MissUnderstood Me

  • MissUnderstood Me

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    MissUnderstood Me

    By Julie Sherman

    Not all dragons are fire-breathing, terrifying, scaley, menacing creatures. Folklore and fairytales have given us a bad name and have ruined our reputations.  

    Some of us are quite nice. Some are even meek. Some are mothers who just want to care for their young draglings in the dark, clammy caves of our homes.  Others are literally party animals and want to romp and roll in the mountains, scratching our backs on the rough terrain.  And most of us are kind. 

    Many of us go around helping other dragons fend off bully dragons who flap their immense, scabrous wings close to other dragons’ faces and blow smoke through their enormous nostrils and balls of fire through their mammoth mouths.  We are descendants of pterodactyl and t-rex, so we get our wide mouths from the latter and our flying chops from the former. But we are not all nasty, dangerous monsters.

    One day I was minding my own business, clomping around the bluffs by the white-capped seas, taking down a few trees along the way, and I saw two humans on a large red cloth mat lying in the sun. They had a small dog with them and it started barking wildly staring in my direction. I did not eat the dog. And even though I don’t like dog, I did not breath fire on it.

    The two humans shielded their eyes from the glaring sun and looked up. There they saw my curious face tilting this way and that as I stared at them. They shrieked and screamed and made such a fuss.  I was just looking.  I guess my smile appeared to convey that I was ready to breathe fire because they scrambled to their feet and began running away, leaving everything behind them, including the dog and red plaid mat. I didn’t do anything but watch them. One of them tripped, but the other just kept going.  I would never have done that. We are actually very much like elephants in that we help our kin get out of mud pits and sinking sand when our wings are exhausted from the struggle.  

    We suffer too.  We sigh. We exhale flameless. We have our soft side, yet even after millions of years, we are so tragically misunderstood.

    Julie Sherman is a long-time Petaluma resident who enjoys writing, reading, music, travel, and attending live theater. She is the mother of opera singer Camille Sherman and music producer Emily Sherman, and has been married for 35 years to bassist Jeff Sherman.

    Marlene C

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  • Glimmers . . . Prompt #772

    “The opposite of a trigger. Glimmers are those moments in your day that make you feel joy, happiness, peace, or gratitude. Once you train your brain to be on the lookout for glimmers, these tiny moments will appear more and more.” Author Unknown

    #justwrite #amwriting #iamawriter

    Marlene C

  • Life . . . Prompt #770

    More than one friend recently told me their difficulties, about how things seem impossible, how hard everything is.

    Sometimes I wonder why these things happen.

    And then I remember: Life. 

    Life happens.

    There are ups and downs.

    Situations that seem hopeless.

    And then time goes by.

    We find solutions. Or the situation remedies somehow.

    Write about a time that seemed hopeless. What happened?

    Or, if you are in a situation now that seems hopeless, write as if the problem has been resolved.

    What would your life look like if this situation was remedied?

    Writing About Difficult Times In Your Life by Guest Blogger Nancy Julien Kopp

    #justwrite #amwriting #iamawriter

    Marlene C

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  • Beyond a warm house . . . Prompt #769

    What are you grateful for?

    Let’s go beyond a warm house and plenty of food.

    Dig a little deeper.

    Did something happen that curved your lips into a smile?

    Did someone catch your eye and give a knowing nod?

    Did someone unexpectedly reach out to help you?

    What are you thankful for?

    #justwrite #iamawriter #iamwriting

    Marlene C

  • What do you need to unsubscribe from? . . . Prompt #768

    What do you need to unsubscribe from?

    What do you need to let go of?

    Marlene C

  • Chinese New Year . . . Prompt #767

    Chinese New Year

    2024 Year of the Dragon

    According to legend, Chinese New Year started with a mythical beast called the Nian (a beast that lives under the sea or in the mountains) during the annual Spring Festival.

    One year, the villagers decided to hide from the beast.

    An older man appeared before the villagers and said that he would stay the night and get revenge on the Nian.

    The old man put red papers up and set off firecrackers.

    The next day, the villagers returned and saw that nothing had been destroyed.

    They assumed that the old man was a deity who came to save them.

    The villagers learned that the old man discovered that the Nian was afraid of the color red and loud noises.

    The tradition grew as New Year approached.

    The villagers wore red clothes, hung red lanterns and red scrolls on windows and doors.

    They used firecrackers and drums to frighten away the Nian.

    From then on, Nian never came to the village again.

    Look at the chart below. Find your birth year. Discover your Chinese animal.

    The writing prompt is after the list of animals.

    Chinese New Year animals

    Rat            1948, 1960, 1972, 1984

    Ox             1949, 1961, 1973, 1985

    Tiger         1950, 1962, 1974, 1986

    Rabbit      1951, 1963, 1975, 1987

    Dragon     1952, 1964, 1976

    Snake        1953, 1965, 1977

    Horse        1954, 1966, 1978

    Sheep/goat  1955, 1967, 1979

    Monkey    1956, 1968, 1980

    Rooster     1957, 1969, 1981

    Dog           1958, 1970, 1982

    Boar/Pig   1947, 1959, 1971

    Prompt 1:

    Write something that intrigued you with the Nian legend.

    Or: Write about a new year, a new beginning.

    Write about what scares you. Then, write about what calms you.

    Thinking about your Chinese animal . . .

    Does that animal’s behavior and characteristics match how you go through life?

    How?

    If not, how are you different?

    How do you go through life?

    Marlene C

  • Dream Weaver

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Dream Weaver

    By Sarah Horton

    I dreamed the world was a place of love and harmony . . .

    Dream Lover . . . What dreams may come

    You are my dream lover – thinking of my love, my sweet heart . . . (song pops into my head)

    Dream

    The snow is falling . . . hard.

    The air is thick with it . . . in my nose.

    I wander on the path while the winds blow. 

    I slip, and almost lose my footing. 

    The pathway is blurred from the flakes and wind blowing.

    Soon, there is no side view or peripheral vision.  

    Instantly, only one foot in front of the other and I think— if I keep moving it will clear. 

    Clearly, I now step ahead — one foot, then another, and another.  

    My nose is running, the cold freezes my cheeks as the snowflakes continue to gather and melt on my eyebrows — dripping down into my eyes.    

    Blinking, here I am, here I am . . . step by step . . .  one foot then another . . . into the dark and bitter cold just a breath away.  

    My breath turns to tiny crystals, and the snowflakes are landing on my tongue now.  

    Running out of air, I try to take a deeper breath.  

    My throat is frozen in the process.  

    Shorter, shorter, crispy, short breathing as I slow down to just standing.  

    Swirling all around me is the sound of the wind as it brushes past my ears and disappears into the darkness.  

    Like a moving whirlpool of air, I am in the vortex . . . standing still . . . centered in my heart, pounding, waiting, louder pounding, waiting, and more waiting.

    The wind, now roaring harder,  picks up and pushes against me in my front chest. I turn my body and it hits me on the side — feeling my neck cold, exposing skin as the scarf I wear blows off and disappears into the darkness. Whoosh!

    Is it the sound — my attention moving to my feet, I move a quarter-round again —only to be blown forward from the wind hitting my back this time . . . hunching my shoulders, and feeling the air move up my neck under my hair and into my hat.— no hat now,  again . . . bracing myself, hunching and waiting, waiting, waiting . . . the next big blow . . .

    Waking up, I find myself nestling under my covers, with my naked skin against my lover’s chest.  

    Relief breathing out a full breath. I open to his warmth and touch. We kiss. We breathe into each other’s openness, being the love and the heat we share. Open to the warm and moist touches all over my body, opening and softening. I feel the solid curve of his muscles, moving and touching me, the tips of his fingers exploring my inner worlds of love and aliveness. Melting into one with each other as we soar high in the safety and warmth and darkness of the night.   

    Oh dream weaver

    I believe you can get me through the night

    “Dream Weaver” song lyrics by Gary Wright

    As an artist, Sarah Horton is constantly inspired by the natural beauty that surrounds her in the ‘Lost Sierra’ Nevada Mountains and Lake Tahoe wilderness.

    Her passion for photography has led her to capture stunning vistas and fresh mountain waters around the world, while her love for painting has allowed her to bring her own unique perspective and creativity to her large canvas work. 

    As a writer, she is able to dance in the gap between the intuitive right brain and the practicality of the left brain. 

    Sarah lives north of Lake Tahoe with her sweetheart, Christopher Burton, and her dog, Lady Lulu. Her decades of life experience culminate in the simplicity and joy of appreciating sacred time in silence and creativity.

    She welcomes your visit to her literary artist blog and enjoy the visual art there as well.

    Marlene C

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  • What have you forgotten? . . . Prompt #766

    Excerpt from “Happy to be Here,” by Elizabeth Berg.

    “Last time my friend Phyllis visited me, she said, ‘Don’t you ever comb your hair?’”

    “’I forget,’ I told her.”

    I laughed at that moment of recognition.

    Sometimes, during the day, I’ll glance at a mirror as I walk by and realize, “forgot to comb my hair.”

    Writing prompt:

    What have you forgotten? And then (obviously) remembered.

    Or:

    What might you have forgotten?

    Just Write!

    Marlene C

  • Shears

    Memorable writing that sparks imagination. Lean in. Hear the writer’s voice on the page.

    Shears

    by Marian Van Horn

    I have been working on letting go of things that no longer serve me. Past hurts, painful experiences, things that cause me resentment or anger. Then I had this dream the other night.                                                         

    A small 5-year-old child is floating around a room. I am watching her. She is about a foot above the ground and moving effortlessly. She is focused on doing that and nothing else; enjoying the simple movement as children often do when absorbed in the present moment.

    When she floats by me, I ask, “How do you do that?”

    She looks down and says, “With these.”

    She pulls out a huge pair of silver shears. I am a little shocked because they are quite large and sharp and she’s only five years old, so I worry a bit, but she hands them to me and says, “You try.”

    I take the shears and start to float. Not with as much ease as her, but I am able to skim across the room a few inches above the floor. It is exhilarating.                                             

    I thought about this dream when I woke up. The exhilarating feeling of letting go stayed with me, so I looked up shears in my dream symbol book and one description was “cutting out of your life the things you don’t need anymore.”

    Marian Van Horn’s interest in writing began in 1979 when she found some poems safety pinned together in her grandmother’s cookbook.

    Marian’s poetry appeared in the Sitting Room 2012 Annual publication and in Fantasia: Poems by David Beckman & Friends.

    Marlene C

  • Good Housekeeping wants your story

    From The Good Houeskeeping Magazine Website:

    We’re always on the lookout for great writers with great ideas, in an effort to deliver a unique mix of voices and perspectives to our readers.

    When it comes to freelance pitches, we’re interested in long-form narratives, deeply reported service pieces and personal essays that offer a compelling point of view, a personal story that will help improve readers’ lives.

    Email pitches to: ghdigital – at – hearst.com.

    Include:

    Email subject line: “Story Pitch” and a short summation of your topic.

    Please include your name, contact info, a brief description of your experience as a writer and links to your past work.

    Headline: Include a working headline for your story.

    Brief description/outline: We find that the best pitches are timely, well written, appropriately researched and have a strong working outline.

    We accept all pitches for Good Housekeeping on a rolling basis. Please note that due to the volume of emails we receive, we cannot guarantee that each submission will be commented on; it is more likely that an editor will be in touch if interested in pursuing your pitch.

    Note from Marlene: Good Luck!

    Marlene C