My Cardboard Balcony

So. It's 2013. We didn't die in a pseudo-apocalypse, we're dealing with a pretty inept Congress, and I frankly am never giving up the occasional drink, stroke of a pen, or obsessive editing mindset as I peruse my already completed works. Yes, 2012 has been a very productive year for me, writing-wise and otherwise. I have been a member of AmeriCorps since August of 2012, promoting literacy for second grade girls who are Spanish speakers and English learners. I have written two novels in one year (one in a month, one in eight days). I have never ceased in filling this blog space with new and up to date pieces of poetry, random sloppy pieces of fiction, and short tidbits influenced by the structure and format of OneWord.com. I have been with my girlfriend for over a year and a half now. I still live at home, but I'm looking at graduate and credential programs now to further my teaching and writing careers. All in all, not bad for a year's work. Really. I'm pret

Big Ben at Eight O'Clock by Belinda Roddie “Where were you when Big Benny stopped ticking?” Asked an old Irish farmer to a lad on the street, “They say that it’s the heart of London, So what could’ve happened when it stopped its beat?”   “I was sleeping with my brother’s wife when Benny stopped ticking,” The young rascal casually in his coarse brogue replied, “So I suppose I wasn’t under any severe jurisdiction If the very heart, therefore the soul, of London had died.”   “Where were you when Big Benny stopped ticking?” Asked the lad to a schoolgirl aboard an Oxford headed train, “If the song that he sings signifies time’s passing, Does it mean there is no longer a law to the day?”   “I was trapped under my headmaster’s stare when Benny stopped ticking,” The schoolgirl did answer, with her eyes to the heavens, “And I suppose, by the duration of it, it may not be a piece of fiction As it seemed that all was lost in the sense

"Oh, Lord." "What?" "Jesus Christ." "What? WHAT?" Darren was very white. The lantern he was scratching at was growing dimmer and dimmer. "I'm losing oil," he told me in a slippery, dampened voice. "We're going to be dropped into blackness any second." "Well, do something about it!" I snarled. The cold was getting to me. It was eating away at my ears.