D is for...

Drabbles

To write to set rules can be tricky,

When counting the words I am picky.

I hope it's not babble,

That makes up my drabble,

With words such as 'clicky' and 'jicky'.

*shifty*



Image borrowed from Google images.

Limericking

Some of you may remember that the other day I stated I would unofficially take part in the April A-Z Challenge. Some of you may also note that my blog now has the rather unmissable A-Z Challenge icon displayed on the right.


*shifty*

OK, so I gave into temptation and committed myself after all.

Anyway, I have decided that I needed a theme, and that the theme had to be amenable to short posts (this being not a rule as such, but a guideline, seeing as those taking part also have to read as many participating blogs as possible during the challenge). First I thought, 'Aha! Drabbles!', but that is something that I do pretty regularly for The Burrow, and I fancied a change. So I will be limericking (not a word, but I like the sound of it, so there *nods*) for the duration of the month of April.

And that's all I have to say today!

Image permission.

Drabbling

To coincide with the drabble challenge over on my writer's group blog (Burrowers, Books & Balderdash - *coughshamelessplugcough*), and also because I know I won't have time to blog tomorrow (er, today), I thought I'd schedule a post for you.

The Burrow (which you should know by now is my writer's group) has been drabbling to images for over two years now, and we've published our projects online at our showcase website www.the-burrow.org/ since December 2008.  Put simply, a drabble is a story told in exactly one hundred words. Technically they aren't really stories - telling a complete and cohesive story in a mere hundred words is nigh on impossible - but it is amazing what you can convey in such a short piece of text. It is also amazing how many different ideas spring forth from our imaginations when we have a word or an image as a prompt. The weekly challenge over on Burrowers, Books & Balderdash is very simple. We, The Burrow, will post an image every Sunday, and we'll invite each and every one of you to submit your very own drabble inspired from that image. Every Burrower will take a turn at 'judging' and picking the best of the weekly entries, and these will then be published on our blog the following Saturday. No prizes as such, except for the bragging opportunity of being published on the fantastically brilliant Burrower Blog (*coughs*).

And to get you in a drabbling mood, here's a drabble that I wrote for last year's Easter project.

That's right, go ahead. There's plenty of grass, there's no need to worry. Don't hang around waiting for me; I can get my fill right here. Off you go, don't you fret. I'll look for you every minute, and in my mind's eye I'll see you eating your fill. I'll try not to picture where you really are; I'll try not to imagine you being somebody else's grass.

Next year I'll say goodbye to another of my lambs, and I'll wish that I could have been taken the same way. When they slaughter, it's not only the lambs who suffer.

Image courtesy of Petr Kratochvil.

A New Start

The start of a new month, the start of the second (and better) half of the year, the start of the summer proper, and the start of a new project. Not to mention that I'm writing an entry for Rowan Coleman's Short Story Competition, which, funnily enough, has the theme of - you guessed it - 'a new start'. That's a fair few new starts for the month of July, is it not?

I really like July. *sighs happily* It's my birth month, so while I hate getting older (which, by the way, seems to accelerate as the years go by), it's still nice because my birthday is the one day of the year where I get to be treated. This year it's even better because it will fall on a Saturday, and somehow birthdays are always nice if they coincide with the weekend, yes?

Anyway, I wanted to blog on the first of July mainly because my writer's group is currently in the final stages of setting up our blog. We go live on the 5th, and as one of the contributors I have the dubious honor of having THIS blog on the blogroll. Now, as we are aiming to be entertaining, helpful and professional, I figured I didn't want my most recent blog title 'advertising' me. Somehow I don't think *is a failure* quite gets across an image I'm happy with.

Anyway, the new blog is really exciting for me personally because I get to work on a permanent project with my writer's group (The Burrow, for those of you who aren't experiencing Deja Vu). We work on projects several times a year, but this time it will be something that will be ongoing, so I get to enjoy the whole 'group working' thing on a regular basis. It will also hopefully open up a wider network for The Burrow as a whole. We've been 'together' for several years now, and have gone from a small forum thread to bigger and better things. We have a fabulous website which showcases our work (those projects I mentioned before), and are well on the way to becoming the authors we all aspire to be. We've gone from writing fan fiction, to displaying drabbles to images in an art gallery, to debut novels, and although it's been a long road and we're mostly all still travelling, one of us has secured a publishing deal (the fabulous Tami, of Confessions of a Watery Tart). 2010 is looking to be our best year yet, obviously!

Another new start for me this month is that I am back in the land of employment again. I returned to my previous job last week, and although it's only three days a week mostly (except when there's overtime, which already I am doing *rolls eyes*), it's going to suck a whole lot of time up. All my shifts start at 6am, which means I have to be up at 4:30am. *dies*. One of those days is a Sunday, too, which is already my worst day of the week.  Of course, this means that I have to go to bed earlier the night before each shift (which cuts writing time). I also end up going to bed earlier on the actual day of the shift too, which means that five nights a week I am losing at least two hours of writing time. As I tend to write the best during the late evening, this is a major loss.

On the other hand, because I do NOT want to spend the next x amount of years counting newspapers and cashing up tills, it is incredible incentive for me to crack on with the serious job of editing Cardiffella. I remember thinking two years ago (which was when I resigned) that I couldn't wait to be unemployed so that I could concentrate on my writing. Of course, being the Princess of Procrastination meant that the actual writing didn't really happen. Sure, I have written over the last two years, but it's definitely been far from the daily habit that I initially hoped for. I have dithered away a good few months, procrastinated for a couple more, avoided almost completely for three months or so, and wasted time on Facebook and what-not for another few months. Less than half of the last two years (heck, probably only as little as three months or so, let's be brutally honest here) has been used for the writing that I was so intent on accomplishing.

Life gets in the way of course, so I'm not going to take responsibility for stuff that's been out of my control, but even if I ignore the last six months, that's still eighteen months that could have been used much better. The funny thing is, I'm actually a little bit glad to be working again, despite the sucky hours. For some strange reason I seem to work better when I don't have too much time on my hands. I think the thought of being 'free' from employment went to my head, and instead of doing what I should have done, I ended up doing anything and everything else, just because I could.

So....  that's a new month, a story about a new start, a new blog, a new life routine, and a new incentive to get my novel ready for submission. Lots of 'news'. Or lots of news, whichever way you want to look at it.

Keep an eye out for the new blog next week. I'm sure myself and my fellow Burrowers will all share the link not only on our blogs, but on our Facebook profiles too. We've all shared details of our writer's group on our individual blogs before, so it will be lovely to have you visit an off-shoot of The Burrow where several of us will contribute. Maybe you'll get to know us a little better, and hopefully we'll help and inspire as well as entertain.

Happy July 1st everyone!

You couldn't make it up....

So it's still absolutely sweltering here in Cardiff, and I'm sat on my sofa with my laptop warming my thighs and a big fan cooling my brow. I plan on sitting here all day; I have my blog to write, some finishing touches to my prologue for 'Cardiffella' to add, one more drabble to compose for next month's Burrow feature, and some notes to write up ready for next week's BuNoWriMo . Happy days!

I thought I'd ramble a bit today about my weekend, because it was one of those weekends where nothing seemed to go right. I don't know whether any of you are like me, but if you are I feel sorry for you. I'm one of those people that has things happen to them that would never happen to anyone else. You know, the stupid things that are so bizarre that they couldn't possibly be made up because nobody is crazy enough to think of those scenarios.

Take my Saturday - no seriously, take it. I had been looking forward to Saturday 22nd May for the last three weeks. Nothing spectacular was happening, you understand, just an arranged night out with the hubby at the local pub, but still, it's a night out, right? I rarely get an evening out with the hubby because trying to find babysitters for my kids is a bit of a nightmare. My son is easy enough to make arrangements for - he's almost fourteen so doesn't need looking after as such, and is happy enough to be left to his on devices. As for my daughter, though, that's where I hit the snags. Ellie's a bit, well, I don't know that there's an actual word for it, she's just Ellie.

We have a saying in my family about Ellie, and I seriously believe several people are actually scared of her. Not that she's an Insane Regan From The Exorcist type of child, it's just that she's demanding. Very demanding. Anyone calling at my house runs the risk of being Ellied, which can include anything from playing Monopoly for five or six hours, to listening to Justin Bieber's 'Baby' about a gazillion times. Me, I'm mostly immune to it. I can have a conversation with my daughter with half an ear (which is just as well because until I pluck up the courage to get my ears syringed again, I'm mostly deaf anyway), but other people aren't so well prepared.

To be fair, she's a well-loved child, and nobody holds the fact that they will probably have a headache after spending longer than half an hour with her against her, but it's pretty difficult to get anybody to voluntarily look after her without me being there as a buffer.

Anyway, I'd arranged babysitters for both of my kids a couple of weeks ago. Overnight babysitters, no less. Excellent! The weather turned crazy hot at the end of last week, and I thought 'Great, this is working out brilliantly!' Saturday night, child free, sunny weather, beer garden, the works!

See. this is where I went wrong, because nothing ever works out great for me, so I should never have jinxed myself by thinking otherwise. *rolls eyes*

Anywho, Saturday did indeed dawn very bright and sunny, so I took my kids to their auntie's house (only a two minute walk from me) and spent the afternoon relaxing in the back garden while the kids tired themselves out on the trampoline and what-not. I left just after 3pm, my son staying behind as he was sleeping over until Sunday. My plan was to walk home, grab a sandwich (in order to have some carbohydrates to soak up the planned alcohol consumption of later in the day), then take my daughter to my mum's house before coming back home to shower and stuff.

Now so far, I have to admit, this is not sounding in any way like it was a bad day, but trust me, I'm getting there.

So, 4pm arrives. I grab my daughter's overnight bag and my purse and leave the house , banging the front door shut behind me. Then I bang the front door shut again. And again. Several 'agains' later, I realise that my front door is never going to shut owing to fact that the lock is completely knackered. Of course, I sort of figured this out after the third or fourth 'bang', but you know what it's like, you keep on checking just in case it will miraculously work if you give it an extra hard bang. Well, you probably don't know what it's like, but you know what I mean. It's like when you lose something and you keep checking the same drawer over and over because, dammit, you know you put it there. Like it's really going to appear when you've already checked a thousand times already. It's madness, but you keep checking.

Anyway (Lordy, I love that word), Ellie is now seriously pouting because it looks like she won't be sleeping at nanny's house after all, and I'm 'f-ing' all over the place because I'm so wound up. I mean, seriously, the lock had to break now? It couldn't happen on a day when I didn't need to go anywhere? Grr!

Now, when it comes to DIY, I'm hopeless. Honestly, I can't even wire a plug - it's pathetic how inept I am. But I wiped my brow, cursed a bit more under my breath, and dug out the screwdrivers (and phoned the hubby for back up. I mean, come on, I'll get a screwdriver out and have a go, but lets not pretend I'll manage to fix it. *snort*). I took the lock off the door, prodded it a few times, took the back off the casing, prodded a little bit more, scratched my head, put the lock back together and screwed it back onto the door, called the lock a few choice names because it (of course) still didn't work, and kicked the door for good measure.

And then the plinth on the bottom of the door fell off.

Seriously, I kid you not.

Hubby arrived and basically did exactly the same as me with regards to cursing, taking the lock off and fiddling a bit with it, and putting it back on the door again. When it still wouldn't lock, he gave his professional opinon; "I guess it's f****ed then.".

No kidding.

Then  a little light bulb went off in my head. I phoned my sister-in-law and asked her to house sit for me for the night. I mean, I have deadlocks and bolts on the door as well as the normal lock, so it's perfectly safe and lockable from the inside, but I couldn't leave the house empty unless I wanted to invite half of Ely to help themselves to my stuff (and to be honest, you don't have to invite half of Ely to take your stuff, they just do it anyway). Thankfully, my sister-in-law, being the star that she is, agreed. Disaster was avoided, yay!

I was running late by now, though, and my plans were seriously scuppered. I'd had everything worked out - drop the daughter to my mum's house, go home, blast some music, have a vodka or two, shower, change, titivate etc etc. Instead, as it was now 6pm, I had to make do with changing my top, slapping some lippy on, sticking my head upside down, and spraying half a can of hairspray onto it (CFC free, of course).

The bus was, of course, late, but it eventually arrived and I dropped off my daughter. All I had to do was jump on the next bus - any bus! - and make my way to the pub (hubby was already there, smart man that he is). Of course, despite Cardiff Bus advertising 'a bus every five minutes!', I waited twenty minutes before one actually turned up. And another of course, the bus was full of people who were already tipsy after drowning their sorrows because of the disappointing results of Cardiff City's big game at Wembley. As if that wasn't bad enough, two stops after I got on (you know where this is going, right), one of Cardiff's resident nuts came aboard and decided that of the ten or so available seats, he'd pick the one next to me to sit down on.

I spent the next ten minutes getting to know the window extremely well, while Nutter 's sweaty thigh tried to get acquainted with my twitchy leg. Ugh. *shudders*

And what do you know, the guy got off at the same time as me, and I soon realised he was heading for the same place too (it wasn't that hard to figure out, because the stop I got off at only really has three options for your destination; the doctor's surgery (which was closed), the cemetery, or the pub. Okay, the Nutter's a , well, nutter, but even I knew that it was unlikely he wanted to spend Saturday night with a bunch of dead people).

Anyway, I hung back a bit a waited until the guy was a few minutes' ahead, then started walking again, and finally - finally! - I got to the Promised Land (er, the Culverhouse Cross pub). And it was only 7.30pm!

So I did manage to have my night out (which was fab, by the way), but it sure took a long time getting there (or felt like it). Oh, and to cap it all, my daughter ended up back at my house anyway. About half an hour after I left her she decided she didn't want to sleep at nanny's house after all, so Bampy brought her back home and my sister-in-law ended up babysitting as well as house sitting. So, in a funny way, I was sort of lucky that my door wouldn't shut.

It's a funny old world.

Oh, and hubby put a new lock on the door yesterday. It only took three hours too! *snort* It's not that hubby is inept, because he's not, it's just that my house is really awkward. Nothing is as it should be, from wonky walls, to strange-sized doorframes and lop-sided wall sockets. I swear it was custom built just to annoy me....*mutters*

Leaving things half-finis...

No, there isn't a typo in the title of today's blog, it was an attempt at humour. I know you may not believe this, because a)I am a Typo Queen and b), well, it's not really funny. But it's the truth, so help me Aragorn (that wasn't a typo either, though to be fair it would be pretty difficult to to have 'Aragorn' as a typo for 'God'. Having said that, if you have Aragorn on the mind, anything is possible, so maybe it could have been a typo after all). Hmm.

Anyway,  what I wanted to talk about was my very bad habit of leaving things half-finished. This, I should also tell you, goes hand in hand with leaving things to the last minute. And also hand in hand (you may have to swap hands to achieve required handiness, or borrow a friend's extremities, you decide), with the tendency to dither, waste time, and generally procrastinate.

On Leaving Things half-finished....

These things could be anything, though then usually tend to be writing projects. *shifty* I have - wonder of wonders- actually completed no less than three longer length fan fictions. Now, three is quite a nice number, but when you consider that I have been writing fanfic for over four years now, three isn't an awful lot (and in fact, the very first fiction that I ever wrote and completed was short enough to be definitely dicey on the classification of 'longer fanfic').

To put it into perspective, I currently have two 'ongoing' (and I use that term loosely) fanfictions. One was started in November of 2007 and was supposed to have been finished within two to three months. *pulls familiar shifty face* The other, probably my personal favorite in terms of writing for it, was started way back in March of 2006 (you all know how shifty I am looking now, right?). The first fic should have been finished at least a year ago. I stipulated two to three months because I thought it would be fairly short, but I ended up writing more scenes that I initially intended, so the plot became too much for a shorter length fic. Still, two years later, I am only half way through....

My second fic, though, was always meant to be longer. Having a extremely soft spot for Remus Lupin (of Harry Potter fame), I decided to write his life story based on the little canon that we knew about him. I have him at nine years old at the start, and the plan was (still is, in fact) to take him right the way up until his death.  The really good thing with this story is that I get to be evil. *nods* Remus Lupin is definitely a victim, and not only because if his Furry Little Problem (er, for the few of you who haven't read these books, our Remmy is a werewolf, bless him *hugs Remmy*). The poor soul is also without parents, not to mention virtually friendless, and without any means to support himself in a world that categorically hates werewolves (poor thing, I mean honestly, it's not like werewolves are dangerous, is it? )

Still, even though I intended the story to be long-lasting, we are now three and a half years later, and Remus is still only 14. *does the shifty foot shuffle* It's also a mark of how long I have been writing this fic that the banner actually has my original HPANA username on there (complete with obligatory typo), when I actually changed my username over two years ago. *snorts*

And then there are the three fictions that I abandoned completely.  My bad. Very bad. It's an absolute pain in the arse when you get involved in a story only to have the author give up on it half way through. I KNOW this, yet I have still committed this cardinal sin.

The thing is, it's not that I actively choose to abandon these stories, and it's not that I don't want to finish them, because I do, very much so. Obviously I am to blame, because I can't exactly blame it on someone else, but sometimes it really isn't my fault, I swear. Scout's Honour (okay, I'm not, nor ever have been, a scout, but you know what I mean). A good 50% of the blame can actually be apportioned to things that are out of my control. Lack of computer (this is the biggie), lack of time (some months more than others), and lack of ideas (you can't force a muse to appear, even with bribery, I tried) all contribute to the lack of writing. I could even add stress and depression to this, because I am a very up and down person who can experience quite scary mood-swings on a regular basis. The highs are very good, because they make me a little hyper, thus more inclined to write, but the lows are not at all conductive to story-telling.

On the other hand, there is also 50% worth of blame that still needs to be dished out, and I can't deny that this half of the problem is all down to me. You would be amazed at the amount of things I could find to do that would mean I could accidentally-forget-on-purpose that I am supposed to be writing. I've even been known to get the iron and ironing board out in order to put off that update that should have been written several days ago. *needs to have the word 'shifty' tattooed across my forehead).

I suppose that technically, it really isn't my fault as such. It's always been in my nature to dither and put things off, and it's a very hard habit to break. I have small breakthroughs now and again (NaNoWriMo was the biggest breakthrough EVER), but they are few and far between.  I'm trying to do better though.

Only, I've sort of noticed that this month is not going so well. I've not written anything at all in the last week, and I haven't managed to keep up with my blog.  Still, this is mostly because December is such a mad, mad month, and also because the hubby is currently off work so my computer time is severely hampered. I'm not too worried about it in actual fact. My fingers may be idle, but my brain is whizzing with activity, and I have managed to jot down plot ideas for the next two books in my proposed Fairy Tales series.  (Note that once again, my original 'original', Soul Identitiy, is on the back burner. One year I may actually write the darn thing, but seeing as at the moment my brain can only conjure chick-litty stuff, I'm letting that one stay in the dusty attic which is situated in the top left-hand corner of my brain for the time being).

Oh, and I forgot! I haven't 'not written anything at all' this month after all! I churned out two Christmas drabbles the other day. *grins* There, that's not so bad, is it?

*is cheating again*

Yeah, I'm cheating again. It's Sunday, I'm snowed under with cooking the lunch, washing the laundry, and NaNo-ing. It's 12.45pm and I've only just put the chicken in the oven. *dies* I'm so behind, it's unbelievable. My Taff blog yesterday didn't help matters. After I wrote it, I couldn't get my head around writing 'normally', so NaNo-ing was a complete no-no last night.

Okay, so I also watched X Factor, which ate up an hour and a half, but that's neither here nor there. Escapism is a must for your general procrastinator. *nods firmly* I also had a few games of Bejeweled Blitz before I went to bed, but again, that's pretty normal for me.

I hit a rough patch in my NaNo on Friday. Thursdays are off-limits when it comes to writing, so Friday I was really hoping to punch out a few thousand words to keep on track. What  did I get? A big fat zero. Nothing, nada, zilch. I was not a happy bunny. I managed a meagre 2k yesterday afternoon, but it was hard going. This morning I had a small breakthrough and punched out another 1,700 words, but I'm still 2k shy of that magic 30k marker, and 4k shy of my personal goal of 32k by the end of today. Still ahead by NaNo standards, but not what I wanted.

So I'm not doing a real blog today. I'm rambling a little bit (see above), (which is normal for the most part) but not about anything in particular. And I'm going to insert a drabble into this post, just to make it look longer. *shifty*

Sundays. Bloody Sundays. *mutters* I really need someone to come to my house and do all of my chores so that I can concentrate on my NaNo. As that's not likely to happen any time soon, I am feeling a bit down. And if I'm feeling down, it's only fair I share a little doom, right? You know how I love to be evil. *shifty*

Soooo.... have a dark and twisty drabble:

 

It's too late to mourn, too late to cry.
It's too late to wish I'd said goodbye.

Shadows climb and shadows lie,
Shadows called for you to die.

Shadows took your restless soul,
And left me empty, dark, alone.

Shadows ignored my pleas, my moans,
And took you from your only home.

Now I watch the shadows rise,
And wonder if they hear my cries.

Do they sense my deep despair?
Or do they never have a care?

Shadows feed on my distress,
My sense of loss, my loneliness.

Shadows sense my restlessness,
They'll never leave, or let me rest.

*takes booby prize*

It had to happen at some point. There had to be at least one blog suggestion that would completely stump me, and this is it.  My "Australian" blog almost made the Stumped List, but I managed to fudge my way through it by slightly tweaking the parameters. I'm having to do the same thing today, because the suggestion that I am supposed to be blogging about is 'bra sizes'. I'm just going to pretend that the word 'sizes' wasn't mentioned, and go with 'bras' instead. It's not really breaking the rules. is it? *shifty*

When I am unsure of what I am going to blog about, I take a look at google images, and usually I am able to find something interesting/funny/odd to stimulate the old brain. As you can imagine, searching for bra images threw up some, erm, unsuitable, images that I wouldn't be comfortable displaying on a public blog. However, there were some snort-worthy pictures amongst the smut, and they are going to come in handy for today's ramble.

The very first image that I came across was slightly disturbing. The Bacon Bra is definitely not something I would choose to wear myself. Wearing raw animal against my bare skin would be a complete turn-off (though I'd hazard a guess that if it was cooked bacon, the hubby might be interested *snort*). On the plus side, it puts me in mind of the scene in 'Hot Shots' where Charlie Sheen is frying his breakfast on his girlfriend's sizzling belly, so at least I was amused, as well as slightly disgusted.

Next up was something that just made me roll my eyes in that "Lordy, they'll try anything to sell something" kind of way. The iPod bra *snort* is another item of clothing that I'm not going to be wearing any time soon.It puts me in mind of one of the silliest sayings I have ever heard. In my neck of the woods, when we get really cold weather (and certain parts of our bodies, erm, react), most men will say to an affected woman: "Can I tune in Radio 1 on those?". Funny for the first few times that you hear it, but after a thousand or more times, not so much. If I wore the iPod bra, my hubby would never let me hear the end of it.

My next bra is a nod to the person who suggested bras as a topic in the first place. I present the Pumpkin Bra. I'm not sure how comfortable this bra would be, and finding the right size could turn into a bit of a problem, but for a novelty costume at Halloween, this item of underwear ticks all the right boxes. I wouldn't advise putting a candle inside these pumpkins though, or things could get pretty painful, pretty fast.






Now we arrive at the inevitable Animal In A Bra picture. I came across plenty of cats and dogs sporting bras of various shapes and sizes, but as soon as I saw this little fella in the hot red over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, I knew I'd have to add it to my pictures folder. I don't really have any other comment to make about this one, I just added it because I liked it.*grins*

The penultimate bra that I am sharing with you is an advert. Now, I'm not sure if it's a real advert or not, but if it is, I'm a bit scared.  I mean, a bra that's over three feet wide? I can't even image what cup size that would be... double Z probably. *faints*

Whether it's real or not, it's definitely false advertising because I found the REAL biggest bra in the world.*nods* Even the Dolly Partons of this world would never be able to fill the cups on this mammoth mammary holder. Makes you wonder what the heck people were thinking about when they made it. I've seen some strange things in my time, but this has to be on the list of most pointless things ever made. Funny, though.

Actually, that big bra wasn't the last bra of this post.... I just remembered that I was going to post a drabble that I wrote last year. This drabble was inspired by the age-old  question that we women have to ask ourselves every once in a while (unless you are a nudist, that is, which is something I'm not brave enough to contemplate).

Black can be boring, while white is virginal. I'm neither boring OR virginal. But I'm not a lace and frills type either. What to do, what to do...
I don't want strapless, that wouldn't do at all. These puppies would be scampering all over the place. And t-shirt bras are SO plain. I want to excite him, not send him to sleep! Maybe red? No, definitely not. Might as well stamp 'desperate' across my head. But what about pink? Pretty, yet subtle. A little bit different, but not too bold. Just like me, in fact. Yes, pink will do nicely.


I think I'll leave it there. Probably the best thing to do, if truth be told. One last thing before I post, though. After a severe lack of suggestions the other day, I had to resort to Facebook advertising to get today's topic.  I had two suggestions within a few hours, and when I checked again this morning, there was another one added. I've used up the first suggestion, but I don't want to waste the other two. I propose a vote. The choice is 'Taffies' or 'deep fine legs'. Which ever one has the most votes will be blogged about as my final request. The ball's in your court, so choose wisely....

*is taking requests*

When I posted one of my Halloween drabbles the other day, a friend requested that I post a different one. *hugs Natasha for always being so confidence-boosting* I decided that I would do as she asked, but I was saving it for today because technically it's cheating on my whole 'write a new blog every day' plan. I've waited a week since I posted my last drabble, mostly because I don't want to fall into the habit of posting drabbles on my blog.

Why? Because I find drabbles really easy to write. I could put one in my blog every day of the week without much effort at all, and I don't want that. Posting about random topics means I am flexing my writing muscles, no matter how silly the subject is. I've put more effort into most of my blogs (though it might not seem that way)  than I have on any of my drabbles, and I need to keep it that way.

Also, for the most part, I would like to keep my drabbles for my writers' group. The Burrow and drabbles go hand in hand in my mind. The drabble that Natasha requested (along with many, many others) can be found on our website, so please take a look if you have a few spare minutes. I promise there's something to suit everyone's tastes on there.

Moving on.

You'll notice the title of today's blog is *is taking requests*. Along with today's 'request', I have decided to put my fate into seven (un)lucky peoples' hands.  For the next week, I am going to blog about whatever YOU suggest for me. I thought it might be fun (not to mention making things easier for me too *shifty*). Seriously though, I remember taking requests for 'one shots' a few years ago, and the few that I wrote were hilarious writing experiences. I highly recommend taking requests, because, like a box of Forrest Gump's chocolates, you never know what you are going to get.

I don't want to be faced with a choice of subjects, because the procrastinator in me would dither (also I could pick and choose, which kind of defeats the point), so what I am going to do is say that the first person to post on each day's blog (starting from today), has to give me a subject to blog about on the following day (that's assuming that I get comments, of course, but I usually do because I have fabulous friends).

Now, I'm relatively easy-going, so pretty much anything goes. The only thing I will stipulate is that I won't do anything that would be unsuitable for a 13 year old. It's not that I'm a prude or anything, but my blog  is on my Facebook profile, and my 13 year old is a member on there. Innuendo, of course, is fine. *winks*

On that note, I will leave you with today's request from Natasha. I'm hoping for some quirky requests over the next few days, so don't disappoint me!

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Oh, he loves Halloween. He's like a big kid, dressing up and filling the house with bowls of treats. Trouble is, he thinks women are the same as sweets. He likes to have as many as possible, of every variety. Pick and mix.

Look at him, back from his trick or treating, eyes bulging at his booty. I smile as he digs deep and pulls out his favorite sweet.

"Trick or treat?" he asks, eyebrows wriggling.

I smile again as I watch him bite, swallow, then start to convulse. A syringe, delicately used, is all it takes.

"Trick," I reply.