Guarding The Ladder.

by tiffanyMy Author's Portfolio, Real Life, short stories, Short Stories Portfolio, Stand Alone Short StoriesPosted on One Comment
guarding the ladder short story

Do not let the picture above fool you. Otis is not an ordinary cat.  He is a fierce feline focused on protecting the one who feeds him. He is like a soldier and takes on this role every night. What is this hero of a cat protecting me from? Well, I am not sure, but it may be from falling off my bed, or it could be the window. Whatever the danger, he protects me from it every single night.

Let me explain how he protects me. His heroism entails walking the perimeter of my bed, making sure that the only exit from the loft bed is still the ladder. He then makes sure that I am safe by sniffing my face. Finally, he is ready to buckle down in his post. He stretches out as he lies down right at the opening for the ladder. With courage, he will stay at his post, keeping watch unless he falls asleep until my morning alarm goes off. Most days he will even stay pass the alarm going off and it will take me nearly throwing him down the ladder for him to move.

Now, since I am the one being protected, I cannot be the first one out of the bed. He cannot and will not simply move aside. This cat needs to clear the area, or at least the ladder. He makes his safety check by climbing down part way, stopping at the window for a moment, and going out the window onto the roof.

His reward for protecting me all night is his breakfast that I pour him, while I am still asleep.

At least, that is what I am telling myself. In all honesty, he most likely is just being a butt and blocking the ladder, because he knows it annoys me. I will keep trying to convince myself that he is protecting me because murdering a cat is frowned upon.

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If you would like to read more short stories please check out my Portfolio or perhaps you would enjoy watching readings of my work on YouTube.

My Nightmare Mind Box

by tiffanymonologue, my creative selfPosted on One Comment

writing

My mind is a box, lately, that I am trapped inside. My optimism says there must be a door, a window, or a hidden way out. I don’t see one. All I see are wall entrapping myself in my mind causing me to be unable to do much of anything I would consider being me.

To the left is the security of my day job, creating a thick time-consuming wall. To the right is my obligations and my bills stacked as high as my job with no holes to escape from. Behind me is my past failures, current fears, and reminders that the future can not be known. There is a reason my back is towards that wall, by focusing on that wall I would sit down, stop fighting and accept the box I’m in. Above me, on the ceiling of this box are all the people, careers, and talents that I compare myself to. I place them above me, although I am the only me. Below me are all my ideas trapped under glass in a cloudy stew of tar and mire. Still I know they’re there, just like a mother knows her baby. In front of me are painting of could-be’s, maybe’s, and the future if I only live my current life . I know there are keys to unlock each painting, except for the immanent future, that one does not need a key. The keys to my dream futures are unknown, lost or far from me. I do not believe they are in this box. All I can do is stand and look at the pretty pictures hoping and looking for at least one key.

Perhaps breaking the glass under my feet will lead to a key.

Artist ( A Monologue)

by tiffanymonologuePosted on 8 Comments

writing

I want to boldly tell you; I am an artist. I’m sure you already knew that or at least suspected. I mean how can anyone really hide their creativity? I know I’ve tried to hide or ignore my creative side, wanting to be normal. I yearned for a quiet mind that could simply observes the world and did not have a need to share its beauty.

Yes, there was a time I wanted to be normal, but not any more. An ordinary life in no life for me and if it seems like my life is just like yours ask me what I’m thinking about. For you see I have worlds and universes living in my head. My mind is filled with lands of poetry, worlds of paintings, and many stories in many different universes. They are all just waiting to be created.

When I am at my day job tapping the keys of my computer part of my mind may be trapping dragons to get to the keys of a prison to rescue some royalty. While I’m driving home I am most likely also involved in an elaborate love affair that will tragically end  when I park my car. If I am watching the sunset I am also memorizing the colors in hopes that I could paint it one day.

You see my mind is not a quiet place most of the time, which now I love. It makes my life extraordinary in an ordinary world. This is why I must boldly tell you; I am an artist. I’m sure you already knew that or at least suspected.

UPDATE

A while ago I did record a reading of this monologue. I want to share it with you now.

A Pondering Poem

by tiffanyPoetryPosted on One Comment

poetry
Can art go on art;
Laying on it like a lover?
One inspiring the other,
romantically entangled,
but no romance to handle?

Would the art be part of the other art;
like one piece of the whole is the heart?
It would supply life,
living as section,
being whole by being only a part.

This is just a fast little poem, but I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think.

In This Moment ( a monologue)

by tiffanymonologuePosted on One Comment

writing

What is important in my life at this moment? I am,well me and how the ink of my pen looks as it glides across the page. The shapes and lines of the words could be art in of themselves. Simple, smooth, yet they still hold a quality of complexity.

No, nothing to serious is important to me at this moment. I don’t have the energy to think to deeply on any subject. Instead I will simply watch the shapes come to life as my pen drags on.

Perhaps it is the light of the setting sun causing the almost magical make up of the ink on the paper or perhaps it’s the difference in pen. Have I become so accustomed to the think bold lines of my newly bough fountain pen already, that this thin lines ball point pen looks more elegant with its writing? I will say that it is a combination and leave it at that. I know it will not matter in a moment or two either way, when the sun sets or my mind wonders to the next topic to create.

Either way and for what ever the reason pen to paper is what is important to me at this moment.

Can I Meet Fantasy?

by tiffanyother updates, PoetryPosted on One Comment

poetry

I do not want to live this life.
I want to dance with the pixies,
laugh with the werewolves
and maybe meet a fairy or two.

I do not want to live this life.
I want to see my thoughts
in air bubbles that are
taken away by the evening’s breeze.

I do not want to live this life.
I yearn to be free.
Free of things tied to reality,
where there is magic.

I do not want to live this life.
Yet, I know I have to.
I guess I will just depend on love
to be my magic
and honestly that is enough for me.

Kitty's Monologue

by tiffanymonologue, my creative selfPosted on One Comment

writing

Kitty is a character in my novel, who can not talk. She finds different ways to communicate and share knowledge. There is a lot to her, but she can’t always get that across. This monologue is an internal monologue taking place inside Kitty’s mind to Noah, one of the other main characters and the person she is closest to.

I do hear you. I do understand you. I do deserve my position. I really do and I know you know I should be where I am. I just wonder if the others think I belong. Sometimes I know that I don’t, but then you look at me and I belong. Your brother seems hard and protective of his mission. He can’t see that it is my mission too.

I am locked inside my mind. I wish I could just tell you and your brother. Really I wish I could tell everyone what is happening inside. It is like the neural pathways  connecting my voice and thoughts are missing. With every trauma or change they are erased and I must relearn how to make sounds that would be considered words. To make matters worst my memories are misplaced. They are not lost, just misplaced. This makes it hard even know what I know. All my memories are intact, but they are hidden from me and it seems like just when I find a memory or way to connect my vocal cords and thoughts together they are erased or jumbled up.

I hope you understand that I am doing my best. Your smile makes me think you know, but how? I never know until I start reconnecting things. Maybe that is why you’re with me; to help me remember that I am not permanently broken just different with misplaced memories.

Hopefully one day I will get to thank you. Hopefully one day everyone will understand. I am smart and I am worthy of helping. It may be a long time, but I do hope.

I hope you like this and if you follow my blog you will learn more about the characters of  Duality, since I am pretty focused on it. At least I am trying to be really focused on it. 

A Sunday Afternoon's DreamWard Bound

by tiffanyDreamward bound, other updatesPosted on No Comments

successAlthough I typically try to write these on Saturdays, I had no motivation to do anything yesterday. I also did not feel like I was dreamward bound. I basically was a Debby downer for myself and the worst part is that I gave into it. I gave in to the lack of energy, lack of motivation, and lack of belief in myself.

It is a good thing that today is a new day. Today I am focusing on the fact that I live among people who love me and support me. I actually did a bunch of creative things this week and did editing work on my novel.

I am overdue to revise my goals, which may be the reason for the feeling that I am not heading towards my dreams and my dream life. I am happy with my life for the most part, I just know that it could be better in some areas. More and more I realize one area that could improve is my work life. I would love to just write, paint, and act all day long. I am a far way off from that life though. I just need to keep working on my artistic skills and be open to share my art with the world. One day I will be living my dream life and when that day comes all this struggling getting there will be worth it.

Reviewing and revising my goals will be helpful in that it will remind me of my dreams and where I actually want to be in my life. Revising my goals is something to do after I publish this post, though.

I mean I don’t have much else to say, except this week felt a little crazy. It was all work and being a busy bee type of thing. Nothing too interesting in the details of the week.

I guess I can finish this post and go revise the goals. I will leave you with the list of things I did this week.

Asking a question and then ramblings about Love (A Vlog

)

Telling My Dream 

Where I write

Friendship (A Poem)

Weekly Writing Prompt

Telling My Dream

by tiffanyother updates, PoetryPosted on 3 Comments

encouragement

The inspiration for this post comes from my weekly writing prompt series. The prompt is ‘Write a poem or short story with the sentence, “I didn’t want to tell my dreams to someone new.” ‘

I didn’t want to tell my dreams to someone new.
I wanted you to be the only one who knew.
But like a bird away you flew.
Leaving alone to see you in a new hue.

No, I didn’t even want to tell you my dream.
I wanted it to be my scheme,
but you pushed saying we will be a team.
Yet, you still left before the sun even shared a beam.

Where I Write.

by tiffanymy creative selfPosted on One Comment

encouragement

Describe  your desk or work are where you write. Is it clean, dirty, or cluttered? Is it organized? What objects or decorations are on it or around you while you write?

This is a writing prompt from my weekly writing series. 

Where do I write?  I write at my black wooden desk that once was at a Target. It now is assembled with its one drawer almost always staying closed and stacks of notebooks, papers, pens and random artifacts from my days spread across its flat matte service. It is like a cozy cocoon where my creative ideas hide away.

It is clean, with hardly any trash or spills on it. It is cluttered and appears to be a mess, but if you ask me where a certain note is or where my favorite pen is I can tell you. It may seem like there is no order to my writing space, but just like my brain I know the rules and organization that is in place, even when others can’t.