when love begins to fade behind her eyes
and instead of soft words, sighs
when reaching for her hand, nothing is there
but empty air
when loneliness echoes on freshly built walls
between the two
when silences settle the arguments
and plans fall through
when shoulders grow cold and pillows grow damp
and hearts forget bliss
when the lust becomes loathing
without one last kiss
at the blank page
drawing a blank
then filling it in
with words upon words
no, it isn’t right
it isn’t perfect
it doesn’t sing
crumpling it all up
to start again
with a blank page
Today’s Daily Prompt:
Have you ever gone to a new place or tried a new experience and thought to yourself, “I’m never doing that again!” Tell us about it.
I think I did tell you about it. Let’s have a look.
I did not; I only told you about the blueberries in the bread pudding.
We went to a “steakhouse” that a friend of ours raves about–a couple friends of ours, actually.
Have you ever craved a nice steak and eaten one, only for it to be so unsteaklike that you felt that you hadn’t even eaten a steak?
That sums up our trip.
Three of us ordered the same steak, ribeye, and none of them tasted the same. I don’t remember what cut my mother ordered, but hers tasted different from our three. Some bites were sweet, some savory, some bland.
My steak was stringy and sinewy and hard to cut with the dull knives they supplied.
The baked potatoes were fine, until the middle of the night when both of us who’d had them got sick.
The potatoes au gratin were large chunks of potato in a cheese sauce, some not entirely cooked.
The waitress was unpleasant.
And then, of course, the bread pudding was covered with blueberries.
I didn’t just think it; we all said it.
Today’s Daily Prompt:
Go to your Stats page and check your top 3-5 posts. Why do you think they’ve been successful? Find the connection between them, and write about it.
Easy peasy, y’all.
My top four posts are:
I don’t think I understand this prompt; I’m sure everyone who has a captive audience the near the same small size as mine will come to the same realization.
My top posts’ views are well beyond my average numbers. The first is an entire order of magnitude greater, while the others range from 2-3 times my average number.
And the thing they all have in common is publicity.
- Birth Stories was featured on a Friday Blog Roundup at Stirrup Queens.
- The Adoption Blogger Interview Project was featured at Production, Not Reproduction.
- Submitting to My Submission was posted the day my Listserve email went out, and was my second Roundup shoutout.
- And of course, ungovernable was shared around on Facebook by the guy who wrote the book.
What is this prompt, a reminder that I am my own worst publicist? I already knew that. Seriously, I did. Swear. My friends have advertised my novel more than I have.
It’s just–that part doesn’t interest me. It dips into my other time, my writing time, my reading time, my commenting time. And I already dip into that time enough for real life.
Of course I’m tickled pink to get a notification that my stats are booming. Who isn’t? But that’s a brief rosy tickle; it doesn’t compare to the feeling when I write something right. The rightness of this missive I created doesn’t go away.
But a more interesting project would be to find the connection between my next top posts; the ones that fall at the tip of the norm, not outside it. Let’s have a look.
My last four annual above-average performers:
So, what do these have in common?
Well, they’re all fairly light reading. Let’s dig a little deeper.
- Inspiration was some nice inspiring reading just now; but it sure made me miss my blogging class of ’12. I’m glad that I still have contact with most of the bloggers I mentioned. The sheer volume of links here is what I’d lay the blame on for this post’s slightly-higher-than-normal popularity.
- Whew! was a sleeper. I had to read the comments to find out why it got so many views: because I disappeared for nearly a month after posting it, it was where people went to check on me. Bless you for that, my friends.
- You. Guys. was when I announced that I’d won the Listserve. I’m sure a lot of those views were from email-referred readers a few days later who clicked on my Listserve tag.
- Pickles is self-explanatory, though. I mean, who can resist a trio of pickly haikus?
No; I don’t believe that there is a tie that binds them all together. It’s just the luck of the draw, for me.
I’ll have to take a looksie at what others have to say about their top posts.
Today’s Daily Prompt:
Write about your first name: Are you named after someone or something? Are there any stories or associations attached to it? If you had the choice, would you rename yourself?
When I saw this I realized that I don’t know why my parents named me April. There aren’t any Aprils in my family.
Maybe they just liked the sound of it.
Is it odd that I still don’t know the answer to this, and my mother lives with us? Normally, I’d agree, but she’s having surgery tomorrow, and we haven’t seen much of her today due to prep of the, ahem, cleansing variety.
I should ask her tomorrow afternoon; a morphine-hazed answer would be vastly entertaining. She’s great fun on drugs. It’s like talking to someone while they’re sleeping, only better, because the hits just keep on coming. Once she was exceedingly proud of herself because she got to wear the T-shirt at a Goodyear parade.
I wonder what she would say.
But I have thought about changing my name. I believe if I had the opportunity, I would go with my middle name, Inez. I know the origin of that one: my paternal grandmother. Even though I kept my maiden name as my middle–ooh, that is a whole ‘nother controversial post, isn’t it–it feels like a betrayal to have dropped it.
April doesn’t belong to anyone; it isn’t a legacy with which I was entrusted.
Sometimes it feels like a placeholder.
Others, it feels likes condensation of, well, me. So much of one’s identity is tied up in one’s name, isn’t it?
Today’s Daily Prompt:
What’s your most prized possession?
It’s funny, I was thinking earlier about a stuffed moose I used to have, thanks to a fellow blogger. He wasn’t a large moose; just big enough to snuggle with in bed. And I know my husband is going to cringe here, but his name was Moose. To further demonstrate my childhood naming capabilities, Moose’s cohorts were named Big Bear, Little Bear, and Rabbit. I may have had a bit of a naming block.
For a long time, Moose was my most prized possession. When I moved out the first time, taking with me not much besides clothing, I came back to find that much of what I had left was gone forever. I’m sure that experience, combined with the multiple moves and bi-annual household swap of a child of divorce are what led to the me that we have today: someone who can drop it all and leave.
I always have such a problem with that question about saving one thing if your house was on fire. I rack my brain, but I never seem to be able to come up with something that’s more important than any other thing. I mean, I’m already wearing my wedding and engagement rings. I wouldn’t risk it to go back for anything else. I can always get another.
So I guess my rings are my most prized possessions.
And I feel better today. Much less out of it. And not so dizzy.