[Steelhawk Crossbow]

Like rehab…but without the pretty certificate

So once again, I am attempting to write a post, this time it is driven by two major factors. One, I am very bored at work and two, I am trying to get a rhythm going.

My addiction to MMRPG's continues. I, however, have not been log into the game, save for an hour on Wed. night, and I am starting to feel the effects. How many more times do I have to reload the guild forum to see that NO ONE is using it! / sigh. Another bone of contention, I am not sure what I want to do with my toons. Can’t really raid due to my work schedule and don’t feel the overwhelming desire to play. Should I, gasp, put them in storage?

On an Aculeus Upon Ordeum front, things are starting to heat up as our guild is becoming larger and we are having a harder time keeping a semblance of control.

Canadianfem is a god sent and promptly sent me an email yesterday which listed the guild’s dirt for the week. Just got another fantastic email from our Social Director. Raid drama FTW! I really need to get on tonight.

Language or the Kiss

Take the song you are listening to right now or the first song you
think of and write a story or poem using it as your template. Do
not use any of the actual song lyrics, either verbatim or
paraphrased,except as dialogue that is also dialogue within the song.
For example,you cannot use "up ahead in the distance I saw a
shimmering light" as dialogue for the main character, but you can use
"you can check outany time you like but you can never leave" as
dialogue for the night
man character.
________________________________________________________________________

This is inspired from the Indigo Girl's song The Language or the
Kiss.

"Well, look at what the devil brought in" Sam's drawl voice let each
word drip from his wet lips and dangling cigar.

Smoke permeated the air. A thin fog of white swirled underneath the
tired stained glass lamps. The bar was empty. The wood counter
gleamed and was puck full of cigarette marks and water stains. At
first Sam, looked the same, large barrow chest, chest hair peeking
from his open white shirt. Then she noticed the once solid black
hair, now tempered with gray and his face looked tired, lines cut
around his mouth, his skin aged and pale. Bushy eyebrows casted
shadows over his eyes.

He rubbed a mug dry.

"Hi Sam," blood pounded in her ears. Don't throw me out, don't throw
me out...The rubbing slowed. Sam just looked at her. She knew what he
was seeing. Expensive jeans, tailored top, sculptured brown hair with
gold highlights, manicured nails and a custom Gibson in the gaiter
case.

Swipe, another drop of water disappeared into the ragged cloth.

She could hear him say, Ten years you're gone and you come back with
a 'Hi Sam'. Get your skinny ass out of my bar.

Except he didn't
The cloth rubbed the bottom of the mug
"Wha' you want?"
What could she say? Anabel swallowed, her pride curing in her
stomach.
Sam's frown deepened, "I mean a drink, girl. Wha' you want to drink?"
Relief weakened her legs. Coward a voice hissed.

She angled to a stool and sat down.

"Jacks on the rocks."

Sam gave her a curt nod and turned away. The light in the bar grew
dim and at the far end of the room, a spotlight lit a single mike and
stool. Sam placed the glass in front of her.

"I don't know what's you're doing, Ani girl, but you might want to go
upstairs." Started, Ani looked up at her father, surprised to see his
blue eyes full of pity.

"What do you me-" She didn't get to finish.

A tall, thin man came on stage. He settled without pretense on the
stool, his right leg stretched, and the other leg hooked on the bottom
rung of the stool. A shabby guitar graced his raised knee. Long
calloused hands curled around its neck, stroked the taunt strings, and
started to play.

"Didn't know you where coming." Sam said, his voice soft.

Ani shook off the explanation.

With a trembling hand, she downed the whole glass. Sam looked on and
quickly poured a refill.

Then before she could move, Daniel opened his mouth and started to
sing.

Each note incinerated her.

Well, Ani girl, she said to herself. Welcome home, and took
another swig.

Wrong Address

Write a poem or story using the opening line: "It was the wrong house."

It was the wrong house.
Had the right address,
2521 Opportunity Ave.
But it looked different.
Clipped paint.
Water stains.
Cracked foundation.

Too bad.

The previous owner was such a lovely young woman.
Wonder where she went?

"We Need to Talk."

You or one of your characters receives a note/email/voicemail that
simply states: "We need to talk." Who is the message from and what is it about? Does your character know (or think s/he knows) or is it a mystery?

"We need to talk." Black letters burned the digital white screen.
What could he possibly want to talk about? Did he-no he couldn't.

Could he?

Pushing the chair back from her desk, she looked around the sea of
gray and blue walls dividing the office into a geometric field, until
her eyes settled on the very last cubical dangling between the
precipice of walls and empty space.

She could not see him, but she could easily imagine him typing away on
his keyboard, slightly hunched over-intent.

Should she go there? Stay here? She bit her lip and her eyes once
again fluttered back to the message searing itself into her LCD.
It couldn't be what she thought it was. There was no way. No one
knew about that. She had made sure of it. The best course of action
was to go and find out what it was about. Maybe it was about the
Jamerson account. What an idiot you are.

"Amy?"

A squeak escaped her. Holding her hand to her chest, she turned and
came face to face with the sender of the message.
Offering a weak smile, she said, "You startled me."

He didn't smile back.

Oh no.

Pushing back his iron rim glasses, he lifted his hand and opened it.
Cradled in his palm was a scrap of black fabric that barely qualified
as an article of clothing.

"I think this belongs to you." He thrust his hand pass the boundary
of the cubical entrance. His palm was only a few inches from her
face. She knew what he held. Careless, idiot. She swore at herself.
His body taunt. A vein in his neck beat with a hard pulse.

"Well James, I am not really sure why you would think it was mine, but
I haven't seen it before." Those words caused him to snap. In an
instant, he barricaded her between her chair and her desk.

"I saw you two last night." Everything liquefied within her. Only the
tingles of fear, anger and strangely, attraction ricocheted within
her. In her mind, she replayed last night. What could he have seen?

She tilted her head.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, focusing on the force of his
eyes, the pain bracketing his mouth.

He gripped the arms of her chair harder.

"How long have you been sleeping with my wife?"

Fortune Teller

Write about a visit to a fortune teller of your choice. This can be fictional, involving characters you create or are currently working with; or it can be nonfictional, involving you or someone you know; or it can be a mixture of the two.

"I see death."

His raspy voice seemed to become lost in the sequins and velvet
walls. Incense fogged the room, turning all the angles into curves.

"Um, can you be a little more specific?" His rough hands graded
against the back of Millie's skin. His musky perfume and the incense
made her nose itch. She watched his dark eyes narrow and looked again
to her open palm. Using his other hand, he pointed to a long defined
line which ran from her index finger, passed her palm and seemed to
curl around her wrist.

He pushed his finger harder against her flesh. It stung.

"Here," he said. His blotchy, pale skin glowed with a thin film of
sweat under the candle light. His rotten teeth were barely
noticeable.

"Um," Millie blinked. There was just something about the way his eyes
got all wide and dark. She forced her attention to the back of her
hand. The long fingernail stood erect, like a compass needle marking
a path.

"Here," he said again.

Millie leaned in towards him. Her large breasts resting on the top of
the table.

She strained her neck to look over. His finger was pointing to a very
small break in the line.

She could hardly see it. She leaned in a little further, her left arm
now propped on the table.

"That means death?" Her eyebrows crunched. That small break, could
that really-

He gave her arm a hard jolt. Millie flew across the table, his left
arm pinned hers to her side and his right curled around her back and
pinned her head against her other arm, pulling her neck taunt and
exposing it to the night air. Blood thundered through her. She could
not think, scream. His eyes. His eyes turned an electric blue and
seemed to throb with each beat of her erratic heart.

"Yes." He whispered, then bit.

Writing Drunk, Revise Sober Writing Prompts...

In an effort to keep track of my prompts and to orgainze them, I am posting them on the blog. Feel free to use these to help you warm up. If you would like to share send them to me and I will post a few on the blog.

Not a Good Day

I think this picture says it all. I can't help myself. I can rationalize everything that is happening. I can tell myself, "It isn't as dark as you make it out to be." But I can't stop it. The ants are crawling up my skin, lugging massive quantities of doubt and frustrations, sadness and impotence on their dainty backs.

I can't seem to stop my mind from spiraling downward or stop it from looking around and seeing a lack of purpose or movement.

I just can't.

My Mind is the on the Verge of Firing Me.

I had a dream last night. In that dream, I am writer for a T.V. show. I am sitting around the table and a girl to my left tells me, " You haven't been producing. I told you already and they have been talked about it."

I look around the room and I can see a heavy-set man near the middle of the table. His eyes on mine, and then he looked away, weighted with disappointment and annoyance. I tried to reassure her that I had the situation under control, but she continued to insist that I was in trouble and that I hadn't been pulling my weight.

It was disconcerting.

Something pops in my mind and I start to write down an idea of a therapist who specialty are superheros, and when I tried to tell the big guy he brushed me off.

It hurt.

I have letting myself so much that I don't even want to talk to myself.

There is serious work to do.

Because I am just that consistent...

So have I been writing...not really. Thank the divine forces of this universe for allowing Albert and Valerie to start a writing group. It is sorely need.

On another note, I am in the middle of writing a prompt for the day when, as usual, I became sidetracked by a nifty website that creates custom signatures for your WoW toons. Yes, ladies and Gents, you too can display your virtual avatar's stats, name and rank to all of the WoW obsessed.

Click here to go the site. Here they are! My lovely, girly toons!

On the road again...

It is funny how you seem to come back around to the things you once left behind. I have a habit of that, going around in circles. How strange we are, thinking we are actually moving forward; instead it is more-moving sideways, then around. The circumference may be wider, the distance longer and the view better, but in the end you end up intersecting with an old circle you haven't seen in years.

Weird, eh?

Sad World...

I looked at my blog yesterday, just to see where I had left it since I hadn’t updated in a little over a month, and I was surprised to see a comment under my last post. A comment, someone had left something to say about my page. It hadn’t happened before and the small thrill of seeing that tiny 1 next to ‘comments’ made my fingers itched. So I clicked on the link and nothing…the blogger site was down. This morning I tried again and this time the linked worked. I started to read the comment, something like…I think your site is cool…nice so far…check this website out…What? Why would I want to do that…but since I am a total moron, I followed the link to some dating service.

Spam strikes again.

Assholes.

Great News Article on NYT

This is a quick note. But I came across this wonderful article on the NYT, via on wowvault.com. It is wonderful. To read you will need to register at the site, but it is free.

Happy reading!

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/08/06/sports/06game.html?

Birds are angry with me...I got the worms

It is late. 5:49AM. Just finished another round of WoW. This time with Risana. Poor girl felt all neglected and alone.

Yet, here I am typing away on the keyboard, feeling the itching of sleep's fingers behind my eyes. The ache and dryness of the skin.

Saw the first three episodes of Firefly today. It seems like a good show. A little weak with the characters at the moment. Especially the captain. While I can see where they are going with him, he has moment that I am not where were they are taking him. Like his relationship with the Paid Companion. One minute he calls her a whore, the next he tells her to stay in the ship. I just wonder what is the status of their relationship for him to feel the need to insult her, regardless of her job and yet still feel concern?

There is a movie coming out, based on the ill-fated series. I want to see it. Now that Sci-Fi is running the episodes, I can understand the storyline for the movie.

Well this one is going to short...and not very witty. Sleep deprivation is a bitch for clever banter. So Good Night (or Morning)...see you later.

On a more serious note...(or how I wish I was a monkey)

Being an adult sucks.

There are moments of joy, granted. Most of the time, I thoroughly enjoy the freedom of living on my own, having a relationship and now understanding all the jokes in Disney movies. The knowledge of the world is a wonderful thing. However, what is not so wonderful is debt. Why, oh, why did the world see fit to create the concept of credit cards.

10 years.

10 years of struggle and barely making payments or not being able to make them at all and I am now done. Well done with a side of ketchup.

I used to think I could handle it, but as time has continued to expand away from me, I have noticed I have no concept of money or a budget

Hence, today.
Today I decided to screw it and get help.
I called an agency to help me consolidate my cards and pay them off. If I never see a credit card again, it will be too soon. The plastic makes my skin blister. They repulse me. This feeling of inadequately and shame has hounded me for years. Seeing all my friends move forward to their new stages of life and I still can't even get to the show.

It is pathetic and it hurts. Bad.

These are the moments I wish I were a monkey. I took an anthropology course last spring and we watched a movie about monkeys on an island that had been converted to a sanctuary. Watching them swing from branches, giving each other hugs, cleaning them and even snubbing them was amazing. There were a bunch of monkeys with a complex hierarchy, strong family ties and intelligence. They swung from trees, had sex, tried to impress the head monkey, then die. No house to maintain, no bills, no credit cards.

What are we doing to ourselves? Why are we creating modes of anxiety and frustrations which are not even part of our makeup? Why can’t we be like the monkeys?
I don’t know, but I wish I did.

Here is Beldandy!

Well here she is! More screen shots of the game will be uploaded as soon as I am able to figure out how to edit them on our server.

Beldandy on the move...

Well I have hit 32 and made my first semi run through Gnome.
Not Nice!

I now know why no one ever wants to do it. It is royally hard and long. Besides that, I finally have my own account. However, Bel is going to have to stay on own old account. =(

WoW in the Comics

Fox Trot features WoW…

Thank God for the internet. My cousin forwarded me the above strip.

Upon further investigation. It seem Fox Trot has been running for almost two weeks with a WoW story line. It is hilarious! I would highly recommend! Go to http://www.ucomics.com/foxtrot/2005/08/01/ and you can see previous posts in the series. How true it is!

On other WoW news…still 31, haven’t done gnome and a little bitter about it.

House status-Still a mess.

On a good note, I was able to sleep for 12 hours last night…this after I stayed up until 6:30 am that morning playing.

So how was your weekend???

Did I clean the house----NO.

Did I fix my office----NO

Did I start writing the great American novel---NO

So what did I do this weekend…Well…I played WOW!!!

I was finally able to get on with Bel for more than an hour in a couple of weeks. Luis has been holding our main account hostage for days now, and I was finally able to pay the ransom. Well, really real world called and forced his butt in the chair to finish his homework. I was able to level to 31 last night which is really nice. Now if only I could do Gnome…that would really make my log a lot lighter.

Oh the sad state of my world…to be concerned with the status of a fictional, virtual woman logged into a digital world. It is a pathetic.

Yet, even as pathetic as I see it to be, I can now say I understand the attraction to games like WoW.

I once thought comments about Everquest to be an exaggeration. One time I heard it said you only gave the game to someone you never wanted to see again. This meaning of course, as soon as the person started to play they would never leave. The fixation of an alternate world and our ability of create alternate, powerful egos within them is intoxicating. There is an element of addiction within this game. It is the same attraction which can be attributed to to any fan of a specific TV show, movie, book, etc. Think about it…if you in ‘real’ life are tall, skinny, slob with a face full of acne and buck teeth…in WoW you can be a handsome nightelf with bugling muscles. If the ‘real’ world you are a fat, middle aged, single male with no respect from anyone, but in WoW you have one of the highest ranking Paladin’s with an epic mount, then it wouldn't matter.

Why? Beacause in WoW you are respected.

In WoW, you exist.

I think that is the root of the matter. The feeling of existence and life. Evidence you are real, moving and changing part of the bigger picture.

Even if that picture is made up of pixels.

The deep breath before the plunge...

Alright...got the supplies in order...got the gloves...got the mop...time to ATTACK! The use of the work Attack is not far from the truth. I am messy...very, very messy and my office reflects that. After months of studying, working and becoming obsessed with WOW, I haven't done much work in my office. But those things are being placed in their correct order and now it is time to revisit my favorite hunting grounds. Let’s hope my pass is still good.