Never Forget 9/11

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Never forget.

Innocent people went to work.

Innocent people died.

Never forget.

Innocent people tried to save lives.

Innocent people made it out.

Innocent people died trying to get out.

Never forget.

Brave souls that went in to help.

Never forget those bravehearts.

Never forget those never found.

Never forget a tragic and heroic day.

9/11 started normal.

Never forget.

The way 9/11 ended.

Never forget to honor this day.

Writing Prompt #4

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“She took the same seat she always does. This time, there was someone with her.”

Everyday, I wait for the subway train. Everyday, I take the same seat. Everyday, I sit alone. Until this one day. A man, not just any man, was seated in my seat. He was more gorgeous than gorgeous. Tall, dark curly hair, long legs, blue eyes deeper than the ocean. It was love at first sight. At least with his physical looks. A gentle smile from his chiseled features. Then he went back to looking at his phone.

Cautiously, I sat beside him. Nothing exchanged between us. I reached my stop and got off. One last glance at him.

Every morning, he was there. And every morning, I sat beside him. Never speaking. Finally, after about a week, I resolved that I was going to speak to him. When I boarded the train, my spot was empty. No one was there. Disappointed I took my seat. Had I lost my chance at love? I felt that I had.

The next day and the following day, he was not on the train. My dark haired stranger. A week passed. Then two. He had not returned. Then I got an answer to my stranger.

A young woman who was always on the train with me. She asked me why two weeks ago I had moved one spot over when my seat was empty. She always took the same seat near me. I gaped at her. I sputtered about the man. Didn’t she see him? There was no man next to me. I was always alone. There was no way she would not have seen this man. He was beyond gorgeous.

Who had my mystery man been? What happened to me? Why had I see him? Why had no one else?

All I knew was that I never saw him again. My ride remained alone and silent as it always had been.

A place back in time- A short story

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Imagine a town with no WiFi, no cell phones or cordless phones. Write a short story in which your main character resides in a town with similar restrictions. Is living off the grid a choice? How do the daily tasks and communication of your character differ without the convenience of the tools and technology we often take for granted?

 

Getting on the bus was the easy part. Getting off the bus was the second easy part. Staying in this backward town was not so easy. I came from New York City. One of the busiest cities in the world. Everywhere one turned there was an electronic billboard or people walking like zombies. Cell phones glued to their hand.

I was so tired of people and their technology. I had even been swept away by it. I had the latest computers, cell phones, televisions and apps for them. I had a smart phone and a smart TV.

Then one day I got tired of it all. I felt mindless. Lost. People online were even more vindictive than people face to face. They always claimed to be available but when I needed them, they suddenly were not. Phones glued to their hand, but they were unable to answer my call or respond to my text. But when I didn’t respond, all hell broke loose.

So, I sold all my high tech devices. Another crock. It costs a fortune to buy these items. Yet selling them, even when they are practically brand new, it sells for a pittance of the original price. I bought an old fashioned flip phone to keep just for emergency purposes.

And I moved. To a small town that banned all electronic devices. Everything was done like it was before the invention of cell phones. Landline phones. Handwritten letters. Neighbors visited each other. Cars were simple too. None of those fancy computer chips. No touchscreens. No Bluetooth connections or WiFi. No internet was allowed in this little quiet town either. People here lived a simpler life. I had grown up with the technology boom. Could I survive without it? I was about to find out.

Hours later, I had settled in my rented and furnished home. Kitchen appliances were simple but worked. There was a television but it looked like it came out of the 70s or 80s kicking a screaming. It was one I vaguely remembered as a child. With a huge stand encasing the TV. There was a remote and when I checked, it only got the basic channels. No cable.

My first days were easy. I got up, had a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Dressed and went to work as a grocery stocker. It was simple work and I didn’t interact with people other than the odd customer not sure where an item was located. It didn’t take me long to know the regulars from the visitors.

At night, I came home had dinner, watched a little TV or read a book and went to sleep before repeating the process the next day.

Neighbors came by and introduced themselves. I was polite but kept to myself. They stopped coming around and even stopped trying to say hello to me if they passed me on the sidewalk.

After about a month, the withdrawal from the instantly connected world was getting to me. Other than newspapers and the local news reports, I had no idea what was happening in the world. It would be easy for me to hop a bus and go to a neighboring town that allowed technology on my day off, but the whole point was to push through this. And if I did, I would be tempted to use technology in this forbidden location.

People lived thousands of years without the technology of today and they survived just fine. One could argue it was that you couldn’t miss what you didn’t know, but they survived all the same.

Like a drug addict, I cracked. Two months later, I boarded a bus. Went to the next town. Bought a cheap laptop and used smart phone. The rest of the day, I spent in a coffee shop getting my fix. Then I returned home. My items hidden in my bag like contraband.

Soon, I was fully addicted. I was sneaking around my house using the technology. Blinds pulled tight. While there was no WiFi in this town, there were limited cell phone towers. Mostly at the edges of town to catch people driving by and not into the town. I was able to hook up to my mobile network and get a weak connection. Many times, I packed the technology away. Buried it deep in the back of my closet. But to no avail. It was soon out again.

Then the inevitable happened. There was a knock on my door. I knocked over my glass of water. Luckily it missed my computer. Peering out the peephole, I saw the sheriff and his deputy. Dashing around, I quickly hid my banned electronics before opening the door.

I was told to pack all my things. They were taking me to the bus station. I was to board the first bus that came and never return. When asked why, they showed me documents that traced illegal cell phone use to me at this house.

While they waited in the living room, I packed all my clothes which was all I came with into my suitcase. I put the banned equipment in the suitcase as well. Then I was escorted by police car, no sirens, to the bus station. People were outside watching our progression. It almost felt like a funeral. Mine.

I bought a bus ticket and boarded the very next bus. Back to New York and the loud busy life for me. Getting off the bus into the loudness of the city was almost a culture shock after the quiet of the small town.

It had been a hard lesson learned. I would never go without technology, but I did learn to curb it and not let it control me. I controlled it.

Writing Prompt #1-Poem

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1. The Unrequited love poem: How do you feel when you love someone who does not love you back?

You walk by like a beautiful rose.

I am invisible like a ghost

You are the sun. The moon. The stars.

As close as you are you might as well be Mars.

I love the sun. The moon. The stars. Mars.

You love none of those things.

Therefore, you do not love me.

I am a ghost unseen by the love of my life.

No, I am not a ghost. He is a ghost. Lost to me forever.

Image result for sad ghost girl

 

Why I Write…

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Hello all,

This evening’s topic is Why I write.

I write because it is something that has always been in me to do. I can clearly remember the first story I ever wrote. It was in second grade. The assignment was to write about an inanimate object. So I chose to write a story about a throw rug. From the throw rug’s POV. I wrote about the good things and the bad things that happened to it and what it observed from its place on the floor in front of the door. It was supposed to be a legal pad page long. I made it to be about 3/4 of the page, so at the bottom I drew a smiling rug.

I believe I still have it tucked away somewhere on my shelf filled with everything I’ve ever written. After that I turned to writing stories about horses. Then I started writing about couples falling love and relationships and the ins and outs of that.

In junior high, I started what became a ten year long journal of sorts. I wrote a story about five different couples and how they were all friends. How they dealt with life, falling in love and eventually becoming parents and still maintaining their friendships. While the story was fictional, I found myself writing into the story lines parts of my own life, so it became like a journal. I was never comfortable with actually keeping a diary or a journal, so I managed to combine journal writing  with my fictional story. I wrote that story ongoing for nearly ten years. I filled up over 30, five subject notebooks. My current novel was a spin off out of those stories.

If I go too long without writing, I feel like I lose a part of myself. I have an urge to write everyday even if I only have time to write a few lines or a paragraph. I have always preferred to write out by hand first. Then I go to the computer. While typing I will edit as I go and make changes to the story.

With blogging, I find that I can write directly on the computer first after mentally organizing what I would like to say.

Why I write is because it is my way of expressing how I feel and think about the world around me. It allows me to freely say what and how I want. Like most artists, I am an introvert.  In new situations, I am more likely to stay quiet and observe rather than interact. If someone talks to me, I will respond. I struggle with making the first move. With writing, I am free to say anything I want or need.

Why I write allows me to live out my dreams and wishes through my characters. I get to invent places and worlds that I want to live in. I can explore the ups and downs of human and animal natures.

Why I write is because it is my very soul. When I write, I feel complete. I have the best imaginary friends possible within the people I create in my head. They control me as much as I control them. I may want them to go one direction, but they want to take me in the opposite direction.

Why I write is because it is my passion, my love. I look forward to the ideas that develop in my head and then seeing them take shape on paper or computer screen. Writing means the world to me.

TJ

Water Poem

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Water

H2O.

Clear, life sustaining liquid.

No water, no life.

Soothing flowing water.

Puts one at peace.

Also makes one need to pee.

Water covers most of the Planet.

There is a reason for that.

Water is necessary to live.

No water, no life.

Yes water, yes live.

TJ

 

Three Goals for my Blog

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My first goal is to gain customers for my novels. Here I can give more information about myself and my books.

Second goal: Feedback is always nice to have. I would like to start to see more activity on my blogs than just views and a few likes. Improvement happens when feedback is given and the blogger knows what works and doesn’t work.

Third goal: To learn. I love learning. About writing techniques, other authors and writers, and people with common interests. I would also love to learn about more other topics that I know little about.

In my wildest dreams, I would love for my blog to have lots of followers, lots of interactions and spread the word about my published works.

TJ

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