tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.comments2023-04-17T00:27:45.179-07:00TextFIGHTAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10786796599617563930noreply@blogger.comBlogger440125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-5841009336776425182012-11-06T11:32:34.587-08:002012-11-06T11:32:34.587-08:00Sure.Sure.cenobytehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00353277569250804041noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-83103251148958079952012-11-04T17:10:18.209-08:002012-11-04T17:10:18.209-08:00You want me to give you a prgress bar at the side,...You want me to give you a prgress bar at the side, like?Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10786796599617563930noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-448382217509249702012-09-03T09:36:01.813-07:002012-09-03T09:36:01.813-07:00I am home today, and while I have some home-things...I am home today, and while I have some home-things planned, I could potentially read things.Corihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04946137925793979105noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-59345016848192900042012-08-31T21:06:47.454-07:002012-08-31T21:06:47.454-07:00Thanks guys.
Thanks guys.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10786796599617563930noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-36929234190368352132012-08-31T18:31:15.224-07:002012-08-31T18:31:15.224-07:00Good luck! I'm not participating this year, bu...Good luck! I'm not participating this year, but I have many times before. It's an awesome contest. Have a great time!Andrew Rhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00527491547312552632noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-25078422188338112242012-08-31T12:40:07.463-07:002012-08-31T12:40:07.463-07:00Best of luck!
I'll be offline most of Saturda...Best of luck!<br /><br />I'll be offline most of Saturday and Sunday, but I'll check in as often as I can.Corihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04946137925793979105noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-71259729724222802082011-04-10T21:23:30.822-07:002011-04-10T21:23:30.822-07:00When the last of the air was let out of the cat, t...When the last of the air was let out of the cat, the bomb went off; that was how we lost Paris.Ryanhttp://www.fishclock.canoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-76804522227817246262011-03-20T10:41:43.765-07:002011-03-20T10:41:43.765-07:00I wrote up my entry on my blog:
http://mmrilla.squ...I wrote up my entry on my blog:<br />http://mmrilla.squarespace.com/rilla_blog/2011/3/20/my-textfight-story.htmlrillahttp://www.mmrilla.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-62341166597349063662011-03-11T09:01:33.881-08:002011-03-11T09:01:33.881-08:00“NOPE! BURNS YER LIPS IF YA DO THAT!”
“So you sti...“NOPE! BURNS YER LIPS IF YA DO THAT!”<br /><br />“So you still drink that stuff, eh C—-?” my partner said, giving me one last chance.<br /><br />“SURE DO! KEEPS THE WORMS AWAY!” He set the bottle on the table and brought out four of the tiniest shot glasses I’ve ever seen. They were thimbles made of coloured, etched glass. He poured out our measures, quickly and steadily, and took his own between his leathery fingers.<br /><br />“HERE’S TO YA!” he exclaimed, and drank it down. I did the same.<br /><br />Imagine, if you can, all the great things from every party you’ve ever had…combined with all the things that turned your guts inside out. Add the things you’ve done and don’t remember…along with all the things you remember and regret. Take all those things, gently and firmly, and squeeze out the juice. Distill that juice down to 200 proof, 100% purity. Add pepper. Cleverly store this “100% Pure Party from Concentrate” in an old rum bottle, and pass it off on unsuspecting city-slickers when they come calling. Silently watch the look on their face when they drink it, thinking it’s straight rum.<br /><br />My sweet Lord, it tasted like I’d been shot in the face with a musket and minie ball. The clock in the back bedroom ticked. The radio quietly droned out some long-forgotten country favourite. My throat flamed and smoked from the inside out, and spit flooded my mouth so violently I couldn’t speak for fear of drooling all down the front of my shirt.<br /><br />One thimble of pure party, my friends. One thimble.<br /><br />That’s how they “kick it old school” in these parts.<br /><br />“Jesus…” I managed to rasp after several incredibly long moments, “I thought this was rum.”<br /><br />“HELL NO!”, the old man laughed, “I MADE THAT MUHSELF! USED GRAPES! WANT ANOTHER ONE?”<br /><br />“Hit me,” I gasped, even though the party was clearly over for me. When in the presence of my elders, I try not to show weakness. I also let them play their jokes on me as many times as they like.<br /><br />They’ve earned their party.Smarty Pantshttp://thehillsidecircus.wordpress.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-81630405083846598882011-03-11T09:01:16.839-08:002011-03-11T09:01:16.839-08:00It came up in discussion the other day that old pe...It came up in discussion the other day that old people don’t party much. When they do, it often takes a form that is unrecognizable as a party, and said festivities end early so everyone can shuffle off to bed.<br /><br />It’s why old folks in my neck of the woods use “100% Pure Party from Concentrate”. Just pour and…BAM! Party’s over.<br /><br />I experienced “the old ways” one day when the hunting was slow. I was hunting for white tails with a couple of gentlemen who are much older than me, and when the deer disappeared after their morning feed, these guys weren’t inclined to get out of the nice, warm half-ton and go walking through the bush after them. So now what?<br /><br />“Well…we could stop in and see if C—- is still alive. That’s his place just down the road. If he’s still breathin, he’ll have the coffee on.” I sighed and removed the magazine from my rifle.<br /><br />A few minutes later we were standing in front of a farmhouse door. We knocked and after a minute or so and some muffled shufflings, the door swung open revealing the smallest, oldest man I’ve ever met. He stood there squinting at us in his gray wool socks, green khakis, and plaid shirt. His face looked like a dried up, leathery apple. But then he smiled and his eyes sparkled outward.<br /><br />“JAYZUSS! D—! R——! WHAT THE HELL ‘R YOU GUYZ DOIN’ HERE THIS TIME OF THE MORNIN? AND WHO THE HELLZAT WITCHOO?” I was quickly introduced as the husband of so and so who’s so and so’s brother’s cousin’s kid.<br /><br />“WELL SHIT! IT’S A PARDY! C’MON IN THEN. I JUST GOT THE COFFEE ON!” The old man led us across his boot room and into his kitchen. The place smelled like strong, rusty coffee and fresh baking, with a mild undercurrent of cow shit. (If you’re from around here, you’ll understand how this quickly put me at ease.)<br /><br />Coffee was poured, the sugar bowl brought out, and this tiny old man shouted out the decades and the news.<br /><br />“YOU KNOW W—, DONTCHA! SEEN HIM JUST LAST WEEK! HIS DAD DIED AND LEFT HIM SOME MONEY SO NOW HE’S DRIVIN A REAL FANCY RIG! YEP – SAW HIM LAST WEEK WHEN I USED THE TRACTOR TO PULL HIM AND HIS FANCY RIG OUTTA DA SLOUGH!”<br /><br />“GEEZ SHE WAS A LOOKER – BUT MEAN! DROVE THEM BOYSSAH HERS RIGHT OFF THE FARM! THIS WAS 55 OR 56, I THINK.” You know, stuff like that.<br /><br />Soon enough the coffee pot was empty, and C—- got to his feet. “HANG ON,” he said looking me right in the eye, “I WANTCHA TA TRY SOMETHIN.” He shuffled off to a cupboard and returned with a 40-ounce rum bottle.<br /><br />Hmmm, I thought to myself. It’s a little early for rum, but I don’t want to be rude. I think I like this old guy. I should’ve realized that things weren’t as they seemed when the older gentlemen I was with started to chuckle and shake their heads. I dismissed their reaction as the old notion that it wasn’t 5 o’clock somewhere.<br /><br />“What’s that, C—-?” asked my hunting partner, hoping to clue me in. “Sippin whiskey?”Smarty Pantshttp://thehillsidecircus.wordpress.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-30330318913681581592011-03-09T14:37:19.912-08:002011-03-09T14:37:19.912-08:00[Ed. Note - that was one submission from Anndraya,...[Ed. Note - that was one submission from Anndraya, split into two comments. Because apparently, you can't comment with more than 4,096 characters. That's hardly a comment at all.]cenobytehttp://www.cenobyte.ca/noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-88076826974156273052011-03-09T14:36:25.451-08:002011-03-09T14:36:25.451-08:00Anndraya - II
But I had my autograph book with me...Anndraya - II<br /><br />But I had my autograph book with me, clutched in my child-damp hand. And I'd been reading since I was 3 or 4, and I was always in the library, so I don't remember if it was me, my mother, or the librarian who mentioned to W.O. Mitchell that I might be a writer one day. But let's say for the sake of memory that it was me, because that's the way I remember it.<br /><br />A ferocious look came over his face.<br /><br />“Why in God's name would anyone want to do that? Pick a new career before it's too late. Or get used to utter misery,” he growled, scrawling his name roughly on one of the small lavender pages in my autograph book. (Which depicted a grey tabby kitten perched in a shoe on the white padded cover. Because clearly kittens in shoes have everything to do with obtaining autographs.)<br /><br />And I decided at that moment that I definitely did NOT EVER want to be a writer, never in a million years and probably not even after a million and one. I would sooner be a hangman, or collect the garbage, or shovel snow for quarters, or go through the apartment garbage cans for beer bottles, which we already did every Saturday anyway. (Then we spent it on Popeye candy cigaretts and Fanta.)<br /><br />I left the library very deflated; real authors were horrible people. They were mean and old and grouchy. They were like Relic in The Beachcombers.<br /><br />I don't think I ever got another autograph in that book.<br /><br />But this winter I was having tea with a writer I much admire and we were talking about process. And she gave me the wonderful idea to put notes on the wall. Notes that you can move around, jot ideas on, and have a physical “map” while you do your every day work – hers used to be in the laundry room so that when she was washing her kids' clothes she could be thinking about her manuscript, and structure. She uses index cards. She can move them around, and they help her keep larger projects manageable and flowing well.<br /><br />“I got that idea from W.O. Mitchell,” Maria Campbell said. “He was such a good mentor to me.”<br /><br />And somewhere back in my childhood memory, I forgave the old coot. If I'd really listened to him, I'd probably have a lot more money by now.<br /><br />It's too bad I don't have my autograph book anymore, because there are a lot of famous people who come through Saskatoon - but then again, unless you're getting a letter or a credit card slip signed, it just doesn't seem cool to ask.<br /><br />So I don't.anndrayahttp://www.nourl.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-34274428108748807602011-03-09T14:35:59.749-08:002011-03-09T14:35:59.749-08:00Anndraya - I
I don't know how old I was, the ...Anndraya - I<br /><br />I don't know how old I was, the day W.O. Mitchell came to our town library. I think it was before grade four, when the Dukes of Hazzard was the cool Friday night t.v. show. Likely it was still when “The Beachcombers” was the show to watch. Anticipated Sunday nights: sometime after the Wonderful World of Disney, and Lorne Green's Animal Kingdom, we could find out what Nick (Bruno Gerussi) and his faithful sidekick Jessie (Pat John) were up to at Molly's Reach. <br /><br />But when W.O. Mitchell came to town, I must have been at least six, because that's how old I was when I got an “autograph book” for a birthday present. And it had sat unused in a drawer for a year or two by then. Because where was I going to collect autographs in this small remote town? There was the lawyer the school was named after - I took music lessons in the apartment above his law office every Tuesday. There was Goatman Bob McCabe, who was quoted by the naughtier children at school. But the only autograph I'd collected so far was the famous and long-moved-away hockey player who came to our school to give a motivational speech. Some kids had O-Pee-Chee hockey cards for him to sign; I had my trusty autograph book with gold-edged pages.<br /><br />I didn't even like hockey; it was often on at the same time as The Beachcombers, and so hockey fans in our house had to resort to the radio on Sunday nights.<br /><br />They announced it at school – W.O. Mitchell would be appearing at the regional library, to do a reading. Obligingly, maybe even interestedly, my mom brought me to the familiar library – children's section on the left, regular fiction in the middle, a semi-private table and chairs in the far right corner. The smell of books. In the basement, occasional travelling exhibits came through, but usually it only housed a small collection of taxidermy that got pushed aside for highland dancing on Monday nights. <br /><br />W.O. Mitchell read from his book, standing in front of the librarian's checkout counter; afterwards, people applauded. Then the same people pressed forward to have books signed and to shake his hand. He did not smile once. He looked angry.<br /><br />I didn't have a book. Not one of his, anyway, but I'd seen it on my parent's front room coffee table, so I knew he was bona fide famous. AND he was from Saskatchewan – just like all of us in the room.anndrayahttp://www.nourl.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-78886177854957278282011-03-04T09:43:10.741-08:002011-03-04T09:43:10.741-08:00Andrew (aka Grymm the Pleasant) e-mailed me his en...Andrew (aka Grymm the Pleasant) e-mailed me his entry all the way from fuckin' China. The Great Firewall blocks access to blogspot blogs, but he heard the call and has answered the challenge:<br /><br /><br /><br />When following the footsteps across the river<br />When snuffing the lights out in the warehouse<br />When standing sentinel against the legions<br />When choosing the toy to leave the burning house<br /><br /><br />Sometimes I get homesick for homes I never had<br />Sometimes I stand clawed with the Silver Key<br />Sometimes I am gestalt, the sentinel and legion both<br />Sometimes I wake dreaming another dream<br /><br />Ten thousand they come, or perhaps sixteen billion<br />Time and time again the choices fall and arise<br />Twelve links like gleipnir all strain and still hold<br />The final blind steps are through all possibility<br /><br />The flash that draws the dividing line<br />By doubtless earthquake is it done<br />But though the legions are all gone<br />Nothing but perception has changedmmrillahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00205980133999727526noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-56635978299679226372011-03-01T17:27:10.311-08:002011-03-01T17:27:10.311-08:00Homey don't poetry.
Homey did this instead:
...Homey don't poetry.<br /><br />Homey did this instead:<br /><br /><i>Time travel ruined everything.<br /><br />Did you walk into a room and forget why you went? It's an adjustment. In the new timeline, you didn't need to be there. You shouldn't notice. None of us should.<br /><br />But we do.<br /><br />It's a quantum thing. We sometimes see the layer-states on the other side of this probability stream.<br /><br />It's not because you're getting older. It's because more time travel happens than ever now.<br /><br />Did you ever wake up, roll over and the person you expected to see there isn't there? It's an adjustment. In the new timeline, you didn't keep your mouth shut that night when you were drunk and you had that argument, and you said that thing you shouldn't have said. He isn't there anymore.<br /><br />You shouldn't remember him there. None of us should.<br /><br />But we do.<br /><br />It's a quantum thing. We sometimes see the layer-states on the other side of this probability stream.<br /><br />It's not because you made poor decisions. It's because the world needed saving, and sacrifices were made.<br /><br />Did you ever wake up on the train and realize that you're going home to your apartment? You could have sworn you had a house on an acreage just outside of town, and a kid, and a dog. But you don't, and you don't know why you ever thought you did.<br /><br />You shouldn't want these things. None of us should.<br /><br />But we do.<br /><br />It's not because your life isn't a storybook, and reality makes all kinds of demands and forces all kinds of choices, and sometimes it doesn't go as planned.<br /><br />Sometimes I feel homesick for homes I never had. Sometimes I stay home sick for feelings I can't stand.<br /><br />Time travel ruined everything.</i>Ryan Statesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-25299439269474079162011-03-01T17:15:56.074-08:002011-03-01T17:15:56.074-08:00Well done....Well done....Ryan Statesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-85808922089186955452011-02-27T21:08:23.255-08:002011-02-27T21:08:23.255-08:00Oh yeah.
So I totally did NaNoWriMo.
And I wrote...Oh yeah.<br /><br />So I totally did NaNoWriMo.<br /><br />And I wrote a fucking novel in a fucking month.cenobytehttp://www.cenobyte.canoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-49388818528340016722011-02-27T21:05:28.911-08:002011-02-27T21:05:28.911-08:00Sometimes I get homesick for homes
I never had
the...Sometimes I get homesick for homes<br />I never had<br />the scent of wild roses in the kitchen<br />Workboots placed neatly by the door<br />naps in the sun on a screened-in porch<br /><br />Sometimes I get home<br />sick <br />for homes I never had <br />waited somewhere<br />I never was<br />coming home<br /><br />Sometimes<br />I get homesick<br />Four homes I never had:<br />a beach house with thick towels flapping on the deck rail<br />the dome built into the side of a hill, clover-scented inside and out<br />sandy-floored desert tent<br />one of a row of houses with slate roofs and a stuffy attic full of dress forms and discarded manuscripts<br /><br />Sometimes I get homesick for homes I never hadcenobytehttp://www.cenobyte.canoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-24899040859003531512010-10-29T16:15:08.480-07:002010-10-29T16:15:08.480-07:00I am tentatively thinking I may sheepishly dip my ...I am tentatively thinking I may sheepishly dip my left big toe in the 'write a novel in a month' club. I have no plan, no outline, and no hope in hell of completing the effing thing, but it's the first time I've ever thought half-arsedly seriously about throwing in my hat.cenobytehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00353277569250804041noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-24456640164574656522010-10-12T11:35:41.592-07:002010-10-12T11:35:41.592-07:00I'm gonna revise my book this November, but co...I'm gonna revise my book this November, but consider me part of the support group.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10786796599617563930noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-3386144285947181222010-10-12T11:06:55.994-07:002010-10-12T11:06:55.994-07:00I've decided to record an album this November ...I've decided to record an album this November instead, since I'm already shopping four books. I really want to get this album recorded and, besides, I'm not sure which book I want to write next. By the time I'm done recording, maybe I'll know what I most want to write.G-https://www.blogger.com/profile/05784634507925808911noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-11592754238734463492010-09-07T08:12:25.000-07:002010-09-07T08:12:25.000-07:00Well, I guess we'll see if that's appropri...Well, I guess we'll see if that's appropriate. I am hoping to read G's book here today, but first I need my brain to wake up.<br /><br />I think I'm not doing this next year. Not unless I lose my mind.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10786796599617563930noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-85227172813391586652010-09-07T08:08:02.085-07:002010-09-07T08:08:02.085-07:00Congratulations!Congratulations!Corihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04946137925793979105noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-27301286488013815062010-09-04T18:28:29.913-07:002010-09-04T18:28:29.913-07:00Mine's What the Cat Dragged InMine's <i>What the Cat Dragged In</i>G-https://www.blogger.com/profile/05784634507925808911noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144536096706544076.post-81652598690010368832010-09-04T14:17:17.828-07:002010-09-04T14:17:17.828-07:00Yeah did that to myself last night too. We're...Yeah did that to myself last night too. We're both fixed now.<br /><br />Are you having fun writing right now?<br /><br />I wasn't until a few minutes ago. It may be sucking less now.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10786796599617563930noreply@blogger.com