A Simple Life (pt7)

“I didn’t think you were the type to play with other people’s hair,” Emil commented, trying to rile her up. Just like he used to all the time.

She almost wished it would work.

Coleen used some hair clips to pull Emil’s bangs back from his forehead. After all, there was nothing to hide anymore. She settled the mirror in front of him so he could examine the new appearance.

For the longest time, Emil said nothing.

“I’m cutting my hair.”

And there was an hour, gone to waste.

Review: Spear’s Sacrifice

Thanking my ShoelessWriter so much for this. Such an honest review (that I am biased of, because it looks upon my work favourably!) And I’m always glad to hear about my use of language, in any way, shape, or form. It’s hard to think from an outside perspective about it, even more so than every other part of a novel!


I’m going to start this review out with a warning/confession.  The author of Spear’s Sacrifice, A.A. MacConnell, is a friend of mine.  She’s a member of one of the groups of writers I belong to, and I adore her.  So this is not completely unbiased. However, with that said, I have done my absolute best to be as neutral as I can be and point out where I can’t.

I will start by telling you that I’m an awful friend, I ordered this book on its release date back in April and just finished reading it today. I’m sad it took me so long to get around to it. I’ve been carrying it around in my bag for months, but never found the time to read it. As soon as I finished it, I messaged the author and demanded a sequel, a prequel for backstory, and side stories of…

View original post 678 more words

At the end of the series

I wouldn’t know where to say we started
It seems as if it’s always been
Then again
When you’re with friends
Time doesn’t play fair
Death started everything
And a stupid gift of life ended it

Strange, don’t you think?
You go off to become educated
When back before we were just punks on the street
And I don’t know where to go
I used to be the leader of three
He is where he wants to be
And the last of us is too

Seems like that’s finally it
I am free
Cut away from being in someone else’s name
Would you laugh if I said I miss it?
You’d probably agree
Being in charge of ourselves is new again
But when were we ever out of control?

Besides always, I mean

A Simple Life (pt6)

She used to do this with Ami. When they were younger and she liked doing more with her hair than just letting it grow and grow around her shoulders and down her back. She considered that and moved her fingers more gently. Emil did not move, tolerating her actions.

It would be so easy to check on how Ami was doing. Turn on the television and watch as her sister looked over the restoration process. But that would require thinking about Ami and she was too busy feeling numb. If she thought about her, then Coleen would have to think about the taint they had grown up in the middle of. The taint Ami had grown up with. The taint was supposed to be dead now.

Yet here she was, having betrayed her own convictions. Here she was alive. She thought of the peace she had felt in Ami’s arms as she died. Right before she remembered she had fulfilled her promise to Emil and she would not stay dead.

As Time Was Made

He worked on something he called paint.

There were too many textures he liked, too many ideas running through his mind for him to decide. It would be to change the colour of things. All of those miraculous colours! It was hard sometimes to concentrate on his own assignment. But wouldn’t it be wondrous to see all of the other objects, creatures, ideas, concepts?

He would continue to work on paint until it was done. It might take some time (a new concept, still very confusing to him), but he would be persistent.

Bent over his work, he stared at his notes as calmly as he was going to be to decide upon the texture. Maybe there could be different species of paint? That way he would be able to enter in all of these ideas. He slid a finger in the blue and drew it forward, making a long streak across the surface in front of him. He brought his finger up, staring at what he had done.

A smooth liquid. He was quite satisfied with it. He brought the rest of it forward, intent with documenting this finished product (though he was certain he would keep experimenting).

Which was when someone dropped down from above him, hands landing on the angel’s head and pressing him down into his paint.

A Simple Life (pt5)

At the end, only three people did not think she had betrayed them. Emil was the only one she liked to think about. She hated that Ami had realized otherwise. She could not talk about it, not even with Emil. He liked to contemplate how things were going with the new queen. Coleen could not bring herself to say a word.

“I want to do something different with my hair,” Emil said one day as he searched for the scissors.

“You don’t have to cut your hair to do something different with it,” she reminded him. Not like he needed the reminder. Then again, he probably didn’t need anything from her anymore.

Emile stared at her passively, like he always did. Coleen found herself brushing his long hair with a brush, then with her fingers as she pulled it back into braids.


That is the colour of you
You chose it before you meant to and it stuck
Your eyes reflect its special life only you can see
Before them you see the world
Spreading out around you
Nothing it what it seems

It is the colour of you
Constantly arguing your fashion is not worth it
So you ignore words that spread around you, words unimportant
Pulling on gloves to fingers so thin
To give you false sense of touch
You are too clever

It is the colour of you
And everything else, scoffing as you continue being you
No one expects something from that confidence
You could fool them all, but to hide what ambition?
Wrapped in her red velvet
Which wasn’t hers

It is the colour of you
Your eyes so selfish, seeing so few
Who will you find time to stop for?
On the side of the road, wondering where to go
Your eyes are too blind and you expect too much
It is not fair

That is the colour of you
You chose it well
Your eyes reflect its secrets
So regal in the colour only you can wear
You are right, it hides all of your wrongs
Nothing is what it seems

Another August

Full disclosure: I have no idea what happened to most of July.

More disclosure: I suffer from a chronic fatigue that my doctor has yet to be able to help me figure out. Tests and other things have been done, but I feel like I’m getting more and more exhausted.

Because of this, Camp was really hard this month. I barely made it. (Actually, I’m writing this on the last day of the month and I need about three thousand more words, so maybe I make it, maybe I don’t.) Yet what I accomplished I am very happy with. And that is what matters.

On the other hand, because of that and doing this at the last possible moment, I’m not sure what else to talk about this month. Writing about real things has always been difficult for me. If I can’t make something up, I have to think a bit more. Not to say I don’t think about my stories, because I do a lot. Yet it is much easier when I can make it up, because then I already know all aspects of it – I made it up. When I’m forced into our shared reality, I realize how little I know about everything and I hesitate.

Because I could literally research forever. That is easy. I like doing it. But even when I don’t, even when I figure out how to cut myself off from the never ending cycle and just research enough… I forget.

I have looked up the difference between sweet potatoes and yams a score of times. I can remember that in the USA they use the word interchangeably, despite it all being sweet potatoes. I have that in my brain now. But it took me so many times of looking it up to get there. I even had to look it up while writing this, to make sure I was right and I hadn’t mixed them up again.

Why is this? Maybe because I’m tired. Concentration down the tubes, all of that. I think I used to be better at remembering things.

People say that is a part of getting older, but I’m not really that old yet. I know I have a different perspective than most about what constitutes as “old”, but even for the majority of people I wouldn’t be called old.

I love learning, so maybe I can see it as always learning new things, because I have forgotten them. But it also means I learn less things in total, which upsets me greatly, because guess what? I LOVE LEARNING NEW THINGS.

Was there a point to this post? Probably, but I’ve forgotten it. In any case, it is an update and I have accomplished things. Perhaps I could be more efficient. We all could be. I’m working on that. I’ll let you know how it goes.