through middle, then cut each half into sixths;
  • Cut potatoes in half, quarter the halves, and slice into chunks;
  • Cut bell peppers to remove core and seeds, cut bowl into standing halves, proceed to cut away halves until bell peppers are various sized strips.

Ingredients for a slow cooked roast.

Once you have your vegetables cut and sliced, stack a layer of veggies around the bottom of the Crock Pot of your choice. Any slow cooker should do just fine.

Add spices to suit your taste, then put in your roast.

Roast sitting on a layer of vegetables.

After your roast has been situated on top of the layer of veggies and spices, it’s time to stack on the remaining vegetables. Place them haphazardly around and on top of your roast, which will allow your roast to absorb the juice while it cooks.

The secret ingredient in this recipe calls for a pear. Of course, you’re welcome to substitute it with any fruit that you enjoy. While the other flavors are mingling, the flavor of the pear will help to make the entire dish just that much sweeter. Also, sweet peppers may be added in place of the bell peppers.

After your vegetables have been placed, more than likely squished into place, grab your two packets of Onion Mushroom soup. Tear (or cut) both of them open and pour on top of meat and vegetables.

Pour on both bottles of water to soak the powder of the soup. The water, when poured over it, will carry the soup and mix rather well. Don’t worry if both bottles start to flow over. Add the remaining water and any more that is needed while it cooks.

Crock Pot stuffed with roast and veggies.

Once you’ve got the water in, all that’s left to do is put the lid on it and turn it on. I begin mine on High heat for the first hour or two that it is cooking. Then, I’ll switch it down to low and check on it periodically to be sure that the water level has not decreased too much. If it’s needed, I’ll add water; if not, I’ll simply take in a whiff of the aromas and impatiently wait.

Ready to begin cooking.

While many people leave their roast cooking for only a couple hours, I allow mine anywhere from twelve to fourteen hours to completely cook. The first hour or so on High heat will bring up the temperature rather quickly. The remaining time slow cooking will tenderize the meat until it’s able to be cut with a fork, or pulled apart with ease. The cooking time is completely up to you.

Roast after twelve hours of slow cooking.

Remember to wash your hands before AND after you handle the ingredients. By doing so, you reduce the risk of spreading bacteria from food to surface and vice versa.

If you decide to switch up some ingredients to better suit your own tastes, stop back by and let us know what changes you made.


Since I found time to finish the entry after the meal finished cooking, I can say that it was yummy! As a note, I’ll have to remember that richer pieces of meat that offer a bit of fat with them usually need a tad bit more spice while cooking.