What Rick Riordan's Books Have Taught Me

rb if u don’t give a shit about his background

writer's block

writer’s block

I spent a long time looking for the right prompt. in the end I just wasn’t feeling any of them. So that’s what I wrote about. Hopefully, my muse and I will back at it next week… I stared and stared at the blank page, the cursor blinking impatiently at me. I’d been sitting at my computer for hours. If this had been just a few years earlier, there would be an overflowing wastebasket at my side. As…

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Someone reblog my danm promts!

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              The yearly ritual began with a simple cup of coffee and the sunrise. Mornings were already feeling a little cooler. The woman breathed the salt air in deep and relaxed, almost meditating. The blue-jays in the nearby sycamore chased each other with a joyous freedom. She wondered if they could feel the change in the air too. Finally ready, she set her mug down and strolled across the deserted street. Her few year round neighbors were all still asleep or already off to work. Leaving her sneakers on the wooden fence, her toes felt sand for the first time in two months. A cool breeze played with her hair. The beach was welcoming her home. She made her way down the worn path that would soon be a memory. Her feet alone weren’t enough to fight off the inevitable build-up of sand. The drooping fence would soon be the only marker to the entrance. Coming over the last dune, she surveyed the unsanctified land. Under the scattered debris, the sand glowed yellow white. The city sent people out to clean the beach but there was always a lot of trash they missed. She didn’t really mind. In fact, there was pride in the growing bag of soda cans and hot dog wrappers she held. Halfway through, she had to shed the light sweater that she’d put on in hopes of it being cooler. It would be soon enough. Her patch of the beach wasn’t large, but it always seemed to attract the messiest people. She made sure to walk the whole thing. Reconsecrating it with her joy alone. It was only after erasing all evidence of the summer people, that she sank onto the warm sand. The ocean sparkled in the sun. Gulls dove into the surf and flew away with the small fish they’d caught. The tide rolled over her bare feet. She accepted the water’s blessing. This moment was what she’d been dreaming of. The ritual complete, she could finally relax. The silence wrapped around her like a blanket. She had only ventured here once during a seasonal siege. The noise had run her off before she could even touch the sand. There was no too loud radios or children playing to break the peace, now. Tomorrow, after the first swim of the season, she would bring her sketchbook and work on her newest masterpiece with her toes buried in the sand. The beach would be her’s until next summer’s invasion.

The Beach               The yearly ritual began with a simple cup of coffee and the sunrise. Mornings were already…

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Rainy night in the city

Rainy night in the city

Writing prompt week three. I made both the one day goal and my minimum word count.  This photo was called The Storm. As they say “there are eight million stories in the naked city, this is one of them” Water splashed up from dips in the sidewalk, too shallow to be called puddles. Well, my new boots were ruined and I had no one to blame but myself. It wasn’t enough to make a dramatic exit, I had…

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A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

                  Let me start by saying I grew up on Beetle Bailey. I’m not criticizing the strip in general. The comic above appeared on May 16. It illustrates a long standing discussion that has been going in our house.   On the surface we see a guy surrounded by women who won’t give him the time of day. He goes home depressed. Are we supposed to feel sad for this lonely fellow? What about the girls? They seem to be taking a lot of blame for his woes. “Hey darlin’”, “Honey”, “Sweetie”.  Are they really supposed to respond positively?  

              This strikes a cord with me because I am one of these ladies.  I myself have had words like that thrown at me from car windows, in the aisle t the grocery store, or at work.   I too am going about my day, not looking or wanting attention. Yet just like these women, I am somehow to blame for not responding appropriately. I am told  that this behavior shouldn’t bother me. It’s just harmless flirting. I should be flattered. I am not.

               If it makes someone uncomfortable then its not harmless. I have met very few women who are okay with this kind of treatment. They have learned the best way to deal with it, is to just ignore it. Any kind of positive response encourages them. A negative response can make the man aggressive and may lead to violence. Going through the day with your head down and headphones on is no way to live. We girls have learned from our experiences. Now we just have to teach the men.

               Our hapless friend needs to learn how very wrong his approach is. Clearly, he wants a relationship. A verbal scattershot isn’t working. Nor would the classic construction worker catcall. I believe it will take someone teaching him, and others of his kind, to be respectful and thoughtful. The more we push for change on a societal level, the more it seems there is resistance. Its time to take it to a more individual level.

               Teach him to be nice and kind, he will win the fair maiden’s hand and perhaps he will pass it on to his own sons.