Saturday, February 20, 2010


The Tenth Daughter of Memory is having a contest. There are nine muses (prompts) and you write something for each. All nine make up one whole story.

The Muses so far and my contributions:

  1. "A Random Memory" - Dark
  2. "Fear of Writing" - Dismal
  3. "An Ambiance of Technology" - Dam
  4. "Omitting Your Mistakes"  - Design
  5. "Of Feral Mind and Carnal Heart" - Desires
  6. "Earnest Mockery" – Doodle
  7. "Shattered Mirrors" – Detour
  8. "This Business of Jupiter" - Delight
  9. "Infinite Possibility" – Dream
green butterfly Delight

Her Father loves her.

He has given her abundant chances and choices to find her way in the world. Even though she stumbles through life without a clue most of the time, she has ample opportunities to keep trying, again and again. 

She does appreciate the rarity of it.

She is always looking beyond or behind where she is now. Never grounded in the moment. She is using those words again. The ones that leave no wiggle room. Never. Always. They should be stricken from her vocabulary.

She has a vision of the way her life should be.

She walks outside. The air is crisp and sweet and fresh. The sky is large and deep as only a clean sky can be. She feels the particles of life as part of her. She is the air. She is the sunshine. She is the sky. And they are she. She wants to cry from the pure joy of it. She does cry. Fat happy tears that wash her soul clean so she can keep going for another eon. She hungers for the feeling morning, noon and night.

She searches for that perfect moment.

It's in the smile of a baby while she waits in line at Walmart. It's in the glint of light reflecting from the melting snow. It's in the sound of a melody from a song she's heard a million times but today it sounds different. It's in the taste of a ripe strawberry as she chases the juice that runs down her chin so that she can have it all. It's in the smell of leather and spice on a man who walks by and glances at her with perfect green eyes. 

She clings to the memory of perfection.

It's in the writing. When she has despaired of ever writing a coherent sentence again. When she deletes hundreds of words because they are not worthy of being flushed down a toilet. When she just knows - she just knows - her words are not even good enough to be called horrid because they lack any sort of emotion. That is when she no longer hears the sounds of the cars driving by. Her vision turns inward. Her heart bursts with the bright ecstasy of being the words. It no longer matters what the words are because she is the words and the words are she and she feels one with the All and her Father loves her because once again she's felt the gift.

By Jove, her Father loves her.


  1. I like how the word "Father" evolves in this.

  2. "It's in the sound of a melody from a song she's heard a million times but today it sounds different." I love that. Having something to say and a means to express it is love from the father. Great piece!

  3. This is terrific. Inspirational, even.

    Stop by my place. I have an award for you.

  4. Every so often I have a fleeting moment of this sensation and it can only be called Divine, for it is surely from the Father.

    Beautiful, Nessa, just beautiful.

  5. Deep and contemplative. Tranquil and eventually very profound. And a superb writing as always.

  6. Excellent, but I wonder where you are going with this story! Wonder how it will end...

  7. The father connection is a powerful one for most people. I like the way that you wrote this it flows in a way that made it very interesting to read.

    Kindest regards,
    Tom Bailey

  8. That's ;lovely. I like the recitation of perfect images.

  9. WOAH...this is excellent and very uplifting. I love it :)

  10. The word is nothing but the bullet from the gun that is a pen held by the hand that is a puppet of a brain that is clay that is shaped by everything in the world that was created by Father God.

  11. Oh, I KNOW those fat happy tears... they are goodness, are they not?

    Beautiful. Just beautiful.

  12. There and back again! Yes, your Father loves you and you see it in every word.

    Well done.

  13. Very lovely. You have such a fine way with words.

  14. I wonder if this is about your father?