Mid-February Rant

It is time for my mid-month check in. However, this time it’s not going to be about writing. It’s going to be a rant. If you don’t like rants, don’t read further. Also, it’s going to be about “mom culture.” If that doesn’t interest you, no need to read further. 

Let me start by saying there is no winning in mom culture. No matter what you do, you aren’t a good mom. At least that’s how all moms treat each other. It drives me crazy. No matter what I do or don’t do, I am not good enough. I hate being judged, but I especially hate being judged because I made a choice different than yours and that’s the only reason you have decided I am a bad mom. You don’t know me as a person; you don’t know why I made the choices I did. It doesn’t matter to you; all you know is that I am not exactly like you and don’t prescribe to the same obsessive tribe as you, so you think I’m a bad mom. 

pooh can't win

Give me a break.

I am only human. I only have one child, so this is literally the one and only time I’ve been a parent. I do the best I can. 

I let me child drink soda. GASP!! And no one in my house exercises or eats enough veggies. I love that some parents make this happen but I just choose not to worry about this. It turns out my child was labeled “failure to thrive” and didn’t gain weight from the time she was 6 months to a year. She didn’t really eat “food” until she was almost two. But you didn’t ask or care to learn that about me. All you know is that she drinks soda, and therefore, I am a bad mom. 

Oh and I only have one child. This is not enough. That’s right, other moms judge me because I choose to have an only child. You don’t care why I have only one child, only that I do. Another child actually told my daughter once that being an only child made her a bad kid. No. My daughter is actually a really good kid, and I’m not saying that because she’s my kid. Ask her teacher and other grownups who know her. She is a good person. That’s what I am raising at my house. Not the assholes you ladies are creating by turning them into judgey people who make blanket statements about people you don’t know. Guess what! My husband and I had a hard time getting pregnant. It was hard on us as a married couple. I also didn’t enjoy being pregnant. So, we decided together for us, one was enough. But that too makes me a bad mom. 

But you can’t win. I have a friend who has 5 children and a 6th on the way. Recently on her way out of a store, a complete stranger said loud enough for my friend to over hear, “She has too many children.” WTF! This lady doesn’t know my friend or anything about her. What I know is that she loves having a big family. She takes good care of those children. She is not on welfare, which also does not make you a bad person. She also home schools them. (Which my sanity would not survive, but kudos to her). She is a great mom, but again, someone who doesn’t know her feels the need to judge her because of a choice that stranger has no say in. And having a big family makes you a bad mom. 

You just can’t win. I also know women who are married and wait for it…. have no children. And they don’t plan on having any. People judge them too. Usually other women. I have actually heard someone say, “Why did you get married if you don’t want children.” Really. STFU! There is no pleasing people. No kids, one kid, or too many kids. What do you people want? You want everyone to have one girl, one boy, and that’s the only acceptable family. No, no it isn’t. You should do what is best for you and your family. So, let me say to my friends who only have “fur-babies.” I think that’s great. Love those fur-babies. Being without a human child does not make you a bad mom. 

Not only do women criticize how many children you have, they also judge how you raise your children. Constantly. I have had enough of this. You can’t please any of them. I am going to tell you something and feel free to judge away, but I don’t care because I am just being honest. I let my child watch tv and play on an iPad. Yes, I know I am just perpetuating the downfall of society by letting my child have screen time, but I am not fighting the battle. It’s a battle I can’t win. She uses an iPad at school, and it’s not optional. My husband and I monitor her tv watching and iPad use very thoroughly. But yes, she uses one. I use one. My husband uses screens. Most jobs now use them. You can’t escape screens. If you choose not to let your child use any screens, again, kudos to you. However, not everyone makes that choice, why hold that against them? My child uses an iPad and that makes me a bad mom.

And guess what, bottom line. I don’t care. I am just tired of you telling me how you think I’m a bad mom or rolling your eyes at me. I would never roll my eyes at anyone during conversation, but this recently happened to me. Another mom rolled her eyes at me, several times. Okay, I get it. You don’t like me. Fine. Not everyone is going to like me. I realized that a long time ago. What you should know is that I don’t judge people for their choices. I do like to have open dialogue with people about their choices because I think it’s interesting. Apparently openly admitting my human failures makes me a bad mom too.

Maybe I am naïve, but I think people should be nice. Whether you are a mom or not. I do know that being a mom, no matter what type you are, is often a thankless job, and it would be better for all of us if we would perpetuate a positive social environment for all moms. Respect each other’s choices and realize that we are all raising our children differently. And that’s okay. Our goals for our families are all different. 

I know it’s cliché, but being kind and supportive is better than judging everyone. 

Rant over. 

Be positive writing and reading this month!

 

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February’s Prompt

complete the story

Today is February (you probably know that by now). What that means is it is time for a new writing prompt. Again, I am taking my prompt from a book that one of my lovely sisters bought me titled Complete the Story. 

This month’s prompt is:

Perhaps it was a dream, she thought. Perhaps if she pinched herself, she would wake up. But she didn’t want to wake up. She wanted to stay in this dream world where….

I am looking forward to this month because the prompt is very vague, which leaves a lot of room to create. Looking back at January’s prompt, I felt like it was too narrow. The prompt made me feel stuck in one story. I actually had a hard time finding a direction to take it other than the one provided in the prompt.

And although I am looking forward to this month and trying to write, as always, personal struggles are already effecting my writing. In particular this month, I have decided to give up soda. I went cold turkey and cut it out of my diet. I feel sluggish today, but I am surviving.

I am not trying to lose weight. I just need to stop drinking it. I drink A LOT of soda. I have a feeling this might effect my writing. Right now I just feel like I am missing my usual “get up and go.”

However, we will survive (even without soda). Happy reading and writing this month! And good luck with your personal goals and struggles!

We Found Oil

At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we’d struck it rich and that we’d be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we’d spend the money. Our first choice was a private island. Actually, that was my first choice, my husband and daughter wanted other things.

MY LIST

private island

sports car – probably a lamborgihni

MY HUSBAND’S LIST

pay off debt

big house

retire and do nothing

OUR DAUGHTER’S LIST

lots of cats

She is eight and loves cats. My husband and I really just wanted a way to be out of debt. We were still paying off the fee that allowed us to have a child. The government closely regulated how many people could be born every year. Over population had almost destroyed our planet once, they weren’t going to let it happen again. At least, not without making money off of poor people like us first.

This discovery could change everything for us. The trouble was we weren’t sure how to let someone know without losing our rights to the liquid. If it was oil, we wouldn’t just be rich, we’d be set for life. Only 150 years ago, fossil fuels had run out. That’s right. Gone. We were warned it would happen, but most people didn’t do anything to prepare for the loss of oil as a fuel source. Since then however, people had scurried to set up alternative energies. Most people preferred solar.

Without oil, our world didn’t come to an end, but there were many years of hard times for the average person. It happened before I was born, but my grandparents talked about those times like they were only yesterday. The stories from that era were troubling. People got desperate, and when people got desperate, they did things they wouldn’t normally do.

We would have to alert someone about our findings in a way that wouldn’t allow them to just come in and take it from us. We deserved compensation. After all, this was our land. We made our living selling “clean” water from a spring we’d inherited from my kin.

But oil… oil was not water. Water paid our bills, but oil could shape our lives.

My husband worked from sun up to sun down monitoring the bottling process. He had good people working for us but water was still a commodity worth stealing. With him tied up all day, he was leaving it to me to decide how to proceed.

I debated calling my best friend, Amy, but if she told someone, word would spread and I would lose my chance to get my news out my way.

I didn’t call Amy, but I did call my momma. After all, she still owned shares in the family business. We would cut her in on whatever this discovery brought us.

I told her about the discovery. She didn’t believe me. I told her to come over in the morning to see for herself.

She said she’d see me then. I hung up and went about my nightly routine.

The next morning my momma showed up bright and early. We went out to the dig site and after looking at the black liquid, my mother stood very still and said nothing for a long time. I didn’t say anything. My momma was a hard working woman who ran the water business after my daddy left us. She didn’t speak a lot, but when she did, she meant every word of what she said.

“This is oil,” she said.

“I know,” I answered her.

“This is gonna change things,” she said.

I admit that at this point I expected a bit more. My momma didn’t usually state the obvious. I didn’t say anything again.

My mother interrupted, “Who’s that?” She was pointing behind me towards the road leading up to our land.

I turned around and saw several large trucks of various kinds coming towards my property. I didn’t know the purpose of all of them. I saw some vehicles that I recognized. What mostly caught my eye was that the trucks were being led to my land by a quintessential navy sedan. navy sedan

“God damnit,” I said. “Momma, did you tell someone about this.” I was so angry that she would have blabbed.

“Calm down. I didn’t tell no one,” she said as she looked offended I would accuse her of such betrayal.

“Well, I didn’t tell anyone but you.” My mind was racing. How had our secret been discovered? There is no way that my husband had told anyone. He didn’t particularly warm to any government representative. They had a tendency to take what they wanted and leave nothing for the rest of us.

I ran back towards the house with my momma hot on my trail. I grabbed the radio as soon as I could reach it in the kitchen.

I yelled, “Honey, get up here now. The feds are here. We are about to have company.”

All my husband said was, “Yep.”

I went and stood on the front porch and watched all the vehicles line up outside my house. As they drew nearer, I noticed that several of them had men with weapons. As they parked, the armed men jumped off their vehicles and surrounded my front porch.

The person in charge got out of the front passenger side of the navy sedan. He buttoned his jacket as he walked towards me.

Before he could reach the porch, I said, “Something I can help you with?” I gave him my if I only had laser beams shooting out of my eyes glare.

“Ma’am. Please go back into your house.” As he said this, several of the armed personnel moved without saying anything and pointed rifles at me and my momma.

My momma grabbed my arm. “Let’s go, dear. Do as they say. It’s not worth it,” she said barely above a whisper.

We went back into the kitchen and sat down. Within seconds, I heard foot falls on the porch and then black paint started to appear on all the windows. “What the..” I said as I stood and headed for the door.

“Don’t bother,” my momma said. “It’s too late. We have lost control of this situation.” She seemed reserved and small; this was nothing like the strong woman who raised me. She would never have given up so easily. I’d never seen her go up against the government before and there was clearly fear as well as history there.

“Fine,” I said. I sat down at the kitchen table and folded my arms across my chest in an outright display of stubbornness. She sat across from me.

We had only been sitting for five minutes or so when the door opened again and my husband and daughter were thrust into the room. The door was promptly slammed shut.

My husband sat down at the table too. I looked at him expecting him to say something, anything really. He didn’t. We all just sat there looking at each other.

My daughter came over to me and gave me a hug. I told her to go play in her room while we figured out what was going on.

After about an hour, a large heavily armed group of men came in through the kitchen door and dropped off bottles of water. They didn’t say anything but left again.

Then the man in the suit who I saw get out of the sedan came in. I opened my mouth to yell at him and demand answers. He raised his hand to silence me.

“No.”

I hadn’t even said anything.

“Just listen.” He paused and when none of us had anything forth coming to say, he continued, “You will remain in your house until you are told otherwise.” And then he turned and left.

Either from shock or just complete disbelief, we didn’t do anything. Not a single one of us thought to ask a single question. We just stood there.

After he left, we could here the people talking on the porch, but their voices were too muffled to be understandable.

At this point, we discussed if there was anything we could do. The consensus was that this was a no-win situation for us. We would just do as we were told for now.

Early the next morning we began to hear sounds like large equipment working on our land. I tried to look through the windows, but they had painted all of them black. We had no idea what they were doing, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. They were stealing our oil.

oil well

This continued for the better part of three weeks. The noises from outside were continuous. They would bring in water and food through the kitchen door and leave again without saying anything.

One morning when I awoke, I didn’t hear any noises. I went down to kitchen and walked out the back door. They were gone. That day my husband went back down to the bottling plant and starting bottling water again.

Frozen in Writing

It is time for my mid-process check in. As part of my plan to write 12 short stories this year, I am also going to write posts about my road blocks while writing.

Ironically the main character / narrator of my story this month is facing a similar problem to one I am going through in real life. Before I get into that, here is a reminder what this month’s prompt is:

At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we’d struck it rich and that we’d be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we’d spend the money. Our first choice was …​

I have been working on my story. I have some characters, I have a basic plot, and I even have an idea where I would like the story to go. However, my main character seems paralyzed. I cannot figure out how to get the story going again. I am not sure if this is that I am too determined to make the story happen a certain way and am not letting the story take on a life of its own, or because I feel that way right now in my own life.

My husband and I are waiting to find out if he is going to lose his job this year. It would be a HUGE life changing event for us. It’s all I can think about. We know roughly when we will find out and knowing that date has made it even harder for me. I feel like I am frozen in place waiting for someone to say “unfreeze.” I don’t want to do anything right now. I just want to know one way or another. 

freeze_tag_king_by_nickseluk-d5ihir7

I feel like my character is stuck too. She can’t act because she is too afraid to. Any choice she makes could lead to things going horribly wrong. Maybe I should just let it go wrong for her and see where that takes me. Or maybe her fear prevents her from acting and the story is just what’s going on in her head.

Can nothing happening be a story?

I am curious what others think about that. What type of story do you prefer to write? Should event A lead to event B which in turn leads to events C-Z? Or do you like stories where there is more insight into the thoughts of the narrator(s)? Do you want your narrator to be thinking for you or do you want to watch everything play out and think about it for yourself?

And how do you handle the emotions of your characters? Do you tell the reader what the character is feeling, i.e. Bartleby is sad. Or do you prefer to show them through the events of the story and let them form the emotions for themselves?

Or do you just prefer to write and not overthink it? (Which is the other problem I am having in real life and while writing right now).

However you go about writing, keep it up!

Happy writing and reading this month! 

Welcome to January 2018!

It’s been awhile since I’ve been on here. Since July 2015 apparently. So then, why am I back? To be honest, I miss writing. In the last couple of years I made a career change to a completely unrelated field, and I haven’t been writing. I still read — a lot, but I haven’t made writing of any kind a priority. I want to change that. I miss it.

One of my goals for 2018 is to write 12 short stories, one a month, and post them on this blog. I will probably write more than that, but that is going to be my goal to start. I am going to get back in the habit of trying to write a little everyday too.

write1

For my monthly prompts, I am using a book called Complete the Story. I will share the prompt for each month on the first and then sometime between the 20th and end of the month, my story for that prompt will be posted. I am making choosing the prompts simple; I am just going to use the book in order. I am really looking forward to this challenge. If you want to join me, let me know what stories you write too. I am intrigued by the different routes people take when given an idea and told to run with it.

2018 is going to be a great year! How do I know? Because I said so that’s why.

Happy writing and reading everyone! And make your year a great one.

And before I go start my amazing / productive year of writing, here is the prompt for January:

At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we’d struck it rich and that we’d be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we’d spend the money. Our first choice was …

July’s Prompt

  
I am traveling in a car right now and I just realized July is almost over. And… I have yet to post a prompt for the month. And… I don’t have any excuses. I have been just enjoying my summer vacation and writing has not been on my mind. 

The prompt for this month comes from Adventures in Writing: The Complete Collection by Melissa Donovan.

The book is a collection of writing prompts and ideas. I really like a lot of them. 

This month’s prompt:

Write a story about two characters who fall in love while staying in a hospital for the mentally unstable. 

Story due: July 31, 2015

Happy writing everyone! 

A Brief History of the Psittacines

Mars
 

Once terraforming tech was developed and improved on, everyone assumed the entire surface of Mars would be re-scaped and colonized. In reality, the harsh Mars environment was too overwhelming for the best tech. In the end, only about 2% of Mars was terraformed. Of the people who helped terraform, many remained behind to join the first colony rather than return to Earth.

The original colony consisted of only 10 families from Earth and the handful of terraformers. Amongst the adults was an ornithologist, Dr. Eva Devens. She and her family were selected to be a part of the colony because she was going to observe birds and how they adapted to the Mars environment.

Even in the year 2150, how birds used Earth’s magnetic field to navigate was a bit of a mystery. Dr. Devens was tasked with finding out if the birds behaved similarly on a new planet. In truth, she didn’t expect most of the birds to live through their first year.

So, along with the first colonizers of Mars, traveled 100 eggs. All were carefully monitored and were being incubated to hatch shortly after the colonists settled. They were 50 species of birds that could fly, and a good portion of the eggs were Psittacines, or birds of the parrot family.

Dr. Devens had personally selected all of the eggs, and she was very fond of parrots. She admired their beauty and intelligence, plus she believed they had the right kind of plucky attitude that could help them survive on Mars.

The trip to Mars and initial settling was uneventful; everything had logistically fallen into place. About 2 months after the colonizers arrived, the eggs began to hatch. The birds were raised in an enclosed environment until they were ready to leave their nests. Then they were released into the large forested region of terraformed area. Dr. Devens continued to feed them to help supplement their diets and many of them thrived.

Of the original 100 eggs, only 82 hatched, and of those 82 birds, 77 were released into the forest. Dr. Devens had implanted every bird with a tracking device prior to release. She carefully monitored their behaviors and movements. When she was in the forest observing the birds, some of the parrots and macaws showed signs of intelligence that surprised Dr. Devens.

In particular, a pair of African Grey Parrots and a group of various colored Macaws would gather around her every time she came to see them. She assumed that this behavior was just a part of their curious nature. She talked to them and even sang sometimes. And she was not surprised when they learned to mimic her words.

The first year on Mars passed and in the spring, many of the birds in the forest laid eggs and the first generation of Martian birds were born. As Dr. Devens was collecting data in the forest, she noticed that the size of the parrot and macaw eggs were considerably larger than she expected.

When the babies hatched, they surpassed their parents’ size within a matter of months. By the time they were a year old, they were roughly the size of a beagle and each weighed about 30 pounds. The exponential change in size was unexpected and Dr. Devens could not find a logical explanation for it. None of the other birds who had survived showed any physiological changes. Not only that, but no other species of animal brought to Mars had changed in any noticeable way.

In addition to an overall change in size, they demonstrated remarkable dexterity with their wings. Dr. Devens often observed them picking things up and moving them about. The new generation definitely demonstrated amazing strides in intellectual development. Back on Earth, the average parrot was said to have the intelligence of a human toddler. This new generation was more equivalent to human teenagers.

Of course, these changes were recorded and the information was forwarded to scientists on Earth. The birds would even join Dr. Devens when she would have teleconference sessions with Earth. The interviews were recorded and aired globally. Somehow, a new race of intelligent beings was emerging on Mars, and everyone on Earth was captivated with them.

By the 10th year on Mars, the parrots outnumbered the humans in the colony. The most recent generation to hatch was closer to human size and very clever. Each generation inherited their instinctual behavior from their parents, but they also seemed to pass along knowledge. Dr. Devens noted that the younger generations learned speech easier and much quicker than previous generations. However, other than Dr. Devens, the settlers were not as fascinated with the changes in the birds.

A meeting was held to decide what to do with the growing population of anthropomorphic avian. As the colonists gathered, one of the young African Greys who called himself Dale joined the gathering.

He was just over 5 feet tall and had predominantly grey feathers all over his body and bright red tail feathers. On his face his coloring was lighter, highlighting the observant intelligence behind his eyes.

congo-african-grey

“This meeting is to establish a course of action,” said one of the colonizers.

“I don’t see that anything needs to be done,” said Dr. Devens.

“Of course you don’t, but let’s face it. We are currently outnumbered by these birds and…”

The colonizer was cut off by Dale, “Excuse me, but we don’t like to be called birds.”

The collected humans looked baffled, except Dr. Devens. “What would you prefer to be called then?” one asked with sarcastic undertones.

Dale answered, “We call ourselves Psittacines. We are not like the other birds who live on Mars or on Earth. You do not call yourselves monkeys or apes just because you have a common ancestor. We would ask that you show us the same consideration.”

Not one of the humans had a response to that, but Dr. Devens sat there smirking.

Finally after an awkward pause, one the colonists continued, “Let’s get right to the point. Many of us want to return to Earth.”

Dr. Devens said, “You can’t be serious. This is our task. We can’t just leave. Do you realize how much investors spent to establish this colony?”

“As a matter of fact, we do. However, many of those same investors are already in the process of deciding on another place to colonize.”

Dr. Devens was shocked. Clearly talks had been going on behind her back, and decisions were being made without her input.

“If I can add something,” said Dale. “We would also like for the humans to leave.”

Dr. Devens was taken aback by this. “You want me to leave?”

“No. Not you. If you wish to stay Eva, we would allow it.”

Dr. Devens honestly didn’t know what to say. They would allow it? What was happening?

The decision was made and within a few months, the first colonizers minus Dr. Devens and the eggs returned to Earth. The Psittacines and Dr. Devens kept in touch and continued their reports to Earth.

Dr. Devens lived with the Psittacines for the remainder of her life. When she passed away, Dale oversaw her funeral. She was the only human to be buried on Mars.

With her passing, some of the Psittacines felt that perhaps it was time to have less contact with Earth, but Dale felt that Dr. Devens had worked hard to maintain contact and he respected her plans.

The truth was that people were no longer fascinated with the Martian birds like they were in the beginning. Another colony was established on Venus, and there was a thriving colony on Earth’s moon. People were looking to the future and making plans to spread to other planets.anthro macaw

When Dale was nearing his 60th year, the Psittacines were basically at max capacity for the terraformed portion of Mars. Something would have to be done. Dale understood that either they would need to have population controls to prevent overcrowding or some of them would need to move elsewhere.

During a teleconference with Earth, Dale told the scientists his concerns. The scientists sprung into immediate action and began to discuss the possibility of establishing a Psittacines colony on Earth.

Dale was overwhelmed by the support that was shown. He thought they would be quick to reject a new species living amongst them. He even joined the first group of Psittacines to relocate to Earth.