Baby's First Double Rainbow

My Katie and I went out a'walking with our babies today, and since it is April in the PNW we definitely did end up getting rained on.  That's okay, tho', because we also got to see a double rainbow- Neeps's first!  I must admit, I haven't been that excited about that particular phenomenon since Ireland.

Neepsm however, was Unimpressed.

Honestly this spring has been just magnificent- sun and storm and all-around loveliness.  Probably the best one we've had since 2011, and I hope the rest of the year keeps it up.

And Cherry Blossoms

I love that time of year when cherry blossoms get confused and think they're snow: falling softly on my hair as I walk, whirling in playful flurries on the passing wind, piling up in drifts so deep that the pavement is completely obscured, dreary gray giving way to optimistic pink.  Making things lovely, soft, and new.

Maybe I should have made a Blossom Angel

I Love Tulips

And there were so very many of them on my walk with Neeps today.

I think I'm going to plant a bunch in my garden this autumn, because they really do cheer me up.

Ice Cream Feast

Six friends, Anton, Bradley, Carlton, Devon, Ellis, and Frank, go out to eat together at an all-night diner.  At the end of the meal they're presented with a dessert menu, upon which is listed two options: peach ice cream, or pistachio ice cream.

"Dude!" says Anton, "I love peach ice cream!  It's my favorite.  But man, pistachio is not for me.  If they're out of peach I'm just going to have to go to bed without dessert, because I'm not having anything but peach."

"Wow, really?" says Bradley.  "That's so crazy- I'm the exact opposite!  I love pistachio ice cream!  It's all I ever want.  And you couldn't pay me to eat peach."

"You guys are insane," says Carlton."Ice cream is ice cream, and you're crazy to turn down any sort.  I mean yeah, I prefer peach, but no way am I going to say no to pistachio, if that's all they have on hand.  What about you, Devon?"

Devon shrugs.  "Eh, I don't really have a preference.  I'll have whichever's easiest to get."

Ellis politely hands the menu back.  "I don't do dessert."

"I wonder," says Frank with a grin for the waitress, "if I could possibly get a double-scoop?"

***

And that, my friends, is how I used ice-cream preference to explain the spectrum of sexuality to a friend who didn't understand how a bisexual man is not gay.  I'm pretty sure he gets it now.

Seiren

I did not sing
To lure them
I sang for myself alone.

I sang for myself alone
And yet they came
Claiming I called them.

Claiming I called them
They dashed themselves
Upon the sharp rocks of my heart.

Upon the sharp rocks of my heart
A scattering of broken shells
Tossed about by the tide.

Tossed about by the tide
Souls adrift in the cold uncaring sea
I could not leave them there.

I could not leave them there
And so I pulled them deeper
But I did not sing.

Straight to the Heart

It's been over twenty years since I've done this, she thinks, taking a wide stance. 

And technically, she corrects herself, I've never actually done this.

She breathes out and pulls the trigger slowly, as she's been told, and a small hole appears at the outer edge of the neon yellow bullseye.

A handgun feels very different from a rifle.

She takes another steadying breath.  Fires again.  Breathes.  Fires.  Again.  More small holes appear, and she's cognizant, now, of the luscious tang of hot metal in the air, accented by the low-slung pungence of gunpowder.  She hadn't realized she knew them so well.

The scents settle into the pleasure centers of her brain so easily, so comfortably, that she understands they must have carved out their dens when she was still a child.  They must have been waiting for years to come home again, to twine about her heart like a pair of contented cats.

God, it smells like safety, like comfort.  Like belonging to and adoration for the man who first handed her a gun, taught her to respect it as a tool and a thing of beauty.  Didn't teach her nearly enough, before he was taken from her.

She fires again.

Another Day, Another Letter

Have the main character in your novel (or short story) write a letter to you. What would they say? Have them write whatever you want.

"Dear Jenny O,

What the actual hell.  I have been in your brain for what, twenty years now?  And you started the most recent iteration of my story almost a year and a half ago.  Sure, I don't expect you to have finished the entire multi-arced thing by now, but you should at least have a rough draft of the first book!

Maybe you should just scrap what you've got, and start over.  Just rewrite everything, but without looking at your notes.  Then maybe you wouldn't feel so paralyzed about 'making it all work'.  And once you have that rough draft, you can compare it to the unfinished one, and bring in any elements you've forgotten about.

Just... let's not take another twenty years, okay?  I want to know how my story unfolds.

With affection and annoyance and anticipation,

Gwen."