I (like a gazillion others) watched yesterday’s solar eclipse with great enthusiasm.
I cooed as the shadows dimmed and a cool gray color spread over the landscape. The temperature even dropped a few degrees.
This is nice, I thought as I aimed my Nikon and shot.
I am not really sure what’s in the picture but there is an entire galaxy of erratic black planets orbiting my eyeballs.
I tend to lag in technology, often years behind the rest of the civilized world. I never claimed to be tech-savvy or even civilized, okay?
Truth is I only got a “smart phone” this year for lack of choices. I went kicking and screaming into the “smart” realm with no intention of using it for more than basics.
After a few months [eight really] I installed the Facebook app. Apparently you need a second app for Messenger so I hit the okay/install that too button.
Alright. Welcome to the year 2017.
So there I was creeping Facebook on my desktop, minding my own business while the app did its thing and suddenly I am bombarded with alarms. The phone started chiming erratically, messages were rolling in with GIFs and crazy stickers and emoji’s. At the same time my cousin is texting me, asking if I just sent her something.
No! Oh hell, this demon possessed phone has a mind of its own!
To make a long [list of deleting apps] story short… My daughter explained the particularly bothersome app; how Messenger notifies your Facebook contacts with a suggestion to wave/interact.
Oh.
Well I waved bye to most of the apps and went back to using the phone as a paperweight.
Yeah.
I understand now why people are glued to their devices. Bless their hearts, I’m just not that good at being smart.
In May I introduced the newest member of our family, Pretty Kitty Puddin Jam.
In July I talked about Pretty Kitty Puddin Jam wanting to be a star and the attitude that ensued.
Now I have to tell you…
Hold on, this has been a hard thing for me to understand…
[sigh]
Pretty Kitty is…
Pretty Kitty Puddin Jam (aka PKPJ) is….
Oh hell Jam is a Jim!
I know! I am so naïve… so unsophisticated!
I was also a bit distraught when I found out.
I tried to normalize the situation by calling him Jim but he refused to answer. By this point I was so flustered I threatened to have him castrated… emasculated… de-dinglized.
He snubbed the threat and mewed, Pretty Kitty Puddin Jaaam.
“No!” I argued, “You are a tom – a Jim! Girls do not have tally-whackers!”
PKPJ then he purred two words that clarified everything –
Caitlyn. Jenner.
[Blubbering sigh]
I conceded to let him keep his male genitalia but no more news rags or television AND no more pretty bows!
I told you last week that we were going [back] to the beach or maybe I implied it with a photo. I do tend to live my life in snaps and captions, that’s just how I roll. Yep – I am a rolling stone. Never mind the moss clinging to my body that just means I roll a little slow. Don’t snicker; remember The Tortoise and the Hare? The Tortoise and the Hare, baby!
On these occasions I try to lay the camera down and enjoy the moment… let my hair down … and sometimes my guard.
It is not always easy or even do-able but I did it; I relinquished the anal rigidity and chillaxed and guess what? I found out I am not the only one who can take a picture or take control.
The camera caught us tired and sunburned after a day at the beach; fresh out of the shower, pouting, pondering, laughing and maybe crying; discussing or just waking up. Some would say we were caught at our worst. I would like to believe we were at our finest; vulnerable and real and in natural form.
D call’s this collection Personality Shots. Thanks D.
These are only a fraction of the photos taken and a small portion of my tribe.
Sorry, the characters of the Clan Destiny series couldn’t join us, this was a G rated adventure.
This is the fourth consecutive year I have been honored to be a judge in the FAC annual teen scholastic/literary/poetry event. This year was even more exciting because I am still alive and it was the first reason I have had to shuck my pajamas since last year. Just kidding! But seriously, FAC added a short story contest. Yay!
A little aside: Forney Arts Council hosts the annual event but an invitation to participate is extended to several surrounding cities. Just FYI Forney is a booming little town about a stone’s throw east of Dallas Texas.
Some of them receiving their first check for following their passion.
The winners
I am so proud of every single one of them. I know their parents and teachers are too; and the fabulous lady (Tiffany) with a passion for art that keeps this thing going.
Hold on, there is a point to this post —
What was it? ….
Oh yes, Help!
I need your help. It won’t cost you a dime and only a minute of your time.
What? Why? How? You ask?
Well, you see I am scheduled to give a talk/presentation next month on the art of the short story. Actually it is The Art of the Short Story & Micro/Flash Fiction.
The problem (other than the typical butterflies) is I know why I read and write short stories/flash fiction but I would love some input as to why others do.
Is it attention span? Time constraints? Challenge? Amusement? Something else?
If this thing works right I have inserted two polls, one for writers and another for readers. If not… the comments section is always open.
Thanks Y’all.
Why do you read short stories?
(polls)
Why do you write short stories?
(polls)
Once upon a time, a long, long time ago I worked as a nurse. 
My daughter (on the left) is a nurse and many of my friends and family are still working in the field of nursing.
I could write forever about the combined experiences of a nursing career. As a matter of fact a few of those experiences fueled scenes in the fictional Clan Destiny series where the main characters (Clara, Linda and Maggie) are nurses. Mary Latrull (another fictional character) likes to pretend she is a nurse and would probably be a good one except –
Oops. I veered off track.
I mention the series now because this is National Nurses Week.
Oh poo, let me ramble off road for a minute and we’ll make this one of Tuesday’s Tell All.
Thinking on the series: when the books stood alone, before they were renamed the Clan Destiny series and before the reviews disappeared from Amazon I had a few comments that the stories were too “far-fetched” and unbelievable. Yeah, nurses with paranormal abilities. Ha! I’m not sorry, that is why I called it fic-shun.
A handful of people (mostly “nurses”) suggested the medical terminology and/or procedures were incorrect. I know it was wrong but I had to call those to attention. Why? Because I kept “procedural” scenes to a minimum for lay reasons and if practice or terminology has changed that much in the last few years I honestly wanted to know. But nope…
The real thing ‘said nurses’ took issue with was the (occasional) disrespect and unprofessional behavior that I portrayed. The strange thing is those scenes were all too real. Allow me to share.
Examples:
In book one Maggie curses a bit, insults a doctor and she and Clara have a confrontation, nearly coming to blows while on duty. One ‘said nurse’ says, “#1 no nurse would talk to a doctor like that and #2 Cursing and fighting on duty like hoodlums would never happen.” Truth? It happens. Been there, done that. Nursing is a stressful profession and nurses are human, sometimes we act stupid.
In book two Mary (as a patient) leaves the hospital against medical advice without signing the proper forms. Another ‘said nurse’ says, “A patient would not be allowed to leave without signing the necessary documents.” I laughed myself silly. Truth? I have chased more than my share of irate, deranged and determined absconders while pleading with them “just sign this and you can go.” Hospitals, clinics and care centers are not prisons; you cannot hold someone against their will and you cannot make them sign a form to c.y.[own]a. (cover your [own] a**)
In book three Maggie, Linda and Clara laugh (in private) and refer to a patient, Mr. Stenchman, as Mean-as Stinky man or Mean-ass Stinky pants. An offended ‘said nurse’ says, “You should not depict nurses in such an unprofessional and unflattering way.” Truth? Sometimes we are unprofessional and ugly and sometimes the patient is a mean-ass stinky man.
I could rattle on about sordid affairs, fist fights, missing bodies/body parts, resurrections, insurance/benefit/patient abuse, medicare fraud and more but I won’t. Not today.
I may write a true tell-all one day but until then I’ll keep changing the names to protect the guilty, add a little ‘what if’ and focus on the fictitious person – not the true profession.
For all of you nurses [with or without imperfections] keep being the best that you can be. Thanks for shoving your own sh*t aside for 8 to 16 hours a day and caring even when it seems like you don’t.
I have received like 13 emails suggesting I should offer Getting Me Back FREE during National Poetry Month. I could do that – and do you know how many downloads it would get? Probably about… hmm… I would guess thirteen.
A dozen others said I should be posting my own poetry and a handful of gun-ho NaPoWriMo writers invited me to participate in churning out a poem every day.
My inbox looks like a suggestion box right now but you know what? I love that people are so involved and enthused.
So here’s what I’m gonna do.
For the next four days Getting Me Back (The Voices Within) will be FREE. During these four days I will also post a poem I have written and heck, we’ll do A Poem & A Picture by Me & of Me but forgive me guys I cannot handle the pressure of NaPoWriMo, not at this moment in time. I’ll just have to enjoy the fruits of your labor.
Getting Me Back
(the poem)
Tissue thin transparent bits and pieces
by the millions I gave to you…
To be received, to be tended or
to be rendered useless as you deemed fit
old inhabitants of terra firma.
Slivers of my soul….
What did you do with these pieces of me?
Where are the misplaced microscopic stars of
my spirit, where are they laid?
Did they dissolve beneath a soft autumn rain?
Or burn in the heat of a cruel summer day?
Were they consumed by the dust mites of fate?
Giving me away was easy….
Getting me back seems nearly impossible.
I saw a fleck of glitter this morning,
caught in an abandoned web of time.
I retrieved it ever so carefully, pulling away
the tiny choking strands; polishing it in the palm of my
hand till it shone bright like a
minuscule star… exploding… and
I recognized it as the twinkle I once saw
in a smiling photo of me.
I try to do my part in preparing the next generation; in this case turning boys into men. This year’s Spring Break was an excellent opportunity; it was just me and the grandsons.
I was excited as I made the rounds [about a forty mile round-trip] to pick them up. As I drove east I was imagining what sort of fun and informative games I might play with these boys; after all they aren’t ‘little boys’ any more at 10, 12 and 14 years of age. I decided to ad-lib.
Three and a half hours later we arrived home (aka Nana & Papa’s). Yeah, what should have been a forty-five minute drive [round-trip] took a little longer because I let them direct me. When one of them said turn right/left I did – even if it was [obviously] wrong. It was an adventure and we didn’t end up in Alaska so I count it as a win.
“What are we going to do Nana?” the trio immediately began chirping like a nest of baby birds when we arrived safely.
“Hmm…” They had often talked about camping alone in the woods around our house. Of course they had heard stories of their parent’s escapades while growing up here in the boondocks. I mulled it over, reasoned with myself and concluded: we didn’t end up in Alaska and they are pretty reasonable kids. Surely they are mature enough now to sleep in the woods without supervision. “Y’all are going to pick a spot anywhere within the ten-acre fence and camp out.” It probably sounded more like a command than an option but they were ecstatic!
The middle one had a brief anxiety attack, “I didn’t come prepared. I don’t have my sleeping bag – I didn’t bring my knife.”
The youngest one said, “So – you don’t need any of that! If you have to poop instead of cutting up your underwear you can use a leaf.” (His uncle taught him that.)
The eldest one was pumped, “I’ve got some Gatorade and sunflower seeds. We just have to manage our resources’. How many life-lines do we get?”
My daughter was listening on the phone, “Oh my gosh I thought they were just camping? Tell him three.” She cackled. (I don’t know where she gets her wicked humor.)
Yep, the #1 grandson went straight up survivor mode. I don’t know if he thought this was one of Nana’s games or he watches a lot of “reality” television; either way I went with it, gave them three life-lines and giggled to myself, Bwahaha this is going to be way more fun than I imagined.
“This is what you have.” I explained as I laid out three dusty web-laden sleeping bags, two coolers, a sack of food, a lighter and a gallon of water. “Make it last and good luck.”
They picked out their camping spot and began gathering wood. I went back to the house, closed the doors and pretended to ignore them as the hours ticked slowly by.
I truly thought they would be banging on the door and begging to come in by nightfall but nope; they made a cozy camp by the pond and had a nice fire going. They were so happy it made me sad smile.
After midnight I gave up spying on them, said a prayer and went to bed. The following morning I was sure they would be sound asleep in the living room but the house was empty. So I grabbed my camera and sneaked through the woods.
Then what to my wondering eyes did appear but three little men all drained of their cheer. Tee-hee-hee, oops I mean poor babies.
By dawn the fire had [literally and figuratively] gone out.
I continued to let them believe it was a survival game so they bargained for another gallon of water and a garden spade. By noon they were discussing if they should use their last life-line for a pillow, a thicker blanket for the trailer they were sleeping on or a Pepsi.
They chose the Pepsi.
The #2 grandson had packed bubbles. He and the #3 grandson entertained themselves while the #1 grandson prayed rested.
I hung out with them for a while, chased bubbles and asked, “How is the survival game going?”
#1 grandson tried to smile but he didn’t have the energy. “We still have plenty of food.” he replied. He was not going to quit or admit it was not so fun anymore.
“Well what if I said I am calling the game off – what if I said you boys have to stay in the house tonight. What would you say to that?”
“I’d say thank you!” he jumped to his feet with tears relief on his face. #3 grandson gave a smirk humble yet proud smile and #2 grandson disappeared inside before I could take his picture.
Thank goodness they don’t read blogs. 😉
The Real Janna Hill in 