Blogs I Enjoy Reading

reading laptop

 

Since I started blogging, way back in April, I spend a lot of time reading on my laptop. In fact, too much time. I’ve decided that I need to take some of that time, and really go through the blogs I follow. I want to share those blogs that I enjoy reading, hopefully three each month. I’ve also sent a request to each blogger, for a direct quote that I can include in this post.

lorrainesvoice

It’s been a while since reading this blog, and once again, I’m pleasantly surprised. I find it’s quirkiness just like a breath of fresh air. Loaded with little bits of humour, some of it expertly hidden so you have to read on to ‘get it’. (Well, I do anyway.) A wide range of subjects for a very happy, fun read.

Lorraine writes plays, short stories, books, and general ramblings about life.

From Lorraine: My inspiration is in the minutiae of life: the impromptu spider hunt in the middle of a committee meeting; the small child picking her nose during the nativity play; tripping up in the theatre aisle and finding yourself hanging onto a bald man’s head. (It’s all happened, believe me!) When I find myself bemused at some stupid, mind-bogglingly weird event or person, I don’t get annoyed. I just think, “Ooh! I can use that!” It’s probably a character flaw.

Half and Half

If you want a good chuckle, this blog is for you. I’m going to go ahead and say, that you will probably enjoy this more if you’re female. It is surprisingly relatable, if you are willing to admit that, and is laced with humour. Posts fall under the headings of Wit, Wisdom, and Nonsense. Bonus: lots of lists!

This would pair well with a bottle of wine and a cheese plate.

middle class fury

A plethora of all the things we think, but do not write about. Composed with a profusion of negativity, this blog had me literally putting my laptop aside so that I could bend myself all the way forward in laughter. My guy even asked if I was going to be alright. An expansive, descriptive, critical look at nearly everything under the sun, will have you doing the same.

Advisement: Visit the washroom prior to reading.

 As always, comments are welcomed, and encouraged! I would love to know your take on these blogs. Do you have any recommendations of blogs you enjoy reading? Why not share them!

If you’d like to browse a few more, click the link below.

July 2014

 

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Bad Man Comes (Part 3)

Bad Man Comes (Part 1)

Bad Man Comes (Part 2)

The early morning was gray, dreary. Daylight was just beginning to throw shadows over Wooster. The heat and mugginess oozed onto the new day like thick syrup on a stack of pancakes. The motel door stood open. A black sports bag sat unzipped at the foot of the double bed. A black t-shirt and dark navy jeans, folded to perfection, lay on the bedspread next to the bag. Black socks were positioned atop, followed by a pair of brightly striped, boxer briefs.

red victory judge motorcycleA brief case rested open on top of the dresser, showing a laptop, a stack of photos, and a couple of power cords. Tucked in the pocket was an unopened packet of Wrigley’s spearmint gum, two pens, and an inexpensive journal. An iphone rested in darkness along side the case. A worn, brown, leather wallet had been tossed onto one of the pillows. It was stuffed so full that dollar bills had pushed their edges and corners out. On the small table next to the window, a box with two almond granola bars, and two bottles, one orange juice and one water, lay in wait. On the chair was a red helmet to match the red Victory Judge parked outside.

He rode into Wooster one week ago so that he would have a chance to look around, prepare himself for today. This was going to be a special day, one he’s waited years for. The excitement was almost too much, sleep was not an option last night. Turning that thought in his mind, he felt his muscles tense. No matter, it had to be done today.

Grunting, he moved to close the door, as there was no relief from the stagnancy. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, his thoughts turned to Silvia. “Dear, sweet, vile, bitch,” he said. Humming a verse from the song, ‘The Last Carnival’, he turned the shower on cold and began to undress, folding each item before placing it neatly on the counter. A quick intake of air, goose flesh instantly visible; he embraces the cold shower.

*******

Sitting on my bed, unable to sleep, I pick up the envelope from my nightstand. I haven’t opened it yet, but I’m sure I know what’s inside. He’s sent these before, pictures of me at grocery stores, at my job, and once coming out of my house. I wonder why he watches me instead of approaching me. It’s like a game of cat and mouse. As soon as I see the photos, I pack up and leave. He taunts me, allows me to get away, just so he can chase me again. “Sick bastard,” I said, shaking my head and wondering what I ever saw in him in the first place.

I use the very sharp letter opener, that I keep in the nightstand drawer, to slice open the envelope. A picture of me walking to work, and a picture of Bruce and I sitting together at the front desk of the warehouse. I sensed his arrival, my refined intuition has been working overtime. I don’t know why I wait for confirmation. In the beginning, nearly twenty years ago, the moment I had any inkling he was near me, I would take off. Maybe I’ve grown accustomed to his ways. Maybe I’ve become too comfortable, playing his game. I’m not sure how ready I am if he decided to full on attack me. I’m tired, completely worn out from all the running, the looking over my shoulder.

I turn my alarm to off before it has the chance to ring. This is the first time that I haven’t known what to do, or instinctively done it. My brain is foggy, yet I am aware of impending doom. It feels like the end. I head to the bathroom. It looks like the top of my head is sliding off to the right, some kind of monster staring back at me.

Today is my day off. I put on my one and only summer dress, an attempt to feel a little girly and of course to assist in alleviating the heat. My hair is still damp from the shower, and I decide to wear it loose today.

On my way out the front door, the cab pulls up to the sidewalk. Once inside, I direct the driver to take me downtown. Carefree and happy, I’m not, yet the temptation to go to the mall and do some shopping has taken over. This is unlike me, but I go with it anyways. Ten minutes in and the traffic is slowing, finally coming to a halt. I’m grateful for the air conditioned vehicle. We inch forward little by little. There are flashing lights up ahead crossing to the other side of the highway. An ambulance and a couple patrol cars block oncoming traffic. I peer out the window as we gradually come up to the scene.

“Oh my god,” I whispered at the horror of it. A red motorbike and a truck pulling a trailer looked to be the vehicles involved. The paramedics were expanding an occupied stretcher in order to roll it to the ambulance. Like in a lagging video, I craned my neck to glimpse the face of the victim. Breathless moments passed, my mouth drooped, my eyes unblinking. The thunderous sound, I discovered once passed the accident, was the rapid beating of my heart. The back of the cab, once cool and welcoming, was now a barren and icy, cramped space. I was puffing out short little breaths, and I caught the cabby’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “Are you alright, miss?” he asked with a furrowed brow and a gentle tone.

“Yes,” I said. Not willing to spurt out anything incoherent, I kept silent. I let him drive me to the mall, where I unloaded myself, heavy and slow, to the sidewalk. A half turn faced me in the direction from which we came. “It couldn’t be him,” I said, suddenly aware that I needed to sit down. I was so hot, perspiring enough for it to drip from my face. One good reason for keeping kleenex in my purse; without too much thought I dab at my forehead, cheeks, and neck. “Oh god, I need a drink.” Slightly more composed with the passing of a few minutes, I retrieve a water bottle from a vending machine just inside the doors. It’s almost gone with the first guzzle. Returning to the same bench, I sat upright and stiff. Thoughts careening one another in my mind. I couldn’t seem to keep anything straight or think a complete sentence. According to my phone, I’d been sitting there for one and a half hours. Not in the mood for shopping anymore, I called another cab, and went home.

With no television, I use my laptop for updating myself on current events. It was in the local paper later that day, a description of the accident and the one dead victim. They showed his picture, his name below it. Joshua Galli; he had joked about only having two names. Catatonic would be the descriptive word used by doctors, if they were to fetch me in that three hour period. Then the floodgates opened letting loose a storm of tears, drool and snot mixing in rivers down my face, interrupted by gasps and grunts in an attempt to breath. Exhaustion finally overtook me.

Waking with a pounding headache and a bloated face is not my idea of a good time, but this was different, leaving me lighter, loosening the ring that gripped my insides for years. I am free. My family is free. Anyone I had come into contact with was free. In such a weird and wonderful twist of fate, I was free.

The End

Hope you enjoyed this! Comments are always welcomed. Let me know what you think!

 

Blogs I Enjoy Reading

reading laptop

 

Since I started blogging, way back in April, I spend a lot of time reading on my laptop. In fact, too much time. I’ve decided that I need to take some of that time, and really go through the blogs I follow. I want to share those blogs that I enjoy reading, hopefully three each month. I’ve also sent a request to each blogger, for a direct quote that I can include in this post.

SimplySolo

I’m sure we have all been acquainted with, at one time or another, the heartache of a breakup. How do we cope afterwards? Do we have some familiar way of getting back on our feet? Did we have some reading material to help us get through it?

Well, now we do! SimplySolo is a great read, even if we have fully recovered from a breakup. Lots of humour, which seems to be an essential part of healing, and articles ranging from ‘breakup songs’ to ‘love lessons’. Very open and honest writing, don’t we all just want to know that we are NOT crazy? That others do and think similar stuff? This ones for you.

She also features guest bloggers, which is a great way to increase your readership.

Jackie Cangro

There is a quote from this blog just below, and I’ve underlined the word ‘quietly’, as this is really a great way to describe her style of writing. Great stories that flow well, and are easy to read. Some interesting topics to choose from, and all done in an uplifting and quiet way.

“…uplifting stories about everyday people who are quietly changing their lives by following a dream.”

She has listed many books that she has read, and gives a little blurb of her opinion on them. I might find something good to read from this list.

All in all, it goes great with a cup of coffee!

Jackie says, “I’m a writer, editor and animal lover. My blog is an effort to live in the world more deliberately.”

Broadsideblog

Caitlin Kelly is a career journalist, which is why her blog reads like a newspaper or magazine. It is full of a wide range of articles, on topics such as; women, business, culture. She incorporates her opinions with lots of detailed reality, and there are many links to expand your reading pleasure.

A well-rounded read for many different tastes.

Here’s a little something from Caitlin:

Broadside, at its best, is a party. My goal is to invite fun, smart, curious readers into a virtual living room (no feet on the furniture!) for lively conversation. With readers ranging from Belongum, an aboriginal man in Australia to Katharina, a teacher in Germany, to Elizazbeth, living in a tiny Cornish town, I look forward to hearing their insights and adventures. I’m moved by what I learn there, and always looks forward to comments.

As always, comments are welcomed, and encouraged! I would love to know your take on these blogs. Do you have any recommendations of blogs you enjoy reading? Why not share them!

If you’d like to browse a few more, click the link below.

May 2014

The Twelve Year Old

She comes out every morning in a silly, orange and pink, housecoat. I think she’s had it forever. It looks like she can hardly make it down the two steps to the walk-way. That’s where the paper lands, once it leaves the older boy’s hand. He rides by very fast, I don’t know how he gets it in the same spot every day. I’ve seen him around, other places–“Oh! Here she comes,” I whisper to myself, feeling some sort of weird excitement.

I sit on the front steps of a neighbour’s house, in the morning before school. I walk their little boy to school, and they pay me. At the same time every morning, I see the old lady’s door open slowly. Everything is slow about her. She is old, I guess that’s why. I don’t want to get like that, all wrinkled. Mom and Dad are getting wrinkled too, they are so old. It took her fifteen minutes, according to my beautiful new watch, payed for with my babysitting money, to get her paper and go back in the house.

I heard my parents talking about her a while ago, something about her getting kicked out. Mr. Pauley died three months ago, and the house looks like it’s going to fall apart any day. I think it had something to do with her not having any money left. I remember Mr. Pauley, he used to be the one to come out and get the paper, but he would stand outside with his face up to the sky. I think he was a bit looney. That’s sad that he’s gone now. He said hi to me once, and asked me how I was. He seemed okay.

I didn’t know that she had kids, who were all grown up now. I’ve never seen them visit her. I don’t think I like them very much. I’m pretty sure that I would visit my mom, if she was alone like that. I wonder if that’s one of her kids. Why are the police coming. I watch intently, a little on edge, at the scene play out in front of me. The police were taking Mrs. Pauley out of her house. It looked like she was pulling back, but they didn’t let her go. She still had her housecoat on. “She’s in her housecoat,” I shouted as I ran across the street. “She’s in her housecoat. Where are you taking her? She needs to get dressed.”

Mrs. Pauley sat in the back of the police car and stared out the window. It looked like she was crying. No one spoke to me. I watched the car as it pulled away. Jimmy called to me from his front steps.

As always comments are welcomed and encouraged!

Writing 101