Day 7: Coffee of the Day

The blog of the day is…

…If we were having coffee, it would be the witching hour. Around 5 a.m., occasionally, I grab a small Styrofoam cup. I fill it one-fourth way with sugar and cream. The more exotic the cream flavor the better. As long as its not peppermint or double chocolate.

I seize the coffee urn, tipping it slowly. I hold it at a specific angle because the stream often runs down the side of the urn. I never succeed. I pretend the coffee doesn’t spill and blame the person who pours the next serving.

The dark blend morphs into a caramel-color. I inhale the steam. Decent. The taste: Sweet. Caffeine is buried by the sugar, weariness drains the will to remain awake. I’m tempted to get another cup. Time is winding down, so I wait for breakfast before I decide to put something else in my stomach.

The morning shift is done, and the coffee has left me with a bubbly stomach ache. The next day, a co-worker brings an exotic blend: Pumpkin Spice. I envision the routine from the previous day.

If we’re having coffee we’re directing the news.

Tonight the challenge ends. I’d like to thank the Write Tribe for challenging me and other bloggers to find the edge we needed to blog daily. Maybe I’ll take on another challenge to keep myself busy. Also, I’d like to thank those that like, share, and/or read my blog posts. I’ll be sure to do the same.

 

Day 6: Guest Post Flop

I wanted to feature a guest post. My efforts have flopped today. But that doesn’t mean it’s the end of the fun.

The challenge has been a great way to show off my writing skills, which I hope is good for you all.

Also, I’m gravitating toward more story ideas. Eventually, I’ll have to produce something. I may take the CreateSpace route when investing into editing. I feel like I need more. Maybe I should take more risks. I just want to create enough content that everyone can enjoy.

Day 5: The Unsent Love Letter

Dear ___________,

Retrospect has brought some fond memories. In the midst of youth, there were times where my heart fluttered yet I was too distracted to notice.

I didn’t understand it as a kid in elementary school. The first girl I liked was liked by most of the boys in 5th grade. She loved dolphins and wrote about it in a class activity. At the opportunity to impress her, I ended up annoying her.

You probably don’t remember. I felt bad and wanted to apologize. Somehow, I understood pride. Courage, however, was far from me.

I knew my chances were over. So, my young mind wondered to a girl who just arrived to our school. I had big crush on her. But most of my friends liked her, too. When I didn’t get any attention, I made it business to show everyone I didn’t like her. Inside my little naive heart, I adored her.

I was mean to you for no reason. I had a crush on you for sure. Every snarky look was out of boyish infatuation. Typical yet truthful.

I had a crush in middle school. It was mutual, at least it felt mutual. I was so caught up in being tough. I found my macho bravado but lacked the courage to tell the girl I half-ass carried to the nurse’s office that I liked her.

You were as sweet as a ripe peach, so pretty that I was afraid to maim your beauty with my bald, oily fingers.

High school was different. With no car I felt inadequate. I put all of my focus into school. Of course, my crushy vibes continued. It was without measure. It was a race, and I was way behind all the other dudes.

I got bold one day. On Valentine’s Day 2006, I gave my crush a poem. I spelled her name wrong though. How cute. Unfortunately, she was dating someone else.

I should’ve pursued you more. The opportunity like many others went by, and I let it happen.

Most of all, I let a jewel in my adulthood slip away. The boyish habits sustained. The petite beauty persisted. I ignored her thinking only of my selfish desire.

This uncoventional letter, this confessional blunder of words, is regret.

As a kid, I wasn’t supposed to understand the ins and outs of courtship. As an adult, however, I was conscious. I complained about being lonely while the lady that burned for me raised her hand.

Life granted me ambition. I’ve been married to it for a long time. I didn’t think there was enough room for a girlfriend. What I didn’t realize was the room I had within my life. I was selfish.

There was enough room for you.

Although our time has long since passed, I’m here to say that I never forgot you. You left me an impression that I’ll treasure for life. And for that, I thank you.

Cordially,

Elijah

Day 4: A Day with Elijah

The title sounds so good it could be a story. I may save the title for a nonfiction essay.

It’s Day Four and today I’ll blog on what a day is like for me.

First, of course, is the morning. I take my time. Grab my cellphone and urge my tingly fingers to check alerts. They believe they’re productive to career and finances. They tap away only to summon Facebook. I watch for laughs, controversy, and remain hopeful that some pretty lady has sent me a DM full of emojis.

I skim through smut, flash fiction, and video game news on the mobile browser for at least ten minutes.

Then it’s time for landscaping, the first job of the day. I put on an old, discolored shirt and a pair of blue jeans that’s too tight. A rip is forming, but I probably won’t buy new jeans until someone else notices the gaping hole. Can’t forget the imploding boots that I wear.

Off to work.

I use my years of landscaping experience to display mastery of lawn, shrubs, and small combustion engines. I take precaution. I stay away from poison ivy the best way I can. There’s much to do, but my time is limited.

One o’clock, the hour I prepare for camera operating for a broadcast news station. I shed the grime and grass in a warm shower. I dress comfortably, usually a polo shirt and dark denim jeans. I persist for a nice meal. Never know when breaking news will keep me all night.

In the event that it doesn’t, I proceed to:

• Work on a short story, novel chapter, video, etc.
• Go home to have another meal and live stream on Twitch.

As the late night approaches, I return back to the news station for an hour and a half. I contemplate whether or not to eat again when the shift ends.

By the time I get home. I’ll game or watch an episode or two of a random Netflix show.

Sleep is inevitable. I flip open my laptop and listen to some music until my eyes get heavy.

Day 3: Myth of the Atlantic

I’ve made it to Day Three of the blog challenge. Prompts are great when you’re in that Writer’s Block transition. Besides, this gives me some time to blog on Black Board. I’d like to thank those that read Black Board as well.

The challenge today is to find a map, a place that’s real or virtual. One of the most interesting places is the Bermuda Triangle. You know, the mythical oceanic location that has a paranormal lore which seems to be more vast than its recorded 500,000 square mile body.

As far as I know, many vessels have traveled on it and over it. Some made it across, while others disappeared into the unknown. No wreckage. No bodies. Nothing. According to History.com, ships and planes venture among its waters with no problem.

History.com added, “Christopher Columbus sailed through the area on his first voyage to the New World, he reported that a great flame of fire (probably a meteor) crashed into the sea one night and that a strange light appeared in the distance a few weeks later.”

We can spend all day talking about the theories and anomalies of the Bermuda, also called Devil’s Triangle. For now, let me explore what I think it is.

I’ve always imagined the Bermuda Triangle as a gate to Atlantis. Even though, mythology may describe it’s location differently, I believe the disappearance of all these ships, people, and objects of stellar origin pass to Atlantis through some unexplained atmospheric occurrence. Who’s to say? The legends may have it wrong. Atlantis could possibly be another version of Earth.

But all of this is theory and mystery. I’m just enjoying the art of spinning the collected information with imagination. It’s good for brainstorming.

If you’re interested in reading more about the Bermuda Triangle, you can find more information here.

Also, if you want to participate in the 7-Day Blog Challenge, the prompts are listed at this Write Tribe Festival of Words webpage.

Day 2: The Unexpected Resources

I hate to start out talking about money, but it’s a resource I need to make the right investments for my literary future. Its one of the most challenging obstacles at the moment in my life besides career.

However, I’m currently fortunate to hold an infinite resource, creativity. Its summoned from a vast conscious that seems to grow with every book I read, every movie that I watch, and every video game that I play. It comes from no where inspiring some of brightest ideas.

The power of creativity, the resource, is married to personality. Their embrace are words on the page. Their intimacy births random moments in my writing. I let them act out the stories they conjure when I’m alone. Sure, it might be weird for a man to talk to himself, but that’s personality and creativity at work, I’m just speaking them into existence before they reach the page.

If you’re a blogger and haven’t seen the challenge yet, take a look at the 7-Day Blog Challenge by Write Tribe Festival of Words #WTFOF. You can find the challenge here.

I really do appreciate this challenge, and I do love writing. Writing gives me a chance to be honest with pleasant strangers. Thank you, reader.

 

Day 1: Treasure Hoard

I accepted a blog challenge. The  challenge was announced by Write Tribe Festival of Words. Here’s the challenge.

Treasure. To be concrete, what I treasure is the money in the bank. I hold it close memorizing the numbers and hoping to protect it from scammers.  It’s hard earned money and it’s treasure I need. I share that treasure because I’m obligated to. Most of all, I share it because I know there are those I’m connected to that need my treasure. I admit, I’m reluctant when I have to give it up, but it always gives me an unexpected gladness.

Then there’s my heart. I treasure my connections to my faith, my family, and my friends. I hope to guard them like the dragon in Beowulf’s epic poem. Conflict is inevitable. Danger is persistent, misfortune is abundant, and the edge of death is forever sharp. So the real treasure is what I’d give my life for. So what I really treasure is love. The one thing money can’t buy.