M. H. Tucker's Posted Notes

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.  

[rumbelleshowdown]

Extra Voting Round is now open!

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.

[rumbelleshowdown]

I’ve 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.

In short — WE NEED MORE VOTES!!

[mhtucker]

AFK

Because of my health, I won’t 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 don’t expect me until Tuesday or Wednesday.

Or keep an eye out, I might decide to surprise you.

[mhtucker]

How do people think up titles?

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 I’m having trouble with he title and more to do with the fact that my content is currently repetitive.

I’m logging on every day.

I’m checking email every day.

I’m writing every day.

Except tomorrow.

STOP! 

Wait, you say. Why break your streak now?

I’ve got a medical procedure tomorrow and I’ve got a feeling that I’m not going to be in any condition to be throwing words down. We’re talking an hour’s 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. Don’t expect much to come of them, but the whole point is to get the writing juices flowing, right?

[mhtucker]

Writing and all other sorts.

I’ve been using this site to track my progress on my writing goals and I just don’t think I’m 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 can’t work out a word tracker?

Must consult my spouse on this. I’m sure I will be told off.

Anyway, another reedsy done, just need to edit it.

[mhtucker]

The Photograph

The prompt was to START a story with words on the back of a photograph and I just couldn’t 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 grandmother’s 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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.

“Okay, you first,” 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. “What are you going to do, send me flying?”

“Huh?” Kaliegh blinked and stared at his face, framed perfectly between the steps of the very solid ladder that she clung to.

“You’re on the wrong side. Push from there and the whole thing closes up. You want me squashed?” He slapped her hand off of the pale wood and tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “Come this way, coward.”

She frowned at him and thrust her hands to her hips, but didn’t move. “I’m not a coward.”

“Won’t go up here though, will you?” Her brother tipped his chin up toward the darkness.

“I will, just not until you’ve gone up first,” 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.

“You okay?” She called up to him, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Yeah.” The answer came with another grunt and was followed by the sound of something scraping against the floor. “Just hard to get up those last few steps. Kinda full up here.”

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.

“Okay,” 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. “Come on up.”

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. Jason’s 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.

“Let me help you up,” he insisted even as she yelped and tried to jerk away. 

“You’re gonna fall. Take my hand.”

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” 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 couldn’t 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 someone’s cat had once used it as a place to sleep and left behind the evidence as a void.

“Well,” Jason said as he let out a long breath. “I guess we should start going through all of this stuff. Figure out what we’re going to keep and what needs to go before the house sells.”

“How are we supposed to know what Mom wants to keep and what she wants to toss?” 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. “All we have to do is figure out what’s inside and label anything that isn’t. Everyone else will do the rest once they’re done dealing with the furniture.”

“Sure seems strange, sending Grandma off to some apartment building when she doesn’t really need to go.” Kaleigh patted the blankets and a plume of dust erupted from them. Any thought she’d 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. “Better for her to go now than wait until it is too late. It’s a good place and there will be people there for her if she needs them.”

“Yeah, well, she won’t.” The need to defend her grandmother’s strength and longevity filled Kaleigh’s heart. “It’ll be ages before she really needs a place like that.”

There was a pause and the sound of cardboard scraping against itself before Jason chuckled. “Seriously. How many cookbooks does anyone need?” Kaleigh lifted up an envelope of sorts from the box she was investigating. “This one is all pictures.” The yellowed flap drifted up as she displayed the evidence of her claim, tempting her with a glimpse of what was held inside.

“We don’t have time to go snooping,” 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. “Wonder where these were taken,” 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, “Not Georg.”

“Huh. Someone can’t spell, I guess.” 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 wasn’t really any evidence to prove that since he was alone, and his balding head was tipped upward. It wasn’t 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. “I have so many questions,” 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.

“Of all the things to put on a picture.” His brow furrowed in confusion. “I mean. Grandma knew some famous people, maybe it’s someone’s way of hiding who the person really is? Looks like he’s dressed for a show, right?”

Kaleigh went back through the images to weigh the visuals against her brother’s suggestion. Most of them looked like they could have been taken at a theater or a party either before or after. She nodded. “Maybe. We could always go ask.” “Ask me what?” Their grandmother’s head popped up from the hole in the floor, her bright smile lighting the room more than the bare bulb ever could.

“What’s this picture all about?” Kaleigh held it up even though she was sure she was too far away for any details to be clear. “It says ‘Not George’ but George is spelled wrong.”

“That’s because the man in that photo is German. His name really is Georg.” Her grandmother pronounced the name “Ge-org” 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. “A 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. Didn’t know it at the time of course, but he was about to meet the woman of his dreams.” “So why does it say he’s not Georg then?” Kaleigh’s tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar pronunciation of the name, but if her grandmother was offended by the attempt, she didn’t say anything.

“Ah. When he met his girl, she asked if that was his name and he just said ‘no’ as if he hadn’t understood a word she’d been saying.”

“But he wouldn’t, though, right? If he was German?” Jason’s voice came at them through the squeak of permanent marker as it scraped out a message on the cardboard he held.

Their grandmother laughed. “No, he understood her. She was German too. He was so awestruck that he just couldn’t get his tongue to work.” She sighed and closed her eyes, then handed the photo back to Kaleigh with a sad smile. “Probably the best picture I’ve ever taken,” she said. “One of those accidents that comes along once in a lifetime.”

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 didn’t want to push any further. Maybe in a time when things weren’t so hectic she would ask about it again and be able to hear more of this mysterious tale of the man who wasn’t 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 “photos” before capping it again.

When that job was done, her grandmother clapped her hands once, and made a joyful announcement. “Now. 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?” Always thinking with his stomach, Jason dropped his marker and made a dash to help their grandmother down the attic steps. “Sounds great.”

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.

“It’s a box of magic,” she told herself. “And I won’t lose the key to keeping it alive.”

[mhtucker]

More to post.

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 Writer’s Block prompt, but I’m going to get the okay from the site owner before posting because it gets a little sus there at the end.

[mhtucker]

Two more down.

More than happy to report I’ve got two more short stories in to the editor for checking before I submit them.

Now it should be said that right now I’m not submitting for publication, because I’m sure you are all blinking in surprise.

I am spending the summer just getting the juices flowing and keeping to a schedule.

One that is going to change once I go back to work.

Yippie.

The important thing is that words are flowing. That’s all I care about right now.

[mhtucker]

Keeping on, even when I’m not strong.

Started another prompt for Writers Block, but I’ve got medical stuff blocking my creative process, so I threw down what I could, but won’t be doing more for now. Hopefully tomorrow will bring a change.

[thewriterzblok]

Prompt: November 2020

Rich, saturated hues patched in horizontal bands…

[mhtucker]

The Painters

“Rich, saturated hues patched in horizontal bands. Stir that up and let me see it. Come on, man. We’ve got to get the colors perfect in this mix.”

“How much brighter do you want this, Jamal?” 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. “You’re gonna end up with red giraffe spots if I change it any more. And what does it matter about horizontal bands if I’m mixing it up?”

Jamal came over and inspected the color. His mouth twitched while his mind mulled over their options. “Mixes better and they don’t want brown. Said it had to be colorful.”

“Then they shouldn’t have insisted on a giraffe theme,” Richard argued. While he defended his case he added a bit more red and yellow to at least try to balance things out. “Or let us to the giraffe print wall in other colors.”

“Oh?” The distinct pull and rip of painter’s tape punctuated the question. “And just what colors would you have used in a giraffe room?”

Rich shrugged. “I dunno, man. Maybe green, especially with this yellow.”

Another long hiss of protest as the tape was forced from itself. “They’re after African Savannah colors, not the jungle.”

“Where do people get these ideas?” Rich pulled the mixing stick from the paint tray and held it up for Jamal to inspect.

Jamal nodded his acceptance. “YouTube. 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 didn’t try to do it themselves.”

“Sure. Leave the tricks to the professionals,” Richard groaned. “Do we have pre-mutilated rollers or do you need me to do that?”

“There’s a cutter and duct tape in the corner. Extra rollers too.”

Though he knew Jamal couldn’t see him, Rich nodded. “One giraffe print roller coming up.”

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 wouldn’t look natural. This kind of thing wasn’t what he was used to. Making marks with combs, using rope, that he’d done before, but purposefully cutting up their supplies wasn’t anything he’d had a keen interest on.

“Look okay?” He held the final product up for inspection, but Jamal barely gave it a glance.

He shrugged. “Seems fine.”

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. “Well, here goes nothing.”

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.

“Wow. Wasn’t actually expecting that to work.”

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. “Me either. The real test is going to be if any of this gets stuck to the wall.”

“If it does, we tell them it just adds texture.” Rich nodded at the yellow wall. “You get the honors.”

“Your job, man,” Jamal said, handing the roller back.

Rich stepped away and held his hands up. “Oh, no way. I just spent all that time cutting the thing.”

“Fine, but if it looks like a hot mess, I’m blaming the man that cut it.” Jamal poked a finger Rich’s way, then dipped the roller in the paint and worked up a good coat over the surface.

“You would,” Rich huffed. He watched as the roller made contact with the wall and tipped his head sideways as Jamal’s 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.

“Never thought I’d see one of these ideas actually work,” Jamal muttered.

“Helps to have a pro do it,” Rich reminded him. “Better do the rest while you can keep the coats even.”

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.

“Oh, you’ve done it already!” A woman’s voice from the doorway made Rich almost jump out of his boots.

“Yes Ma’am,” he told her with a tip of his head. 

“Well,” she answered with a pause, hands resting on the bump that stuck out in front of her. “Doesn’t that look nice.”

Rich knew the tone in her voice. She didn’t approve.

“Looks just like the picture you showed us, Missus Walker,” Jamal added quickly. “That’s a fine technique you found. I’ll make sure to put it in our portfolio. Crediting you, of course.”

She gave him a kind smile, head tipped to the side. “Well, you did a fine job, but I was actually on my way to tell you we’d changed our minds. Do you think that is something you could paint over?”

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.

“I um… Well, I mean we could,” Jamal told her, gesturing at the wall. “But 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.”

“That’s the thing,” the mother said softly. “That’s all going back. Recalled by the company. We’ve decided to go with something woodland instead.”

Rich turned as if he were looking for Jamal’s input, but really only wanted his back to their client so that he could roll his eyes. “Let me guess,” he said jovially. “Something in green?”

[mhtucker]

Having a long weekend.

There is a story behind this. I’m sure it will end up in one of my books. 

Ugh.

[mhtucker]

Another one done.

Finished another little tidbit for contest submission today. If anything comes of it, you’ll see it here.

[mhtucker]

Day 3. I’m on a roll.

Yep, you see me here again. I’ve 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 I’m enjoying every moment so far.

Latest submission is going to reedsy.com, which does regular contests. I’ll be entering just for run. After all, you never know who is going to like what words you put down.

[mhtucker]

Well, Well.

Two days in a row. Look at me.

See, I can do this.

Now, since the word count site I use only posts to my twitter, I will have to throw down some stats in here.

What I have today is a completed flash fic. Just 650 words. 

Will let you know if it goes anywhere.

If it doesn’t, it’ll go up here.

[mhtucker]

My great return.

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.

I’ve been down with health and mental health issues for a long while now, but I’ve recovered for the most part. I’ve 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, I’ve 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.

Can’t wait to begin.

Expect something tomorrow.

[mhtucker]

Still getting settled.

I have just enough time to check in with people I follow, but little else.

Your asks and prompts have arrived and I have noticed them.

Now I must lunch.

[mhtucker]

Where do you draw inspiration from?

I really don’t 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. 

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.

[mhtucker]

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 I’m grateful. Trying to work out a new fan base is a hard thing.