My Cardboard Balcony

May 19th was the third anniversary of the day my girlfriend Arden and I met. May 23rd, today, is the third anniversary of my performance at the Whiskey A Go Go with my band the Castle Town Convicts - a performance that Arden attended. Tomorrow, May 24th, is the third anniversary of when Arden and I decided to become girlfriends. What followed was - and I can say this with utter honesty and without hyperbole - a real emotional whirlwind. Arden and I maintained a long distance relationship for two years. Throughout those two years, I went through a number of jobs, wrote two novels, got sick with mononucleosis, and continued to change as a person. For Arden, it was all about finishing college and enjoying each day of it before becoming a full-fledged adult. We were busy, anxious young women who were confident in usually just one thing - we wanted to continue being a couple, no matter how far away we were or how rarely we got to visit one another. In June of 2013, Arden graduated from ...

This is an untitled, unfinished novel that was technically left alone in late 2008. However, the last time it was modified and checked for errors was 2011, where upon I decided that the absurdity of the plot combined with the sloppy British research was too much for the story to continue. However, seeing as this is Whims of the Time Traveler, it's a perfect example of my first attempt at long fiction, so I've decided to unabashedly display it. Have fun. Untitled: Chapter One by Belinda Roddie Many live their lives averagely. It’s not a crime. In a perfect world, we’d all live perfectly average lives. We’d work. We’d play. We’d eat, sleep, sing, dance, and laugh. We’d cry, scream, and regret things. But in a perfectly average life, we don’t have to think too hard about what we do. We just do it. Such is the life many have dreamed of not having, but many others have desired it above all other things. Many who live normal, peaceful lives look at the complicated emotions of...

No OneWord today. We'll see if it updates tomorrow.

A Sailboat Sank by Belinda Roddie A sailboat sank along the bay, and one girl jumped in to save a young woman from the churning green waves, as the latter could not swim. The girl was a mere seventeen years old, and already a local star, a hero. I wondered if she could stand the pressure and coverage. Turns out, she did just fine, and she and the woman were good friends after the fact. One day, I saw them kissing on another sailboat, as the San Francisco skyline lit up with a friendly sun. I joked, "That'd be a new chapter for the media. Still, I'm glad to see that saved and savior's love ain't bad."

"I wouldn't call it artwork." "Then what would you call it?" "I don't know." She sipped greedily from her wine glass. "Splatters. Muddy smears. But art? No." "Sarah," I chided. "Artwork is subjective. What you see as muddy smears, another may see as a different image." "Well, they're wrong." "Or they see it differently." Sarah sneered. "Or they're stupid." "Or you're a brat," I unexpectedly retorted.

Jewelry by Belinda Roddie I made you a tiara out of beads and lanyard string, fashioned you a popcorn necklace, and found enough ring pops to cover every single digit of both of your hands. You wore everything with pride, until the dog got a hold of the necklace and chewed loudly on the stale kernels while we laughed and set about crafting you new (inedible) jewelry.

I watch as the snakes begin to coil around the rusted sword, their tongues flickering out every once in a while and grazing the metal blade as if to taste it. The entire cathedral, besides those two reptiles, is completely desolate. Not a single artifact lies in merely one shape or piece - it is all splinters, powder, and shards. I stoop down to pick up what was once a crucifix. All I hold now is Christ's head nailed to a metal plank.