Monday, May 20, 2013

The Cat is Moving

 Well, this has been fun, but I've grown tired of Blogger, very, very, very, very much so.
It's an unfortunate fact of life and nature in general, but I think I prefer Wordpress. I've recently secured a Wordpress blog called The Walking Talking Notes. You can check it out at thewalkingtalkingnotes.com.
 That said, I'm moving the Cat is Speaking to WordPress. I'm not moving the posts though. I'm starting fresh.


So, goodbye, Blogger. It was lovely knowing you. Thank you for everything you taught me. I learned a lot. And now, farewell.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

You Can Call me Uncle

 Hope this short is self explanatory. Nothing deep behind it. A brief dialogue my brother thought up. Don't credit me with its hilarity. Enjoy!

 Harry(peachy tone): I'm looking for this song. I don't know what it's called. I don't know what it sounds like. I don't know any of the words. Can you help me?

Joe(confused): What am I looking for?

Harry(peachy tone): I don't know, that's why I came to you.

Joe(further confused): Well...what am I looking for? I gotta have something to look for if I'm going to help you.

Harry(threateningly peachy): If you can't help me, I'm gonna go over to the other guy and I'm gonna pay him MONEY, so when you're out of business, just remember me.

(Harry walks away comes to money launderer)

Harry(peachy tone): I'm looking for this song. I don't know what it's called. I don't know what it sounds like. I don't know any of the words. Can you help me? I'm willing to pay you money.

Other Guy (slimy, smooth, run-on voice, without stopping for breath): Ohh, how are you? I can help you. Come on, have as eat, sit down. Whatchya name? I like you. You can call me Uncle.

Harry (peachy tone): You know, you make me feel so at ease.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

I Earned You.

 I knew it was a bad idea to move in with my sister. It was one of those ideas you get when you're really upset about something and are eating ice cream in order to feel better. A brain freeze comes on and contrary to popular belief, despite the term, your brain is very active during such incidents. The result is many ideas at once, some of them outlandish and some of them just plain crazy. To be honest, the idea had developed after my sister fell on hard financial times. At the same time, we were falling behind in our bill payments. We couldn't complain with an extra hand around the house.

 It wasn't that I didn't like my sister, it was just that she was too hard on Murray. She gave him more than he could stand, stretching him between his boundless love for me and his ever-present desire to show her respect no matter what.

 He didn't like Mira-Ri, our 'Miracle' child around her aunt. He wasn't jealous, he was just protective and wary. He could already see our girl at twenty rebelling against us and dashing off to follow her aunt's muddled ways instead. Needless to say, even at three years old, Mira-Ri was susceptible. My sister seemed to pet her wild side rather than to tame it.

 Things came to a head one day. Murray was at the end of his rope at work and at home. He had been seriously demoted from a position of great responsibility and privilege for something he hadn't done. While struggling with the shame and dishonor that accompanied the disgrace of his demotion he had to deal with my mother's controlling ways at home.

 That day, when he came and everything blew up, I could feel it before it started to happen. As he pulled into the driveway, I saw a look of death in his face that I will never forget. Mira-Ri was sitting beside me on the porch swing. Full of joy and energy she leapt off it as fast as her chubby three year old legs could carry her when she saw her father. I wanted to hold her back; he looked so angry. But, I didn't. She ran to him but he ignored her. I still remember the confusion on her face. She turned to me with a baby pout and I encouraged her to return to me.

 "Hi Murr..." I ventured cautiously as he stormed up to the porch.

 His gaze brushed over me briefly. Something was bothering him. I rose with a sigh as he walked inside. Just as I had stepped off the porch to collect Mira-Ri, who was still standing in sad confusion where she had stopped, I heard Murray's voice in the kitchen. Keeping calm I gathered Mira-Ri up and went inside.

 The heat that accosted me when I encountered him in the kitchen was stifling. He was standing in the doorway leading to the hallway when I came in. Disbelief and rage was on his face. My sister was leaning against the counter across the room from him, a look of innocent fear written on her features. When he spoke again, his voice was charged with furious tones.

 "Am I hungry?!! I NEED to eat??!!!" He replied, obviously echoing her question which I had not heard.

  "I think that's what I said." She replied in turn, mildly.

  "No, I'm not hungry!! And I never will be in this Godforsaken house! You can make the rules around here, but you can't enforce them! I'm so sick and tired of this!! I will never stoop this low again! To think I'd like to be coddled and ordered around by you! Never again!!"

 "Murray, I've tried hard to be everything I could be to you and to Megan. This here is merely a display of ingratitude."

 I could barely believe my ears. Right before my very eyes, my sister,  who was the last surviving member of my maiden family, and my husband, whom I loved dearly, were fighting! It was so terrible I didn't want to believe it. Mira-Ri was squirming in my arms and had started to cry.

 "This isn't about gratitude!!" Murray took a step towards my sister. "I can't explain what it is but whatever it is it's coming between me and the people I swore to protect!!"

  "Get out then!" My sister's voice had risen to a howl. "Get out and never come back if that's the way you feel. The next thing you will say is that it's me, that I don't know how to treat you, that's why you're angry. Well, I'll tell you one thing, men don't deserve special treatment. We don't have to treat them differently. They're just animals, that's why they react like you do."

  "Rebecca!" I cried, unable to let her go on. "Please!"

  She turned to me, her eyes blazing. "You shut up, Meghan! This has nothing to do with you! This is between me and your good-for-nothing husband!!"

  I gasped and swung my gaze back to Murray. I was still reeling in horror. His lips were parted and he was panting rapidly. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something, but he was silent. Suddenly, without warning, he slammed a fist down on the counter top. There was a splintering sound as he withdrew. He turned glittering, menacing eyes towards my sister and then marched out. By now, Mira-Ri was screaming. I ran into the bathroom and locked myself there.

  Sitting down on the edge of the tub I cradled Mira-Ri in my arms and wept for hours.
~
  It was around midnight when I finally worked up the courage to look in on Murray. After spending several hours in the bathroom crying, I had come out eventually, fed a sleepy Mira-Ri and put her to bed. Then, I had sat with my sister while she ate dinner. I was too angry and sad to eat anything. She went to bed shortly afterwards without saying a word to me.

  I sat in the living room for several hours after that until the clock struck midnight. I was afraid to go to bed. Murray was in our room and I didn't want to talk to him yet. Maybe he was still angry. I stared around the room, hoping the elegant wallpaper and tasteful decor would comfort me but I was mistaken. When the clock chimed twelve times I rose slowly, like an old woman, and made my way upstairs, dread heavy in my heart.

  I dragged my fingers gently across the walls that I passed. I could hear my nails scraping lightly, like a feeble person scratching at the walls in a cell. Tears glittered on my eyelashes as I stopped in front of the bedroom door. No light came into the hallway from under the door. I looked across at my sister's room. Her light was on: a pale stream of lamplight slipped from under her door. I shuddered and went into our room.

  Pitch darkness accosted me but slowly my eyes adjusted to the gloom and I was able to make out Murray's form hunched over near the window. Slowly, quietly, I moved across the room towards him. He was sitting on a chair that he had apparently seized from the right side of the bed. I stopped inches behind him and began to reach out my hand. I felt cold. A bitter sensation rippled through me. My fingers were shaking and I felt my breathe become ragged.

  "Meg, don't touch me." He bit out the words so suddenly in the dark that I almost screamed. But it was too late. As startled as I was, his acrimony wasn't enough to discourage me. I was already too close to move back or stop.

  A spark ran through me when my fingers finally rested on his shoulder. He flinched but as I had expected didn't attempt to move my hand or throw me off. Gradually, carefully, I worked my way around him until I was standing before him.

  I didn't say a word. I knelt on my knees in front of him. Then, I closed my hands around his. He had them gripped together before his bowed head. We sat like that for a while before he finally lifted his head and spoke in a shaking voice.

  "Meg, all I ever wanted for you was happiness, but this, this is beyond comprehension."

  I opened my mouth to protest, but his eyes glared even in the low light and I was silent. I could tell that he was under a great burden of emotion. There was no use setting his fury off again.

  "Becka is good to us, but I tell you, I can't stand her. She's a control freak...I don't mean it when I say it like that, but you know I meant every word in there." Murray lowered his head onto his hands. I felt the warmth of his chin on my fingers. "We need to get out of here. We should never have come here."

  I wanted to agree, to tell him he was right but something was holding me back. Did Rebecca think anything less of him because of the disgrace he had endured? If so, why? I felt confused and insecure just thinking about how she had treated him.

  "Meg...you belong to me. I earned you, fair and square."

  "Murray, I know that." I snapped, unintentionally.

  He didn't move but when he spoke again his voice was so charged I thought he was going to cry. 

  "Can't you see what she's doing? She's come between us. I understand her being your only surviving kin and all, but what about me and Mira-Ri? Aren't we important too? Or are you willing to sacrifice us for your sister, who wouldn't appreciate it anyway?"

  I felt sobs rising in my throat. I let my head fall against Murray's so that our foreheads were touching. He was hot and I was so cold. For a moment, I could barely think.

  "Murr...I'm sorry..."

  "I earned you, Meg. There's no reason why I should have to share."

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

The Next Big Thing Author Interview

 Thank you to Amber Colleen for tagging me in the Next Big Thing Blog Hop! Colleen is author of  Premonitions available on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/Premonitions-ebook/dp/B008MAT1QY. While I have not had the pleasure of reading her debut novel, I did read the description and I will say right now that it looks very intriguing and I intend to add it to my library soon!

You can read more about Colleen and her books at: http://ambercolleenauthor.com/

 What’s this tour all about? “The Next Big Thing” Interview Series is an expanding blog project of author interviews that spans the world. How neat is that?

 And now, for the interview.

 It's nice to meet you. My name is Sim Stevenz.




Softcover

Hardcover
What is the title of your book?
Creature Leader, the third title published under my name.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book? 
Drayven Locke, a man haunted by his terrible past, struggles to bring his planet under his rule while Sealen Solnen, a victim of the same past, battles the darkness within him to bring him to peace.

Where did the idea come from for the book?
I read a book series entitled Warrior Cats when I was in my mid teens. I liked the idea of including characters in a story like cats or dogs. So, I wrote my own, with a little twist.


How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?
I spent several weeks writing this story. In the space of a year, I wrote three novels and this was one of them. Since I was still in high school I didn't get to write all the time. The number of hours I put in to write it was about two weeks spanned across a few months.

What genre does your book fall under?
 Romantic Suspense

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition? Drayven Locke would have to be Stephen Moyer, they look so alike. Zoey Deschanel for Sealen Solen.

Who or what inspired you to write this book? 
I wanted to write a happy ending for another story that didn't end so well. This is the same story, with my ending.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
Woven amongst the pages of suspense and action is a profound love story. I have tried to bring love into a different light in my writings, portraying it as fierce and passionate in a very intense way.

Thank you for this interview opportunity. You can learn more about me at me:

Author Website: http://simstevenz-romaauthor.weebly.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sim.stevenzi.author?ref=hl

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SimStevenz

Here’s the next author who will continue The Next Big Thing Blog Hop. Check her out:

Melissa Burton @ litbridge.com.


Friday, April 5, 2013

Hello Fridays

 Well, my blog has been like a runaway train. It took off long ago and has slowly been losing steam. Now, it's come to a stop and the insanely frightened passengers are disembarking. Whew!
 I became so busy that I left the controls and now look what happened.

 Anyway, I went from two posts a week, one on Monday, one on Friday to one post a week. I've been so busy I haven't had time to do much else anywhere else. I did blog interviews and I'd love to do some more. I think I took on too much, obligating myself to too many places.

 For now, I'll stick to one post a week and try to make it interesting!

Friday, March 29, 2013

Poetry Fridays - A Child Said, What is the Grass?

A child said, What is the grass?

  by Walt Whitman   

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
    hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
    is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
    green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
    may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe
    of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
    zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women, and
    from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old
    mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
    for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
    and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
    taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and
    children?

They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
    at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.

All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
    luckier.

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15816#sthash.QkJv8h2O.dpuf

Friday, March 22, 2013

Poetry Fridays: O were my love yon Lilac fair

O were my love yon Lilac fair  by Robert Burns  

O were my love yon Lilac fair,
  Wi' purple blossoms to the Spring,
And I, a bird to shelter there,
  When wearied on my little wing!
How I wad mourn when it was torn       
  By Autumn wild, and Winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
  When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.
O gin my love were yon red rose,
  That grows upon the castle wa';  
And I myself a drap o' dew,
  Into her bonie breast to fa'!
O there, beyond expression blest,
  I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
  Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light!

- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21419#sthash.CO8z8uHr.dpuf

[O were my love yon Lilac fair]

  by Robert Burns
O were my love yon Lilac fair,  
  Wi' purple blossoms to the Spring,
And I, a bird to shelter there,  
  When wearied on my little wing!
How I wad mourn when it was torn         
  By Autumn wild, and Winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,  
  When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd. 
O gin my love were yon red rose,  
  That grows upon the castle wa';    
And I myself a drap o' dew,  
  Into her bonie breast to fa'!
O there, beyond expression blest,  
  I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
  Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light!
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21419#sthash.CO8z8uHr.dpuf