November is WHAT??!

November is here again! And that means NOVELS! November is National Novel Writing Month for those of you who aren't already aware. Thousands of participants create an online account on Nanowrimo.org where you can track your daily writing progress and feel a sense of community and support from the other participants. This is not a contest with one grand prize. Nanowrimo is a fun celebration of the writer and his/her world and process. The challenge gives you a chance to find out how disciplined you really are, and just how creative you can be. The Nanowrimo goal to set is to write 50,000 words by November 30th. I didn't succeed last year, so I'm going to give it another go this November! Hope to see you all there! (cuz that much writing is sure to be lonely).

Here is a video that gives you some tips on the month and what to expect!

November Topic?

Imprimatur was signed up for the November topic. She is the 27 year old daughter of my boyfriend and she is currently fighting for her life with advanced , acute, aggressive T-Cell Leukemia Lymphoma. Makes all of my little aches and pains seem pretty frivolous. Are there any volunteers out there willing to fill in for Imprimatur this month?

"Shipshit."

My compound word. I always thought this would make a great freight company name. What does it mean? Means 'we ship anything'. Am I doing this correctly? How 'bout, the opposite of "shipshape"? "Shipshit".

OK - subtopic to this subtopic. If you have a better definition for "shipshit", offer it up now.

Compund Creations

1.) ImageGlider
2.) bookshift
3.) giftshift

The Transformation of Betsy

Heavens to Betsy! Betsy-Wetsy! Betsy. Her name is Betsy. Her mom, like the moms of all the other Betsys her age, named their Betsys after the fragile, dainty, darling Betsy McCall doll. Betsy - the perfect name for a fragile, dainty, darling girl . . . but most definitely not the perfect name for her. Fragile? Try frumpy. Dainty? Try dumpy. Darling? Try grumpy. Lumpy. She often overheard the hushed behind-her-back sniping: Frumpty-Dumpty. Look at what she’s wearing. Frumpity-Grumpity. Why is she never happy? Lumpity. Frump. Why doesn’t she do something with her hair?

The last time Betsy used her oven was when the heating coil burst into a small flame and the glow snaked along the length of it, even after she pulled the plug. The next morning, cool to the touch, the snapped pieces of coil resembled a pile of tubular, crispy lava. Losing patience with faulty appliances, she pulled the plug on her microwave oven and toaster oven as well, and pulled out her under-used, under-appreciated fondue pots. Who needs any type of oven, when two fondue pots will do? One for the cheesy main course, the second for the chocolaty dessert course. Gooey cheese, dip, dip. Sticky-sweet gooey chocolate, dippity, dip. Dippity, dippity . . .

Over time, partaking of these twin indulgences, day in and day out, soon enough layered Betsy’s form, but she was never warm. She contrived to layer herself in clothing; tanks, tees, tops, turtlenecks, pull-overs, and zip-ups, in every imaginable shade of wash water. Finishing with her trademark dull gray cowl-neck raglan sweater-coat, yet she was never warm.

Instead of regular exercise, Betsy regularly ignored her ImageGlider exerciser. She felt guilt-ridden and full of self-loathing every time she looked at it, so she kept the guest room door closed so she wouldn’t accidentally catch a glimpse of it. One night, insomnia and chills at their worst, she thought she might as well use the damn thing, if only to generate some heat. Pulsating light emanated from under the door of the guest room and as she entered she heard the machine whisper her name. As she clambered aboard, she noticed that the aqua read-out screen spelled WELCOME B-E-T-S-Y in bold, black, block letters. Picking up words of gentle encouragement, she picked up speed. As she ran, the screen came alive showing images of her possible future. Faster, faster, farther into the future she was shown. She ran for hours, generating more and more images, waking up in bed the next morning, confused. She ran again that night.

Betsy ran nightly, the ImageGlider's siren call growing louder, irresistible. One night, the screen read WELCOME B-E-T-T-Y. Could she possibly live with the name Betty? Yes, of course, she could and she hoped that Betsy was done and gone for good. Betty seemed to her a stronger name; gaining strength, she ran. Cooling down in reverse, the screen showed B-E-T-S-Y yet again and she was shocked to see images of her chunky past revealed. Chunkity, chunkity . . . She sped forward to escape the sight, waving goodbye to her past, running, striding, gliding to images of her future.

WELCOME B-E-T-T-Y, night after night, until she felt a new vibration throughout as she became Betty. She is Betty. The layers dropping, she takes her woolen sweater-coat to the dry cleaner, never returning to pick it up. Impulsively, she gives her television set to a family she heard about on the local news who was devastated by a flash flood. She joined an experimental multi-cultural dance troupe. She lost the ability to gossip, and gained the ability to say just the right words to help someone feel better. She kept a single fresh flower in a cut-glass vase on the impromptu altar she arranged in front of the guest room window. She repositioned the ImageGlider so she could catch the starlit breeze coming through the window as she ran, providing a coolness she craved. Continually watching the images on the screen served as REM, eliminating her need for sleep.

One night, the screen-greeting proclaimed WELCOME B-E-T-T-E. What happened to Betty? Gliding in reverse as fast as she could, she caught up with her, Betty’s image on the screen appearing in sepia tones. Like a scene from a forties movie, Betty wore a hat and trench coat, her image fading away with one long, wistful, backward glance. Bette. A more distinctive name, sophisticated, worthy. She must become worthy. Run, run, run to her future. She is Bette as the ImageGlider initiated her further into the ways of luminosity. The word "focus" becomes her mantra as she plays with energy, luminescence and form. She cleared her closet of items reeking of khaki or camo, and revved up her sewing machine. Favoring palettes of pastels and brights, patterns of lilting florals and subtle geometrics, she styled fashions influenced by regions of India and Greece. She performed a whole-house bookshift, giving to the Annual Book Drive without bothering to check for signature, inscription, or forgotten bookmark. She authored a book of her own with the double entendre title: Becoming. Once, finding the guest room unusually dim, she performed an energy-scan, discovering the water in the vase had evaporated to a dangerously low level. Refilling the vase with water to its original line set things to rights, resuscitating the room.

WELCOME B-E-L-L-E, this time her name change is a smooth transition. Belle's skin had taken on an ethereal translucency, defying ethnic origin. Her nail tips sparked and sparkled, revealing her current auric hues. She wore her fast-growing hair in a soft updo, its color that of fine champagne. She giftshifted the trinkets and treasures she had received over her lifetime, taking pleasure in finding new, more appropriate homes for each, including her fondue pots; she thrived easily on an occasional cheese puff or chocolate kiss. She twirled on one toe for sheer delight. She tuned in to the wonder-filled thoughts of others swirling around her: Wish I could wear clothes like that! Is she always this happy? Her hair is gorgeous!

Belle donated her sewing machine to the local middle school. She took up weaving.

Breakers of nostalgia hit Belle without warning late one night. Awash with emotion, in a frenzy, she scoured the ImageGlider screen to find Betsy. Speeding in reverse, brushing first past the images of Bette, then Betty, she finally found Betsy sitting on the edge of the sofa, struggling in spite of her bulk, to tie her shoes. Looking at the image of Betsy from this vantage point, she could only feel fathoms-deep, overwhelming compassion for this tormented soul. How could she have ever hated herself so? Why hadn’t she shown herself even half an ounce of kindness? The name Betsy, after all, did carry the vibration of BE and YES. But that T in the middle was like a cross, a weighty cross to bear. Belle knew in that moment that she couldn’t be Belle without having been Betsy. Gathering and cradling Betsy unto herself, she was thenceforth known as Betsy-Belle: YES. BE. BEAUTIFUL.

With best wishes, Betsy-Belle gave her beloved ImageGlider to the next person who greeted her with genuine warmth.

Fully integrated, Betsy-Belle timed her exit to coincide with the first new moon after the summer solstice. Concentrating her form, she slipped through the guest room window screen as a pinpoint of light. Once through, anyone chancing to glance up would have seen the brilliant, expansive flash of a nighttime rainbow phenomenon fill the sky. Later, they came looking. The curious who had previously spurned her and those few who had always loved her came looking. They found her home empty, save for a long, silky scarf, finely hand-woven of her abundant, shimmery locks.

NOTE: The use of the phrase "forgotten bookmark" was inspired by and pays homage to Michael Popek of the ever-intriguing site: Forgotten Bookmarks.

Rippling Sky

"You have got to be kidding me!"
"No! Look! Right over there! Don't you see it?"
"Stop it, Alan! You know I hate it when you do this kind of stuff."
"Sorry, Sarah. I was just having a little fun. But wouldn't it be cool if we saw a real UFO?"
"Cool? More like terrifying."
"Whatever."
"What, you really think if you really saw one, you would be excited? I would pee my pants."
"Sissy."
"Don't 'sissy' me, Alan! You can honestly say you wouldn't be the least bit freaked out?"
"I don't know. I mean, I've always wanted to see one. I just think it would be neat."
"Well, I don't."
"Fine."

"What was that? Did you see that, Alan?"
"What?"
"Didn't you see it?"
"What!?"
"It was almost like the whole sky just shimmered."
"Shimmered?"
"Yeah. It was like a ripple went through the whole sky."
"Shut up."
"I'm serious!"
"Did you pee your pants?"
"Stop it. I can't believe you didn't see it!"
"I must've been looking at something else."
"What else could you have been looking at? It's like all we can see is the sky."
"Well, I didn't see it, Sarah."
"Why are you acting so strange, Alan? Is something wrong?"
"No. Nothing's wrong."
"I don't believe you."
"Fine."

"You still there?"
"Yes, Sarah, I'm still here. Where would I go?"
"Just checking, it's almost like you weren't there for a minute."
"Why, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just feel funny...different."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Something's strange, I don't feel normal."
"Why don't we just count the stars?"
"No. Something's wrong. Maybe I just need something to drink; could I have the water?"
"Hmm, I must have drunk it all, but I have this."
"Where'd you get that? What is it?"
"Some new energy drink I picked up at the store the other day. Try it, it's supposed to be pretty good."
"No thanks."
"Try it. I've heard good things about it."
"I said I don't want it."
"Fine."

"Did you feel that?"
"Sorry?"
"It was almost like a little earthquake."
"Maybe it was, Sarah, you should go back to sleep."
"I was sleeping? I need to be getting home! What time is it? … There it is again! Look at the sky!"
"Sarah..."
"Oh my God! The sky! It's...what is happening?!"
"Sarah..."
"I feel like I'm moving! Alan! What's happening to me?! The sky is breaking! It's disappearing!"
"Sarah...you're leaving."
"Leaving! Where am I going?"
"Don't worry; you're going to be alright, it doesn't usually happen like this."
"Alan!"
"You'll be fine."

"Alan..."
"Sarah!"
"Alan...what just happened?"
"That's what I want to know! Where have you been?"
"What do you mean where have I been?! I’ve been with you!"
"No you haven’t! I was talking to you one minute and then it was like you just disappeared. I thought you were mad at me for talking about UFO's."
"Alan! Look!"
"No way!"
"Could it be?"
"I think I just peed my pants."
"Do you think?"
"I gotta get out of here! What if it comes down and gets us?"
"I think it already did."
"You mean...that's where you think you went??"
"Yeah..."
"Why aren't you freaking out?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know!? You think you were just in that thing, yet your acting like nothing happened!"
"Oddly enough, I feel fine."

The Soldier and the Gypsy

He grew up with the unpolished marble bust of the Emperor in his family's red veranda. He saw him on every coin and in every city square, hand on orb, divinely proportioned, a balanced stare. He'd never met him or saw him, but he loved his leader so honest, intelligent and spiritual.
One day when he grew very tall, very fast, his father told him his time had come to serve his military duty. He placed in his son's hands a small bronze pin of a flame he himself had worn during his own service. The boy cried, vulnerable under his father's gaze, knowing this was initiation.
After two years of training in weaponry, stamina, and strategy, he was sent to the Empire's mutable Eastern borders and in time, he found that he liked the life of a soldier. He felt elemental and strong. He knew war had always been and always would be and he formed an idea that he and the other soldiers were conduits for the gods, and he was to allow the inevitable, warring passions of Earth to work through him for the greatest outcome of all. Whenever he felt like he couldn't take another step, or felt dizzy with hunger, he'd say: Stay empty, empty, its an honor to host this transfiguring force.
The troupe reached their oriental destination on a windy starry night. They were greeted by a camp guard who related an atrocity that took place several days back with a soldier and a gnarled gang of rabid wolves that trailed in behind the wheels of the gypsy caravans that had just set up camp.
The boy unfastened the flame pin from his pocket and slept with it in his hands.
The soldiers started to work right away on building a proper encampment wall and spent their days hauling stone in from a half-demolished mosque to the north.
Days passed, working hard, eating little, idle evenings, and one particular night, a song.
They boy heard it because the wind was blowing just right and his curiosity led him to the source. He saw in a grassy clearing just next to the gypsy camp a fire, tickling the tiered skirts of a black haired woman twirling and singing. Her voice was an incantation and her many golden bangles flicked sparks from her limbs. He felt a chill of something chaotic in his blood, like when he first saw a hyena, that bristly, muscled opportunist, devour a carcass.
The following two nights he heard her out in the field again, along with two male voices. The third night, his head throbbing, he tramped over to the firelight and met her glossy black, kohl-lined eyes. Two men in leather pants held bottles in the shadows behind her. He asked her to please let Morpheus do his work.
She told him to leave in a series of shouts in her language and said she had always done exactly what she felt like doing.
And it was true. She once lived for four years in a cave alone, learning the secrets of mushrooms. She slept during the day and lived poetry at night. She had six children (she thought) and while others gathered around the table to eat, she scoured the earth for bird's feathers. She concocted hallucinogenic elixirs and she never took time to reflect or get too serious about anything.
He concluded that this gypsy was an incarnation of all that his dear temperate Emperor was against and prayed the gods would show her the virtues of duty and civility.
At daybreak as the men wiped the morning dew from their faces, the Sassanids struck, slayed them all, destroying their stone wall and reopening the border.
The gypsy woman traipsed through the military camp, stepping over bodies, still steaming with warmth, collecting whatever she felt like she wanted, things the Sassanids missed. She left with an urn of oil, a sac of flour and two stained woolen coats, all loaded into the bed of a shield that she pulled like a sled behind her, humming a Vedic melody.

Compound word sub topic

As an empty nester (for many years) I now have a "virtualchild" That is an offspring who has flown the coop and only communicates via facebook and text.

One more...... how about "purraffection" That would be the perfect way our kitties show their love for us!

My Compound Creation

For October's Subtopic on creating a new compound word, I chose to come up with "Robebliss". This word represents the blissful feeling you get while wearing a favorite robe. :)

Julie in the Rain

Here is my June topic that is way late. Oh my! Luke, I would like to say that I loved your topic and I feel crazy just now getting to it. But I'm working on catching up with all of the Ditalini topics.

Julie was "bored to death" as she liked to say, and she hadn't a car to travel. She began calling friends and family to visit her while her Lexus was in the shop down the road. Her car was her baby - without it she was beginning to feel a lot like a child.
"Tom? This is Julie. Hey. Are you and Patricia busy today? What've you got going on?" She was frantic with the address book, wondering how she had so many people listed within it but so few of those names were people she wanted around. Julie was in need of some new friends. Exciting ones.
Just as Julie reached for her coffee mug to get a refill, she heard tapping on the far kitchen window. "What?" She exclaimed out loud. As she shuffled her stocking feet to check out the noise, a fierce wind threw a plastic flower pot at the house and an incredible rain pummeled the glass pane. She stood in wonder at where this sudden storm had come from. "Argh!" She stomped her right foot and on the way down hit her toe on the table leg. "This day couldn't get any worse! Oh my God!" Julie felt like her day would be best spent in bed with some sleeping pills. "Just let it end." She began to walk toward her bedroom with a "Home & Away" magazine she'd already read through years ago, when she heard a faint knock on the door. Her eyes widened and her ears started to tingle. "Could it be? Someone has answered my call? Oh Angel!" She whipped the magazine onto the floor and skipped over to the door expected to see a familiar face. She threw the door back and there was someone there alright, but might unfamiliar. "Hello, could you spare some dollars for the Wildlife fund at my school? I'm sorry to bother you." A small thin girl stood there completely drenched with her knees clasped together and shaking. "What are you doing in the rain?" Julie asked in a sour tone. "I thought you were someone else."
"Well, the rain just hit ma'am, and I didn't foresee it coming."
"If you'd like to get warm then come on in. But I don't have any bills. Just change."
"I can make it home alright. I'll just wait on the porch til it passes. My fundraiser form says to not go inside."
"Hell girl! You're going to freeze. I have a warm couch just inches away! Come in please, I'd hate for you to get sick."
"Alright ma'am."
The girl entered the warm home and felt instantly better and surprisingly comfortable. "You have a nice home."
"It's really nice right now!" Julie laughed. "I was cleaning up this morning for guests."
"Oh! I didn't realize. I should definitely be going then."
"No dear, just sit down... here is a towel for you. Dry off."
"Are they not coming over?"
"Not today. No one could make it. So what's your name?"
"I'm Claire. I go to school at Middlemonte. I can't believe how cold it got, my mom might be worried. Can I call her from here?"
"Of course, I'll get the phone." Julie grabbed the portable and handed it to Claire, who was now wrapped in a giant towel sitting on the edge of the couch. Claire began to dial.
"Momma? I'm at a lady's house. I was in the rain and she invited me in." Claire paused for a moment, and then put her palm on the talking end. "My mom wants to talk to you."
Julie took the phone and spoke, "How are you! My name is Julie."
"I'm just fine. Is Claire alright?" The mother sounded quite jovial for asking a concerned question.
"Claire is warming up, she'll be fine. I couldn't believe the weather. Just hit us out of nowhere."
"Right. It was intense and I realize Claire hadn't gotten very far but she has all those papers to carry and I'd hate for her to ruin them. Sorry for the inconvenience of having her."
"It's fine, really. Just one of those sorry, kind of drab days anyway. I wasn't busy." Julie looked up at Claire who was trying to separate her fundraiser brochures to lay them out on the floor to dry.
"Well, I'll be over to pick up Claire. Where are you? I actually was supposed to be somewhere so I might need to leave now." The mother's voice was calm and relaxing to Julie's ears. She liked this woman.
"I'm on Fallbrook and Vestin, right on that roundabout. You know the gray barn by the road? That's mine."
"I've seen it! Thank you ..." the mother paused.
"It was Julie."
"Oh, that's right. Great. Thank you Julie. My name is Reba."
"Like the singer." Julie gave an awkward laugh. "Ok I'll be seeing you then."
"Bye Julie."

Julie walked to the front door and checked to make sure the gray barn was still in the front yard. Only minutes later, she watched as a small yellow sports car pulled into the drive. Out walked a vibrant woman dressed in a beautiful beige dress that extended to her ankles. Her hair was pulled back and there were sparkly barrettes on each side of her head. Julie noticed that Reba had a very youthful walk. "Hey there!" Julie yelled from the front porch. "Looks like the rain subsided a bit just for you!"
Reba laughed and gently brushed the light wetness from her shoulders. "I'm all dressed up, I know!"
Just as Julie went to open the front door to get Claire, the door opened up and Claire outstretched her arm with the towel. "Thanks for that." Claire smiled and waved timidly to her mother.
"Going somewhere fancy?" Julie asked Reba.
"I think I'm a little overdressed. My best friend Shiela gave a book reading last week, and she's throwing a party to celebrate. We're all very excited for her."
"Oh wow! That's incredible. What an inspiration." Julie felt a tinge of envy, as she had wanted to get published for almost a decade. "What is the book?"
Reba took ahold of Claires shoulders and began to rub them. " "Monkey in the Middle'. It's a memoir."
Julie almost dropped to the ground. She knew the book. "You're kidding me right?! That book is amazing! I just read it!"
"Oh my goodness! Isn't that something?!" Reba smiled and looked at Claire.
"That is strange." Claire sayed softly.
"Hey! Why don't you come to the party with us!" Reba looked back at Julie.
"What?!" She laughed heartily. "I would be so out of place, not to mention what I'm wearing!"
They all chuckled together and then Reba said, "I'm already late, and she said I could bring a friend. I think it would be a lot of fun. I don't really know any one else there."
"Really?! You really don't mind?"
"Not at all. Go get dressed!" Reba nudged.
Julie ran quickly inside and changed clothes. She was so excited! "This might just be the start of a great friendship." She thought to herself as she looked into her bedroom mirror. She smiled as she grabbed her purse and dug for her lipstick.
"I'm coming!" She yelled to Reba and Claire. "I'm just going to put the towel in the dryer!"