Ari recognized nothing, but didn’t want to cause offense so he took a little of each, watching the others at the table before he used his fingers for the various meats and rice, and a clay spoon for the grey paste which reminded him of potato but more sour. The fish and onion was acidic, but was good with the rice. The leaf-wrapped meat fell apart in his fingers and he found himself reaching for more of everything, even though he had little idea what exactly he was eating.
Recently learned that there's a group of architecture students at one of the state universities that's planning a way to turn an abandoned mall into a "town" for dementia care. How cool would that be? A totally enclosed space, so no one could wander off and get scary-lost, but that would let people still do things like go to the grocery store, hairdresser, library, etc. when they want.
All four of my grandparents had memory issues. It would've been really nice if they'd been able to live in a place like that, rather than a nursing home.
Where In the Dark Hollow Twilight of My Soul is Carmen Sandiego?
Here is a tiny shiny mole.
Working on the novel today, Patreon peeps, in case y'all are keeping tabs on me.
I have had to make my self a "calendar of creativity," because I can't seem to get myself organized otherwise and focused on one particular project at one particular time.
It's like an advent calendar of insanity!
So I'm writing a murder/ghost/weirdo series on Patreon, and this is the latest bit of it, which I'm tossing up here for FREEEEE! You know, in case you guys are interested, you know?
I note that my better pieces from last year, "A Plague of Lucy", "The Flanner" and "Plastic Dreams of Conditional Me" were based on random prompts from different generators. So maybe that's a good approach?
All three stories are free on my site if you haven't read them, by the way.
A little free something just because it's almost the new year and stuff. https://www.patreon.com/posts/language-of-16118532
There's a typo in my WiP post, but I'M NOT GOING TO FIX IT.
I'm a rebel.
He closes his eyes, and without effort recalls every detail that makes up the whole of her in his mind. The space between her nearly-closed lips where whispers of satin ice slip through and caress the side on his neck. The frost smoke of her skin where the chill of her presses near to the heat of him. The sweet-water taste of her when she commands that he kiss her there, and there, and there.
"Five years ago, the winds were calm, and the clouds were thick as drunken midnight whispers. Mirabel had taken him to her bed, and they’d stayed there for three days, putting scratches on his back, bruises on her thighs, and creating an ever-growing chill that layered frost on the face of the mirror over her dresser.
When he finally left, the blizzard they’d birthed together lasted a week, and buried the lakeside under seven feet of snow.
So I've been more or less not doing much social media stuff for a couple of weeks. Think I needed a recharge period in this weird, weird time in history.
Thanks to my patrons you can read four parts of my ongoing serial on my Patreon page.