disheveledfemme

[disheveledfemme]

“Be good,” the mother says,

and she means to think of others

before you choose to act

and make your choice the kind one

“Be good,” the mother says,

and the brother thinks this means “be safe”

so he checks the ground

before leaping from the tree

to avoid landing on the dog

and the sister thinks it means “be nice”

so she eats the last Easter chocolate

because it was dark and that’s not even

the best kind

“Be good,” the mother says,

and the sister thinks this means “be careful”

so she’ll walk a little slower through the house with her overflowing bowl of water — sorry,

“Barbie pool” —

so the puddled splashes are tiny and dry up faster

and the brother thinks she means “do the right thing”

so he is sure, as the eldest child, to correct

vehemently and with no regard for nuance or context

everything anyone ever says for the rest of time

#NaPoWriMo #poetry #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

Today's Adventure is that I, after an unintentional 13-hour power nap,

Got woken up at 6AM by a phone call from a friend stranded in Montana because of the heat wave and almost no cell service because of their crap provider.

OhSoThat'sHowIt'sGonnaBe.jpg

Ok.

I somehow summon a week's worth of spoons and in less than 30 minutes and 5 phone calls, get them

A hotel

An appointment with a mechanic from 2 states away

A perscription refilled from 2 states away

and A Pizza

Go me.

But then it's 8AM and there are unscheduled live humans at the door and while EVERGENCY MODE is still on, I have already blown through a ton of spoons, and also probably shouldn't meet whoever it is wearing just a pair of bootyshorts that say "CRYPTID" in Gothic Font on my ass.

So I greet them in those shorts and a T-shirt that I manage to put on both inside out and backwards

#nailedit

It is, Fortunately, not the mormons.

it is, Unfortunately, two UPS guys trying to deliver my other in-house friend's new phone except the new guy doesn't know how to operate the "sign for package" device, and the old guy that's supposed to be mentoring him is like, 92, deaf as a post, and doesn't actually know how to operate the device either.

by the way

it is already

over 100 out

it takes almost 30 minutes to sign for the phone

when i get back inside, i discover that apparently the Corgi has learned how to open his kennel from the inside because he is now out of the kennel and waiting for me to come in.

he also has cat litter all over his face because while he was waiting for me he also learned how to open the baby gate to the cat's room and help himself to a cat shit breakfast.

He'll be fine

He's a cattle dog, they're legally required to have at least 1 really disgusting snack they love.

but

more to the point

i have no idea at what point he learned to open his kennel from the inside

has he been staying there out of politeness this whole time??

And

I got other shit to do today.

namely.

I'm seeing a realator

The Devils most pathetic yet effective demons

I get a reminder text that I have an appointment with her

at least

I think that's what it is because what she sends me is: "🏡⏰12:00 ❔"

With the time typed in the middle like that.

She is, according to her profile, at least 80.

so I reply "😎👍"

and then she sends me a string of GODDAMN POST-MODERN EMOJI HEIROGLYPHICS THAT TAKE UP MY ENTIRE SCREEN.

She's on an iPhone so half of them don't even translate across platforms

It takes me half an hour and three different software programs and goddamn wingdings to translate, but she has sent me the address and rules about masking and not wearing shoes inside.

in emoji

instead of like

literally any other format

I am

FASCINATED

and simply must meet the woman so if I don't come back to update I got stolen by the fairies but I'm taking the Corgi with me as protection so I'll see y'all later.

#our world in stories #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

got held up on the way to work today because there was a big snake trying to sun herself on the highway right on the way out of town & the lady in the grey subaru in front of me put her warning lights on & got out to try & shoo her into the grassy sunny verge on the other roadside. & it was afternoon and busy but the logging trucks stopped & waited & the family cars stopped & waited & the long haul truckers stopped & waited for that snake to cross the road. nobody so much as honked. & when the snake was safe the road was backed up in both directions but a fellow in a pickup truck waved at me to go ahead (i was waiting to turn right onto the highway) even though he could have made me wait until the whole long line of cars passed. what i am trying to say is: there is still love in this world. what i am trying to say is: happy pride to me & to that big old bull snake who will live to see another sunrise & to every person on that highway who decided that saving her was worth five minutes of delay

#our world in stories #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

Vampire Nightmares

It was fun playing backyard hero,

making monsters out of molehills,

shrieking victory by day—

but when the room went dark,

the blanket became

my only shield

to hide my

tasty

neck.

#poetry #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

Through frosts and flakes, the dandelions still wake, bright spots when the sun can’t cut it—

Then fade to gray, like we all will someday, grow soft, but not yet quiet.

Our roots will stay but wishes will play: on breath and on wind they scatter—

Small seeds of hope, endeavors to cope, elope with the breeze

and bloom after.

#poetry #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

Bluebird’s song is back—

the sweat of our brows dancing

to his melody,

hot sun beating a harmony,

dirt on the air and our faces.

The grass is too green underfoot,

neon bright after

all those gray skies,

I think of your heart in these times

and how it will beat for as long as mine.

#poetry #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

Naomi Shihab Nye, “Sifter.” A Maze Me: Poems for Girls

#poetry #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

a very quick poem i just wrote, made from excerpts of texts my mum has sent me this year.

#poetry #reblog #collage poetry

[disheveledfemme]

cinderella marries the prince

and it’s… fine. The prince is great! They’re in love, he’s very sweet and passionate, writing her poems and songs, giving her anything she wants. The time she spends with her husband is great.

but cinderella is not royalty, her family was noble but she never spent time in those circles. She’s used to being busy, she’s used to cooking and cleaning and mending. There are hours, days, where she has nothing to do.

time passes. cinderella learns the fancy lady type of needlework. Learns to ride horses. Reads a lot.

as is normal for royalty at the time, they travel and are hosted by nobles or stay at castles owned by the king. But even that variety begins to become routine. The prince is distracted, there’s a lot of young women living and working on their route. Daughters of nobles. Younger and prettier with soft hands that have never done a day’s work.

cinderella needs something to spend her time on, and there’s a part of her thinking a couple-only trip might get her husband’s attention again, so she suggests making an old castle that’s fallen into disrepair their “project.” It was built in the time when castles were made to be defensible, so it’s quite sturdy, but it’s overgrown and secluded. The prince doesn’t know why his family stopped living there either. A hundred years ago it was their summer home.

so they go. And they work. And for a while it’s great! But when they leave for winter cinderella’s husband forgets her once again. cinderella resolves to make the best of her life and stop worrying about a man who has gotten what he wanted from her.

summer comes again and this time cinderella goes alone to the old castle (minus staff, of course, but cinderella manages to narrow it down to only repair workers and one maid). She can cook and clean and mend again, but this time it’s her own choice. She is happy.

this summer they make more progress on repairs. The workers say that most of it can be salvaged, except one tower that’s been completely overgrown with vines and briars. It will have to come down, eventually, but for now it can be safely ignored.

cinderella has more free time now. The old castle has a surprisingly untouched library, though time and moisture have damaged many of the books. Behind a collection of greek poetry cinderella finds an old diary. Very old, in fact, at least a hundred years. It’s rude to read a diary, of course, but whoever wrote this is long dead, and cinderella is bored, so…

from the description of activities the author looks to have been nobility. Maybe even a princess. She’s sensitive and sweet and smarter than she seems to realize. If circumstances had been different cinderella wishes they could have been friends…

after the summer ends cinderella returns to her husband. He’s spending a lot of time with a young musician and cinderella can’t even work up the energy to care. She does some research about the castle and the family she’s married into, finds out the name of the princess who wrote the diary.

aurora. Cursed and forgotten. She died young, they say, in a plague that also took out the castle staff and her own parents. Luckily they avoided a succession crisis, but not so lucky for the dead.

time passes. cinderella goes to the old castle again and again, even out of season. Soon enough all that remains to be done is the old tower, and the builders say they should tear it down and fill the gaps before it gets cold.

one night cinderella is restless. The princess from the diary had been fond of that tower, and cinderella is far more attached to a dead woman than she ought to be. She gets out of bed, reads by candlelight, and finally goes to walk the empty halls.

she finds herself going to the tower. Pushing past the vines that don’t seem so troublesome really. They almost part before her. The stairs are perfectly intact, the door at the top is already cracked open. As if she should have done this years ago, cinderella steps into aurora’s bedroom.

she’s as beautiful as the stories say. And sitting under her hands, crossed across her stomach as it rises and falls, is a book of greek poetry.

years later, people will tell the story of cinderella as a cautionary one. Don’t seek above your station. Don’t marry for prestige. After all, a girl who grew up as a servant once married the crown prince, and disappeared after only three years. She ran away, they say, she couldn’t handle the lifestyle.

two old women who run a bookshop together agree with the lesson. Marrying for the wrong reasons never ends well. It’s best to wait for someone you have things in common with, shared interests.

or, failing that, the more linguistic of the two says, wait a decade or ten for someone to fall in love with you from your diary.

her partner laughs and hits her with the socks she is mending.

#our world in stories #fairy tales #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

Lighthouses are an underrated form of wizard tower. A grey-bearded old man spends all of his time tending to a light that must never go out, for if it does it will bring disaster? What else could that be?

#reblog #prompt ideas

[disheveledfemme]

little by little i will save my life and the rot in my stomach will swell into something sweet and it’ll sit on my tongue and i will think to myself how silly it is to wallow when there is a sun that shines and hands that reach for other hands. little by little i will remember every vessel in me bears the promise that most sweet things shall stay alive for as long as i live alongside them. little by little i will leave my head for the real world and i will fearlessly dangle my feet on tall grass and without hesitance reach for a star knowing with absolute certainty that i can never hold it close or call it mine and that it’ll never love me back or yearn for me half as much. so here we are, me and my hope, and our only means of staying tethered together which is through the little by the little. little by little i will save my life not as some monumental course-altering endeavour of bigness and bravery and prettyness like in the poems… but by simply putting my life in warm clothes.

#poetry #prose poetry #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

After shoving Hansel in the oven, the witch turns to Gretel - who is currently fending the witch off with a gingerbread chair - and says:

“I can’t believe you thought a trail of breadcrumbs would save you. I mean, honestly, this is a forest! It’s full of animals. Honestly, the very idea that a dumb shit like you thought you could get the better of me is absurd.”

Gretel hits her in the face with said chair. To be fair to the witch, she takes the chairshot like a champ.

“Ow!”

“Did you know,” says Gretel, “that crows are capable of facial recognition?”

“Eh?” Says the witch, clambering to her feet and pulling a candy cane sledgehammer off the wall. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Not only that,” Gretel continues, “but they can remember both friends and enemies. And they’ll often follow people they remember as friends.”

The two fence with their sugared weapons for a moment, before the witch knocks the chair out of Gretel’s hands.

“Enough with the bird facts! Honestly, this whole attempted escape has been utter clownshoes. Get in the fucking oven!”

She seizes Gretel by the collar. Gretel immediately sandbags, letting her whole body go limp. This eminently practical defense forces the witch to try and deadlift her. Which is hard, as the witch often skips leg day.

“For example,” Gretel says, as the witch struggles and grunts, “if you feed crows a lot of breadcrumbs, they’ll probably start to see you as a friend and follow you in the hope of more food.”

The witch stops. Outside, she hears the thunder of wings.

“They’ll even bring you shiny things they find as presents!” Says Gretel, as a corner of the gingerbread ceiling is suddenly cut away by a large crow with a knife in its mouth.

“Oh shitballs.” Says the witch, as the crows descend. “I hope you know this is a great unkindness.”

“Technically,” Says Gretel, “It’s a murder.”

#reblog #our world in stories

[disheveledfemme]

i have to believe somewhere, someone is trying a taco for the first time. someone is taking their first shower. someone is coming home to a new puppy.

i have to believe that this winter, someone new to snow will pull out a 5 dollar plastic sled and throw themselves down a hill, just to try it.

i think i'm probably lucky to be familiar with sunrises. i live in an area where the lightning bugs dance in their cocktail hours. i take chickadees for granted.

today i saw a tree that had changed to fall colors, and my first reaction was to grimace. i love autumn, but i hate the cold. i don't want it to be winter yet.

but how lucky, to live in a place where the leaves do change color - so bright and vibrant that people make treks from around the world just to look at what i grew-up-with. my mom's friend was a teacher in florida. she used to ask us to mail her an assortment of leaves, just to show her children - to prove to them yes, they really do turn yellow and orange and red.

last year i finally tried pumpkin spice for the first time. someone this year will find a new favorite knitting pattern. someone's favorite band will drop a new album. artists will make things we haven't yet imagined. there will be chalk drawings and magnet poetry and karaoke and recipes and laughing.

it is easy to forget. this was all new to me, once. and when it was - well, it was just all so easy to love.

#poetry #our world in stories #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

Things Writers Struggle with:

1. Writing

#we all struggle #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

she asked me if i believed in god and i told her that when i was four i almost drowned in a public pool and in my panic mistook a stranger for my father. i clawed my way up his leg. four years later he’d send my parents a picture of the scars alongside a tin of cookies. he said, “i hope she’s still okay. i carry her with me. it isn’t every day you save a life. it isn’t every day you feel like you were here for a reason. when it does happen, you have to cherish that memory. for once, i had a purpose. just being there was enough. she tore me open but she taught me a lot about love.”

#our world in stories #prose poetry #poetry

[disheveledfemme]

Danez Smith, “I’m Going Back to Minnesota Where Sadness Makes Sense”

#poetry #reblog

[disheveledfemme]

I see a lot of new writers struggling with pacing dialogue so here's some tips. First off, unlearn your distaste for "said." If you need to quickly remind readers who is speaking without distracting them, put "said."

Second, if the dialogue is meant to be happening rapidly, cut tags out for several lines. Example:

"Give me the map."

"What map?"

"Don't play dumb with me. Hand it over."

"Not until you give me the keys."

"What keys?"

See how quickly this moves? Every beat is another piece of dialogue, feeding the exchange back and forth. We can slow this down by adding tags that carry some description. This makes the reader spend longer on the passage. Example:

"Give me the map," she demanded, holding out her hand.

"What map?" he asked, face a picture of perfect innocence.

"Don't play dumb with me," she said.

See how much slower this exchange feels now? We didn't add any new information and yet the beats have totally changed. Think of description as something that adds time. To demonstrate, consider this example:

"Don't play dumb with me. Hand it over."

He didn't answer right away. "Not until you give me the keys," he said finally.

How do we make the reader pause in a more natural and effective way? By adding description and tags. Example:

"Don't play dumb with me," she spat, voice dripping venom. "Hand it over."

He stared at her outstretched hand, palm empty. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled.

"Not until you give me the keys," he said with a sigh.

See? Without using a single time indicator, we showed a pause, by slowing down the reader and filling those beats with description. Remember that people visualize at the same speed they read. If you need to slow them down, make them read more words. For faster, more intense exchanges, skip all but necessary clarifying tags, as in the very first example.

Lastly, consider the rhythm of your passage. See this example:

"Give me the map," she spat, hand outstretched.

"What map?" he asked, shrugging.

"Don't play dumb with me," she said, narrowing her eyes.

This is repetitive. Avoid using the same pattern of tags and description two or more times in a row. You can fix this by reworking your passage to include more or different descriptions, but for a quick fix, try changing the tags into stand alone sentences and/or moving them before the dialogue. To fix the passage above, we might try this:

"Give me the map," she spat, hand outstretched.

He shrugged. "What map?"

"Don't play dumb with me," she said. Her eyes narrowed.

See how much more natural that is? And we changed nothing but the order and punctuation. Removing the repetition helps you avoid pulling the reader out of the story by reminding them that they're reading. A good dialogue passage should be remembered in your reader's minds as a movie scene.

#writing advice #dialogue #pacing