Beth Overmyer's Blog: The Blog of Beth Overmyer, page 46
November 27, 2013
Happy Thanksgiving!
From the Overmyer kitchen...
(These were just from tonight)
...and our cold front porch/impromptu fridge:
Wishing you and yours a day full of family/friends, good food, and gratitude for the One who provides all good things.
HAPPY DAY OF THANKS!
(These were just from tonight)
...and our cold front porch/impromptu fridge:
Wishing you and yours a day full of family/friends, good food, and gratitude for the One who provides all good things.
HAPPY DAY OF THANKS!
November 14, 2013
Ewww! Squeamish Stomachs Beware!
I was just watching the latest episode of Survivor, and was totally grossed out by the first challenge. I don't want to post spoilers, but last week's "scenes from our next episode" gave away the fact that there was an eating competition.
For those of you who've never watched the show, "eating competitions" aren't about scarfing down hot dogs. What they devoured were "native delicacies." Stuff that would make people like me barf. Then I thought, what are the grossest things I've eaten?
In my book In a Pickle, Charlie Pickle loves sausage patties and links. Fun fact: I cannot abide pork products. Why Charlie favors them, I do not know. But that is not by FAR the grossest thing I've eaten.
Right before my senior year of high school ended, I played my youth group's version of the show...Survivor: Trinity (I was out third.) There was no gross eating contest, but to prove that I was real Survivor material--and being one to get a laugh--I ate a green (hairless and harmless) caterpillar. Gross, but not the grossest.
My grandma is one of the world's best cooks. But she likes to fry up a certain canned ham. Before I was adverse to pork, I gave it a whirl. Pretty close to the grossest thing, but I would eat that over a few other items.
Peppercorns. I HATE BLACK PEPPER! Sure, I like a little ground in a dish where you only get the heat not the flavor. But the stuff is NASTY. Make me choose between canned ham and a peppercorn...and I'll probably ask to be excused from the table.
Sardine-flavored jelly beans tasted AWFUL. I know you want to go to Hogwarts, but that doesn't mean you want to take a "risk with every mouthful."
Smoked salmon. Fishies under the sea should stay under the sea. Especially salmon, and especially when it's smoked. Worst taste EVER.
For the record: The most disgusting "food" of mine is not liver, brain, kidney, any intestines or organs, really. No. The grossest thing I've eaten: Bones. In my soup. Yeah. I won't say who made the soup of death or where I had it, but I was forced to swallow tiny bones that were large enough to make me gag and could've broken my teeth.
All of these things are/were DISGUSTING. And, for the record, I've eaten grass.
___
What's the grossest thing you've put in your mouth, chewed, and swallowed?
For those of you who've never watched the show, "eating competitions" aren't about scarfing down hot dogs. What they devoured were "native delicacies." Stuff that would make people like me barf. Then I thought, what are the grossest things I've eaten?
In my book In a Pickle, Charlie Pickle loves sausage patties and links. Fun fact: I cannot abide pork products. Why Charlie favors them, I do not know. But that is not by FAR the grossest thing I've eaten.
Right before my senior year of high school ended, I played my youth group's version of the show...Survivor: Trinity (I was out third.) There was no gross eating contest, but to prove that I was real Survivor material--and being one to get a laugh--I ate a green (hairless and harmless) caterpillar. Gross, but not the grossest.
My grandma is one of the world's best cooks. But she likes to fry up a certain canned ham. Before I was adverse to pork, I gave it a whirl. Pretty close to the grossest thing, but I would eat that over a few other items.
Peppercorns. I HATE BLACK PEPPER! Sure, I like a little ground in a dish where you only get the heat not the flavor. But the stuff is NASTY. Make me choose between canned ham and a peppercorn...and I'll probably ask to be excused from the table.
Sardine-flavored jelly beans tasted AWFUL. I know you want to go to Hogwarts, but that doesn't mean you want to take a "risk with every mouthful."
Smoked salmon. Fishies under the sea should stay under the sea. Especially salmon, and especially when it's smoked. Worst taste EVER.
For the record: The most disgusting "food" of mine is not liver, brain, kidney, any intestines or organs, really. No. The grossest thing I've eaten: Bones. In my soup. Yeah. I won't say who made the soup of death or where I had it, but I was forced to swallow tiny bones that were large enough to make me gag and could've broken my teeth.
All of these things are/were DISGUSTING. And, for the record, I've eaten grass.
___
What's the grossest thing you've put in your mouth, chewed, and swallowed?
October 31, 2013
The Life of a Scarf (WARNING: Violence/Horror)
Too many times.
Too many times I've been gifted. Everyone wears me, uses me and then puts me away when the fine weather sets in. I've been paired with blue jeans, slinky black dresses, a red bridesmaid gown and...I feel so used. I am beautiful. I deserve better than bouncing around from person to person. I deserve respect and a permanent home.
This year's mistress, a woman in her late twenties, dons me and says to her reflection, "This should be good for the charity store."
"No!" I try to scream, only I have no mouth.
She can't do this to me!
As my mistress starts to unwind me from around her alabaster throat, I tighten, curl around her like a snake.
She gasps, trying to force me away as her breathing comes out, rasping.
Tighter and tighter.
She stumbles into her closet door, pounding with her fists, hoping that someone might come to her aid. She flails and she digs into me with her nails.
I continue to wind and wind until my mistress slumps to the floor. Cold, breathless, DEAD.
Then it occurs to me: "Now I'm on sale for sure."
What have I done?
_____
Happy Halloween!
Too many times I've been gifted. Everyone wears me, uses me and then puts me away when the fine weather sets in. I've been paired with blue jeans, slinky black dresses, a red bridesmaid gown and...I feel so used. I am beautiful. I deserve better than bouncing around from person to person. I deserve respect and a permanent home.
This year's mistress, a woman in her late twenties, dons me and says to her reflection, "This should be good for the charity store."
"No!" I try to scream, only I have no mouth.
She can't do this to me!
As my mistress starts to unwind me from around her alabaster throat, I tighten, curl around her like a snake.
She gasps, trying to force me away as her breathing comes out, rasping.
Tighter and tighter.
She stumbles into her closet door, pounding with her fists, hoping that someone might come to her aid. She flails and she digs into me with her nails.
I continue to wind and wind until my mistress slumps to the floor. Cold, breathless, DEAD.
Then it occurs to me: "Now I'm on sale for sure."
What have I done?
_____
Happy Halloween!
October 16, 2013
Amy Laurens' Cover Reveal for To Dust
Ready for the shininess? Here 'tis:
Blurb: Containing four previously-published and three brand-new short stories, To Dust is a YA anthology featuring mostly fantasy and speculative fiction.
Stories included:
- To Dust
The maliche are devouring Imber’s world, and the only tool she has to stop them is a magic box. Shame the only ones who can work the magic are the terrifying fae in their forest home…- Certified
Anna is a Raiser, able to raise from the dead anyone she doesn’t know. So what can she do when her best friend murders her boyfriend? Everyday Weirdness, 5 July 2010.- Interchange
When the man sitting next to her on the bus begins to cry, Ella is horrified. What can be wrong? TeenAge Magazine, September 2009.- Not Fantasy
Beth knows that the fairy world exists; her best friends are a pink tortoise and a talking pen, after all. Her creative writing professor strongly disagrees – perhaps too strongly, Beth thinks, when strange cracks start appearing in his office.- Shoe
Would you take home the pair-less shoe? AlienSkin Magazine, December 2009.- The Wasporcist
Everyone thinks she’s mad when she complains about the noise – but Lily knows the buzzing in her ears is more than her imagination. Time to call the Wasporcist…- Sea Foam and Blood
Terminally-ill Adelaide finds an unexpected cure in the Pegasus myth come to life. Moon Drenched Fables, June 2009 (Best in Issue).Find Amy:Website
Twitter
Facebook
Goodreads
Find To Dust:WebsiteGoodreads
Blurb: Containing four previously-published and three brand-new short stories, To Dust is a YA anthology featuring mostly fantasy and speculative fiction.
Stories included:
- To Dust
The maliche are devouring Imber’s world, and the only tool she has to stop them is a magic box. Shame the only ones who can work the magic are the terrifying fae in their forest home…- Certified
Anna is a Raiser, able to raise from the dead anyone she doesn’t know. So what can she do when her best friend murders her boyfriend? Everyday Weirdness, 5 July 2010.- Interchange
When the man sitting next to her on the bus begins to cry, Ella is horrified. What can be wrong? TeenAge Magazine, September 2009.- Not Fantasy
Beth knows that the fairy world exists; her best friends are a pink tortoise and a talking pen, after all. Her creative writing professor strongly disagrees – perhaps too strongly, Beth thinks, when strange cracks start appearing in his office.- Shoe
Would you take home the pair-less shoe? AlienSkin Magazine, December 2009.- The Wasporcist
Everyone thinks she’s mad when she complains about the noise – but Lily knows the buzzing in her ears is more than her imagination. Time to call the Wasporcist…- Sea Foam and Blood
Terminally-ill Adelaide finds an unexpected cure in the Pegasus myth come to life. Moon Drenched Fables, June 2009 (Best in Issue).Find Amy:Website
Goodreads
Find To Dust:WebsiteGoodreads
October 10, 2013
Stillness: A Vignette
Stillness. I stroll past the old used bookstore when nothing happens. What I mean to say is that everything—and everyone—is frozen. From the hands on the town hall clock, to the pink poodle leaping after a fly, all is suspended in motion.
Some might faint at such an odd event. Not I!
“What if…” I think, spying a couple of frozen tourists looking at a map. He is tense, a yell of exasperation at his partner hanging in the air. An over-sized camera is hanging from around her neck. I relieve her of that yoke for a moment, snapping a selfie before returning said yoke to its previous occupation.
I laugh like a maniac as I imagine their confusion upon reviewing their pictures.
There sits a beggar on the street corner, his change cup extended in his work-beaten hands. I pick a twenty from my wallet and tuck it under hat before securing the brim down around his eyes.
On to more mischief!
Two women are drinking together in the park. The blonde has a coffee, the brunette a tall frozen lemonade. Their lips are both poised to take a sip from their separate vessels. I remove the cups from their hands, with some difficulty, and perform a swap: Where once was a steaming cup, now is a freezing one. And vice versa.
Beyond them, not far away…
A time-frozen child is losing her balloon. I grab the string and secure it around her wrist before moving on. That’s when I spy an elderly woman about to be hit by a dump truck. At first I panic, but needlessly. Everything is still, after all, inanimate. That bird of a woman is a tiny thing, all small bones, so I lift her with ease and carry to the safety of the sidewalk.
I’ve made full circle of it and have just arrived back at the bookstore. At once everything returns to the reality of time. It’s tempting to see the reactions to my mischief, but I resist, content in the fact that I had some fun and perhaps had done some good as well.
But what is this? My fingers are curled around a note, which hadn’t been there but a split second ago. It says “SMILE.” And I do…at the gentleman in white, who had not been there but a moment before.
__A slightly edited piece, child of the following writing prompt: What would you do if Time and everyone and everything in it froze...except for you?
Some might faint at such an odd event. Not I!
“What if…” I think, spying a couple of frozen tourists looking at a map. He is tense, a yell of exasperation at his partner hanging in the air. An over-sized camera is hanging from around her neck. I relieve her of that yoke for a moment, snapping a selfie before returning said yoke to its previous occupation.
I laugh like a maniac as I imagine their confusion upon reviewing their pictures.
There sits a beggar on the street corner, his change cup extended in his work-beaten hands. I pick a twenty from my wallet and tuck it under hat before securing the brim down around his eyes.
On to more mischief!
Two women are drinking together in the park. The blonde has a coffee, the brunette a tall frozen lemonade. Their lips are both poised to take a sip from their separate vessels. I remove the cups from their hands, with some difficulty, and perform a swap: Where once was a steaming cup, now is a freezing one. And vice versa.
Beyond them, not far away…
A time-frozen child is losing her balloon. I grab the string and secure it around her wrist before moving on. That’s when I spy an elderly woman about to be hit by a dump truck. At first I panic, but needlessly. Everything is still, after all, inanimate. That bird of a woman is a tiny thing, all small bones, so I lift her with ease and carry to the safety of the sidewalk.
I’ve made full circle of it and have just arrived back at the bookstore. At once everything returns to the reality of time. It’s tempting to see the reactions to my mischief, but I resist, content in the fact that I had some fun and perhaps had done some good as well.
But what is this? My fingers are curled around a note, which hadn’t been there but a split second ago. It says “SMILE.” And I do…at the gentleman in white, who had not been there but a moment before.
__A slightly edited piece, child of the following writing prompt: What would you do if Time and everyone and everything in it froze...except for you?
September 27, 2013
What Am I? (PG for gore)
Dark shadow rising.
Frothy foam splits and reveals...The Mouth.
Rows upon rows of teeth.
He looks at me with his large dead eyes, mouth gaping before he brings down a crushing, shattering, ripping, shredding blow across my arm. Crimson blooms, bursts, bubbles, and feeds the frenzy. I'm sinking, flailing and twisting.
A watery scream from a watery grave as the crimson drives him insane with ecstasy.
Frothy foam splits and reveals...The Mouth.
Rows upon rows of teeth.
He looks at me with his large dead eyes, mouth gaping before he brings down a crushing, shattering, ripping, shredding blow across my arm. Crimson blooms, bursts, bubbles, and feeds the frenzy. I'm sinking, flailing and twisting.
A watery scream from a watery grave as the crimson drives him insane with ecstasy.
September 21, 2013
Happy Fall!
Gentle keening of tree frogs. Leaves crisp beneath my heavy feet. Rasping bales of straw as they scrunch and sink beneath my heft. The crisp chomp on an apple and the rhythmic ker-chump, ker-chump as it rolls between my teeth in sharp, wet slurps. A tractor puttering and sputtering as it yawns to life. These are the sounds of my autumn.
__
This was part of a writing exercise: write about autumn sounds.
__
This was part of a writing exercise: write about autumn sounds.
September 14, 2013
(Unedited) Writing Exercise Results 2.0
I lost my mind somewhere on the road back there. We searched high, we searched low. Back and forth, deep down in the dark tunnels of the world, with all its creepy, crawling pieces of flesh-devouring worms. Perhaps my mind was consumed by one of them. "Have you seen my brain?" I asked one of the largest worms, whom I thought might be their king.
It squirmed and it writhed like a leaf on the wind, but it wouldn't answer, so I moved on again. To the next fattest worm I did go. "Have you seen my brain?"
It wended and writhed like a boat caught on the rapids, but it did not answer me.
So I moved onto the third fattest worm, fast losing hope of ever seeing my mind again.
"Please say you've seen my brain!" I wailed.
This worm considered me for some time...before saying, "Wake up."
__
^ Freewriting for 5-10 minutes
It squirmed and it writhed like a leaf on the wind, but it wouldn't answer, so I moved on again. To the next fattest worm I did go. "Have you seen my brain?"
It wended and writhed like a boat caught on the rapids, but it did not answer me.
So I moved onto the third fattest worm, fast losing hope of ever seeing my mind again.
"Please say you've seen my brain!" I wailed.
This worm considered me for some time...before saying, "Wake up."
__
^ Freewriting for 5-10 minutes
September 7, 2013
(Unedited) Writing Exercise Results
The last days of summer found me at the fair. The great thing about this carnival of sights and sounds is that it is the same every year: You always know what to expect. The worst thing about this sweaty, deep-fat-fried, eye-squinting experience is that it is the same every stinkin' year, and there are no surprises. Or are there...?
One slippery, sun-slathered day, at the end of August, I found myself at the fair gates. I approached the ticket stand and asked for two. The woman, in her world-weary voice, hissed at me. She actually hissed.
I paused to stare, thinking I had perhaps imagined things. Again I said, "Two tickets, please."
She wrinkled up her stubby nose and swiped at me with her over-long fingernails, that were slightly curved and each sharpened to a point.
Now it was personal. "Look," I said, "I just want two tickets."
She stared at me with two beady eyes and then I smelled it. Cat breath. "Um, is that tuna you're eating?"
She stretched her arms out to into the sun, then climbed up onto the counter inside of her stand, and curled up into a ball.
By now, the line behind me was growing quite long, and I was a little more than weirded out. "Kitty?" I whispered before I could stop myself.
Like all felines, the cat-of-a-woman ignored me, yawned, and rested her head on her arm.
Then I realized something: She was wearing a collar, and she was not a woman but an actual snow-white Persian with whiskers and a long, poofy tail.
It must have been a trick of the light.
__
^Write about the end of your summer.
One slippery, sun-slathered day, at the end of August, I found myself at the fair gates. I approached the ticket stand and asked for two. The woman, in her world-weary voice, hissed at me. She actually hissed.
I paused to stare, thinking I had perhaps imagined things. Again I said, "Two tickets, please."
She wrinkled up her stubby nose and swiped at me with her over-long fingernails, that were slightly curved and each sharpened to a point.
Now it was personal. "Look," I said, "I just want two tickets."
She stared at me with two beady eyes and then I smelled it. Cat breath. "Um, is that tuna you're eating?"
She stretched her arms out to into the sun, then climbed up onto the counter inside of her stand, and curled up into a ball.
By now, the line behind me was growing quite long, and I was a little more than weirded out. "Kitty?" I whispered before I could stop myself.
Like all felines, the cat-of-a-woman ignored me, yawned, and rested her head on her arm.
Then I realized something: She was wearing a collar, and she was not a woman but an actual snow-white Persian with whiskers and a long, poofy tail.
It must have been a trick of the light.
__
^Write about the end of your summer.
August 31, 2013
September Approacheth
Tomorrow is the first day of September. Hooray? Nay? Personally, I have no plans for the month, other than to finish (and re-structure--holla, Dr. S!) my current WIP. Hmm. Maybe I should make some goals. All righty, then...
GOALS:
1. Outline/re-structure novel
2. Finish draft 1.56341 of "The Disorderlies"
3. Write 10,000 words on a project OTHER THAN TD
4. Blog at least four times
5. Tweet every day
6. Plan for NaNoWriMo and NaNoWriMo related activities*
*As you may or may not know (or care), I'm the unofficial ML (Municipal Liaison) for my district--unofficial as in no one knows it but me (yet) and I'm planning write-ins at my local library (boo-yah!)
___
I'm curious to know other people's goals. Let's form a competition:
The person (or 'borg) to reach the most words written by 11:59:59 PM on September 30, 2013 wins a copy of In a Pickle. Sound good? Start writing at midnight tonight. Think you can beat me?
GOALS:
1. Outline/re-structure novel
2. Finish draft 1.56341 of "The Disorderlies"
3. Write 10,000 words on a project OTHER THAN TD
4. Blog at least four times
5. Tweet every day
6. Plan for NaNoWriMo and NaNoWriMo related activities*
*As you may or may not know (or care), I'm the unofficial ML (Municipal Liaison) for my district--unofficial as in no one knows it but me (yet) and I'm planning write-ins at my local library (boo-yah!)
___
I'm curious to know other people's goals. Let's form a competition:
The person (or 'borg) to reach the most words written by 11:59:59 PM on September 30, 2013 wins a copy of In a Pickle. Sound good? Start writing at midnight tonight. Think you can beat me?
