You can find links to my flash fiction, to my serialized story, Fireborn, and to my poetry and songs over at my new (under construction) website, www.wyld-dandelyon.com.

You can also find some of my fiction, poetry, worldbuilding, and artwork over at www.tornworld.net, along with the fiction, poetry, world-building, and art of my talented co-creators there.

If you miss my old, long-winded landing page, you can find it and the landing pages for various projects by searching on the "landing" tag.

I went to get my new phone over the weekend, and didn't have time to do much with it. Today, coming home from work, I decided to try taking some pictures. No luck. Oh, the "camera" ap came up, it made a nice shutter noise, but the pictures didn't save anywhere. I finally resorted to calling for technical assistance, wondering what totally obvious simple thing I was missing.

I wasn't. Apparently, the old phone's manufacturer and the new phones manufacturer aren't on speaking terms, so the old memory card is worse than useless in the new phone.

But at least the problem wasn't in my brain cells!

So, you don't to see our first rose, or the chive blossom buds, or the dandelions, or the wild violets, or even the test photos of the cat food from when I was on the phone with the nice man, because all of those photos were mirages.

However, if you want pretty pictures, you can check out my new Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/wylddandelyon/

Now I'm going to switch from napping on the couch to sleeping in bed!

An unemployed friend has been staying in a place that has been getting, well, less and less comfortable. I don't know the people he's staying with, but I do know that sometimes perfectly nice, reasonable people are mutually much happier not trying to live in the same house, and this could be one of those situations.

On the other hand, I have chronic illnesses (including allergies that make house-upkeep problematic), a demanding full-time job, am trying to keep up with a writing career, and My Angel has not been well for some time. It has occurred to me that another person around to share some of chores (and, for that matter, another person in the house in case My Angel falls again and needs help when I'm not home) would not be a bad thing.

But maybe sometime suddenly became "as soon as possible", so I spent much of the weekend cleaning--first working on the TV room where Angel fell, and which has had too much dust and chaos for some time, and then once the friend showed up, working to clear and clean a room for him. I didn't get as much done as I wanted to and did end up stuffed up and headachy most of the weekend, but overall, I think we got at least the minimum needed so we can have a place for his bed and desk next weekend, including getting a much-needed layer of paint on a couple of walls.

We poured LOTS of dust down the toilet, trapped safely in soapy water. Of course, I also breathed in LOTS of allergens.

Writing time, though--not so much. I needed to pour water over myself and nap after he left.

Here's hoping that in the long run, this leads to more time for writing and less time immersed in dust and soapy water.

I decided this weekend I needed to bite the bullet and get a new cell phone, but virtuously put it off until a couple of writing deadlines had passed (and stories submitted). So, today after work I looked up a close Verizon store, wrote down the address, and called them to check their hours. I told the cheerful, friendly (and doubtless cute) young man on the phone I'd see him soon.

Then I turned the computer off and drove to that address, or at least, the whereabouts of that address. More or less. I drove around for a while looking for it and finally parked and went into the copy shop that was north of the closest address to the south of where the store was supposed to be. Of course, the address on the copy store was based on the cross-street.

That's right. Not only was the store not there--the address wasn't even there.

Naturally, I had neglected to write down the phone number I called. The copy shop only offered internet at $2 per 15 minutes, so I couldn't look it up and call the (probably) cute young man back. They did, however, loan me their paper phone book, which had no such listing. I called a Verizon store listed there, and talked to different, less cheerful fellow, who never heard of the address I had and said I could drive quite a ways to find any of several different stores.

By this time I was hungry and almost out of gas. Right. I headed home, stopping at a gas station on the way.

So here I sit, still with only a partially functional cell phone whose battery is draining like a sieve and no working blue tooth. And I didn't get to meet the (maybe) cute salesman. But at least I'm home where I can go make some food.

Today, I had to choose between being Deirdre of Borg or Deirdre who gets yummy food. But soon, I am determined, I will have my figurative cake and eat too!

Hmm...that would be a better joke if the LG Chocolate wasn't pretty much obsolete by now.

The Hues of His Days
a Torn World poem
by Deirdre M. Murphy

Deep blue skies, delicate green seedlings
Crops pushing upward through brown dirt
Tended by golden bees and orange butterflies

Rijorl remembers tendays rowing
Between endless grey skies and gray water
The intense dark of night was a relief
The silvery flash of a serpent-monster
Was more color than they prayed for then

The fields around him now
Offer a wealth of colors
Compared to the sea

Rijorl composes verse for the sky blue snakes
For squatty geese with their clash-colored feathers
Bold bright songbirds and dazzling lizards
He sings for the flowers that hid his scant hair
During the birds’—and humans’—nesting season

After the rainbow rainforest
The Empire’s verdant fields
Seem very nearly monochrome

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My very short story, By The Shore, is in this book:



http://www.amazon.com/Uncle-Bathroom-Reader-Presents-Fiction/dp/160710427X

mount_oregano has a story in here too!

The book looks greener in person.

I know I've talked about the Muse Fusion, invited you all to stop by and leave prompts, or perhaps join in, write along with us. And, admittedly, the Muse Fusion comes to mind in part because it's this weekend.

But I thought I'd do something different today, and try to give you a little insight as to what a Muse Fusion is like for me.

It's magic.

Not the flashy magic you see in so many fantasy books, but magic just the same. I take a rested me (or as rested as I can manage, anyway, given that life happens), and a blank computer screen, and set myself free to play with the toys you send me.

Now I find myself yawning, so I'd better head to bed. But feel free to ask questions!

Mi Amiga,

The old fiddler has a gig in Chicago, and promised to mail this for me. I'd come myself, but I was lucky to get here in the first place.  I'm told my roots here aren't deep enough, yet, to come and go safely.

I've found a band, finally, and it's like the t-shirt--the music and the magic are all twined like Celtic knotwork.  I'm free to be who I want to be here; I don't have to hide.  Nobody stares at my extra finger.

I know you laugh at the tarot readings we used to do--but this purple-haired girl did me a reading, and she said it was for you. Amiga, she knew your name. Remember the dark-haired man who kept showing up in your distant future? Well, it's not so distant now, and it's time for you to get out of there.

I've got a flat, it's not much, but it came furnished with a spare bed and I've got a set of penny whistles, so you'll have a job and a place to live. I know we haven't played together in years--since before both of our divorces, almost since our marriages, but--I'm doing a terrible job of this. You have to come. The dark man can't follow you here, or if he does, we can turn the tables on him--I wasn't kidding about the magic.

But mostly you have to come because I miss you. We took a wrong turn--or a pair of wrong turns--along the way, and look where it got us?

But now we can have a new start, a new life. We can make--no, I can't write that, not even to you, or especially not to you. Look, here's a ticket to our next gig; just follow the directions and you'll be here for a visit--or to stay. Your choice,  The penny whistles are yours to keep either way.

Love,

Me
___________________________________________________



You, too, can invite a friend to Bordertown: http://bordertownseries.com/contest.php?news=bring-a-friend-to-bordertown  But hurry--the contest ends soon!

P.S.  If you're keeping track of the #atozchallenge, L is for I Loved the first book!

I hope to see you all here!

and has been since yesterday.

So I'm going to go re-read the short story that came to me earlier today, before I realized time was getting away from me and if I wanted to go to the house filk, we had to get going!

I could do another F post instead, I suppose, which would be F is for Filk - the most vital and interesting folk music community I've found. Of course, I'm biased, and have been since I found filk back as a teenager. I've found many friends in the filk community, as well as lots of good music and stories shared.

The filk was small, but there was some good music, and a chance to catch up with what's been happening with some friends, including medical problems, a car accident that totaled the car but happily didn't injure my friend, classes taken with the plan of a change of occupation, and somebody's grand-daughter announced an impromptu singing contest, giving the winner she chose the grand prize--a stick of gum! (I was interested that in announcing winners, the non-singing spouse/SOs of singers were considered part of the winning team.)

Kids often give you a window on the values they're seeing around them, but the image they mirror for you isn't always what you expect it to be!