“She made broken look beautiful and strong look invincible.
She walked with the Universe on her shoulders and made it look like a pair of wings.” ― Ariana Dancu
I posted my entry in the NaNoPrep a few minutes ago for today and the date hit home. There are only eleven days left in this month and November is here. I have so much work left to get myself ready to do the 50,000-word challenge. 1667 words a day. I’ve decided to block out every morning for 3 and hours and write no matter what. Then get what I need to do otherwise for the Airbnb part of my life and then if I have more writing I can go back to it. A pot of coffee and 5 CDs of dark classical music playing my muse and Narda should be happy. Yes, that’s witchy’s name. Someday, I’ll tell you her story but for now, I need to get back to scene building.
If I’m feeling stagnated I do have lots of inspiration surrounding me. Normally, I take everything down the first week of November we’ll see how that goes this year. I may have Halloween, Thanksgiving decorations joining my Christmas.
My Muse Asks Why?
Why does her headstone sit alone?
There must be more to this unresolved story
as to why a crooked cross headstone
is not restored to its former glory.
Sadly, it sits neglected in a leaf-strewn meadow.
How lonely it must feel under the fog-shrouded moon
with those tall trees casting an eerie shadow.
Hardly a place for families come to commune
They are all resting in such a lonely place.
One stone indicates a family man but
another indicates nothing, was there a family disgrace?
If only the spirits would help solve this mystery
why several names share the same stone.
I’m sure there must be an interesting history
As to why the neglected headstone sits all alone
with a lacy black glove haphazardly lying across. ©
My character Mairin in the story knows why, but she’s not ready to say. Though I will give you one itty bitty clue the black glove plays an integral part.
If you lived closer I’d say come join us at our annual Halloween costume event. This year it is on Saturday, October 28th. The house is decorated to the nines and most of the baking is done. I have a good friend coming on Wednesday and together we’ll finish the last minute stuff.
A hunter’s moon illuminates the abandoned old house with
traces of white billowy clouds linger overhead.
The malevolent glowing pumpkin sits on the tree stump
with a lurking expression if seen anyone would dread.
Raven shudders her wings and hesitantly opens her beak but
not a sound could she make to warn Poe of what was ahead.
Before that fateful Halloween night that changed it all
Raven had spoken with Poe, trying to warn him.
Poe said, never more and locked Raven in the great hall.
The witch and her glowing pumpkin came in a hurry
creating such a fury, there was no one but raven to recall.
What it was like before the witch cast her spell only
now her vindictive pumpkin returns each year.
Making sure that ghosts do her evil bidding and
confident the scared raven will not interfere.
The evil pumpkin savors the feeling of power
knowing his helpless victims would soon be near.
Raven shudders her wings and bravely opens her beak
Poe, Poe, can you hear me, remember your Lenore.
The pumpkin eyes flared as he heard Raven speak
Poe, Poe, hear me, I am her, the one you adore
At first, Poe spoke in a whisper then in a roar
Raven, Raven, Lenore, I love you forever more!
A tribute to one of my favorite poets, Edgar Allen Poe.
From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-legged beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!
This is where my mind went with that saying.
Imagine having your own village ghost
Happily haunting your guest room
Joining you for a bit of wine and pot roast
But will you be safe on this night of doom
Imagine having ghouls rise from the grave
Chasing the unlucky ones until they scream
Beasties howling from a nearby cave
Joining their forces, they make a good team
Imagine hearing things go bump in the night
When you would rather be sleeping
Everyone knows Hallow’s eve is a demons delight
Come All Saints Day, will you be safe in Gods keeping?
Write a story about your favorite candy. Be sure to create a basic plot and simple conflict!
“I don’t want to be M&M anymore, everyone has the same initials in my family. I want to be my own candy, you know unique like snickers or musketeers or even that brat peppermint patty. She’s always bragging about special she is.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re always whining about something. Last year, you weren’t picked for the holiday bag and now this year it’s your name. I’m not going to listen to this for months again. M&M is short sweet, kind of like rap with its own beat.”
“Everyone recognizes Kanye West. He’s not just one of many in the same bag.”
“Well, then do something about it.”
I hopped off the counter and rolled myself out the door looking to find myself. There has got to be a name that suits me and isn’t like every other candy in the store. Watch out, I’m on a personal mission.
The Skeletal Corpse
Eyes flare bold red inside the extended dark head
with a huge glistening white-toothed smile.
Wispy smoke swirls hide the body in front of the
pentagram etched in a brazen satanic style.
My neck hair stands up straight in protest to
the sound of nails raked across the granite.
Ew, a smell of rotted meat and cheap perfume
I can’t imagine what created this nasty cesspit.
The earth shudders as the moon briefly appears
from behind the dark sky. The brittle and decayed bones,
what’s left of a body is so close
clearly in my view.
I try to back up, but my feet are frozen.
His bony fingers clench my left ankle painfully
I scream frantically, I hope someone hears me before my
throat gives out. I tug, twist and kick to no avail,
My ankle is firmly in his grasp, I sense my end is near.
A deep, gravelly growl suddenly breaks the eerie silence, I whisper
Help me. His painful grasp loosens as he contemplates his new prize.
I tug myself free. I’m so exhausted I can’t move.
The low growls are so close, I step back, it’s hard to stand.
Gravelly voice whispers to me, run when I command thee.
Blood-curdling screams, a moan filled with annoyance, and loud thuds
made it so hard to hear the raspy voice as the battle ensued.
Run, Run, run fast and don’t look back
I stumble several times before I make it to the house
I lock the doors and wonder when it will end.
Tick, tick, tock, tick, tick, tock damn, I hate that clock
Knife in my hand, hidden in the darkness I wait
Tears trickle down my face, I am relieved to be free
but a sense of dread lingers as I await my fate.
Write a story or poem from the perspective of a pumpkin getting ready to be carved into a Jack-O-Lantern.
Evolution of the Jack-o-Lantern©Lyn Crain
Big, or little, oh my, each a different one,
Pick me; pick me, I hope
From one to the next, the excited children run.
The unlucky ones left behind will surely mope.
Because I’m the pumpkin a child chose.
Oh, what will kind of a face will I be?
So much better than being left for the crows
Will it be happy or scary? I can’t wait to see,
what the children create with their knife.
Once a simple pumpkin in the field
One very special moment I will come to life.
A jack o lantern, my true glory will be revealed
as I shine boldly from my special place.
Creating the magic of Halloween night
I am radiant in my chosen state of grace,
happy to have a Jack o Lantern’s exclusive right.