Living Musically: On the Willows Edition

The Boy in all his sparkly glory. There are even black sequins running down the side of his trousers.

The Boy in all his Godspell (or is that Godsparkle?) glory on opening night. It’s the only photo he’ll let me post yet – everything else is embargoed!

A: I’m not a particularly religious person–

D: No kidding, A. Heathens are more religious than you.

A: Ahem. . .

D: Sorry.

A: Of course, Godspell isn’t what I consider religious.

D: You mean, aside from the parable-base storytelling, the crucifixion and the whole, you know, Jesus-thing?

A: (Eye roll) Yes, D, despite all that. I do think it has a wonderful message, and I especially like that it tells that message without all the other trappings that can to get in the way.

D: Are you really going to ruminate on religion and Godspell. . . .again?

A: No on the first part – this is so not that kind of blog.

D: And the second?

A: Oh come on, D! Godspell is the only thing The Boy currently allows on the iPod when we’re together.

D: The only thing? Really?

A: Okay, he may have also discovered Commentary!, the musical soundtrack to Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog:

(Thank you, oh-so-much, Jesus, for introducing that to him. Of course, since The Boy insists on being Jesus’ mini-me, and since Jesus played Jean Valjean once, I may finally be able to watch Le Misérables – as trade-offs go, I’m good with it).

D: I’ve just realized why you need me around.

A: . . . This is going to be interesting. Pray tell, why is that, D?

D: You speak in parentheticals. Confusing parentheticals. All the time! Even your music choices this week are disjointed and not appropriately, nor punningly, set-up.

A: Is punningly a word?

D: No. But it works all the same.

A: Indeed. So, what’s your point, Druid?

D: I am obviously here, in part, to present your words in something resembling logical order.

A: This from the time traveler, for whom logical order—

D: A . . .

A: Okay, okay, I can accept that. What’s the other part?

D: Brilliance. Sheer and utter brilliance. In fact, you can’t stop this brilliance.

A: Oh yeah? Well . . . um . . .

D: Yeah, what have you got, A?

A: I don’t have anything—

D: Ha!

A: –Except majesty!

D: I think that’s cheating.

A: How is that cheating?

D: I’m not certain, but give me a few moments, and I’m sure I’ll come up with something.

A: I wouldn’t bother. Majesty always wins, and we have got to go – I have to find some waterproof eye makeup, so I can prepare myself to weep-I mean watch the last three shows this weekend!

This one gets me every single time. The last show on Sunday is going to be a killer.

D: You big softie.

A: Says the cat-man warrior.

D: Oi!

A: And on that note, we bid you all a fond good-day – have a great Friday and an excellent weekend everyone!

On the second day of NaNo. . .

On the second day of NaNo, my true muse gave to me. . .

2 cuddly cats

and a family that’s dear to me.

Isis taking a moment to smell the flowers.

Isis taking a moment to smell the flowers.

And by two cuddly cats, I mean two cats who demand I cuddle. They’re both rescues, and while Cleo is the Queen, Isis is a Goddess, and I am her chosen minion. It’s both an honor and a burden.

Of course, when I’m feeling poorly, or life begins to teeter recklessly on two wheels instead of four, Isis insists we sit together on the couch so that she can drape herself across my chest. There she purrs in time to my heart. Right now, the cats, the boy and myself are one big jumble on the couch, purring, munching, napping, reading and playing . . . at the moment, it’s Dragon Age. I don’t mind – modern RPG games are almost like watching a movie you can control to some extent. It’s kind of fun.

So, second day of NaNo, thank you for my two rescued cats. They fit in perfectly with my rescued bit of family.

This is the second in a series. Each day, either D or I (or both) will discuss what the 30 days of NaNo (which I’m not actually participating in – or rather, I’m participating up to 15,000 words rather than 50,000 words) have given us. Stay tuned.

Related Posts

On the First day of NaNo

On the first day of NaNo . . .

On the first day of NaNo, my true muse gave to me. . .

A family that’s dear to me.

It came to me, yesterday, how I could blog and NaNo at the same time (because NaNo is a verb, now). The reviled and/or beloved holiday song, The Twelve Days of Christmas, was to become The Thirty Days of NaNo.

That was, until I had an unfortunate flash of prescience. Or perhaps it was foreshadowing. That, or it was simple, dumb luck (to be said with Dame Maggie Smith’s accent and intonation when she admonishes Harry and Ron in Harry Potter).

The circumstances around the prescience are mundane. Needless to say, never should I utter the words, even in type, ‘barring catastrophe.’ It is like saying ‘bring it’ to the Universe.

Three days later, and my family has made two trips to the Emergency Room. My father remains in intensive care. It is not the stomach flu, as we had thought. My son, luckily, is home, now – only a little worse for wear in his tussle with the car that hit him this morning on his way to school. I bless every damn deity in the heavens above that he can be macho, and twelve, and brag to his friends on the Xbox that he was hit by a car and walked out of the hospital three hours later, because the alternative is too horrible to contemplate.

On the first day of NaNo, I realized that my family needs me more than I need NaNo. I still have a goal of 15,000 (which is my standard 500/day), but 50,000 words and the insanity that those words can bring . . . well, the world doesn’t need my novel that much. I will write it – I’ve already written what amounts to two books already this year. Books 3, 4, 5 and 6 will come in their good time.

In other news . . .

D’s taking the night off, so it’s up to me to be your valiantly verbose victor.

Ghosts Prompt Roundup

Check out the responses to this week’s “ghostly” prompt at the Community Storyboard

Not-so-newbie in town:

Have you met Dean? He draws, he writes, he blogs. You can find out about Dean at his new blog, Dean’z Worldz:

He also has a new book, Quentin Hide and the Evil Lord Twigton. Check him out!

For the NaNoNites

Chuck Wending is Hilarious. His NaNoWriMo dialogue is even funnier, if such a thing were possible.

Support your local author

Because the internet community is the new local.

Good reading

There’s so much good reading around the web, but here were some I was able to check out this week:

Jessica B. Bell

She deserves her own section, why? Because she’s Jessica B. Bell, that’s why.

And Finally . . .

adventureswithD-final (1)

Adventure with us to Green Embers Recommends and my weekly Entertainment News installment with D. And this time, D’s status as a time-travelling Druid actually pays off!


The House of Carrick Close

old home irish-welshThis old house is broken and sad/weary with years/it sits low on the land.

Kate rolled her eyes and tuned out her mother’s atrocious poetry.  Bare trees reached up to the heavy February sky. It looked as dreary as she felt.

No one cared what she thought; no one ever paid attention to the teenager, the middle child, the girl.

But honestly, why should she be excited about moving half-way across the world to live in some ramshackle sea-side town so her mother could be inspired?!

Her little brother Charlie was practically peeing his pants he was so excited, but what did a six-year-old know about a dilapidated old – what did the estate agent call it? Oh, right, a fixer-upper.

A disaster was more like.

And her older brother Matthew didn’t even have to live with them full time – he was still in the States, at college. What right did he have to give the tumble-down rat motel his stamp of approval?!

A sloppy splat of snow and rain slapped the window.

Oh, that’s just great. Kate slumped lower in her seat and closed her eyes.

“Katy-Batey, we’re here!” Charlie sang out, rocking her back and forth until her forehead hit the window.

“Ow! Don’t call me that, Charlie.”

“Sorry! We’re here, Mom says to wake up! We’re here!”

Kate resisted the urge to snarl and let her little brother drag her from the car. There it was. Her nightmare. She stood in the drive and stared at it.

Something winked at her from the window.

“What’s that? Is there someone in there? Mom!”

“What, Honey? In there? It’s been boarded up for years – no one has been in there except the estate agent.”

Oh, that’s right, because Mother-Dear bought the place sight-unseen. God, so many things . . .

“But I saw someone in there.”

“Just a trick of the light, Kate. Now, come on, help me unload the car. Charlie!”

Kate trailed behind as Charlie raced her mother into the house. She stared at the window, daring whatever was inside to show itself again.


That flutter.

Kate knew she wasn’t imagining things. Maybe this house – this move – wasn’t going to be so bad after all.


D: Do you call this editing, A?

A: No, I call it writing, D. I couldn’t help myself. Ionia issued the writing prompt “This Old House” at the Community Storyboard and I had to get involved. I like old houses.

D: Do you have any idea where Carrick Close is?

A: No, but I suspect it may be in Northern Ireland. That wasn’t my intention, but it was a quick write-up.

D: Shoddy shoddy shoddy.

A: Thanks, D. I’ll be sure to do extensive historical research the next time I respond to a writing prompt.

D: As well you should. Meanwhile, I sense a preoccupation with ghosts . . .

A: I grew up with ghosts, D. Couple that with a fertile imagination and you have some fun stories.

D: I’ll not quibble with your use of the word ‘fun,’ but I am wondering about the ‘Kate’ in the story?

A: She’s not autobiographical, D – my mother’s not a poet and I’m the one who did the trans-Atlantic move because I was inspired. Kate is my vision of what my reaction would be if I had me as a parent.

D: That is the most convoluted sentence I’ve had the misfortune to read, A. Also, I weep for TC.

A: You and TC both!

Happy Anniversary

A: Happy Anniversary, D – join me in a toast!

D: Pardon?

A: We’ve been official for 30 days.

D: Official.

A: Yup, I even announced it on Facebook, which totally means it’s real.

D: A, your abuse of your language continues to hurt my sensibilities. Could you not speak in jargon for a moment, and put this into terms I can understand, please?

A: Pedant. Fine. I have been writing and posting our conversations on the internet for 30 days – it’s called blogging, D. A whole 30 days have passed since I announced to the world that I talk to you in my head while I’m writing.

D: Just when you’re writing, A?

A: Shut up.

D: Oh yes, this relationship is going so well. I can see why you want to celebrate.

A: I could just go back to ignoring you . . .

D: . . .

A: Alright then. Would you believe that people, who are in no way related to me, know me at all, or have any connection to me beyond the fact that we share the blog-o-sphere actually follow me? Do you know how incredible that is?**

D: I do – and I fear for our planet.

A: Cheers D . . . hey, are you going to drink that?

**I really would like to send out a big ol’ thank you to those who follow this blog. The fact that anyone clicks on that little button makes me ridiculously happy – giddy, actually. So, thank you. I hope that D and I will continue to amuse as we share our journey. Also, Happy Mother’s Day to all the Moms (in whatever guise) out there.

I’ve posted this before, but it’s D’s words, the first germ of him that’s made me keep going: 

I sat in the grove of my own creation and stared out at a world and a people descended of mine own. As I watched, trees gave way to stone and the many lost their claim to the priests of the One.

Then the wheel turned. The sacred trees grew around this effigy of stone and the many came out of hiding. I sat in my grove and watched a world outside my imagination, willing it to see.

She saw. She, my kin only by remote design, saw me. She saw me with uncanny green eyes, the green eyes of my mother and her mother before her: witch’s eyes.

A joy rose in me. It was time; time to join the world after years of solitude, time to act after centuries of stillness.

I closed my eyes and reached across the barrier, to touch my future and my past.