This blog has been a labor of love, a way for each of us to include the practice of writing into our lives. We kept it going through the challenges of everyday life with an extra helping of pandemic. For over three years, we posted every Monday (more or less), trading weeks with each other to keep content up. We experimented with style, genre, form. I, IO, am proud of the writing we put up on this blog. This platform is way to escape the confines of perfection, to let ourselves learn out in public. It has been a good run, and we may pick it back up again. For now though, we need a break.
We’ll be thinking about the future of this blog and our writing in the upcoming two to three months.
Thank you to all those who read and commented, liked and shared. This collection of scribbles and polished pieces has always been for us, so we appreciate that some of it has been a positive presence in your lives.
Amaryllis in red and white a special treat for me Bananas not quite ripe Coffee, the Texas Pecan from H.E.B Dental floss in mint Eggs, even though there almost five dollars a dozen Fries, Ore Ida Golden Crinkle Cut Grapes, red seedless, 2lb Holiday socks discounted and found at the end of the aisle. Ibuprofen for the headache I’m sure to get after spending time with you tonight. Jif Crunchy Peanut Butter Kraft Mac and Cheese – the original – two boxes Listerine the original brown kind to kill everything left over in my mouth from you. Milk for cereal and to make the mac and cheese creamier. Napkins to clean the mess you are sure to make. Orange Juice with pulp because you hate it. Pot Stickers made fresh today, great with a salad for my dinner. Quacker Oats – don’t judge. Ritz Crackers – the only cracker Salted sunflower seeds to go with the bananas. Turkey Cranberry Salad made fresh today to go with the Ritz. Ube – 4 – to try that cookie recipe I won’t be sharing. Vanilla for the cookies Watermelon Juice because you like kid’s drinks X – not on the list Yogurt – Noosa – strawberry rhubarb Zoodles
The metal rowboat begins to swing like a pendulum, gaining velocity as the ends reach their zeniths. It’s a never-ending carnival ride, pushing the torsos of its occupants back into their seats and then forward into the steal bar across their waists.
From the front to the back, riders watch the sky and ground advance and retreat. They let out primal sounds from deep in their guts and throw their arms up as they fall. Sitting in the middle seat of the middle row, a young woman keeps her eyes and mouth closed, fingers clasped around the restraint bar. She feels the wind pick up, push the curls from her face, listens to the screams of fear and excitement emitting from those around her. The shifting gravity disturbs her stomach, an unsubtle lifting and falling of her organs behind her ribs.
The serenity of sensation, of deep breaths, of fast air, persist past any perception of time. She does not count the inhales, nor the exhales. Just focuses on the air passing through her until she notices the screams have stopped. The boat continues to swing, almost flipping over itself as it extends its terminal points. She opens her eyes and knows it’s a mistake. There are no people, not in the boat and not on the ground. There is no ground. No sky either. Just her, alone on a carnival ride boat, swinging through the void.
I see miles of grass and trees. There are hills in the distance, too. Upon closer inspection, yellow and red flowers sprinkle the lawn before me. I don’t know this place and yet I feel at home here. Like I’ve sat in this paradise before. It’s quiet, except for the occasional chirp above me. Blue and yellow birds pass from tree to tree in an endless exchange. My feet feel… nothing. Where are my feet? I look down to find more earth. No body to attach to my thoughts. But I can see and hear. And sort of feel. This isn’t me. I usually have more limbs than this, I think. I try to walk for the first time since realizing I’m here. No, I can’t move. How can I feel, see, hear, think, and not move. This meadow seems so familiar, but I don’t know why I’m here or how I even got here. I close what I think are my eyes and try to focus what I assume is my mind on a time before this place. Before I could see miles of grass, flowers, and trees. All I find is darkness. Before being here, I was somewhere dark and cramped. This is all I know. And even though I can’t move and all I know if what I can see and hear, I’m at peace. This is a wondrous place to be.
Snuggled in her nook, obscured by the curtains she pulled her notebook out. She took note of yesterday’s observations before grabbing her binoculars.
6:05 a.m. – Mr. Hadderson stepped out for his usual morning smoke. He smokes for approximately three minutes, before stubbing the cigarette out on his slippers.
6:11 a.m. – Mr. and Mrs. Morley step out of their front door in matching running shorts. Today’s color is a bright green. Mrs. Morley has a pair of black tights with matching green strips running up the sides under her shorts.
She takes a minute to check the weather. A balmy 58. Wise choice Mrs. Morley, if they stuck to their Wednesday route they would run by the river which gets pretty chilly this time of year.
Slowly the sun began to rise, and the rest of the neighborhood began to awaken.
She scribbled the comings and goings, taking time to make note of the new observations. For example, the Hurley’s left late today and not the typical 5-10 minutes late. They were still inside when the Morley’s returned from their run. A 43 minute 22 second 5 mile through the subdivision.
Mr. Hurley ran the winter hockey league, and the whole family left the house no later than 6:30 a.m every Saturday. Today, they left at 7:45 a.m. and Mrs. Hurley didn’t go with them. She was the League Mother and ran everything in the front office.
That was an oddity she would take note of. And did.
Around 8 a.m., 8:07 to be precise, she unwound from the nook and walked over to feed her dog.
“Good Morning Ramses, did you have a pleasant night?” she asked while filling his water bowl. Ramses responded with a yawn and stretch.
“Yes, that’s a good idea. I will get down there with you in a downward dog while my coffee is brewing” she said. Ramses just cocked his head to the side in anticipation of his breakfast.
After participating in her usual morning routine, she got dressed for the day. Saturday was flea market day, and she had a list of new ones she wanted to check out in the neighboring town.
With her observation journal in hand, she grabbed Ramses leash and her car keys.
They spent the day wander through aisles of antiques, tasting homemade treats, and making new observations. The day was filled with so many new sights she had forgotten about her observations from that morning until she turned into her Cul de Sac. The silent flashing red lights from the ambulance jarred her sense of awareness.
Dazed she checked to make sure she had indeed turned onto her street.
Collingham St.
Yes, she was on her street.
From the passenger seat Ramses started to whine as if he,too, could sense something was afoot. She leaned over to soothe him, while slowly creeping down the street.
There was an ambulance and three police cars parked across the street from her house, but she couldn’t tell which house they were actually for.
The last time there was an ambulance in River Village was almost four years ago when the Hadderson boy fell out of their cherry tree. The community was ridiculously safe and predictable.
Just as she pulled her into her driveway, she could see the door from the Hurley house open in her rear view. She watched in utter shock as the officers led Mrs. Morley out of the house followed by an obviously distraught Mr. Hurley.
The Hurley children huddle around Mr. Morley as they watched their father being led away in handcuffs. The older children were stoic, while the younger children were crying and calling for their father.
The sound of her car hitting her garage door turned everyone’s attention to her. Sheepishly she stepped from the car and hurried inside practically dragged Ramses behind her.
Inside, she hurried to her nook with her journal. This was the most exciting thing to happen ever!
Author’s Note: I loved Harriet the Spy as a child. For a summer, I did try to be the spy of my neighborhood. It didn’t work out.
We’ve been gone the last two weeks – and it’s MY fault. I have been lagging on getting this post up, but it’s the first Monday of the year and I promise to do better.
I’m grateful for this blog because it makes me write and research and create. It forces me to do the thing that I say I like to do. Thank you, Biskits n Gravy! Now, follow me along as I try a world building questionnaire for Terra Spirit, the fictional world my protagonist is obsessed with and soon learns is real as hell. In my draft, Olivia is a fan of the book and film and has even started a small business creating cosplay masks and accessories. Through her fandom and the loss of her mentor, Olivia discovers Terra Spirit is based on truth and that she is directly linked to the story. Once I wrote this fun plot point, I had the realization: I will need to write a story so that I can write my story. Double homework. There are far more questions to do, but this is what I have so far.
If you could compare the era of your story to one on earth, when would it be? In the present? In the past? In the future? Past. The Terrans lived in Mesoamerica in pre-Columbian times.
Location
What is the setting of your world? Pre-Columbian Mesoamerica.
Does it take place in a parallel universe? No, it’s our universe.
Is it on another earth-like planet? Yeah, Earth.
Does it occur in another dimension? No, but maybe I should take this into consideration!
Population
Who lives in your world? Are they humans, aliens, animals, insects, hybrids, monsters? Yes, all humans and animals exist. Humans are very in tune with nature.
What is the population? Good question that I don’t have an answer to.
Are there multiple races? No, the Terrans were all indigenous, but as time passes and more people come to the area, the Terrans will meet other races.
Is there tension between the races? The white Spaniards will challenge their faith and practices.
What distinguishes the races?
Where do they live? Do they live in small villages or large cities? I envision smaller villages.
What type of living arrangements do they have? Do they live in houses? Tents? Communes? The Mayans lived in houses made of mud and stone walls with thatched roofs, a roof with dry vegetation.
I glanced up long enough to step off the escalator safely before I continued to mindlessly follow the crowd through the tunnel. Ironically enough, for someone with a disdain for Vegas this was my 5th layover in McCarran International Airport this year.
Haphazardly scrolling through my social media, I broke off from the larger group and continued to migrate with a small group towards the train for Terminal D. I was catching an early flight back to Houston, and the airport was slightly deserted. A change of pace from the hustle I usually experience in McCarran.
Beside me, there was a woman struggling with two children under the age of – what had to be 3 whilst her husband waltz along side her pushing an empty stroller. I said a silent prayer for her traveling grace and directed my attention back to my timeline.
As we collectively neared the train the pace of the group slowed considerably. Okay HERE is the crowd that been missing, I thought.
I looked up to see two small groups to the left and right of me. To the left there were doors for a train with a sign that said, “Gates D ….”
Hmmm, that’s odd. There was no estimated time of arrival for the train.
To my right above the doors to the train the sign read, “Gates D – A …. Arriving in 3 minutes … V”. The confusion could be seen across the faces in the crowd. The phrasing was odd. D – A? V? I was flying domestically. What did that V mean? 5? I racked my brain trying to recall if I had seen that phrasing in any other airport. I could not.
There was a subtle collective swaying in the crowd as passengers tried deciding which direction to go. Typical of me, my flight was leaving soon, and I did not have the luxury of waiting to see when the other train was arriving. With purpose in my steps, I made my way to the right side and waited for the train to arrive.
I stepped onto the empty train as it arrived along with the father I walked past earlier. His wife was still trailing behind him with their two toddlers. As the doors were closing, he casually yelled out “I’ll see you guys at the gate”.
What a fucking jerk, I thought.
My sentiment was echoed across his wife’s face as the doors closed.
Leaning against the rail, I turned my attention back to my timeline to continue mindlessly scrolling. There was sharp turn and loud noise as we went through a tunnel – “oh shit, please don’t let this train stop in this tunnel” I silently prayed.
As the train slowed to a stop, I stepped out on autopilot almost as soon as the doors opened. My departure was halted by the passenger in front of me.
“My bad”, I said as I practically ran up the back of their shoes.
I looked up to make sure my apology was received when I noticed the purple sky.
Why am I seeing the sky? Why is it purple? I thought. I had taken an edible before leaving this morning, but it was only 25mg. See, this is why I usually stick to flower. Edibles will have you tripping in public.
It was one of those moments where your brain knows it’s seeing something it shouldn’t, but your processing time is lagged by the oddity itself.
I was inside of an airport and should not be seeing an open sky. Let alone one that was purple. That much I knew. I glanced around at the few passengers that had board the train with me, and the looks on their faces let me know I was not alone on this trip. Literally and figuratively.
I turned around to look at the train that delivered us here, and I caught a glimpse of it as it disappeared back into the tunnel.
The sign on the back of the train read, “Gates D – A : …. Veriterian”
“Veriterian? Where TF is that?” I yelled out loud.
At my announcement, my fellow passengers turned to see that last of the train as it rode off into the dark tunnel.
Author’s Note:
In my usual fashion, I “pants” this post versus “plotting” it. Meaning, its extremely RAW.
Last month, I was in McCarran airport and as I was walking to the train for Gates D there were two trains. One of the signs was misleading, and almost instantly this story started to form in my mind. It’s giving a bit of Harry Potter Platform 9 ¾ with a mix of La Brea. The possibilities are endless with this story, but I CAN NOT start another writing project until I complete the illustrations for #NightwatcherOfKweensPort
With Halloween only a week past and Thanksgiving fast approaching I thought I’d take a moment of your time to talk about real horror and thankfulness. Like many people I celebrate Halloween the entire month of October by reading and watching all forms of the horror genre. However, a few books, movies and critiques got me thinking beyond the genre. How is horror reflected in our daily lives? The environment, the disparities – food, housing, medicine, etc., along with the justices – racial, social, gender. I’m leaving a great deal off, but you get the gist of what I’m saying. Tomorrow is election day and more than likely because of gerrymandering and other factors the party that cares the least about democracy and the people of this country will win. I have no quick fix answers or suggestions, it took years to dig this hole and it will take even longer to crawl out of it. The world has been a depressing cesspool – possibly always.
BUT
The horrors we face are not new, more of us are just paying attention.
As for the thankful part.
The past has shown us that no matter how dire the state of the world there is and will always be joy to be had. Why? How? Because joy comes from a place within us. It is the delight we feel when . . . fill in the blank. For me I could say, when I watch a giant panda video, or I see a happy human baby, a baby animal, a sunrise or sunset, spending time with family or friends, even laughing with coworkers. During the darkest periods of history humans found a reason to be joyful, to give thanks. I choose to give thanks and find joy where I can while in the mist of this nightmarish horror story that is the state of this country. That’s my choice. I’m confident that during a zombie apocalypse I would find something to laugh at and make fun of.
It’s all shit but we keep going, truthfully, we have no choice, as the sun rises and sets no matter what’s happening.
Prompt: You run out for candy on Halloween afternoon to find the streets empty and the store abandoned. A single car cruises into the lot and pulls into the spot next to yours.
Story:
Halloween had snuck up on June again. She didn’t know how that kept happening to her. Living in a small town along the north Atlantic coast, Autumn rolled into the valley with a deep chill as soon as the sun set on Labor Day. The first Tuesday of September brought pumpkin flavored everything to the supermarket and the first spattering of yellow leaves stuck on the road like poorly pasted decoupage.
It goes on like that, days of fall colors and scents and flavors wrapping around each other in every tangible part of her daily life until it feels ordinary. Like that is how the town has always looked and smelled and tasted. The calendar flips from September to October. The leaves fall faster from the spindly branches, turning orange then red then brown. Some piles turn to gray, disguising themselves as pavement.
Then one day, she goes to open the fridge door and sees the small paper calendar held at eye level by a plastic magnet. Every day in October has been crossed out except the last one. June feels her torso become a void, pulling her insides towards the earth like they would be able to recover from reality there. How did this day come up so quickly? She swore it was still September just last week.
A peak at the clock revealed that it was later in the day than she realized. Four thirty in the afternoon meant the sun was almost below the horizon. Parents would start bringing their children around before five. And there was no candy in the house.
June grabbed her keys and phone, barely remembering to lock the front door before getting in her car. The nearest shop was just a few blocks away down the main road. As she turned onto the local highway that cut through town, June noticed she was still wearing her house shoes. With a sigh, she continued driving. It was too late to turn around.
She almost did, though, dazed at the familiar strangeness of her hometown. There was something off, like an unidentifiable aftertaste. There were no people out and the homes and stores were bare of any decorations. There weren’t even any cars parked in driveways. Just June, rolling along toward a shop she remembered being much closer than it was turning out to be.
After fifteen minutes into what should have been a five minute drive, June saw the shop she was searching for. Its parking lot was also empty, not even an employee’s car. Was the shop closed during trick-or-treating? Before she could open her door, another car pulled into the spot just to her left. She and the stranger made eye contact for a moment as they both turned off their engines. The man getting out of the next car had a long gray-brown beard that looked like someone twisted their fingers in it before roughly dislodging them. He wore faded jeans with small tears at the knees and a sleeveless concert tee of a 70’s rock band. His outfit didn’t seem like a costume so June assumed he must be getting candy to give out like she was.
June opened her door as well and stood with one leg outside and one still in the car. Her right hand clutched around the car key, keeping it separate from the others on the keychain. It took a moment for her to get her face to smile and she could feel that it didn’t quite reach her eyes as she looked directly at the man.
“You here to get candy too? It’s weird, I haven’t seen any kids out yet. You’d think the streets would be flooded with little monsters,” June said.
The man frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Candy, for the trick-or-treaters? For Halloween?” June had fully expected to break the ice with the intense man over their last minute candy grab and now floundered for steady ground. None was to be had as the man’s frown got deeper and he asked, “What is Halloween?”
Prompt: A person finds new photos of themselves on their cell phone that they didn’t take.
The glow of my cellphone illuminated my face as I snuggled deeper into my couches nook. I had been scrolling my feed for the last twenty minutes, liking the perfectly curated pictures as they rolled up my screen when the notification popped up.
” We’ve made an album for you”
Without hesitation I selected the notification. I loved when my phone made cute little albums with my pictures.
As the album was loading my eyes flickered to the screen, one of my favorite episodes of Criminal Minds played as white noise in the background, and I watched as the BAU team solved the crime. Setting my phone down I went into the kitchen to check on my dinner. By the time I made it back to the couch, the album had loaded.
I sat down and scrolled through. After the fifth picture, I shook my head in confusion. I looked back at the half of the joint I left in the ashtray. How high was I?
I continued to scroll through the album. Not only could I not recall the night, I didn’t even recognize the location. I sat my phone down and laid back on the couch. My heart started to race. I wiped my hands back and forth on the couch. Simultaneously to remove the sweat from my palms and to ground myself to the present. I needed to think.
How could this happen? I thought through the process. The notification is linked to my cloud. My cloud is linked to the photos. The photos are backed up to the cloud from my phone. Those photos come from me. But, I didn’t take those photos. Or did I?
I turned on the lamp nearest the couch. Grabbing my phone I opened the album back up. Searching for the meta data, I found the date and location the photo was taken. I racked my mind. I had never been to this city. The time stamp showed 3:30 a.m. On a week night. There is no way I would have been anywhere at that time on a week night. I reported to work at 6 a.m. I went back to the photo and zoomed in. I broke down every aspect. Yes, those were my clothes.
That was the only thing I could recognize in the photo as my own. The people were strangers, and the place even stranger.
Scrolling through the rest of the album I came to a stop on the one selfie from that night. I stared back in my face. Yes, that was my face. I zoomed in closer. Closer. Closer. Until my right eye took up the whole screen.
Where was my birthmark?
The phone slipped from my hand as I slowly stood and walked to the full length mirror in my bedroom. Standing in silver of light that pierced through my bedroom window, I leaned in as I pried my right eye open. My lids fought to stay closed, as if I was afraid of what I would see there.
My eyeball darted left and right before making direct contact with its reflect.
Stunned, I dropped my hands. It was not there I thought just as a hand reach out of the mirror and grabbed my hand.
Author’s Note: Fellow biSKIT, Kathy, sent over some spooky prompts for October and this one stuck with me. I’ve always wanted to write a super spooky tale. I “pants” this prompt. Literally sat down and let whatever appeared on the page, be what it was.
biSKITs & gravy 