Write Me Up

Official writing with some random thoughts

Viernes, el dia para fotos November 30, 2012

Pues, hoy voy a escribir en español. Ou possiblement, francais…

Or maybe I’ll just stick to English.

As usual, it is friday, and I did not plan which foto I would post. today, I actually worked in the morning, instead of closing at the restaurant, which is different from the past month or so, and I am finding it strange to have a Friday evening to myself. It’s not as if there is much to do here on Friday nights though. I came home from work and ate my delicious lunch from work, then took a nap because my head hurt. Then, (oh the excitement!) I went to the mall with my roommate to buy yarn and eat taco bell. Very riveting activities….

For today’s foto, I shall post a picture that I took on my writing retreat weekend in Hocking Hills a couple of weeks ago. It was fun and lovely.

Capture the light

We were climbing and hiking around in Ash cave, and the sun was beginning to set, so the light was GORGEOUS, and the sun was in the perfect position to do some fun pictures. This one turned out fabulous, methinks.

In a slightly related note to the beginning of my post, I am trying to practice my foreign language skills more. At one time, I was very comfortable speaking Spanish a lot…now I haven’t used it in a long time, so I’m a bit more timid. Also, I’m trying to speak French more, and learn Arabic. It’s going slowly. But I think I will try to post more about languages, to motivate me to keep up with learning them.


Early Thursday morning *cough* I mean…uhh….Wednesday…is for poets. November 29, 2012

I forgot today. I remember thinking on Monday and Tuesday, “I don’t need to update my blog til Wednesday, I’ve still got time to find a poem!”
Ha! How time creeps up on me and then sneaks away. Like a creepy ninja cat…such as this one:

So I should probably post a poem, huh? Right? I mean, this is technically Wednesday’s poetry post, even though it is currently ten minutes into Thursday. The truth is, I don’t feel like looking for a poem to post, and I’m not as creatively inspired by my snacking like I was last week (see https://dorothylynn.wordpress.com/2012/11/21/wednesday-is-for-poets-5/if you are curious), so today, I will just make strange metaphorical comments about Time being a creepy ninja cat.

That is all.

In other writing news, I wrote some more character development yesterday, and I finally buckled down on reading a boring book for some research. It has good n=information, but the writing is SO dry and essay-ical, that it doesn’t keep my attention for very long. *sigh* the things I do to be a good writer.


Foto/Art Friday! November 24, 2012

Filed under: Foto Friday — Dorothy Lynn @ 3:36 pm
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So, my friend Heidi is an excellent artist. Really really excellent. I love her stuff. And right now, she is trying to raise money to publish her artbook, that has tons of her beautiful pieces as well as neat and handy tutorials! I thought that instead of (late) Foto Friday, I could post one her of pieces, and promote her kickstarter page.

Here is her page: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/826620243/electric-abyss-the-art-of-heidi-black

And here is a sample of her work:

I want to live in this garden-like place, and be best friends with this girl. Seriously.


Wednesday is for poets. November 21, 2012

Kippered Herring and Toast

It is strange to come home
to my parents house, which
is technically no longer home.
It is not strange because all
my stuff is gone. It is
not strange because my
family is different. No,
it is strange because of
the kitchen. When I am
hungry, I no longer know
my way around. I search for
a snack, and end up eating
kippered herring and toast.

p.s.- I really am currently eating that snack, with some Barry’s Gold Blend tea. And it is very tasty.


Foto Friday November 16, 2012

Filed under: Foto Friday — Dorothy Lynn @ 11:22 pm
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Once again I remember at the last minute that it’s Friday……
Anyway, here is a picture. It’s of the city I used to live in when I was in Spain….*sigh*

This is a view of the old city, taken from across the river. Sometimes I really miss living in such an old city….


Wednesday, it’s for poets! November 14, 2012

Filed under: Wednesday is for poets — Dorothy Lynn @ 12:55 pm
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I am actually remembering to update before 11:30 pm this time, which is when I usually realize that I haven’t posted a poem yet. This week I am sharing one of my own poems. I found this one in my plethora of poem documents on my computer. I honestly don’t remember when I wrote it. It was probably sometime during my senior year of college. But I quite like it upon reading it again.

The sticking key

It’s like when you’re playing the piano
and one key sticks.
The song goes smoothly,
your fingers glide across the white and black,
and you close your eyes to hear the melody.
Until you reach that key.
It holds, dissonant, dischordant
to the rest of the harmony.
It remains, reminds you
of something that’s missing,
that one piece of yourself that you can’t
explain, the piece that shoves itself
under everything.
Love is like that.

*On a completely different note, I just discovered a couple of days ago that my friend/brother Dwarka pronounces Wednesday as it’s spelled…as in Wed-nes-day. I’ve known him for a few years, and somehow I just now noticed this. I find it quite humorous and endearing. I thought I’d share that since it is Wednesday. And now that I think about it, I always pronounce it that way in my head when I’m spelling Wednesday….oh the strange things we notice when we really stop to observe.


Teasers…. November 13, 2012

Filed under: General Blog-tastic Writings — Dorothy Lynn @ 3:56 pm
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The “reboot” seems to be working. Instead of worrying about where in the story I am writing, I am just concentrating on the parts that I already know. I can deal with those I do not know when I need to. Here is a little taste of what I’ve written.

“The sensations were constantly on the edge of my awareness, but it seemed that if I held completely still, I could keep control. This was documented before in my earlier entries. However, from Jack’s log, one can also infer that in spite of my apparent control, his presence still affected me strongly. Though I could block out other sensations, his were too close to me. The proximity of him, or perhaps our previous emotional connection established by our marriage and intimate relationship, was too much for me to keep out. (I am writing this with the assumption that the reader accepts our findings as truth. I understand it will be hard for the scientific realm to accept this, but there seems to be no other logical explanation for the symptoms and manifestations of this disease.) Jack’s emotions and sensations were always intertwined with my senses. At times, I would open my eyes, and instead of the white ceiling above my bed, I would see Jack’s reflection as he looked at himself in the mirror, or I would see the gravel on the path in the park as he walked near our apartment. It scared me, because I thought I was simply imagining these things. After all, how could one actually see through the eyes of another? I am not simply speaking metaphorically, as one would say, I feel what you feel, I empathize. No, these sensations were quite real. It was as if I were Jack, and when he looked in the mirror at himself, I saw him, as he sees himself. I try to write this as clearly as possible, but I fear the only way to truly understand it is to experience it. (In this way, other victims of this disease should be able to understand my logs better than those unaffected.) I lay in terror of my own mind because I was experiencing the emotions and sensory input of others, or at least I thought I was. I could not be sure that what I was experiencing was actually what Jack was experiencing, and so, it was entirely possible that I was indeed hallucinating and my mind was inventing these sensations. After all, schizophrenia often manifests such hallucinations. I did not want to believe anything that came into my mind. Jack’s presence was a comfort and a torture at the same time. I could not trust the feelings that seemed to emanate from him because I could not trust myself.”