My Cardboard Balcony

Putting up this post a little early because I'll be dogsitting later tonight. So not so much computer time for me in that regard. A lot of what happened this week is in line with what I talked about last week. My paycheck was smaller than hoped, so my girlfriend forgave me for half the rent (goes back to the whole "partnership" idea that I was talking about last introspection. My writing's still been at sort of a status quo (not so much long term project work, mostly poetry and blogging). I have some ideas bouncing around in my head, but they haven't exactly found footing in terms of actual storytelling structure. I still play music, but I still haven't completed another original song since late 2012. I guess my priority right now is finding another outlet for income and keeping my head above water as I think about a teaching credential. So...I guess the most I can say is keep wishing me luck, guys. Writer's Quotation of the Night: Good fiction cre

"Caramel Kisses" is an unfinished novel I began to write back in 2009 and stopped working on in 2010. The two main characters - Adriana Maguire Reynard and Emma Burking - would ultimately be revised for my later completed novella, "The Liffey Is Half-Asleep," in 2011. Several elements of "Liffey" can be found in their original forms in "Caramel Kisses," such as the characters' names, the haiku scene, and Adriana's penchant for writing. Because of its influence on my later writing, I figured that this story, though incomplete, was worth sharing. Caramel Kisses: Chapter Nine by Belinda Roddie I had an idea for a new play. It was a good one, more comedic than my last ones. It detailed a simplistic scene, but with a spiritual background. And that was all you were going to get out of me at the time I started writing it. I didn’t like giving away too much. Fingers against the dirty keyboard, the same plate being re-used beside

None of us were allowed a firearm on our person when we entered the boss's headquarters. Whether or not it was due to security or paranoia or both was up for interpretation. Even so, the guards were particularly hesitant to even allow me my decorative war knife, which I always carried on me. "Relax," I told them, waving my left hand more coaxingly than dismissively. "What do you think I'm going to do with this blunt thing, poke him with it?"