Tell Me A Story, Read Me A Book

So often I found myself sitting with one in my lap

Too lost in the words I was reading to remember to take my nap

Or my head so high up in the clouds dreaming up worlds

Remembering not just where I was walking towards

You see, it was always so very important to me

To find out where each character was going

I simply had to know at once!

My life oft times continued around me

Even as I was not paying attention a nonce!

 

Today is the National Storytelling Festival! (Or at least it was when I looked up and printed a copy of the entire Bizarre American Holidays website list of Holidays a few years ago and was going through it once more.)

Storytelling is something that’s been a large part of my life for…well, for as long as I can remember. I love stories, whether I’m the one writing them or the one reading them, to myself or to others. The fact that a whole world or even just part of a world can exist within a few pages (or compressed data now) has always been incredibly wondrous to me. I have enjoyed reading stories, again both my own and not, to others for as long as I could get my youngest siblings to sit still long enough to let me point at pictures in a book and babble what I thought the story was to them.

Being able to tell people things, historical or mythical or fictional or religious, is one of the more important things in order to actually be a people, a country, in my opinion. It shows that there is more to life than just the moment. It makes you think and ponder and wonder.

No Respite

Say it again one more time
And don’t forget you have to rhyme,
For in life there is no respite
Even from words, you’ll find I’m right.
 
How could it be that they hold me down?
A couple of letters keep me spinning ’round;
Very often I have found myself lost
Even though in my mind there is no moss…
Now I’ve gone and my way with words is lost.
 
Have you ever gone looking for a story, just one, in your own mind and become lost?
 
Even here in my own mind, I find no peace with so many worlds demanding their turn at the type.
 

This was inspired by the rewrite that Sreejit started of his own Dungeon Prompts, this one is for the Dungeon Prompt: Seeking Refuge. Now that my mind has started on these once again, I find that I am captivated all over again.

This is a good thing.

See the World, Don’t See An Ocean

To go the distance is a wonderful thing!
Remember all the moments that had you smiling…
Away we shall drive, across the continent
Vows to make it the the next graduent.
Even though it’s the middle of the week
Live while you can and don’t be too sleek.
Sometimes it’s cheaper just to drive rather than fly.
To California now! The other way,
How long are we going to stay?
Even though we’ll be together  all the way.
Everyone will help when only one moves away.
Wow! You’ve scattered all over the place!
One to the West and one to the East states.
Recall that you’ve sent another to the South.
Let me know what it’s like going that route.
Don’t forget that wherever you go, you’re always home.
Home is where the heart is.

Written for Suzie’s Weekly Word Challenge this week: http://suzie81speaks.com/2014/05/26/weekly-word-challenge-travel/

When I was 12 years old, my family decided to drive across the Continental U.S. to see my second eldest sister graduate from boot camp. It was the middle of exams and we only had a little money. We went anyway and made up all the exams the week after.

Five or six years ago, another of my sisters was moving to California. So the majority of my family got time off, packed her up and we headed out. Nevada is a beautiful place, but once you get through the mountains and into California near Sacramento… There are practically no mountains. I spent the entire time completely lost. I grew up surrounded by mountains, without them I have absolutely no idea where I am. Having a compass didn’t help at all. (I have slight panic attacks when I have no mountains for an extended period of time.)

I’ve been to both the East Coast and the West Coast and yet have never seen an ocean.

I’ve had a panic attack and had to spend all day under a blanket while driving through Arkansas.

Many of my family have been all over. At one point I had a sister in Germany (stationed there), a sister in Hawaii (college student), another down in the bottom corner of Utah in the middle of the National Parks there (college, again) and my elder brother over in Baton Rouge, Louisiana (mission). They were all gone at the same time and the household was the smallest I’ve ever seen in my family (there were only five of us at home: one mom and four pre-teens/teens.)

My parents did all their traveling before they had us passel of kids (Dad was in the Air Force when they first met and he was stationed in various places) so I know about places, but other than reading, I haven’t actually been to very many of them.

Well, my imagination has always been up to snuff enough for me  and I do so love to look things up and then picture them in my mind. Maybe someday I’ll actually see an ocean in something other than through a lens, but until then, I’ll listen to the stories my family can tell and enjoy every moment of my travels through my mind.

Sorry? It’s Too Late.

It was too late to apologize, she’d told them herself, but they hadn’t listened.

Hadn’t wanted to listen.

“This can be worked through, I’m sure.”

“You’re too young to make this kind of decision alone.”

“If you’d just try a little harder, I’m certain your husband would pay more attention to you.”

“It seems like he’s not interested, but maybe you’re just playing hard to get and taking it too far.”

“It can’t be as bad as you think, no one can be that heartless.”

She was silent throughout it all, but the last comment reminded her of the movie she’d watched with her children last week.

“You could have let me fall.”

“What’s the big deal? Nobody’s that heartless!”

What these people didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand was that yes, people could be and, more importantly were that heartless.

After all, who would try and blame the abused and convince them that their pain was their fault all while pretending that they were helping them?

Perhaps the ‘social workers’ and ‘counselors’ that she was sent to for help were that heartless. Even more heartless then her uncaring husband.


Today’s Daily Post prompt (https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/no-apologies/) asked for my guilty pleasure, one that I’m not sorry for. I thought of all the usual things: chocolate, flowers, promises I don’t intend to keep… (I love that movie for so many reasons.) But ultimately I came upon stories, whether they are stories that I have written or ones that I have read, stories would be my guilty pleasure that I’m not sorry for. All kinds of stories, it doesn’t usually matter (except for anything too graphic physically, I can’t handle those and don’t want to learn to do so) but I love them all.

I know when I write, I tend towards the more serious very often, that’s mostly because though I’ve been told I can be funny that’s usually on accident and has a hard time translating into my writing at all. People say that you write what you know, even if you only know of it in some small part and I’ve found that to be mostly true. You can write about something you don’t know, or at least something that you aren’t as familiar with. That’s where research comes in, if this isn’t true then all those essays I had to do in middle and high school about things I didn’t know anything about before starting on it were completely useless and should not have been assigned in the first place.