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Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Madness Ahoy!

The Madness begins on Thursday. Not that it ever ended; if you've been around on Twitter you might know about #WIPmadness, a community where we set monthly goals for reading and writing and try our best to reach them. Writers take turns hosting weekly check-ins. It's very motivational. It helps us keep in touch with ourselves, our hopes and our plans. The wonderful positive energy is held and we all strive to do our best. It's a type of Callahan's: shared pain is lessened, shared joy is increased. And we write.

Tomorrow, February 29th, Denise Jaden will be hosting the official goals thread. We state our intent. And then, on March 1st, the madness begins in earnest. Daily we check in with our progress. We encourage each other. And to top it all off, there will be prizes for participating!

So, come join in on the fun. I'll be hosting Monday check-ins and even offering two of the prizes. It's not quite NaNo, but it's something. Today I heard another writer refer to a completely different project as "Beautiful Chaos". I like to think of it as creating a magical space within the eye of the storm that is our lives and keeping it going for all of March.

Join us! It'll be fun, I promise. *cackles*
... Oops. Sorry. I'm not allowed to cackle in public anymore.

Hope to see you there!

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Job Satisfaction

There was a new figurine on the basement mantelpiece.

The summer I was seven, Grandma Taylor took to babysitting me and my sisters, since Mom’s last mat leave was done with and she couldn’t afford otherwise. I was the eldest, and back then I escaped from my snotty, whining siblings whenever I could. The basement, a cluttered monument to years gone by, had its own fireplace, and Grandma liked to put her garage sale finds along its edges. No matter how poorly made or what they portrayed, tiny statues were her favourite. And since this was a Monday, I knew there’d be something new waiting for me.

I crept closer, peering at the addition. Squarish and squat, wings folded back upon itself, the miniature stone statue scowled through the gloom. Just as I reached him, gaze level with the mantelpiece, the drafty room grew colder.

Then his eyes moved.

“Of all the injustices,” he muttered, and I could have sworn he clenched his claws. “To be consigned to a dungeon!”

I blinked, but I wasn’t fazed. Children never doubt the magic, not even the first time. “This isn’t a dungeon,” I told him. “It’s just a basement.”

His tiny gaze met mine. “Don’t you understand, child? This is a travesty! Gargoyles are meant to protect humans. What am I guarding here?”

“Well,” I hedged, “These are kinda like my grandma’s treasures—”

He sniffed. “I see no gold or jewels.”

“And I come here a lot,” I quickly added. “You could guard me.”

Now he studied me, intent. “Do you mean that, truly?”

I nodded.

“And you promise?” His voice now quavered with hope.

“Yes,” I breathed.

I don’t hear him anymore. Somehow I lost the magic when I grew up. But these days, he guards my apartment.

* * *

This was my entry for Yearning For Wonderland's The Fairy Ring Contest. Interested in participating? Here are the details: