#2bitTues and #1lineWed

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I finally decided I needed to figure out what #2bitTues and #1lineWed were. I've been seeing them on my Twitter feed for ages now, and I knew it had something to do with posting lines from either books or writing, but I never participated because I wasn't sure on the details.

Here's what I found:

#2bitTues is run by Angela D'Onofrio (@AngDonofrio). Each week she posts a new "theme" for the hashtag and you put up a line from your current WIP (work-in-progress) that goes along with that theme. You can learn more here: http://www.angeladonofrio.com/between-the-lines/how-i-spend-my-week

#1lineWed is run by the Romance Writers of America's Kiss of Death Chapter (@RWAKissofDeath). Each week they post a theme for the hashtag on their twitter feed and you can post a line from your current WIP. I wasn't able to find more info than what's on their twitter feed, but the posts each week make the rules pretty clear.

So that means we get to play this game twice a week. How fun is that? A great way to find other talented authors to follow and to support them by retweeting and liking. Also a great way to dive into your manuscript and make sure you're putting in those punchy one-liners that make a novel fun to read. *Rubs hands together*

Here I go!

Along Came a Spider Free Halloween Printable

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I finally got around to decorating for Halloween this week. I made it a priority because if I waited another week, it just wouldn't be worth it. It takes way too much work to only have it up for two weeks.

Decorating for me is often a love/hate sort of thing. I love the crafting, the creative process, and the final result. But more often than not, the whole thing ends up being a time-suck because I try 400 things to get it perfect and it still doesn't look right.

This vignette took me the longest. I had spider webs up at one point, a hanging sparkly skeleton, a banner, and the fans that ended up elsewhere. And I kept adding things and moving things and it never looked quite right. So I tore it all down thinking I needed to start over. And that's when it hit me. . . all it needed was--less. I left it all off and liked it the best.

I put up some picture frames for this vignette and liked how it looked. But the frame still had a picture from my wedding in it, so I had to figure out something more spooky to fill it in.

I found a number of things I liked on Pinterest, including this cute framed saying. I couldn't find a printable at the time, so I had to make my own. (I found it later at houseofsmiths.com.) Lucky you! Because now you get mine for free.

I printed mine on green paper to match my pumpkin, but you can print it on whatever paper works for you! I should also note that my frame was 8x12, which is an odd size. I have three sizes for you -- 8x12, 8.5x11, and 8x10. Enjoy!

Fresh Tomato Soup Recipe

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For the past two years, I have grown exactly one cherry tomato plant and one beefsteak tomato plant. Each of these has grown to be the size of a small giant, producing way more tomatoes than I know what to do with. This year, I found a recipe for cherry tomato salsa, and with one round of picking cherry tomatoes, came up with sixteen cups of diced cherry tomatoes. Anyone who doesn't can probably won't think that's a lot, but those of you who do--that's a ton for one picking, right? These tomato plants are out of control! My beefsteaks are starting to ripen, and hopefully I'll get a bunch to ripen all at once so I can make a batch or two of regular salsa. But, right now, I'm getting one or two a day, along with epic amounts of zucchini and squash, and I was stumped as to what to do with any of it.

We eat tomatoes on salads, but that's about it for fresh tomatoes. Then, last night, I was craving cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Not only is this combo tasty, but I can whip it up in under ten minutes. Which is perfect for a day like yesterday (let's not go there--it will get nasty, I promise). But, after searching through my pantry, high and low, I found that I was out of Campbell's trusty Tomato Soup! *Melodramatic swoon* Tragedy strikes.

Enter (stage left) my large bowl of tomatoes staring up at me from the counter. Aha! I thought. I can make tomato soup. Why had I never thought of that before?

Out came trusty Google (stage center, of course) where I found this recipe by the Pioneer Woman, whose recipes have never failed me before. But it called for canned diced tomatoes and canned tomato juice (do people actually keep tomato juice on hand?). It looked so tasty, I decided to wing it with what I had. And it turned out de-lish! The altered recipe is below.

Ingredients

1 medium white or yellow onion, chopped
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) butter
5 large fresh tomatoes, chopped
2 cups water
1 can tomato paste
2 tablespoons sugar
2 chicken bouillon cubes
1/4 cup chopped fresh basil or 1 tablespoon dried basil
1 tablespoon dried parsley
Salt and pepper to taste
1 1/2 cups heavy cream

Directions
Melt the butter in a large pot. Add the onion and cook until translucent. Add the tomatoes and cook until juices are released. Add the tomato paste, water, sugar, bouillon cubes, basil (if using dried--if you're using fresh, add it with the cream), parsley, and salt and pepper. Stir to combine, then heat almost to a boil. Turn off the heat and stir in the cream. Serve warm.

Patio Garden

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I finally got around to writing a prompt. We had done away with them in November and December because the holidays just get too hectic. But Leah has been putting them up again since Christmas and I made myself take the time today to write one. Mostly because the prompt was my idea. :) Leah already did hers and you can read that here.

He sat with his grayed head propped up with his hand, reading poetry, surrounded by friends. He couldn’t see me, with the sun using my window as a mirror to reflect his terraced apartment building. My face hidden by the reflection, I knew my presence would not intrude on his routine.

Every morning he came out, lovingly caring for the plants that were held by every flat surface of the tiny patio. Boxes he built himself rested heavily atop half of the short cement wall that protected the space. Pots of every shape and size lined up behind them. Squash, climbing beans, cabbage, limes—an assortment of life overflowed each one. Above the patio door, he had hung shelves that held spices, petunias, lettuce. Even the second-story window held a small testament to his green thumb.

I wondered as I watched him—a smile only touching his worn face as he trimmed and watered each day—what was his story? Was he a farm boy that lost his love long ago? An honored war veteran no longer needed by his country?

Each of my neighbors held a story. Some I thought I knew, some still remained a mystery. And that is why I watched. Trapped here, in my head, in my body, in my apartment I didn’t choose, they were my only connection to life outside these walls.

My Little Pony Fashion: All Together Now

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I've been wanting to put all of my My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fashion posts into one place for a while, but I thought it would be a really long process. Then today I remember I could just do screen-prints. And voi-la! it was done in a jiffy.

If you want to see them in hi-def, you can check out the individual posts here: Twilight, Fluttershy, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie, Rarity.

(And P.S. I can't figure out how to make this picture display larger. If you know how, please comment and let me know.)

Happy Halloween with some snarling apples

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Happy Halloween!

It was a strange, unrushed day today. My kids went to bed on time and now I am writing. What could be better? Our prompt for today was a "choose your own adventure," type of prompt. Four to choose from. I chose this one:

And you thought apples were so innocent and edible. Silly. I chose it because it was different than the one Leah chose, and because I thought I could use it to continue a story I started with my very first writing prompt. You can read it here.  I like how it turned out. What do you think?

Mittle tapped his foot.  He and Lany leaned against the trunk of the tree that the High Mother sent them to.

“What’s taking them so long,” Lany asked.

“I don’t know. They’re never in a hurry, but …” He looked up into the tree. He couldn’t see the top from where he stood.  The pinsprites would be higher than he could possibly climb, which is why he sent them up there. But if he climbed up a little, maybe he could see what was keeping them.

“Help me up,” he said, putting a hand on the lowest branch and lifting up his foot that was nearest Lany.

“Why do you get to go up? I’m a better climber.”

Mittle tried not to roll his eyes. Lany thought everything was a competition. Mittle wished he could just ask the tree to help him up, but he wasn’t supposed to tell Lany about that. Besides, this tree was refusing to talk to him. Not even a name or a “How d’you do?” Perhaps trees in this forest were wilder than the ones near his house. Maybe they couldn’t hear him as well.

“Because the pinsprites are afraid of you. If you go up there and scare them, it’ll take even longer to get ‘em down.”

Lany sighed. He was annoyed, but he began lacing his fingers together to form a foothold for Mittle. He put his foot in place and was pushed up high enough to swing a leg over the branch. From there, it was pretty easy climbing. It was a large, old tree with lots of branching stemming out from the trunk.

Mittle didn’t have to climb very far before he heard a strange hissing noise. He moved his head around trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from.

There. In the branches above him were a handful of apples. Above them, the pinsprites hovered as a group, bobbing up and down. Each time one got close to an apple, the apple would open up, revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth, and snap at the poor sprites.

What in the world? Mittle had never seen anything like it. As he watched, one of the pinsprites broke away from the group and dove toward Mittle. Mittle yelled to it, “No, stop!” but it was too late. One of the apples snapped it up.

The rest of the pinsprites screamed, their high-pitched voices sounding like Mohma’s kettle when it was hot.

Angry now, Mittle climbed higher. “Don’t come down,” he told them, hoping for once they would listen to him. Finally he was high enough to reach the applet that had eaten the pinsprite. He reached up and grabbed it, pulling it from the tree.

A sharp pain shot through his hand. The apple had bitten him! Mittle threw it down, yelling for Lany to watch out.

“What’s going on up there?” Lany yelled back.

Mittle didn’t answer. He stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth and sucked on it instead.

What was going on? Mittle’s mind raced. This couldn’t be a new breed of tree—the apples were only on these branches.

Something the High Mother said popped into his head. “The darkness is creeping in, changing things, spreading malice and pain throughout Verden.”

Mittle looked down once more.  The tree trunk, the side away from where he and Lany had been waiting had a streak that crept up it like a dark vein. He followed it up the tree. It stopped on the branches that held the vicious apples.  He followed it down and found that it didn’t start at the tree. Mittle could see the dark vein arcing away from the tree through the underbrush.

Mittle’s stomach dropped. He knew High Mother had spoken the truth, but it had been so distant. Far away near the sea, or by the Kukinta Mountains. Not a day’s walk from his home.

Clenching his jaw, Mittle looked back up at the apples. The darkness would not win this battle.

Dappa and the Sea

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This prompt was from yesterday, but I didn't have time to do it yesterday, so here I am now. Leah and Julie also wrote.

The blue of his eyes was my favorite part.

But I would enjoy visiting Dappa whether he had blue eyes or not.

He sat on a barrel, one leg tossed over the other, leaning on his hand. His knit cap pulled down over his grey hair was brown like the wharf he sat on. I smiled as I came over the hill and saw him sitting there, hand smooshing up the multitude of wrinkles lining his face. He was staring out to see like it was talking to him. Sometimes, I thought it did.

He didn't hear me until I was standing next to him. His wise blue eyes turned up at me when he realized I was there.

"Hi, Dappa."

"Ahh, my sweet Meira," he lilted, his accent so thick anyone who didn't know him wouldn't recognize his words. "Comin' on the boat?"

"Of, course, Dappa."

"Oh good. The sea is sleepy. Company is good." He stood up pulling his waterproof jacket tighter. He leaned and picked up his lunch, his heavy coat and scarf. His lunch would be ham and cheese on homemade bread with an apple. He had eaten the same thing every day for forty three years.

"What will we catch today, Dappa?" I ask as I climb in the boat with my own coat and lunch.

Dappa smiles his missing-tooth smile. "Perhaps some dab, perhaps some cod. Maybe a treasure for you to take home."

"Mum would like that." She asked me to bring some of our catch home for supper.

I unwrap the rope from the dock and Dappa pushes off with the oars. Soon we are far enough out in the bay that the dock is almost out of sight. The enormity of the ocean always awes me.

Dappa and I spend the rest of the morning mostly concentrating on casting the nets and pulling them in. He was right as always, the sea was sleepy—we didn't catch much.

When the sun was arcing back down toward the sea, Dappa decided to call it a day. I took the oars and started rowing toward home.

"No more fishing soon for you," he says.

I nod. I will be getting married soon and moving away from the sea. It is strange to me that my heart can be so light and so heavy at the same time.

"You will be missed."

"I will miss you, too, Dappa," I say.

When we arrive back at the dock, Dappa starts cleaning the fish, his knife strokes quick and sure. After a dozen or so, he pulls out a dab and holds it up between us. "Aha," he says. He slices the belly and pulls it open, sticking his fingers inside.

His bright blue eyes light up as he sticks his hand out toward me, palm up. Shining there in the evening sun is a gold ring. "A gift from the sea."

I gasp and take it seeing the beautiful swirls carved along it's side.

"How....?"

He shakes his head, taking the ring from me. Picking up my hand he slips it onto my ring finger. It fits perfectly.

He pats my hand, looking supremely happy. The sun-darkened skin feels leathery on my own. Then he stands and kisses my forehead and turns back toward the sea.