Being a twit, adopting writing dragons, and reminiscing of days long past

Yes, I have a confession to make here. I have gone over to the dark side. Um, I have become a Twit

I mean a Twitter! Dang. I hate this 140-character limit. Oh, wait. This is my blog. I can type in as much as I want. Whew!

All right. Enough of my little joke. I have officially joined the ranks of the social thingamajig called Twitter. For those of you who don’t know what it is about, join the club. I am still not exactly sure what the purpose of Twitter is, but Josephine has been bugging persuading me to join it since, er, April or May. All I understand about this place is that they ask you the simple question, “What are you doing today?” and in the small box you type in something. Simple enough, except you have a limit of typing in 140 characters. No, I did not say words. I said CHARACTERS. Just the word “character” is 9 characters. From what I have already written in this post, including the title, this is a grand total of 820 characters.

I feel faint.

I’m not sure how long I will last over there. I am not the type of person to write anything short and this Twitter thing is forcing me into unknown territory, which I have officially dubbed as WRITER’S BLOCK.

That’s write, er, right. Whenever I go over there, my mind goes numb. I have not the foggiest clue on what to put in the box. My daily life? I might as well poke my eye out so I can have something entertaining to jot down. I am having serious doubts about this.

Anyway, if any of my readers find enjoyment when someone is about to have a mental breakdown, then you can glance over into my sidebar where I have placed a twitter feed of my latest rants. So just sit back and enjoy my spiral into insanity - oh wait! Isn’t this the reason I started blogging? I wanted to share the madness?

Um, yeah. Let’s move on . . .

Annie Wicking from Every New Writer’s Journey has given me a writing dragon. I have placed it in my sidebar above the Twitter updates. Isn’t she just darling, and I also mean the dragon. I have named her Thalia because I am into the Greek Muses and Thalia is the Muse of Comedy. I was going to name her Melpomene after the Muse of Tragedy, but this whole blog is a tragedy and didn’t want to beat a dead horse.

Although, I will need to feed my dragon . . .

Sorry! Bad joke! Sufficed to say, I am grateful for the dragon which will continue to give me inspiration for my writing. If anyone is interested in adopting their own writing dragon, then all I have to tell you is, “NO! SHE’S MINE!” I mean, go ahead and adopt one. Make sure you give it a good name and lots of love. Here is what Annie wrote concerning this wondrous beast. (I love copy/paste!)

How to look after your dragon once you have uploaded him/ her:

Please give your dragon a suitable name. They are very easily upset if not give respect and you wouldn’t want to see a dragon when they’re angry. Please understand I’m not responsible for the dragon once you have uploaded it onto your blog, so think very carefully before you do.
Remember to play only gentle, soothing music as dragons have keen hearing.

Feed gold and silver once every hundred years (Remember a dragon is for life in both this world and your next.)

You must introduce your family and friends to avoid any mishaps.

None of the dragons are house trained so please be aware that you must only keep them in your writing cave.

One last thing you must be aware before you take on a writing cave dragon if any small children, dogs, cats or princesses living in your area goes missing. You must let everyone know it has nothing to do with your dragon, so please be very protective of them as they will be very loyal to you while you are busy writing.

Now, my reminiscing . . . I happened to go through some of my old writing - and when I mean old, I mean high school. Lots of poetry filled my mind during those days. I even jotted down several URLS for e-zines to submit my prose. Unfortunately, I never got a chance to send out anything. I have about 32 poems and general observations of life. Some of them rhyme and some don’t and some are funny and some are just plain WEIRD! I was going through the whole teen angst thing back then, so a few do involve meeting good ol’ Mr. Grim Reaper.

I’ll jot a few down, as is. So excuse any punctuation or grammar errors you might find, although I don’t actually stick to those rules in this blog anyway.

"These hands . . . "

For but a moments thought
with these hands
we hold things,
push things,
pull things,
not even realizing
what it is
we are about to do.
With these hands
we scratch things,
rub things,
feel things
as a part of everyday life.
But in
a moments ignorance,
with these hands
they are cut,
crushed,
broken.
********

"Dust children"

Smaller than the eye can see,
pushed by a gentle breeze.
Anytime you come close to me,
you make me want to sneeze.

For something so insignificant to accumulate everywhere,
on my desk, on my clothes, even in my hair.

Go away, go away,
can you not leave me alone?
Why don't you go outside and stay.
There's plenty of room to roam.
*********************

"Crystal rain"

On a lapis meadow, pewter and pearl tumbleweeds are being
gently herded away by quartz dust.
In the center of the meadow rests
a giant amber stone.
Across the field,
a hematite river sparked with amethyst rushes by.
Crystal diamonds churned up by the current are raised to the surface,
to be carried away by silver mist into the jade sky.

*It took me awhile to figure this one out. I wrote the world upside down, with the sky as the ground and the grass as sky. Then I used precious stones to describe all the colors of a thunderstorm*
********************

"Gossamer Home"

For sale by the owner who is becoming quite old,
tis a wondrous thing or so I've been told.
A marvelous, exquisite one-room house,
but occupants can be no heavier than a mouse.
Has been decorated into alluring patterns,
and is located near a small barn lantern.
All building materials have been crafted by hand,
not out of wood, stone or sand.
Woven from the finest material,
this is no joke, I am being quite literal.
It can be used to catch very small prey,
though you'll have to be patient and wait everyday.
You should walk quite carefully and please do not sneeze;
interested buyers must speak spider-ese.
*************

“Toy Children”

There you are, off you go,
our perfect children ready to face the world.
In a blue suit and pink lacy dress,
it is time for your guardians to receive the ultimate test.
Now, don’t you argue and don’t you fret
while we are around you will have few regrets.
And though, bit by bit, we will lose all your trust.
In the end, you will become perfect images of us.
No need to cry . . . we must be obeyed
for all of your decisions have been previously made.
You will become a doctor, athlete, or race cars
maybe a ballerina, nurse, or movie stars!
This is the reason why you exist,
father’s small man and mother’s tiny princess,
to fulfil the dreams that we while young could not achieve
while our adult friends look upon you with envy and seethe
They will tell us what great parents we are!
What great parents we are.
*************************

"Seasons Wheel"

Words whispered, like the echo
of raindrops in a breeze, so refreshing to the innocent,
so pure.
Buds of affection burst forth for those whose
only wish is to find happiness among
rose thorns.
As warm air heralds the coming of summer,
a blanket of sunlight, of security is cast out,
lifting the heart in a cry of
bliss.
A rising passion,
a heat,
sucking the last breath of air within,
quenched by soothing
lips.
What seems to be an eternity,
there is a change in the wind, as leaves
alter color and harvests are taken
in.
A bitter frost approaches,
uncaring,
it rips away all that is
treasured.
Reaching out,
trying to grasp sweet memories
now lying forgotten and
dead.
Tears fall like crushed leaves onto matted thoughts
that could not have been heard above
the melodic chimes of
voices.
A mournful wind arises, foreboding a harsh winter,
as waves of despair avalanche into the soul,
suffocating the last bit of
understanding.
Ice.
Never again to feel the turning of the seasons.
******************