My Cardboard Balcony

Hello, everyone. This is my first official update regarding my National Novel Writing Month submission for the year 2014. As of November 8th, I have: - Written 15,400 words. This puts me above the daily minimum in order to reach 50,000 words by the end of the month, which as of the 8th is 13,336 words. - Not come up with a title. - Actually not updated my novel in two days. This is partially due to my work schedule, aaaaaand partially due to maybe perhaps kind of hanging out with loved ones and watching Big Hero 6. Oops. Until next Saturday, my friends. Cheers, Belinda

The static electricity was doing wonders with my hair, follicle upon follicle standing on end. I didn't know what to make of this room - everything was bright, metallic, and very much packed with energy. I tried to pull my sister's baseball cap over my head, but something seemed to repel it away from my bristling locks. Whatever this lab had inside it, it was powerful.

It has been a rough week. Personal things, financial troubles, and all that "fun" stuff. I don't want to really go into details (which is funny, given that this is "introspection"), but I am at least looking forward to the official one-year party at my bookstore. So, yeah. Yet another lazily thrown together, brief post in the can. Night, everyone.

Curiosity Killed Her by Belinda Roddie "Is that blood on my shirt?" the dying girl asked.

A viewpoint, refracted, broken up like a kaleidoscope, holds more color than your words. But the spectrum is limited, and there are dozens of more, differently hued rainbows to inspect if you opened your mind a little wider. After all, if you push the door only a crack ajar, no large amount of light is going to sift through. You think you have everything figured out when the galaxies around you are untouched. You haven't seen anything yet.

I Clean The Honeycomb by Belinda Roddie I clean the honeycomb out of my teeth and cut the cornstalks from between my toes, as the sea rises around me. I reach for something soft. Instead, I grab a rose oblivious to the pain. I have felt a hundred times worse agony at night, when my demons, who have already dealt enough bruises, strip away any light that leads me to the shore. I'll suck the salts out of my wounds; I'll drink the water, too. Still, the stinging will trap me in its waltz and won't subside. My dreams are painted blue. They're always blue, though gold shall still remain upon my tongue - the honey, and the grain.

Surprise! No updated OneWord prompt. Hope the webmaster's still in good health. We'll see if this streak ends tomorrow.