I write. I read. I live. I love. I laugh. I cry. I fall down a lot. Literally. I have trouble walking. Be not afraid to call me anything, for I will answer to it all. Â
The fandom expressed an interest in having more things to vote on during the Showdown. Ask and ye shall receive. The Submit box is now open for voting on Best Pseud and Best Eliminated Fic from Round One. The ballot looks like this:
On this ballot, the fandom will vote on the Best Secret Pseud, and The Best Eliminated Fic from Round One.
Here are your choices for Secret Pseud:
Ace of Hearts
Ancient Architect
Beast of Gold
Fabletales
Home Alone
Lucretia Victrix
notasponsor
onelastedit
Rose Daughter
Smokey Willow
Sonnenblume
Spindle
Squizzel
TheMostDisturbed
Here are your choices for Best Eliminated Fic:
To Love Most Late by Beast of Gold
Rags to Riches by Sonnenblume
Evening of Judgement by Smokey Willow
Untitled by Lucretia Victrix
In the Dark by Ace of Hearts
In the Submit box, type your one choice for Best Pseud, and your one choice for Best Eliminated Fic from Round One. Voting will close at 11:59 pm, Eastern time, on Saturday May 20th.
I linked the eliminated fics for your convenience here, but they are not linked in the Submit box. You have a little less than a week to vote on these two topics. Please signal boost this post, and submit your ballot before midnight on May 20th.
Iâve only received a few votes for this extra ballot so far. Nearly every one has voted for a different pseud and different fic. If the final vote follows this pattern, there may be 3 way ties in both categories.
Because of my health, I wonât be writing any more this week.
It was a hard decision to make, but in the end the weight of self care came over the weight of words.
Now that might change if I do start to feel better tomorrow or if I get bored of sitting around doing not much of anything and decide that actually I could throw down a small prompt.
The truth is that when my body if off, my mind goes with it.
What I really want and need right now is to binge watch some of my old favorites and settle back into a couple of relaxing days.
I have another hospital procedure on Monday, so donât expect me until Tuesday or Wednesday.
Or keep an eye out, I might decide to surprise you.
Writing on this thing every weekday makes me realize that I am crap at coming up with blog titles.
Maybe it has to do less with the fact that Iâm having trouble with he title and more to do with the fact that my content is currently repetitive.
Iâm logging on every day.
Iâm checking email every day.
Iâm writing every day.
Except tomorrow.
STOP!Â
Wait, you say. Why break your streak now?
Iâve got a medical procedure tomorrow and Iâve got a feeling that Iâm not going to be in any condition to be throwing words down. Weâre talking an hourâs drive just to get to the thing.
Call it requesting a day of medical leave.
Today I managed to finish another reedsy story, so I have two that will go up for consideration this weekend. Donât expect much to come of them, but the whole point is to get the writing juices flowing, right?
Iâve been using this site to track my progress on my writing goals and I just donât think Iâm getting it right. The thing tries to post wrong information to my twitter, which I have to go in and fix...
Am I that dumb that I canât work out a word tracker?
Must consult my spouse on this. Iâm sure I will be told off.
Anyway, another reedsy done, just need to edit it.
The prompt was to START a story with words on the back of a photograph and I just couldnât be bothered to keep my mind on that. Originally I started with it, but I lost my thought in the process of telling the story and the whole thing changed.
Instead, you get this.
The Photograph
by MH Tucker
The old attic was something that Kaliegh had always been afraid of. The place was never used and to get up to it you had to pull on a string that dangled from the ceiling at the end of the hallway in her grandmotherâs house. That string brought down stairs which also had to be pulled  and by the time all of that was done, the open mouth of darkness was ready to swallow you up.
Darkness and tight spaces didnât agree with her, neither did the idea of rooms seldom used. Using a place kept the bugs and the spiders away. Not using a place, well, she didnât want to think about it. There was a similar attic out in the garage behind the house and that one was always full of raccoons. Their nests, built of insulation pulled from the walls, would always come tumbling down on your head along with all the poop that was in them. While no one had ever had such a shower in the home attic, Kaleigh still made sure that her brother was the one at the bottom of the steps when the mouth of their destination opened up for them.
âOkay, you first,â she said, reaching out to place both palms on the ladder from behind as if she needed to steady it.
Her brother narrowed his eyes at her. âWhat are you going to do, send me flying?â
âHuh?â Kaliegh blinked and stared at his face, framed perfectly between the steps of the very solid ladder that she clung to.
âYouâre on the wrong side. Push from there and the whole thing closes up. You want me squashed?â He slapped her hand off of the pale wood and tossed a thumb over his shoulder. âCome this way, coward.â
She frowned at him and thrust her hands to her hips, but didnât move. âIâm not a coward.â
âWonât go up here though, will you?â Her brother tipped his chin up toward the darkness.
âI will, just not until youâve gone up first,â she huffed.
Rolling his eyes, Jason started his climb. He was all confidence and perfection, something she wished that she could claim to have even a smattering of. The square patch of oblivion sucked up his head, then his shoulders, and finally his stomach before he let out a grunt and the rest of his body disappeared in one swift motion.
âYou okay?â She called up to him, trying to keep her voice steady.
âYeah.â The answer came with another grunt and was followed by the sound of something scraping against the floor. âJust hard to get up those last few steps. Kinda full up here.â
Kaleigh imagined piles of boxes topped with quilts and lamp shades, smothering the attic above her with the Hollywood ideal made from every horror movie ever imagined. She hated horror movies almost as much as she hated the room above her head.
âOkay,â Jason said at last. She heard a click and then the black square over her head was replaced with the sharp golden glow of a bare light bulb. âCome on up.â
After taking in a deep breath, Kaleigh braced herself for the unknown and began to climb, forcing herself to take each step. There were only seven flat slabs of wood for her feet to touch, but the effort of pushing through her fears left her in a sweat by the time her head broke through the gap in the floor. Jasonâs hand reached down in front of her face before she had a chance to take in what might be around her, almost making her leap back with surprise.
âLet me help you up,â he insisted even as she yelped and tried to jerk away.Â
âYouâre gonna fall. Take my hand.â
âDonât sneak up on me like that!â She complied, but only so that she could slap her palm to his to try and make him pay for the torments he was putting her through. Thanks to her position she couldnât put enough force behind the movement and she ended up swatting more than striking, which she found utterly disappointing.
Before long she was standing beside her brother in a small space with an inverted V made of golden beams of wood. The floor was cleaner than she expected, empty in the center, with the traditional box piles pushed to the edges of the space. No lamp shades or quilts, but there was a stack of blankets on the floor. They had a dip in the center of them, as if someoneâs cat had once used it as a place to sleep and left behind the evidence as a void.
âWell,â Jason said as he let out a long breath. âI guess we should start going through all of this stuff. Figure out what weâre going to keep and what needs to go before the house sells.â
âHow are we supposed to know what Mom wants to keep and what she wants to toss?â Kaleigh eyed the plain brown cubes with suspicion. Their task seemed a whole lot bigger without any sort of parameters to fall back on.
Jason shrugged. âAll we have to do is figure out whatâs inside and label anything that isnât. Everyone else will do the rest once theyâre done dealing with the furniture.â
âSure seems strange, sending Grandma off to some apartment building when she doesnât really need to go.â Kaleigh patted the blankets and a plume of dust erupted from them. Any thought sheâd had of sitting on them rushed out of her mind faster than the particles that filled the air. Choosing to kneel on the hard wood of the floor instead, she reached for the nearest box and opened it.
Already at work on the other side of the room, Jason grunted through the effort of moving one of boxes to where he could open it. âBetter for her to go now than wait until it is too late. Itâs a good place and there will be people there for her if she needs them.â
âYeah, well, she wonât.â The need to defend her grandmotherâs strength and longevity filled Kaleighâs heart. âItâll be ages before she really needs a place like that.â
There was a pause and the sound of cardboard scraping against itself before Jason chuckled. âSeriously. How many cookbooks does anyone need?â
Kaleigh lifted up an envelope of sorts from the box she was investigating. âThis one is all pictures.â The yellowed flap drifted up as she displayed the evidence of her claim, tempting her with a glimpse of what was held inside.
âWe donât have time to go snooping,â Jason reminded her, even as her fingers pulled the prints from their snug home.
Ignoring his words, Kaleigh began to flip through the stack, trying to work out where each point in history might have been captured. None of the pictures seemed to be from here. Instead, they were snapshots of a life somewhere else, in a place filled with weathered wood, metal railings, and people in fancy outfits.
âWonder where these were taken,â she muttered before turning the stack over in hopes of finding some kind of answer.
Rectangle after rectangle came up empty, giving her little hope until she reached one that read simply, âNot Georg.â
âHuh. Someone canât spell, I guess.â Muttering to herself, Kaleigh turned the picture around to stare at the grayish image there. In the distance, on an old, wooden pier, a man was walking away. He seemed large, though there wasnât really any evidence to prove that since he was alone, and his balding head was tipped upward. It wasnât as if he were looking up at the sky, but maybe to something off in the distance that the photographer refused to let anyone see. In one hand he held a jacket, in the other, what looked like a scrap of paper.
âI have so many questions,â Kaleigh told herself as her brother leaned closer, unable to resist a peek. When she noticed him looking she turned the image around to show him the words and he frowned.
âOf all the things to put on a picture.â His brow furrowed in confusion. âI mean. Grandma knew some famous people, maybe itâs someoneâs way of hiding who the person really is? Looks like heâs dressed for a show, right?â
Kaleigh went back through the images to weigh the visuals against her brotherâs suggestion. Most of them looked like they could have been taken at a theater or a party either before or after. She nodded. âMaybe. We could always go ask.â
âAsk me what?â Their grandmotherâs head popped up from the hole in the floor, her bright smile lighting the room more than the bare bulb ever could.
âWhatâs this picture all about?â Kaleigh held it up even though she was sure she was too far away for any details to be clear. âIt says âNot Georgeâ but George is spelled wrong.â
âThatâs because the man in that photo is German. His name really is Georg.â Her grandmother pronounced the name âGe-orgâ as she eased her way up the ladder and pulled herself to a sitting position on the floor. Her wrinkled hand reached out and Kaleigh handed over the photograph, scooting closer in hopes of getting the whole story.
Her grandmother stared down at the image, one finger running along the wood of the pier as if the grains were truly raised and could scratch at her skin. âA friend of ours was in a show that night and we all went to go see it. I took this in what turned out to be the last moments of his life as a single man. Didnât know it at the time of course, but he was about to meet the woman of his dreams.â
âSo why does it say heâs not Georg then?â Kaleighâs tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar pronunciation of the name, but if her grandmother was offended by the attempt, she didnât say anything.
âAh. When he met his girl, she asked if that was his name and he just said ânoâ as if he hadnât understood a word sheâd been saying.â
âBut he wouldnât, though, right? If he was German?â Jasonâs voice came at them through the squeak of permanent marker as it scraped out a message on the cardboard he held.
Their grandmother laughed. âNo, he understood her. She was German too. He was so awestruck that he just couldnât get his tongue to work.â She sighed and closed her eyes, then handed the photo back to Kaleigh with a sad smile. âProbably the best picture Iâve ever taken,â she said. âOne of those accidents that comes along once in a lifetime.â
History seemed to fill the room in that moment, pressing in on Kaleigh from all around. She got the impression that there was much more to this story than what they were being told, but she didnât want to push any further. Maybe in a time when things werenât so hectic she would ask about it again and be able to hear more of this mysterious tale of the man who wasnât someone even though he was. For now, she put the image away with the rest and picked up her marker, forcing it to squeak out the word âphotosâ before capping it again.
When that job was done, her grandmother clapped her hands once, and made a joyful announcement. âNow. I know you two just started, but lunch is ready so how about we go eat and then you can finish this up with full stomachs?â
Always thinking with his stomach, Jason dropped his marker and made a dash to help their grandmother down the attic steps. âSounds great.â
Their grandmother laughed and thanked him, then made her way slowly through the mouth of the room and back into the rest of the world that she would soon be leaving behind. Kaleigh watched her go, then looked over at the box and imagined all of the memories trapped inside, bits of history that meant so much to some people and yet nothing to the rest of the world.
âItâs a box of magic,â she told herself. âAnd I wonât lose the key to keeping it alive.â
Well, it turns out that I did the opposite of one of the prompts from yesterday, so that story will go up here instead of being submitted. The other is done and on the way to being judged.
I have also finished a new Writerâs Block prompt, but Iâm going to get the okay from the site owner before posting because it gets a little sus there at the end.
Started another prompt for Writers Block, but Iâve got medical stuff blocking my creative process, so I threw down what I could, but wonât be doing more for now. Hopefully tomorrow will bring a change.
âRich, saturated hues patched in horizontal bands. Stir that up and let me see it. Come on, man. Weâve got to get the colors perfect in this mix.â
âHow much brighter do you want this, Jamal?â Richard pointed down to the paint tray where he was mixing a shade of brownish orange that would cover the already yellow wall in front of him. âYouâre gonna end up with red giraffe spots if I change it any more. And what does it matter about horizontal bands if Iâm mixing it up?â
Jamal came over and inspected the color. His mouth twitched while his mind mulled over their options. âMixes better and they donât want brown. Said it had to be colorful.â
âThen they shouldnât have insisted on a giraffe theme,â Richard argued. While he defended his case he added a bit more red and yellow to at least try to balance things out. âOr let us to the giraffe print wall in other colors.â
âOh?â The distinct pull and rip of painterâs tape punctuated the question. âAnd just what colors would you have used in a giraffe room?â
Rich shrugged. âI dunno, man. Maybe green, especially with this yellow.â
Another long hiss of protest as the tape was forced from itself. âTheyâre after African Savannah colors, not the jungle.â
âWhere do people get these ideas?â Rich pulled the mixing stick from the paint tray and held it up for Jamal to inspect.
Jamal nodded his acceptance. âYouTube. Pinterest. Anywhere online that shows a three foot square primed slab of cheap wood set out flat on a table. Nobody notices the tricks taken to make the stuff look good, they just think it looks good. At least these two didnât try to do it themselves.â
âSure. Leave the tricks to the professionals,â Richard groaned. âDo we have pre-mutilated rollers or do you need me to do that?â
âThereâs a cutter and duct tape in the corner. Extra rollers too.â
Though he knew Jamal couldnât see him, Rich nodded. âOne giraffe print roller coming up.â
Cutting the duct tape was a pain in the ass, as was trying to place it around the roller in such a way that actually left a decent sized gap between lengths of tape. Too little space would make the wall all brown, too much and it wouldnât look natural. This kind of thing wasnât what he was used to. Making marks with combs, using rope, that heâd done before, but purposefully cutting up their supplies wasnât anything heâd had a keen interest on.
âLook okay?â He held the final product up for inspection, but Jamal barely gave it a glance.
He shrugged. âSeems fine.â
Rich shook his head and lifted the cutter. Reminding himself of every surgeon in every medical show his wife had ever seen, he aimed the point at a white gap between pieces of silvery tape and took in a breath. âWell, here goes nothing.â
It was hard to tell which was more annoying, trying to precision cut the tape or trying to precision cut the roller. By the time he was done there were chunks of fluff all around his feet and even some stuck to his clothes. More came off when he pulled the tape from the roller, but to his surprise, the shapes held.
âWow. Wasnât actually expecting that to work.â
Footsteps approached him from behind and Rich handed the roller over to his partner, who palmed the handle and spun the business end with a finger. âMe either. The real test is going to be if any of this gets stuck to the wall.â
âIf it does, we tell them it just adds texture.â Rich nodded at the yellow wall. âYou get the honors.â
âYour job, man,â Jamal said, handing the roller back.
Rich stepped away and held his hands up. âOh, no way. I just spent all that time cutting the thing.â
âFine, but if it looks like a hot mess, Iâm blaming the man that cut it.â Jamal poked a finger Richâs way, then dipped the roller in the paint and worked up a good coat over the surface.
âYou would,â Rich huffed. He watched as the roller made contact with the wall and tipped his head sideways as Jamalâs years of experience produced a stripe of giraffe spots from ceiling to floor in one easy motion.
The pattern was a bit fuzzy around the edges, but that actually worked for animal print. Both men gazed at it for a long minute, each grunting their approval.
âNever thought Iâd see one of these ideas actually work,â Jamal muttered.
âHelps to have a pro do it,â Rich reminded him. âBetter do the rest while you can keep the coats even.â
Jamal got to work and had the accent wall finished in no time at all. Rich went behind him to work on little touch ups, places where the paint might have bubbled up or pooled and threatened to drip. A dab of a sponge here, the swipe of a small brush there, and the swath of yellow before them was transformed.
âOh, youâve done it already!â A womanâs voice from the doorway made Rich almost jump out of his boots.
âYes Maâam,â he told her with a tip of his head.Â
âWell,â she answered with a pause, hands resting on the bump that stuck out in front of her. âDoesnât that look nice.â
Rich knew the tone in her voice. She didnât approve.
âLooks just like the picture you showed us, Missus Walker,â Jamal added quickly. âThatâs a fine technique you found. Iâll make sure to put it in our portfolio. Crediting you, of course.â
She gave him a kind smile, head tipped to the side. âWell, you did a fine job, but I was actually on my way to tell you weâd changed our minds. Do you think that is something you could paint over?â
Jaw clenching, Rich paid careful attention to the way the pressure on his teeth seemed to rearrange them in his mouth. He needed the distraction to keep himself from swearing.
âI um⌠Well, I mean we could,â Jamal told her, gesturing at the wall. âBut I think this is quite beautiful as it is. You did make a fine choice and the colors go well with everything you showed us.â
âThatâs the thing,â the mother said softly. âThatâs all going back. Recalled by the company. Weâve decided to go with something woodland instead.â
Rich turned as if he were looking for Jamalâs input, but really only wanted his back to their client so that he could roll his eyes. âLet me guess,â he said jovially. âSomething in green?â
Yep, you see me here again. Iâve thrown an update on my twitter, so feel free to go check that out. It is just a word count, nothing more, really.
One submission went in today and another is due tomorrow. Working my cheeks off with this idea of getting back to it, but Iâm enjoying every moment so far.
Latest submission is going to reedsy.com, which does regular contests. Iâll be entering just for run. After all, you never know who is going to like what words you put down.
So it has been ages since I was around and I know that I promise a major return every few months to every few years.
This time will be different!
Yeah, I say that too. Just hang in there and listen.
Iâve been down with health and mental health issues for a long while now, but Iâve recovered for the most part. Iâve hit a spell of free time. I have an app to remind me to switch tasks. What can go wrong?
My failing, you say. That can go wrong.
Well, Iâve spent almost a month training myself to follow the little ping.
No, not that Ping. I am awake and ready to go. My app is going to tell me when to move on.
I really donât know where it comes from. Some days an idea just hits me. Some days I am sitting around and notice the way a shadow has fallen on my desk and need to describe it. Some days I am so furious at the world that I just have to write up a rant that becomes a part of one of my works in progress. Some days I get a single line and nothing more.Â
Occasionally I am more inspired by my writing tools than anything else. The very color of the pen or pencil I am writing in or the exact computer I am working on changes everything on those days.
What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?
I feel like it is a cop out to answer this one right now, when I am super busy and barely able to sit down, but it is the next ask in a million (but keep asking them!) that I have so here goes:
No idea what you mean by this.
Seriously, like my most often made typo or the thing that I have to do to get myself ready? Like... what?
And hey, I appreciate your sharing my stuff. I did notice that and Iâm grateful. Trying to work out a new fan base is a hard thing.
M. H. Tucker's Posted Notes @mhtucker - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag