T is for tabanid

Or more commonly referred to as Horse Flies (but that wouldn't fit with the theme now would it!)

It is hot.
Hot, hot, hot. You know it's hot when you're wiping parts of your face that you didn't realize could sweat and you are only wiping them because out of nowhere they are dripping bucketfuls of sweat on whatever part of your anatomy happens to be in the immediate vicinity. Or lower vicinity I should guess.
You know when you move to a city, any city in Canada really, but a certain city famous for having rude winters and such. You would infer, that it was not such a warm place. Though I had been warned of the heat so I knew it was coming and am sitting in the most scantily short shorts in the world and fanning my, well let's just call it a sports bra because it really doesn't cover much else, with a makeshift paper fan. But still!
Perhaps it's because I'm European, all our cold cities are cold constantly. I mean if you go to England or Ireland or Scotland or even Belgium and Denmark. Don't really expect to see much sunlight, if any. Movies are movies for a reason. And if you go to Sweden or Norway bring a pocket torch because no light pollution means no lights!
No, no, no that's as ridiculous as saying it's cold everywhere in Canada. But it is a reality that the North of Europe will be cold year round and the South will be warm until the dastardly cold wind currents set in and then you just have to hold on to your hair (ever wondered why french fashion women always have beautiful yet wild short hair cuts, SOLVED).
I'm coming to the realization that this post isn't really about much. But what would life be if it was just a succession of really important things?

I think the sale of stress release pills and attendance at such activities would skyrocket. 
But then again there would be something important happening at that activity or involving the pills....
Goodness it never ends!!!!!!!!!

T is for totally-in-the-zone

There is nothing better in this world than positive feedback on a project that you have been pouring your heart and soul into.
I have been writing a novel since I was somewhere around.... 17? I finished it when I was 19 and then school got in the way.
Now I have never been a fan of book clubs because I am a strange kind of reader; I don't like to be forced, I don't want to be rushed, everything depends on the book and what kind of savoring it needs. Some books are good to breeze through, some are so good that you fly through them too, some are intelligent and hard hitting and deserve a precise attention to detail, some are so thoughtful that you need to mull over every chapter or sentence and think about the taste of it, the feel of it, the way it was structured and the meanings it bears. Hence not being able to stick to a time structure made me wary of the idea BUT! In Vancouver I joined a meetup group called, Just Write and we did just that. We wrote. We sat together and for ten minutes had a chat and then for the rest of the two hours we wrote, in a coffee shop or a doughnut shop or wherever they had been able to wrangle enough seats. We all bought at least two items during the time we were there and the owners liked the peace we brought to the place. It didn't matter what you wrote or how you wrote, you were just with writers enjoying writing and getting enthused by the fact that they were writing. I loved it.
Hence when I picked up the book again to rewrite it and restructure it about 4 months ago I blew through the first chapters and am now almost halfway through a complete reboot to a story that is now much better in my eyes.

But I needed to get some kind of approval. Some kind of notion that what I was doing was good. So I gave it to the harshest critic I know, the one who -when she read the first draft- couldn't really get through it and ended up leaving it to the side. This was good though, you need a book to grab someone and you definitely don't want to have to force someone to read something to see whether it's good or not. You need to make them want more pages. And today, a couple days after I handed her the first sixty pages, she called to ask when the next ones were coming.
I cannot picture a better moment than when I saw a kind of incredulous smile creep along her face as she brought up the story. Her voice only strengthening her surprise as she admitted to really enjoying the story and suddenly realizing that she didn't have the whole thing.

I have never been happier. I've written enough pages today to convince me that this boost has put me in a zone that I don't soon want to drop out of. Something tells me however, that I won't. 

T is for tidbit

Woe is me the ever dulling sensations of an over indulged passion.

Gone is the unfortunate condolences of a pastime rarely passed.

Protected is the feeling of discomfort when reality strikes home.

Do you have a poet inside of your head? An idiot who comes up with dull one liners that wouldn't do much to the heart of a passerby much less create an atmosphere for an entire population. I like to talk to the poet when I need a piece of inspiring dialogue at a moment in a story. The story is epic, the plot line structured, that moment of dialogue is a second in the lives of a myriad of characters.
I wish the poet were more literate. Perhaps then they would be more worthwhile. But for now the poet is summoned for a cursory glance in a sea of words.

T is for test

Have you ever felt hopeless? Or even more beyond that. Have you ever been helpless?
There are situations where you are faced with a problem that has no solution. There are moments where there is no way out. These are moments that form precious parts of you, precious like the overrefined, pretentious affectations of a sullied mind. Those decisions that you make when you are at your wits end are usually those that you hide in your innermost being; unable to make up your mind about whether they were correct or it was just the easiest thing to do.

I have envied people that have had formative moments in their life, moments that they look back on and they don't appreciate for what they were. Something that outlined a part of their personality. A personality that is all the stronger for it. But now it hits closer to home. It hits where it hurts. Someone very close to me has fallen short at an important part of his life and... I am incapable of offering any help.

So I am helpless; I am not faced with the decisions to make up for the short comings, I am not burdened by the consequences either, but I am left to watch. Amputated. Removed of all my abilities but that of speech.
I was never really good at talking.

I love you.

Everything will work out.

Your distant friend,
Your ever-present sister.

T is for Tale: the second tale - Part 4

My sincere apologies on this post being late, it was written, it was saved, it was not posted. Errands are no excuse for such a lack of decorum. So I quickly post this now and ask for your forgiveness, though you may not be many to read it, you are a great bunch for doing so. Sorry for the shortness as well....


--- It was a long dark shape and as the rope was completely pulled away a low groan echoed through the waters. Read watched in horror as the water behind the shadow started twirling frantically in all directions and the giant slab of metal crept forth. ---

  "What's it doing?" he asked in horror.
  "You don't worry about that." Pock said, "You worry about the creatures that live on top of it."
  "On top? There are things living on that beast?" Read watched the metal ship move, wondering how the contraption that had only ever been a home for his friend was suddenly able to swim. 
  They hurriedly swam across the water, moving away from the giant thing and found themselves entering a field of boulders. Read bounced from boulder to boulder and found a nice hole to crawl into and feel safe for a moment. Pock swam in lazy circles around the break in the rocks to keep his friend safe.
  "It might be a good idea to talk to the birds." Pock said .
  "Birds?"
  "They are animals that swim in the sky. They call it flying." Pock explained, "They are the ones that swim with the clouds like in your dream."
  "We need to find some!" Read piped up.
  "They'll be near land." Pock said, "If we keep swimming with these rocks we'll come close to an island."
  "Island?"
  "It's ground, like the bottom of the ocean, but where the water is replaced by air." Pock explained.
  Read's mind reeled at the very thought of it. A giant expanse of land like the bottom of the sea but without water, without swimming, just full of air and birds. He couldn't imagine anything that sounded more freeing. To be able to sail through the sky and still be on the ground like his home. He had been worried he would never see it again when Pock kept swimming upwards.
  "We'll rest today. Tomorrow we will look for land."

  Read spent the night dreaming of clouds and of sharks flying in the sky.

 To be continued...

T is for tunnel

I don't really like the emphasis people put on such things as, "a dog person" or "a cat person" so I will instead say... I have had many more dogs and been closer to my dogs for a much longer time than I have to cats.
I have throughout my life owned (with my parents), a boxer, a golden retriever, another boxer, a great dane, a dogue de bordeaux, another boxer, a husky and a saint bernard. They were called Dina, Plato, Rascal, Merlin, Spacey, Athos, Eldur and Feanor.
Eldur and Feanor live in the family house in France.
Through all that time with all those animals I also had Ramses, Lucky, Leo, Lea, Seti, Figaro, Topaze, Teddy Bear, Urayus, Venus and Vivaldi. All cats. Only Figaro is still with us. She hates people.

I live in Canada, with my boyfriend and Rocky.
Rocky is a 17 year old, grumpy cat.
He is the greatest little creature I have ever met. But as a cat, is much harder to please.
So today I consider this a fantastic achievement.