Now that Thanksgiving is nothing but a memory of its former self, it's time to get back on track. I say that, but I still have no idea where my track is. Maybe I'll find it one of these days.
I did manage to get outside yesterday and today, which was nice. I do enjoy my walkies and the weather is perfect for it. Bordering on cold, crisp, quiet. I love the fall solitude, listening to the world around me. The world seems to be mostly composed of squirrels these days but I'm not exactly complaining. I can watch them on the autumn-bare tree outside my window, going about their busy little lives.
There's something about this time of year, when everything is so clear and there's hardly anyone else outside. It just feels magical to me. Maybe that's why I recently wrote a story about it. It's been sitting on the back shelf of my mind, idling, waiting for distance to form between it and myself so I can edit it with clarity. I'm pretty sure that time is almost here.
Casanova the Editor Bird sleeps more often these days, responding to the change in season. None of my other animals seem to care. Edgar the betta fish, Toko and Nadia the hermit crabs, and new addition Mocha the Syrian hamster just keep going on without a care. I care. I love my little zoo.
Be sure to check out my author page on Facebook if you get a chance, at facebook.com/authoremilyblue. I post updates and such there that I don't post here.
Until next time.
~Blue
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Monday, November 6, 2017
Long time, no see!
I can't believe it's been almost 7 months since I last posted. Things keep falling by the wayside, as I work at my job, my mental health, and my hobbies. Everything is work and nothing comes easy, but some days make it worth everything.
I finally completed work on the last draft of a short story that has been in progress for a very long time now, probably longer than it should have been. But, I'm happy. All progress is good progress! No one should ever forget that.
My plan now is to start sending it around to magazines and such in the hopes of publication. I've recieved rejections before and I'll recieve many more when all is said and done, but I'm not afraid of that. It's just part of the game, and I'm in this for the long haul.
No matter how many times you're rejected, don't give up. There are better things ahead.
I finally completed work on the last draft of a short story that has been in progress for a very long time now, probably longer than it should have been. But, I'm happy. All progress is good progress! No one should ever forget that.
My plan now is to start sending it around to magazines and such in the hopes of publication. I've recieved rejections before and I'll recieve many more when all is said and done, but I'm not afraid of that. It's just part of the game, and I'm in this for the long haul.
No matter how many times you're rejected, don't give up. There are better things ahead.
Thursday, April 13, 2017
Kindled Roses Excerpt
I'm back at it again with a novel in progress that's currently titled Kindled Roses. This is an excerpt from the very first chapter. Please let me know what you think in a comment!
My shoulders shook, and something on the desk moved. I looked up, rubbing my eyes with my hands. Blurring tears pushed aside, I saw one of the envelopes twitch, wrinkling up in on itself. White faded to the color of the shadows beneath my bed, comforting and gray. Then, gray darkened all the way to black and a tiny whiff of smoke struggled up from the paper. A flickering glow no bigger than an ant formed on the very edge of the corner, even as the paper crumpled into ash.
Fire. Warmth. Out of my control again, or exactly inside it. Sometimes it was so hard to tell.
©2017 Emily Blue
My shoulders shook, and something on the desk moved. I looked up, rubbing my eyes with my hands. Blurring tears pushed aside, I saw one of the envelopes twitch, wrinkling up in on itself. White faded to the color of the shadows beneath my bed, comforting and gray. Then, gray darkened all the way to black and a tiny whiff of smoke struggled up from the paper. A flickering glow no bigger than an ant formed on the very edge of the corner, even as the paper crumpled into ash.
Fire. Warmth. Out of my control again, or exactly inside it. Sometimes it was so hard to tell.
©2017 Emily Blue
Saturday, April 1, 2017
What Gram Said, Part Two
It's Saturday! That means the conclusion to What Gram Said is here! Part one is still up, if you need a reminder.
"What Gram Said, Part Two"
...That’s when I looked at her and said, “Gram, cardinals aren’t born. They hatch. They come from eggs.”
Her willowy old hand came out and whacked me upside the back of my head. “I know that!”
It didn’t hurt much so I didn’t mind. 93-year-old widow slowly dyin’ of lung cancer, I guess she can say and do what she wants.
Thing is, I been sittin’ on my futon for the whole morning now and the birds just keep comin’. At first there was only a pair. Real bright, like the boys always are. I waited for them to get into it because they both perched there on the same telephone wire, like they both wanted that spot. One of them was just askin’ for trouble. But they just sat. Sat and preened.
Now it’s like the sky outside my window is bleedin’. Everythin’, everywhere, covered in droplets of red.
And I’m just waitin’ now.
©2017 Emily Blue
"What Gram Said, Part Two"
...That’s when I looked at her and said, “Gram, cardinals aren’t born. They hatch. They come from eggs.”
Her willowy old hand came out and whacked me upside the back of my head. “I know that!”
It didn’t hurt much so I didn’t mind. 93-year-old widow slowly dyin’ of lung cancer, I guess she can say and do what she wants.
Thing is, I been sittin’ on my futon for the whole morning now and the birds just keep comin’. At first there was only a pair. Real bright, like the boys always are. I waited for them to get into it because they both perched there on the same telephone wire, like they both wanted that spot. One of them was just askin’ for trouble. But they just sat. Sat and preened.
Now it’s like the sky outside my window is bleedin’. Everythin’, everywhere, covered in droplets of red.
And I’m just waitin’ now.
©2017 Emily Blue
Friday, March 31, 2017
What Gram Said, Part One
Happy Friday! I hope everyone enjoys theirs.
I have something for all of you. I'm particularly proud of this piece but it's a bit longer so I'll be posting in two parts. Be sure to check back tomorrow!
"What Gram Said"
My Gram, she spent the last third of her life in a nursin’ home with a tube in her neck. I visited every Sundays until I moved some months back. We’d sit in that dull community room with the TV on, me on the couch and her in her wheelchair.
“Avery,” Gram always said. “Avery?”
“Yes, Gram?” I always replied, like clockwork.
“When someone dies, a cardinal is born. Where’s my cardinal, Avery?”
“I’m sure it’s comin’ sooner or later.”
She wanted to die. Always had. But, they outlawed the Voluntary Death Amendment back in ’25 so she didn’t have no choice in the matter.
I always told her it would come for her, like I knew she wanted, every time except the last visit.
To Be Continued...
©2017 Emily Blue
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Weekend Revelations
Happy Saturday! I'm sure some of us are enjoying the weekend more than others, but that's just the way the world works.
I recently discovered Editor Bird Cassie is in fact not a girl at all, but a handsome little boy! He is very much a one-bird bird and I have no intention of breeding, so our lives are still the same. Please enjoy these pictures of Cassie taking a bath in my water.
Stay safe this weekend and be courteous. Please. Don't be like my neighbors.
I recently discovered Editor Bird Cassie is in fact not a girl at all, but a handsome little boy! He is very much a one-bird bird and I have no intention of breeding, so our lives are still the same. Please enjoy these pictures of Cassie taking a bath in my water.
Stay safe this weekend and be courteous. Please. Don't be like my neighbors.
Saturday, March 11, 2017
Another Look at Stubbornness
I took a walk in the cold today, which I prefer over any other type of weather. Is anyone else like that?? Can't stand the heat or humidity? Luckily, I'm in Illinois so I get miserable amounts of both!
However, I did something while I was out that I'd never done before: I typed up a work of flash fiction. I'm not sure of the exact word count but it might even be microfiction. That was nice, I'll say. It felt like an actual use of my time instead of a waste. Maybe that's a habit I'll try to get into, writing as a walk.
But let's return to stubbornness for just a moment. Before, I said it was one of the most important things -if not THE most important- trait to have. You can't accomplish anything unless you stick to it.
Hold your horses.
See, the thing is to know where your limits are, and when enough is enough. There comes a point when it just isn't worth it.
I stayed awake for 23 hours finishing a story for a client because the deadline was closing in. I had wiggle room on the other side if I went to sleep for a few hours, but I wanted it to be done with. And I did it, didn't I? I did! But here's the catch. My work for that client is given to someone who then reviews it. I didn't even care about that at that point.
I care about it now, when they gave me a 6 out of 10 rating for the writing itself. They said the structure of the sentences didn't make sense, and that it was difficult to understand. The story got a 7 out of 10, but the only good thing to be said about it was, "There's nothing wrong with this story."
Ouch.
Compared to the 10 and 9 I got last time? Ouch.
And it was all my own stubborn fault. If I hadn't pushed myself, I would have done better. Let others learn from that mistake before they do it to themselves: Don't be an Emily Blue. Give yourself time to recuperate. Don't insist you can do everything, when you clearly can't.
You have limits. Find them, or they'll find you.
However, I did something while I was out that I'd never done before: I typed up a work of flash fiction. I'm not sure of the exact word count but it might even be microfiction. That was nice, I'll say. It felt like an actual use of my time instead of a waste. Maybe that's a habit I'll try to get into, writing as a walk.
But let's return to stubbornness for just a moment. Before, I said it was one of the most important things -if not THE most important- trait to have. You can't accomplish anything unless you stick to it.
Hold your horses.
See, the thing is to know where your limits are, and when enough is enough. There comes a point when it just isn't worth it.
I stayed awake for 23 hours finishing a story for a client because the deadline was closing in. I had wiggle room on the other side if I went to sleep for a few hours, but I wanted it to be done with. And I did it, didn't I? I did! But here's the catch. My work for that client is given to someone who then reviews it. I didn't even care about that at that point.
I care about it now, when they gave me a 6 out of 10 rating for the writing itself. They said the structure of the sentences didn't make sense, and that it was difficult to understand. The story got a 7 out of 10, but the only good thing to be said about it was, "There's nothing wrong with this story."
Ouch.
Compared to the 10 and 9 I got last time? Ouch.
And it was all my own stubborn fault. If I hadn't pushed myself, I would have done better. Let others learn from that mistake before they do it to themselves: Don't be an Emily Blue. Give yourself time to recuperate. Don't insist you can do everything, when you clearly can't.
You have limits. Find them, or they'll find you.
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