Camp NaNo, July 2021

Vampiric spiders infest a high school as part of an interdimensional construction project. When they add yet another former student to their group, they create the kind of neighborhood resistance that derails projects and, possibly, neighborhoods.

I've committed to participating in Camp NaNoWriMo this July, although that might be slightly impossible, depending on how June goes. In addition, I've decided to do a 14-day, 5K a day project this month (June 2021) to move forward with a separate project that I'm on the fence about but might feel differently toward if the word count was higher.

In addition, sort of as a complement to some of the non-writing projects from last year, I'd like to fill out the yard notebooks that I've started but not quite kept up. The yard didn't receive the complete reset we were thinking about in 2020 and the freeze at the beginning of this year just pushed it back further. And now I'm thinking I'd like to turn at least one of these notebooks into a look back and one into a look forward and that's because I need projects.

Cheerful projects. Projects that I want to do. Projects that distract and create a way forward.

-- Chrissa

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Once Upon a Future Past

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa

Fearsome by Survival

Sharing today with T he Sunday Muse #189 , where Shay is hosting. Come and read and share a piece! On a web-white, wool-quiet morning I found the girl our stories gave us The one who survived She wore the meadow, carded and sewn Long since burned for field Still, she knew me Her stories named me fierce, feral She might have feared The one who devours Neither of us spoke, patient at morning Breath, warmth, silence Innocent of power We know the stories kill us both We know that we become Fearsome by survival Hello and welcome. It's 67 degrees outside this morning and a warm December weekend might seem like the kind of thing that would prevent me from following through on a plan to hibernate with a good book for the rest of the weekend...but it's the doomscrolling that's run down the charge on my phone that's preventing me from doing that. Also, I may have developed an intolerance to long stretches of quiet during the past year and a half. Anyway. Looking forward to r...

On Bad Days

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #186 . Sorry. Probably best to skip this one. On bad days I argue with the void: it is empty; I call it full of nothing made pathological; therefore it obsesses to possess mass, to be something arguing with the universe but shouting in the mirror black as starlit backdrop, as stars that fall deeper and deeper into time until they drag everything into the void and are empty, wrung out of needing to have an argument and then we look at each other, deep in the black fallen forever of our gaze. I wasn't going to post this week. But that probably doesn't matter...because here is a post. This has been a weird week and, in the midst of much more important things, my NaNo project just [temporarily] self-destructed. There will be a return to that project and I'm already sharpening the knives for it. Just need to let a little off-topic anger abate so that everyone doesn't get flamethrowers and a crazy 80's soundtrack. AAAAAAAAEEEEEIIIIIIIIIII!...

A Weed on The Curb

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