Monthly Archives: October 2017

Days like a Dream

Nothing felt real yesterday. One thing after another it felt like a something that I would have dreamed. At any moment I felt like I was going to wake up and laugh to myself at the thought that was real.  But I didn’t wake up. The day kept going, with thing after thing happening in the ways that I never imagined would actually happen. Friends were announcing unexpected pregnancies. I hung out with an ex, which varied wildly from being friendly to a lot of yelling, and then back to friendly. Pets were getting sicker. Work dynamics were being changed. Any of these things alone would have made it a weird day–a weird dream–but all in one? I didn’t even know how to process it.

Even as I laid down to go to bed, I fully expected to wake up and have to do Monday all over again.  Imagine my surprise when my phone informed me it was, in fact, Tuesday.  I wish I had something better for this post today–but to be honest, I wasn’t sure today was coming yet. Weird, weird day.

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Posted by on October 31, 2017 in BekahBeth's Thoughts, Uncategorized


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Diet Sodas are my Cigarettes

I remember stomping to my room frustrated with my father. This happened with some level of frequency when I was a bratty teenager, but in this particular case, I was eight or nine. We had just spent what seemed like half the day at school talking about the dangers of tobacco and lung cancer and how cigarettes were absolutely not cool in anyway shape or form. I relayed all this information to my father, thinking maybe he didn’t know about it and was dismissed out of hand. Looking back, I realize it was that dismissal of someone who knows they are doing something wrong, but aren’t willing to face up to it just yet. I would later use the same dismissal on my father when he wanted to talk to me about the fake sugars in no-calorie soda.

Throughout the years I would take to family and friends alike about the stupidity of smoking. If I couldn’t make them care about the connections to lung cancer and the increased risk of heart disease, I would hit them with the money aspect–how much a cigarette addiction would cost over months or years and what they could have spent that money on instead. I would get increasingly annoyed when they continued to smoke anyway.

The other day, I properly realized that I was a hypocrite. While the connection of fake sweeteners to diseases isn’t as strong a connection as cigarettes to lung cancer, there is certainly enough science to say it’s not the best thing to put in your body if you want to stay healthy. It’s definitely been proven to be addicting and the caffeine addiction on top of that isn’t nothing to sneeze at either. I’ve known it’s not good for me for a majority of my adult life but blatantly ignored it because I just didn’t want to give it up.

So, I tried my own tactic on myself.  I tracked how much I spent on soda over a week–and then a month–and was embarrassed by how much I was putting into a habit that was certainly not helping my health in the long run. As a woman with credit card debt, student loan debt, and trying to save up to move out of her hometown again–I have no business spending that kind of money. As a woman with a family history of a whole mix of diseases, who has spent her own small slice of time in the hospital, I have no business continuing habits that are just going to decrease my health as I get older.

My father and grandparents eventually did quit smoking and were better for it. I’m going to try very hard to quit diet sodas now–for both my health and my wallet.  Here’s hoping I’m strong enough to manage that.

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Posted by on October 30, 2017 in BekahBeth's Thoughts


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Legal Theft Project: Goodnight

Rain drowned the world in white noise. It drowned out the sound of her grandmother’s rocking chair. It muted the sound of her brother’s music. It–well, didn’t do much for her sister’s snoring from the other bed–but it did give her something else to focus on for a little while.

Lisa rolled over and watched the window. The light from the streetlight let the rain make strange patterns and shadows along the length of the window. She tried to make pictures out of them the way she used to lay on the ground, look at the sky and tell a story with the shapes of the clouds. These were yellow and black stories instead of blue and white, but they still calmed her–imagining a world that was so different than her own in any way. Eventually, her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, but she kept making up the stories, telling herself all kinds of crazy things until she slipped away to sleep, hoping tomorrow night it would still be raining.

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Posted by on October 27, 2017 in Legal Theft Project


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Fiction: Our Place (495 words)

“The joys of being homeowners, love,” Harvey laughed brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

“I hate this,” Nyssa groaned, twisted sideways, holding the pipe in place so that Harvey could get back at it with the wrench.  “I want to have a landlord back.”

“Hold steady, dear,” Harvey sighed as he got the wrench in place, “and no you don’t.   We are taking care of this the same night we found it.   How long do you think it would take if we still lived at the King James house?”

Nyssa tried to blow a piece of her hair away from her eyes, with no luck.  “A month.  If Miss Johnson was in a good mood, it might be three weeks.  But a month easily.”

“Exactly. Okay, I think you can let go, it’s almost as tight as it’s going to go.” Nyssa pulled her arms out from under the table while Harvey tightened all the pieces the last little bit.  He pulled himself up from under the sink and wiped off his hands.  “I think, I hope, that should do it.” He turned to look at the faucet then turned back to face Nyssa. “Do you want to do the honors?”

“Oh, why not?” She sighed, stepping forward, and then flipping up the handle on the sink.

When the water started to flow, they both ducked down together to watch the pipes as if their lives depended on it.  After a solid minute of water flowing without a single drop coming through the pipe, Harvey made a crow of joy and wrapped his arms around Nyssa, knocking them both off balanced and sprawled across the kitchen floor.

After a lot of (slightly hysterical) laughter, they managed to detangle themselves and get up to turn the water off. This time, Harvey wrapped his arms around Nyssa in a more controlled manner, tipping his head down to kiss her gently on the lips. “This is our place, Ness. Yours and Mine. We can do whatever we want, and we can fix it when things go wrong.”

Nyssa let herself melt against him, turning to stare at the sink again as if it was one of the greatest wonders of the world. “Yeah, I guess it’s not so bad. We can figure this out.”

“Damn right,” Harvey’s joy at fixing the pipe was starting to bubble over again. “Let’s go find something fun to do in order to celebrate our handiness, shall we?”

“If by something fun you mean take a shower and then go to sleep because we both have to be at work much sooner than either of us want to admit, sure. I’m all for it.” Nyssa countered.

Harvey looked at his watch. Twelve fifty-six in the morning. His alarm was set to go off at six am. Suddenly, there was no more bubbling excitement. “Yeah, okay. Good enough for me.”

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Posted by on October 25, 2017 in Stories


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Big Plans

So–I’ve been talking for a while about making this site something I can be proud of again. Time to stop vaguely say “I want to be proud” and to start discussing what changes I can actually make. I’ve divided things into the easy–the medium–and the hard.  So, be prepared to see the easy ones come in to effect soon, and the hard may still be years in the making.

The Easy:
~Editing old posts that have simple typos or the occasional stupid sentence to make them cleaner.
~Removing posts that were just plain, poorly written.
~Cleaning up Categories and Tags So it’s easier to find things.

The Medium:
~Create pages with all the parts of my serials to be used as a table of contents
~Edit the serial posts so that there are links to the next part and the previous part, as well as the table of contents, for ease of reading.
~Make recurring characters pages, with brief summaries, and links to the stories they appear in.

The Hard:
~Complete reformating of the entire page, probably with new colors…because of reasons.

So–yeah, that’s going to take a long time to get fully completed.  Since I decided to start cleaning it up at the beginning of August, I’m only about 12% through the Excel checklist I made for all this. (We can discuss my addiction to excel spreadsheets on a different day)

So–here goes nothing guys. Hopefully, that percentage will grow quicker than I anticipated, and that in the end, It will be something that we can ALL be proud of.

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Posted by on October 24, 2017 in Uncategorized


Fiction: Hired Help (510 words)

“I know why you’re here,” Eleanor said softly, smoothing out the blankets in the bed around her.

Bette looked up from the dress she was carefully folding and laying down in Eleanor’s trunk. “I’m sorry, My lady?” She looked wide-eyed and innocent, and Eleanor understood why she was so good at her job.

“Everyone knows that you are the King’s illegitimate child, even if he won’t publicly announce it, but everyone thinks you’re just happy to take the lowly jobs, not able to do much more and desperate for any respect.” Eleanor offered, explaining what she was sure of in an attempt to strengthen her resolve for the less certain claims.

“I am just pleased to take any position that the King, My Grace is willing to give me since the death of my mother,” Bette confirmed, turning back to the dress.

“But you’re not just some lowly maid, are you?” Eleanor pressed on, “Your mother was a strong and smart courtier. You have royal blood, if not publicly acknowledged. I’m sure you spent your life learning to listen and see and plan, but everyone overlooks you because you are just a maid, just a servant, just the orphan of a disgraced woman and an ‘unknown’ man. My mother wouldn’t believe me, but…” Eleanor took a deep breath, trying to smile at the woman she knew held her life, or her life at court at the very least, in her hands. “You’re here for a reason.  I was just hoping you could tell me what that reason was.”

When Bette looked up, she was a different woman. It wasn’t the wide-eyed look of a sweet girl, it was the calculated smile of a woman who knew how to work her world to her advantage. Eleanor was impressed and terrified at the same time.  “You’re smarter than you look, Miss Lakeson.”  Bette closed the trunk and came up to the side of the bed. “Subtly is the most important part of this life, Miss Lakeson, please keep that in mind. I can’t tell you all I know because that would make me not very good at my job. But I will tell you that I am not here to ruin your day.” Bette reached up and pulled the blankets up around Eleanor, tucking her in. “I like you, and heaven help me but I like Prince Arlo too. So, if you keep honest with me, I’ll try to keep you safe. Sound good?”

For some reason, Eleanor did feel safe. This woman who went to bed after her and woke up before her, who had control of a lot of aspects of her life, and she had just admitted that she wasn’t what she wanted claimed to be—but she believed Bette.  She believed that she was in good hands. “Sounds good.”

Bette turned and tended to the candles, dimming the room so that Eleanor could sleep. “Sleep well, Miss Lakeson, I’ll be back in the morning for you.”

“Thank you, Bette.” Eleanor rolled over on her side and fell asleep.

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Posted by on October 23, 2017 in Uncategorized


Trying and Failing

Okay, so I’m glad I didn’t agree to the noon thing on Monday because yesterday I was already late–but that’s okay. Baby steps.

In further thought, I’ve realized (or remembered, because I’m pretty sure I’ve learned this about myself before but didn’t do anything about it) that the reason that I don’t take those steps, start those big projects, hope for the best, is because there is a very real chance that I can fail. I have this terrible instinct reaction to “Well–if I don’t try, I didn’t fail.”  If I don’t apply for that job, I can’t ever be overlooked for it. If I don’t make my feelings known, I can’t even be turned down. If I don’t send out my drafts, I can’t ever get rejection letters. For a very long time, my desire to not fail has way overpowered my desire to succeed.

But the truth of the matter is the exact opposite of those instincts. If I don’t apply, I’ll never get the job. If I don’t try, I’ll never succeed.  As much as I would love for life to just hand me what I want, it doesn’t work that way. I’ve been very lucky in that I haven’t had to work too hard in the grand scheme of things for my life to be as good as it is, but if I don’t push for more, try harder, take risks, then I’m going to end up here forever–just as good as it is, never getting any better.

So–here’s to admitting that it’s okay to fail. Because at least that means I’m finally trying. I have to have faith that if I take enough risks, if I try hard enough to succeed, then eventually I have to get a ‘Yes.’

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Posted by on October 18, 2017 in BekahBeth's Thoughts


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