From the Inkwell, From the Vein.....

In the clear, crisp air of All Hallow's Eve, there's magic brewing in the stories we weave. The black cat's smile hides a witch's grin, and you'll never know where your pumpkin has been. The smirk that crawls o'er his bright orange face, sings of secret plans in a dark gathering place. At least, you think, that's what he's trying to hide, didn't you, yesterday, leave him on the porch's east side? This morning he rests on the westernmost edge, Watching the sun's descent, why does that fill you with dread? The silky, black feline winding circles 'round your feet, mews softly in rhythm to the wind's moaning beat. The thumping of tree limbs against the wooden fence gate, drum out a message, you're sure, of your horrible fate. The scratching of twigs against your window's dark pane, like bony witch-fingers, claw at your brain. Only one thing to do on this most horrible night, to survive, ...

Sleepy heads and sleepy limbs, speak soft, the fall of night. Darkened quilts of nighttime sky, coax from the world, all fight. Shall I sing a melody? the night wind whispers soft. Or, read a cozy bedtime tale? on branches, high aloft, the fairies perch on shivering twigs, their hands caress the leaves. The trembles still in peaceful night, Sleep well, oh mighty trees!

**Caveat--- The following photo was this week's prompt for  Bluebell Books ' Short Story Slam... the piece that resulted was not what I originally intended. It's obvious the photo is meant to evoke feelings akin to warmth and happiness, and as much as I wanted to write a warm, happy piece, I could not. There is nothing typical about the ramblings, other than they belong to my typically rambling sub-conscious. I couldn't even make it a decent poem *sigh* And, as I write this caveat, I'm seriously contemplating whether I should even post this.... Where there should be light, darkness settles. Where there should be love, a pitted emptiness grows. What I would give to hold you, what I would give to have known you. Wrapped in blinding thickness, like cotton-wool stuffed between the ears, the mind pads into oblivion, bones rattling where there should be no sound. Choking on the words offers no comfort, if it were so simple, an en...

Less than a month and the madness will begin.... I've actually become quite attached to the feeling of spiraling madness that comes with participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), linked  here . This will be my fifth year to partake in a month-long feat of literary abandon, the purpose of which is to come away with a 50K-word manuscript. That's right, you write a novel-length manuscript in 30 days. I have never written at such a frenzied, feverish pace, but, from year 1 I was hooked---addicted---obsessed. The adrenalin rush to write so much in so little time is beyond wonderful---it is such a high (there really is no other way to describe it).  This year's idea came from one mind-numbing day a couple of weeks ago. An injury at work had me side-lined for a couple of days, and I fought against my boredom, constantly. I couldn't seem to make my mind focus. The problem, mainly, is that I require so many things going on, the panicked fretting that I won...