Tag Archives: regrets

Got Time For a Quickie?

ROW80LogocopyShort one today, all y’all.  The hubby and I have a lunch date with friends, insurance paperwork…yadda yadda. There’s all the time in the world it seems…

just after everything else is done first.

So here’s it all in a nutshell.

This has been an incredibly crazy, yet oddly productive week.  I’m on track with everything except my new “creativity goal”, but since the Boodle is home from school this week and there’s been a shift of focus there, I’m not too bothered.

IMG_4137_1What is bothering me is that nagging surety I’ve lost a friend.  Mr. Kitty, the last of our feral cats turned to cuddle-bum and window serenader,  hasn’t come home since Sunday.  Worse yet, since I’d been desperate to sleep in on Sunday for some huggy-dozing time with the Leader of the Opposition Party, it was the Boodle that fed Mr. Kitty, not me—I’m actually not sure he was here on Sunday at all.

All I can do is hope that if he was caught by someone (some group has taken up catching ferals nearby because we had had the male version of the feared cat lady down the road for years, and he finally lost his home and the cats have run rampant).  I really hope Mr. Kitty was trapped by such a group and not taken by coyotes (so far the nearby roads shows no sign of a kitty-corpse).  He’s lovable, affectionate, wants to have a forever home (which is something I could have never given him because of… things).

But this, and so much of this past year when I wasn’t blogging because life was cray-cray, is why I picked the title I did today.  Maybe it wouldn’t have helped if I had gotten up on Sunday—maybe he was gone already—but I wouldn’t have this regret that I ‘wasn’t there’ when I could have been.

IMG_3179It was the same when my grandfather died in December…  we hadn’t gone to see him because we’d been fighting cold and sickness after cold and sickness, and he had a very compromised immune system.

One of my best friends died in December…  we’d set plans for a lunch date in January ‘after the holiday crazy was done’.  It was a freak thing, but…  now I eat sushi and cry a little (kind of happy tears, because they are great memories, but still).

And my grandmother died a few weeks later.  I got to spend some time around Christmas with her, but then Rod’s death and disasters at the Boodle’s school…

It seemed like so much to take a day trip to Syracuse just for an hour or two of visiting.  Maybe next weekend I’d have ‘more time’…

No.  There was no more time.  There is no more time.

So, yesterday…  when I invited Elizabeth Anne Mitchell to sprint with me and she couldn’t because she had a meeting in ten minutes at work, I decided I was making a change for myself at the very least.  I texted her back “Quick, write two sentences!”

I mean, there’s always time for a Quickie….

Some Writing Because …

I missed my writing sample post on Tuesday

This sample is from a non-fan fiction piece of “exercise” writing.  I actually like the piece, but because the world I have created in what would be the “pre-history” of this story would never lead to this place as it is, the best thing I can call it is an Alternate Universe story set in my own story universe.  (And I bet you wondered where the “Many Worlds” came from.  😉  )  It’s a long piece, but I think you’ll have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

Another 3AM transmission. If she’d felt awake enough, Atyr would have hurled something. Instead she rolled over  and grunted for the maid to let her sleep. She wasn’t in any mood to deal with Alanii and his problems tonight.

“It is urgent, Milady Sieress.”

“Of course it is,” she mumbled to her pillow.

“There is also a priority message from Hastor Valmara Masorii.”

That drew her from her recluse. ‘Mara was contacting her? That young man hadn’t spoken to her since his sister had died.

She scrambled from her tangle of blankets and threw on a robe against the night chill. “Patch Lord Masorii’s message to here, sersa.”  The sting of the cold floor against her feet just made her rush easier.

At the small desk by her window, she flicked the comm switch before she sat down. “‘Mara?”

Her son’s face, so much the hawk-like image of his father’s, came through the small viewer, tense and impatient. At her presence, his expression softened. Worry chased away that small easement.

“Milsha! Thank the Goddess! I was afraid you would not answer, knowing the Andar said he was also calling.”

“You’re not contacting me on his behalf,” she growled. “Are you?”

The young man’s expression was totally Valichii’s, proof that father made son on Acaria. “I wish that you never talked to that man, Mother. Still, in this case, he has honorable intentions.”

“So tell me. My bed awaits.”

Her son’s expression didn’t waver, though once such words would have fueled a rage that could be felt all these light-years away without dissipation. “You must come here.”

She felt her brows rise and scoffed. “Must? So your father and Alanii can both play gallant–“

“Unless you come soon, you’ll have no fear of that–not from Father. He is in his meditation.”

She felt her mouth open, started to protest, then, touching the screen, closed it again. The man in the viewer simply nodded.

She rushed from the room to arrange her transport without even bothering to dress. Continue reading